[ It's the same old Iorveth waiting by the wooden door leading into Cazador's foyer, an elf-shaped shadow with its arms folded across its chest. Intact and mostly unchanged from the morning, save for the chain around his neck that wasn't there a few hours ago, the gifted ring from the day prior hanging from it and settling near his clavicle.
Iorveth thinks to be annoyed by the fact that Astarion is late; a third of him is, but the another third understands why Astarion is late, and the last third is just pleased that he showed up. He knows he's got it down bad when he's giving out points for participation. ]
Don't sound too disappointed. [ Dryly, to the tune of "what, you wanted to be there for when I did get eaten?" ] The night's still young.
[ Dark humor, its edge filed down by the gesture following it: a gentle nudge of shoulder to shoulder. They haven't been apart for long enough for missing to have set in, but it's nice to see Astarion regardless. ]
The place has been unusually quiet. No signs of life or activity on the surface as far as I could tell― the servants must have come to their senses and fled.
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Iorveth thinks to be annoyed by the fact that Astarion is late; a third of him is, but the another third understands why Astarion is late, and the last third is just pleased that he showed up. He knows he's got it down bad when he's giving out points for participation. ]
Don't sound too disappointed. [ Dryly, to the tune of "what, you wanted to be there for when I did get eaten?" ] The night's still young.
[ Dark humor, its edge filed down by the gesture following it: a gentle nudge of shoulder to shoulder. They haven't been apart for long enough for missing to have set in, but it's nice to see Astarion regardless. ]
The place has been unusually quiet. No signs of life or activity on the surface as far as I could tell― the servants must have come to their senses and fled.