[ Give an inch, they'll take a league. Iorveth is beginning to see patterns in Damris' behavior, dictated, perhaps, by the vices of his Master. Primarily, driven by envy.
"Oh, I don't want him," Damris says, to the tune of oh, ew. "But he must taste good, if you're going through the trouble to keep him."
Iorveth feels those cold, red eyes settle over him. They're only similar to Astarion's in color; everything that makes Iorveth respond to Astarion's focus is missing entirely from Damris' dispassionate gaze. There's none of Astarion's keenness, his sharpness, his mischievousness.
It makes Iorveth sick, really. He feigns slumping further against his partner's side, and as he does so, whispers: ]
Let him think he'll get his way, then incapacitate him after he gives me the shot.
[ "I hate him, knock him the fuck out". Damris knits his brows again, noting the obvious back-and-forth happening between the two, but not having heard the actual contents of the whispering.
"So? Are you going to let him die, or are you going to agree?" ]
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"Oh, I don't want him," Damris says, to the tune of oh, ew. "But he must taste good, if you're going through the trouble to keep him."
Iorveth feels those cold, red eyes settle over him. They're only similar to Astarion's in color; everything that makes Iorveth respond to Astarion's focus is missing entirely from Damris' dispassionate gaze. There's none of Astarion's keenness, his sharpness, his mischievousness.
It makes Iorveth sick, really. He feigns slumping further against his partner's side, and as he does so, whispers: ]
Let him think he'll get his way, then incapacitate him after he gives me the shot.
[ "I hate him, knock him the fuck out". Damris knits his brows again, noting the obvious back-and-forth happening between the two, but not having heard the actual contents of the whispering.
"So? Are you going to let him die, or are you going to agree?" ]