[ There are still things about Astarion that Iorveth yet to know: the inclination to procrastinate, for one. Iorveth has always been on the side of telling Astarion to do something and Astarion grudgingly obliging, which means that Iorveth's perception of Astarion is "he grumbles, but he has initiative", with hearts dotting the 'i's.
Which is to say, deranged elf is very proud of his beloved vampire. He hovers behind his partner, a lanky shadow with its arms crossed, regarding the old woman with a critical eye when she finally appears from the other side of the door.
'Granny Heart' is－
－strange, at first glance. Small, bent, with sallow skin that seems to spread unevenly across her sunken features. When she smiles up at Astarion, wavy grey-black hair pulled up in a lumpy bun, the components of her face pull in directions that feel slightly incorrect. As if a different face has been superimposed on top of another one.
Still, she's friendly when she opens her mouth to greet them. "Oh, hello, my little birdies. Yes, yes, Granny doesn't mind the time at all－ what lovely little pigeons, cooing in the night. Come inside, come inside... not at all like the rude gentleman callers I usually get, they really are so pushy. Not like you lovely little birds."
With that, she gestures for them to follow her inside to her den of curiosities: a stale-smelling room packed from floor to ceiling with cabinets and shelves. An array of items sit behind glass panels in varying states of identifiability, from glasses to gloves to amulets to strange fleshy objects floating in murky liquid, seemingly in no particular order.
It's chaotic. Vaguely offputting. Iorveth wrinkles his nose, and stays close to Astarion's side. ]
Less a shop and more a mausoleum of things, [ he notes. ]
no subject
Which is to say, deranged elf is very proud of his beloved vampire. He hovers behind his partner, a lanky shadow with its arms crossed, regarding the old woman with a critical eye when she finally appears from the other side of the door.
'Granny Heart' is－
－strange, at first glance. Small, bent, with sallow skin that seems to spread unevenly across her sunken features. When she smiles up at Astarion, wavy grey-black hair pulled up in a lumpy bun, the components of her face pull in directions that feel slightly incorrect. As if a different face has been superimposed on top of another one.
Still, she's friendly when she opens her mouth to greet them. "Oh, hello, my little birdies. Yes, yes, Granny doesn't mind the time at all－ what lovely little pigeons, cooing in the night. Come inside, come inside... not at all like the rude gentleman callers I usually get, they really are so pushy. Not like you lovely little birds."
With that, she gestures for them to follow her inside to her den of curiosities: a stale-smelling room packed from floor to ceiling with cabinets and shelves. An array of items sit behind glass panels in varying states of identifiability, from glasses to gloves to amulets to strange fleshy objects floating in murky liquid, seemingly in no particular order.
It's chaotic. Vaguely offputting. Iorveth wrinkles his nose, and stays close to Astarion's side. ]
Less a shop and more a mausoleum of things, [ he notes. ]