[ Difficult to say which Iorveth hates more: being considered a novelty, or being considered vermin. They're both gut-churning for different reasons, but based on the same baseline foundation of not being seen, of being perceived as something without having any say in that perception.
That, and simply, this guy is just gross. Iorveth wouldn't allow him within five feet of him under normal circumstances, but his love has to eat, and sometimes you have to wade through swampland to hunt a deer. ]
You're in luck. I happen to be more savage than most.
[ Again, not a lie. He keeps his attention faced forward as they make their way up to their suite, which nets him another awed comment from the drunkard about the state of Iorveth's finances: "a rich wood elf! Fancy that."
Gods, please, let Astarion kill this man swiftly. They lurch into the main sitting room, damp hands scrabbling up under Iorveth's tunic, attempting to corral him onto one of the bigger couches. Fine with Iorveth, really－ it's this guy's funeral. ]
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That, and simply, this guy is just gross. Iorveth wouldn't allow him within five feet of him under normal circumstances, but his love has to eat, and sometimes you have to wade through swampland to hunt a deer. ]
You're in luck. I happen to be more savage than most.
[ Again, not a lie. He keeps his attention faced forward as they make their way up to their suite, which nets him another awed comment from the drunkard about the state of Iorveth's finances: "a rich wood elf! Fancy that."
Gods, please, let Astarion kill this man swiftly. They lurch into the main sitting room, damp hands scrabbling up under Iorveth's tunic, attempting to corral him onto one of the bigger couches. Fine with Iorveth, really－ it's this guy's funeral. ]