[ Astarion doesn't have the time to think about how stupid Iorveth sounds, because he's too busy worrying about how stupid he looks. His eyes go wide as he reaches out for the handle of the hairbrush, holding it up and rotating it in the twinkling streetlamps of the courtyard, watching the soft, warm light reflect off of its dark surface.
Iorveth saw this and thought of him. He thought that it was something nice, and that Astarion should have something nice. Two centuries of torture and loneliness, but what nearly brings him to his knees is a godsdamned hairbrush. His heart feels like it's being squeezed — no, throttled. He'll never get over the feeling of having someone who cares for him.
He holds both the brush and the little vial of oil to his chest, trying very hard not to look as moved as he feels. ]
I adore it.
[ And he does. Astarion always used to think 'sentimental value' was nonsense, but he's going to cherish this until the end of eternity. ]
—I hope you spent Gale's coin, and not your own.
[ The coin he got working that mercenary job was hard-earned, after all. ]
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Iorveth saw this and thought of him. He thought that it was something nice, and that Astarion should have something nice. Two centuries of torture and loneliness, but what nearly brings him to his knees is a godsdamned hairbrush. His heart feels like it's being squeezed — no, throttled. He'll never get over the feeling of having someone who cares for him.
He holds both the brush and the little vial of oil to his chest, trying very hard not to look as moved as he feels. ]
I adore it.
[ And he does. Astarion always used to think 'sentimental value' was nonsense, but he's going to cherish this until the end of eternity. ]
—I hope you spent Gale's coin, and not your own.
[ The coin he got working that mercenary job was hard-earned, after all. ]