[ Gods, Iorveth wants to spend as little time chatting this man up (a human, he notes glumly) as possible; he tries to remember when he was younger, tries to remember Belleteyn and casual trysts, but it's more difficult to draw on those things when his interest in intimacy now begins and ends with the familiar shape of one person.
Oh well. Far better than making Astarion do this, exhausted as he is. It gives Iorveth purpose to think of all of this as an obstacle to overcome for his love's sake (everything in the world is easier for Iorveth to overcome when there's someone he's weathering it for), so he glances Astarion's way, softens, and keeps that softness to extend to this drunk stranger. ]
No. [ The hand on the man's elbow slides up, up, then back to settle on a shoulderblade. Close; Iorveth can smell the alcohol on the stranger, and it's all he can do to keep himself from wrinkling his nose. ] A traveler, intrigued by your display of strength.
[ Ugh. All of this really is a crapshoot: it's very likely that this stranger isn't into tall elves with ruined, sharp faces. Astarion is stunning, a universal beauty, but Iorveth is... well, in his professional opinion, he was plain even before he was made ugly.
Whatever. Maybe the guy is too drunk to really see who's "flirting" with him. Iorveth sways closer, like a curious animal sniffing at a hand. ] You caught my eye immediately, [ he offers, and it isn't a lie: Iorveth'd found him pathetic the moment he laid an eye on him. ]
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Oh well. Far better than making Astarion do this, exhausted as he is. It gives Iorveth purpose to think of all of this as an obstacle to overcome for his love's sake (everything in the world is easier for Iorveth to overcome when there's someone he's weathering it for), so he glances Astarion's way, softens, and keeps that softness to extend to this drunk stranger. ]
No. [ The hand on the man's elbow slides up, up, then back to settle on a shoulderblade. Close; Iorveth can smell the alcohol on the stranger, and it's all he can do to keep himself from wrinkling his nose. ] A traveler, intrigued by your display of strength.
[ Ugh. All of this really is a crapshoot: it's very likely that this stranger isn't into tall elves with ruined, sharp faces. Astarion is stunning, a universal beauty, but Iorveth is... well, in his professional opinion, he was plain even before he was made ugly.
Whatever. Maybe the guy is too drunk to really see who's "flirting" with him. Iorveth sways closer, like a curious animal sniffing at a hand. ] You caught my eye immediately, [ he offers, and it isn't a lie: Iorveth'd found him pathetic the moment he laid an eye on him. ]