[ Funny, how Iorveth can tell exactly when Astarion is fishing for compliments; funnier, that he doesn't even mind it at this point. He takes the weapon from Astarion's graceful grip, hefts it with a snap of his wrist and a flourish. Iorveth isn't half as good at knife tricks as his companion is, but he's watched Astarion do it enough times to get the outline right.
(It says too much, probably, that Iorveth can even half-emulate it.) ]
Head, or heart?
[ Tossing the dagger in the air, catching its hilt. Single eye as sharp as a hawk's, purpose and confidence etched into his posture. When he smiles at Astarion, the expression is a bit too toothy, like a wild animal with its prey caught between its teeth. ]
Whichever would please you more.
[ Astarion needs something to smile about. Iorveth takes a few steps towards the open entrance to the scorched building, and tries to find the best place to line up his throw. ]
no subject
(It says too much, probably, that Iorveth can even half-emulate it.) ]
Head, or heart?
[ Tossing the dagger in the air, catching its hilt. Single eye as sharp as a hawk's, purpose and confidence etched into his posture. When he smiles at Astarion, the expression is a bit too toothy, like a wild animal with its prey caught between its teeth. ]
Whichever would please you more.
[ Astarion needs something to smile about. Iorveth takes a few steps towards the open entrance to the scorched building, and tries to find the best place to line up his throw. ]