[ Damris sucks, but Iorveth is too busy using his dwindling brainpower to worry about Astarion rather than reflecting on how Damris, too, is a victim of his current circumstances. Something about that effortlessly charming mask makes Iorveth think back to early days post-Nautiloid, when Astarion'd tried so very valiantly to convince everyone that he was just a harmless little magistrate with coincidentally sharp teeth.
Could've been Damris standing where Astarion is right now. Doesn't matter. Iorveth wipes his mouth again, bitter blood between his teeth, fire in the back of his throat. ]
Surprisingly well.
[ For a guy with two and a half mouthfuls of poison currently metabolizing in his system. Hells. He follows Damris as Damris swishes his way through the opulent streets of the Scepter District, passing manors that stretch backwards into the darkness, towering and entirely too large to be reasonable. A few smatterings of well-dressed nobles are present here and there, and glance towards the strangers in their midst with snide curiosity.
Also doesn't matter. Iorveth leans against Astarion, trying to concentrate on the scent of his cologne. ]
You know, I've never been poisoned before. [ Still talking shit, downplaying his ailment. Mostly, he can't bear the thought of Astarion worrying overmuch; if there's one thing that makes Iorveth's heart sink, it's Astarion's distress. ]
no subject
Could've been Damris standing where Astarion is right now. Doesn't matter. Iorveth wipes his mouth again, bitter blood between his teeth, fire in the back of his throat. ]
Surprisingly well.
[ For a guy with two and a half mouthfuls of poison currently metabolizing in his system. Hells. He follows Damris as Damris swishes his way through the opulent streets of the Scepter District, passing manors that stretch backwards into the darkness, towering and entirely too large to be reasonable. A few smatterings of well-dressed nobles are present here and there, and glance towards the strangers in their midst with snide curiosity.
Also doesn't matter. Iorveth leans against Astarion, trying to concentrate on the scent of his cologne. ]
You know, I've never been poisoned before. [ Still talking shit, downplaying his ailment. Mostly, he can't bear the thought of Astarion worrying overmuch; if there's one thing that makes Iorveth's heart sink, it's Astarion's distress. ]