[ Capable of all kinds of lurid tying techniques, and yet not compelled at all to put them to use on Astarion. Damris is strung up like a holiday pheasant, and left to rest along a stack of cushions, which is as much comfort as Iorveth is willing to give the guy for now.

With that done, he wipes his hands of Damris (literally), palms to drawn (purple) curtains, dragging down. ]

He treated me no differently from how most usually treat me.

[ Matter-of-factly. Not self-pitying or self-deprecating in any way: like stating the weather, or commenting on a stain in the carpet. ]

You needn't mind it so much. I only wish to be looked upon favorably by those I care for.

[ Like Astarion, for example. He moves towards the divan, and sits on the floor next to it. ]