essea: (37.)
ɪᴏʀᴠᴇᴛʜ. ([personal profile] essea) wrote 2025-07-02 10:43 pm (UTC)

[ Very bold of Astarion to be acting so imperious when, only minutes ago, he'd been asking Iorveth to shove him into sunlight because he didn't want to step into it himself. Damris didn't see that, of course, so Iorveth doesn't touch on it. Astarion is entitled to do a few victory laps― he's earned it, no matter how stupid it might be to do them around this particular tiefling.

Damris looks the both of them up and down. His scrutiny is sharp and obvious, his irritation even more so. Envious of someone who has everything he wants for himself: blood, protection, daylight. Rather immaturely, he grabs a cushion from a nearby chair and throws it Astarion's way with a frustrated huff, then turns on his heels like a beautiful hurricane to storm off (presumably to plot Astarion's untimely demise).

Damris has bad aim. The cushion bounces harmlessly against the couch's armrest.
]

Well. Now the tiefling knows. [ Not great. But nothing can really dampen the triumph of having stolen the right cloak, so Iorveth sets aside the possibility of being poisoned again to bite a temporary mark along Astarion's collarbone. ] You'll have to wear this cloak to bed, if you want to safeguard it.

[ Stuck in ugly maroon forever. A light tease. ]

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