[ Astarion holds Iorveth close, away from the crowds as much as he can. He's never been a fan of crowds, exactly—he's not one for people—but there is a familiarity to it. Slipping into a crowd at night is what he's done for centuries.
He smiles, then, pleased by Iorveth's freakiness. There are many wonderful things about Iorveth, but one of his favorites is Iorveth's unconditional acceptance of the qualities that make Astarion, well, left of normal. He doesn't so much as flinch at vampirism, never makes Astarion feel judged for his undead inclinations. ]
Mm, [ he acknowledges, ] you aren't afraid of being mauled by a fearsome fanged creature?
[ 'Fearsome', no. 'Mauled', probably. He does enjoy biting and scratching and kicking, like a rabid raccoon. ]
no subject
He smiles, then, pleased by Iorveth's freakiness. There are many wonderful things about Iorveth, but one of his favorites is Iorveth's unconditional acceptance of the qualities that make Astarion, well, left of normal. He doesn't so much as flinch at vampirism, never makes Astarion feel judged for his undead inclinations. ]
Mm, [ he acknowledges, ] you aren't afraid of being mauled by a fearsome fanged creature?
[ 'Fearsome', no. 'Mauled', probably. He does enjoy biting and scratching and kicking, like a rabid raccoon. ]
Brave little snack.