[ Hypothetical fuzzy ears are still laid flat, hypothetical fuzzy tail is still puffed up in angry caution. Iorveth glares at Gale, shooting him a look that Astarion might be able to decipher as one that Iorveth used to direct at him before they finally became intimate: that "I'll-kill-you-if-you-laugh-at-me" look, proud and deathly sharp, now converted to "I'll-kill-you-if-you-laugh-at-us". ]
Thank you for your patronization, [ he clips between his teeth, at Gale. Dripping sarcasm, in boggling contrast to the gentleness with which he turns his hand over in Astarion's to tangle their fingers again. ] I feel it curing my concussion already.
[ Iorvethese for "hey, shut up". Not very nice of him, he knows― again, their friend is just trying to be helpful, and has done the work to do everything he can. That's the only thing that makes Iorveth relent somewhat, even though he stays hovered by Astarion's side like a vengeful wraith, spiritually hissing at anyone who gets too close. ]
...My head. And my face. To put my beloved at ease. [ He makes a crude motion with his free hand at Reginald in a brusque gesture for him to come closer, and the halfling obliges with cheerful exasperation. It's clear that he's experienced every permutation of difficult patients in addition to physical horrors, and he approaches Iorveth with somewhat unnerving patience.
"What you need is perspective," the old halfling says as he runs gold-glowing fingers over the scratches on Iorveth's face, first. Quick and easy, though the process stings― like having tiny needles poking rapidly over his skin. "You two need to spend more time away from each other. Inhabit each other less."
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Thank you for your patronization, [ he clips between his teeth, at Gale. Dripping sarcasm, in boggling contrast to the gentleness with which he turns his hand over in Astarion's to tangle their fingers again. ] I feel it curing my concussion already.
[ Iorvethese for "hey, shut up". Not very nice of him, he knows― again, their friend is just trying to be helpful, and has done the work to do everything he can. That's the only thing that makes Iorveth relent somewhat, even though he stays hovered by Astarion's side like a vengeful wraith, spiritually hissing at anyone who gets too close. ]
...My head. And my face. To put my beloved at ease. [ He makes a crude motion with his free hand at Reginald in a brusque gesture for him to come closer, and the halfling obliges with cheerful exasperation. It's clear that he's experienced every permutation of difficult patients in addition to physical horrors, and he approaches Iorveth with somewhat unnerving patience.
"What you need is perspective," the old halfling says as he runs gold-glowing fingers over the scratches on Iorveth's face, first. Quick and easy, though the process stings― like having tiny needles poking rapidly over his skin. "You two need to spend more time away from each other. Inhabit each other less."
Sensible advice, probably. Iorveth bristles anyway. ]