[ Stupid question. Of course Astarion wouldn't know: it seems like he barely got a chance to understand his vampirism before being subjected to the worst facets of it. A little gutting to think that Astarion didn't actually know what feeling good was like until...
...recently, even. Maybe he's still figuring it out. Gods. ]
The bed can do that well enough.
[ Gently teasing, to keep Astarion from feeling like he's being coddled. Like appearances, some measure of pride should be left intact for the sake of comfort. That said, Iorveth doesn't let up on the contact, palm sliding down to a smooth cheek (even colder than usual, with the sweat cooling on his skin) with his thumb stroking affectionately along the corner of one red eye. ]
...Must be the sudden change in location. Or all this cursed purple. [ A huff, as he flicks his focus sideways to the decor. Surreptitiously, Iorveth searches the room for any changes or oddities; nothing, except for their travel packs and the tattoo quill, their weapons and supplies. The staff have kept to their promise about leaving the Masters Blackmane well enough alone during the day－ no cleaning staff worth their salary would have allowed weird-looking handmade necklaces with shrunken hearts to remain strewn about on the floor (was that there before?).
Paranoia tickles at the edges of Iorveth's conscious, a familiar guest. ]
no subject
...recently, even. Maybe he's still figuring it out. Gods. ]
The bed can do that well enough.
[ Gently teasing, to keep Astarion from feeling like he's being coddled. Like appearances, some measure of pride should be left intact for the sake of comfort. That said, Iorveth doesn't let up on the contact, palm sliding down to a smooth cheek (even colder than usual, with the sweat cooling on his skin) with his thumb stroking affectionately along the corner of one red eye. ]
...Must be the sudden change in location. Or all this cursed purple. [ A huff, as he flicks his focus sideways to the decor. Surreptitiously, Iorveth searches the room for any changes or oddities; nothing, except for their travel packs and the tattoo quill, their weapons and supplies. The staff have kept to their promise about leaving the Masters Blackmane well enough alone during the day－ no cleaning staff worth their salary would have allowed weird-looking handmade necklaces with shrunken hearts to remain strewn about on the floor (was that there before?).
Paranoia tickles at the edges of Iorveth's conscious, a familiar guest. ]