[ Iorveth doesn't like the sound of that ow, and stumbles over on pin-and-needle-riddled legs toward Astarion's side, his own knife drawn. It's a blessing that the needle only made it into a forearm and not, say, Astarion's face; not because Iorveth cares about Astarion's appearance, but because Astarion cares.
More mad scrambling from Damris, pretty fingers trying to grab silver curls and tug, but it settles once he's threatened at daggerpoint and told to beg. His expression echoes what he'd said before back at the inn, that none of this is fair, and it only deepens when he's told to implore Iorveth for his mercy.
"...I did what you asked," he spits. Proud, his soft voice laced with venom. "I spared your life. Now spare mine."
Craning backwards away from the sharp object held to a very vulnerable space, Damris closes his eyes. Iorveth doesn't particularly care about being pleaded with, but again, Astarion does, so as he slinks by Astarion's side: ]
My love would find your begging inadequate.
[ Translation: you can do better than that. Damris scowls, showing teeth, and spits out an acerbic "please". ]
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More mad scrambling from Damris, pretty fingers trying to grab silver curls and tug, but it settles once he's threatened at daggerpoint and told to beg. His expression echoes what he'd said before back at the inn, that none of this is fair, and it only deepens when he's told to implore Iorveth for his mercy.
"...I did what you asked," he spits. Proud, his soft voice laced with venom. "I spared your life. Now spare mine."
Craning backwards away from the sharp object held to a very vulnerable space, Damris closes his eyes. Iorveth doesn't particularly care about being pleaded with, but again, Astarion does, so as he slinks by Astarion's side: ]
My love would find your begging inadequate.
[ Translation: you can do better than that. Damris scowls, showing teeth, and spits out an acerbic "please". ]