[ The books stack, nested against Iorveth's chest and tucked in the crook of one arm. A temporary luxury, as they'll probably have to leave the hardcovers with Gale once they set off for the cloak― not necessarily a bad thing, considering Gale might appreciate the excuse for the duo to come back in the future. "We're here for our books."
The thought of it is nice. It slots nicely into what he'd said to Astarion before, that he'd like to build a future predicated on Astarion's presence in his life. It's also in direct opposition to what he'd said before that, which is that he never deserved (deserves, present tense) Astarion. An interesting paradox, and one that he doesn't want to ruin the moment by dwelling on. ]
Then I shall gladly be provided for.
[ Sharing! Coexisting! Though Iorveth knows that this has nothing to do with wood elf instincts rubbing off on Astarion, he still watches with no small amount of fondness as Astarion goes and makes his purchase with the grouchy halfling who, despite having at least fifteen more minutes of the hour left until closing, tells them he's done for the night and that they need to get a move on.
So they do. A hop, skip, and a jump back to Gale's tower, where the man of the house has already retired to his bed after a long day of doing whatever wizards at academies do. There's a note for them outlining his findings regarding the cloak, which is minimal― more of a "I'm looking into it, I promise!" than anything else― and an apology that the item in question might, in fact, be in Athkatla, but that he knows someone who could teleport them there, albeit with no guarantee of how the pair might return back north. Details pending!
A lot to consider. But first, Iorveth moves to take his ugly sandals off. ]
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The thought of it is nice. It slots nicely into what he'd said to Astarion before, that he'd like to build a future predicated on Astarion's presence in his life. It's also in direct opposition to what he'd said before that, which is that he never deserved (deserves, present tense) Astarion. An interesting paradox, and one that he doesn't want to ruin the moment by dwelling on. ]
Then I shall gladly be provided for.
[ Sharing! Coexisting! Though Iorveth knows that this has nothing to do with wood elf instincts rubbing off on Astarion, he still watches with no small amount of fondness as Astarion goes and makes his purchase with the grouchy halfling who, despite having at least fifteen more minutes of the hour left until closing, tells them he's done for the night and that they need to get a move on.
So they do. A hop, skip, and a jump back to Gale's tower, where the man of the house has already retired to his bed after a long day of doing whatever wizards at academies do. There's a note for them outlining his findings regarding the cloak, which is minimal― more of a "I'm looking into it, I promise!" than anything else― and an apology that the item in question might, in fact, be in Athkatla, but that he knows someone who could teleport them there, albeit with no guarantee of how the pair might return back north. Details pending!
A lot to consider. But first, Iorveth moves to take his ugly sandals off. ]