[ Letting Damris' head loll back onto one of the cushions (which has developed a tear in the fabric from sharp horns raking against it), Iorveth gets back up and surveys his work. ]
Mm. I like roses, myself.
[ There are ruins back near his home forest with bushes full of the most delicate white roses, and thinking of it makes him slightly nostalgic. Both for better times, and for the scent of dewy moss on a quiet morning, but he doesn't want to say so now. Especially not after Astarion mentioned living in the forest with the sort of tone that implied that he doesn't love the idea of roughing it.
So. Wiping his palms on his bathrobe, he turns away from Damris and back towards Astarion, who manages to look very fetching in a color that Iorveth would have looked clownish in. ]
Have you ever worn a crown of flowers?
[ The most wood elf shit he could ever say. The tone here is that Iorveth absolutely has in the past. (And is unashamed of having done so.) ]
no subject
Mm. I like roses, myself.
[ There are ruins back near his home forest with bushes full of the most delicate white roses, and thinking of it makes him slightly nostalgic. Both for better times, and for the scent of dewy moss on a quiet morning, but he doesn't want to say so now. Especially not after Astarion mentioned living in the forest with the sort of tone that implied that he doesn't love the idea of roughing it.
So. Wiping his palms on his bathrobe, he turns away from Damris and back towards Astarion, who manages to look very fetching in a color that Iorveth would have looked clownish in. ]
Have you ever worn a crown of flowers?
[ The most wood elf shit he could ever say. The tone here is that Iorveth absolutely has in the past. (And is unashamed of having done so.) ]