[ Meanwhile, somewhere in Waterdeep, Gale sits up straight and feels compelled to say "purple is a perfectly pleasant color" to no one in particular.
Here, in Athkatla, Iorveth gives their bedroom one last cursory sweep before turning his attention back to Astarion and his grooming, lending a hand to realign some of the more stubborn wayward curls into their rightful place. His perception hasn't yielded much in the way of concrete ideas of what could be troubling Astarion, but it does remind Iorveth, after a night of pleasant uselessness, to remain hypervigilant in enemy territory.
Speaking of. He should probably wear some clothes. After a brief peck to Astarion's forehead, Iorveth slides out of bed to pull fresh clothes out of his pack to change into: a dark emerald tunic that Gale had kept tucked away in the back of his closet (too self-conscious about the open V-neck collar to wear), and a pair of sleek black pants, self-purchased. He cinches it all in with a belt, and then clips three different knives to said belt. Practicality over fashion. ]
If anything feels amiss during the night, tell me so. I'll be cross if you feign wellness when you aren't.
[ "Being cross" is the most benign form of Iorveth's anger, but it's anger nevertheless. He stoops down to pick up the scattered charms off the floor, considers them, then tosses them onto the nearest armchair. ]
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Here, in Athkatla, Iorveth gives their bedroom one last cursory sweep before turning his attention back to Astarion and his grooming, lending a hand to realign some of the more stubborn wayward curls into their rightful place. His perception hasn't yielded much in the way of concrete ideas of what could be troubling Astarion, but it does remind Iorveth, after a night of pleasant uselessness, to remain hypervigilant in enemy territory.
Speaking of. He should probably wear some clothes. After a brief peck to Astarion's forehead, Iorveth slides out of bed to pull fresh clothes out of his pack to change into: a dark emerald tunic that Gale had kept tucked away in the back of his closet (too self-conscious about the open V-neck collar to wear), and a pair of sleek black pants, self-purchased. He cinches it all in with a belt, and then clips three different knives to said belt. Practicality over fashion. ]
If anything feels amiss during the night, tell me so. I'll be cross if you feign wellness when you aren't.
[ "Being cross" is the most benign form of Iorveth's anger, but it's anger nevertheless. He stoops down to pick up the scattered charms off the floor, considers them, then tosses them onto the nearest armchair. ]