[ Reaching over to drape the doublet (now Astarion's, as Iorveth doesn't really plan on returning it to Gale) over the back of a nearby chair, Iorveth looks over his shoulder at Astarion, taking in the would-be chiding with a raised brow. ]
The world was never good enough to you.
[ A matter-of-fact correction. He holds that belief about his people, too: brutalized and murdered without consideration, chased and starved through winters. The world is neither fair nor sensible, and if there's one thing that his journey with their merry band taught him, it's that the Gods don't give a single shit about their individual plights. Iorveth will always be furious about this, without distinction; he will always Stay Mad about what Cazador did to Astarion, and he'd never allow it to happen again.
A familiar flicker of rage, there and gone again. Iorveth calms (weirdo), and edges back onto the mattress. ]
no subject
The world was never good enough to you.
[ A matter-of-fact correction. He holds that belief about his people, too: brutalized and murdered without consideration, chased and starved through winters. The world is neither fair nor sensible, and if there's one thing that his journey with their merry band taught him, it's that the Gods don't give a single shit about their individual plights. Iorveth will always be furious about this, without distinction; he will always Stay Mad about what Cazador did to Astarion, and he'd never allow it to happen again.
A familiar flicker of rage, there and gone again. Iorveth calms (weirdo), and edges back onto the mattress. ]
It pleases me to do this. Don't deprive me.