[ Astarion in his least flattering outfit is probably most people's idea of "traveler's chic"; it's less about what the person is wearing and more about how they wear it. Iorveth, on the other hand, unceremoniously tugs on an ill-fitting gambeson over his plainest shirt, attaching all of his straps and gear onto it with the aura of a man who hasn't cared about what kind of viscera he gets onto his clothes for far too long. ]
Mm. [ Vague assent, as he adjusts his collar and makes sure the ring on his chain is tucked securely under his clothes. ] Admittedly, the first time I ever felt attracted to you was when you were covered in blood.
[ Way back towards the beginning of their journey, when they'd killed the Zhents in their trap-infested hideout. Something he can still recall with alarming clarity. ]
Says something about the state of my sanity, doesn't it.
[ As he hefts his poor bow, which has remained largely unused the past few days. There really is no strategic advantage to having an individual ranger in an urban setting, but Iorveth refuses to go anywhere without his long-range weapon on principle. ]
no subject
Mm. [ Vague assent, as he adjusts his collar and makes sure the ring on his chain is tucked securely under his clothes. ] Admittedly, the first time I ever felt attracted to you was when you were covered in blood.
[ Way back towards the beginning of their journey, when they'd killed the Zhents in their trap-infested hideout. Something he can still recall with alarming clarity. ]
Says something about the state of my sanity, doesn't it.
[ As he hefts his poor bow, which has remained largely unused the past few days. There really is no strategic advantage to having an individual ranger in an urban setting, but Iorveth refuses to go anywhere without his long-range weapon on principle. ]