[ The fucking hag. Public enemy number one, as far as Iorveth is concerned-- he can't wait to find her and gut her for both hoarding what should rightfully have been Astarion's (delusional) and for impeding Astarion's rest (less delusional). Iorveth's frown deepens, but he keeps himself centered around the creature's inevitable (?) demise.
Smoothing a thumb over Astarion's knuckles, he starts their descent to the inn's lobby, wading through a sea of purple. ]
How do you suggest we do this?
[ Not protesting the gruntwork in the least. Blithe about it, even. Like having to go to a physician for a checkup. ]
no subject
Smoothing a thumb over Astarion's knuckles, he starts their descent to the inn's lobby, wading through a sea of purple. ]
How do you suggest we do this?
[ Not protesting the gruntwork in the least. Blithe about it, even. Like having to go to a physician for a checkup. ]
Do we invite someone for a menage?
[ A nudge with an elbow, dry but playful. ]