[ Evil Reginald, trying to stop him from being Iorveth's weighted blanket. He's a little afraid Reginald might actually try to manhandle him with those little, wrinkly hands of his, though, so he relents in his enthusiastic appreciation of Iorveth's very kissable face, slowly shifting over onto his back. ]
Ow, [ he says, staring pointedly at Reginald. It's all his fault that moving hurts, obviously, and that he's not in a shape to climb Iorveth like a lovely tree. ]
Define 'canoodling', will you? [ It's a vague term. Also a kind of gross term, but Astarion will give him a pass on account of probably being ancient. (Not like Astarion, who's so youthful and vivacious.) ] Surely it's all right if it only involves the hands.
[ "It's not even worth it to chide you, is it?" asks Gale, forlorn. ]
no subject
Ow, [ he says, staring pointedly at Reginald. It's all his fault that moving hurts, obviously, and that he's not in a shape to climb Iorveth like a lovely tree. ]
Define 'canoodling', will you? [ It's a vague term. Also a kind of gross term, but Astarion will give him a pass on account of probably being ancient. (Not like Astarion, who's so youthful and vivacious.) ] Surely it's all right if it only involves the hands.
[ "It's not even worth it to chide you, is it?" asks Gale, forlorn. ]
It's a medical question!