[ Astarion grabs Iorveth's hand and pulls him out of the room, shutting the door behind them. He holds up the palm that Damris snapped at, worry written on his face. It's just a scratch — no different than 'an unruly cat', as Iorveth had said — but it makes him feel uneasy regardless. Uneasy and jealous. Damris doesn't deserve to taste even a drop of Iorveth's precious blood; to Astarion, it might as well be molten gold. ]
Oh, yes. He must be the prettiest cat you've seen.
[ The whole 'cat' pet name is very silly and not at all fitting, in his opinion... until Iorveth calls someone else a cat, and then suddenly he's fine with claiming it for himself. If he were honest with himself, he'd acknowledge that he's just letting a bad mood overtake him, scowling about things that don't matter because the thing that does matter feels too insurmountable to even frown at. He's never honest with himself, though; gods, can you imagine?
He glances up from Iorveth's hand, offended. ] Ugh. That wretched creature made you bleed.
[ Which he'd be able to tell even without looking. The smell of Iorveth's blood is more familiar to him now than anything else. ]
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Oh, yes. He must be the prettiest cat you've seen.
[ The whole 'cat' pet name is very silly and not at all fitting, in his opinion... until Iorveth calls someone else a cat, and then suddenly he's fine with claiming it for himself. If he were honest with himself, he'd acknowledge that he's just letting a bad mood overtake him, scowling about things that don't matter because the thing that does matter feels too insurmountable to even frown at. He's never honest with himself, though; gods, can you imagine?
He glances up from Iorveth's hand, offended. ] Ugh. That wretched creature made you bleed.
[ Which he'd be able to tell even without looking. The smell of Iorveth's blood is more familiar to him now than anything else. ]