[ Astarion pushes at the cat's body with his unbloodied hand, but the dapper thing only gives him a look of pure disdain and nuzzles closer to Iorveth, almost as if out of spite. He shoots the cat an equally disdainful look before accepting his defeat and moving to unfasten Iorveth's stolen gambeson. He's reminded of having to undress and redress Iorveth after their confrontation with Henselt, not long ago at all yet ages ago at the same time; it's significantly less awkward now that he's gotten Iorveth undressed in other contexts, but significantly more distressing.
Despite Iorveth's warnings of his pouting causing wrinkles, he can't help but frown as he peels the fabric away from the stickiness of bloodied skin. Maybe he shouldn't have been so greedy this morning, feeding on Iorveth without thinking. Now he might not have the blood to spare.
Speaking of feeding, the intoxicating scent of Iorveth's spilt blood fills his lungs, and it's all he can do not to press the bloody gambeson to his face and inhale it. He grinds his teeth, smothering down his appetite as best he can; even having just indulged this morning, all of this blood is awfully distracting. A vampire, after all, is never full.
The woman comes bustling in a moment later, accompanied by yet another cat—this one in a tiny floral-patterned apron—and carrying a wicker basket containing her supplies. She removes a pestle and mortar from the basket and places it on an end table before filling it with yarrow and crushing the herb into paste. "Goodness," she says as she glances over at Iorveth's exposed wound. "I'm afraid I'm no healer, but I'll do what I can, love."
What she can is still more than Astarion is capable of. With no outlet for his anxiety, he resorts to manhandling Iorveth onto the mattress. It's a sizeable bed for a gnome, but too small for Iorveth's long limbs. He'll have to bend his knees to fit. ]
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[ Astarion pushes at the cat's body with his unbloodied hand, but the dapper thing only gives him a look of pure disdain and nuzzles closer to Iorveth, almost as if out of spite. He shoots the cat an equally disdainful look before accepting his defeat and moving to unfasten Iorveth's stolen gambeson. He's reminded of having to undress and redress Iorveth after their confrontation with Henselt, not long ago at all yet ages ago at the same time; it's significantly less awkward now that he's gotten Iorveth undressed in other contexts, but significantly more distressing.
Despite Iorveth's warnings of his pouting causing wrinkles, he can't help but frown as he peels the fabric away from the stickiness of bloodied skin. Maybe he shouldn't have been so greedy this morning, feeding on Iorveth without thinking. Now he might not have the blood to spare.
Speaking of feeding, the intoxicating scent of Iorveth's spilt blood fills his lungs, and it's all he can do not to press the bloody gambeson to his face and inhale it. He grinds his teeth, smothering down his appetite as best he can; even having just indulged this morning, all of this blood is awfully distracting. A vampire, after all, is never full.
The woman comes bustling in a moment later, accompanied by yet another cat—this one in a tiny floral-patterned apron—and carrying a wicker basket containing her supplies. She removes a pestle and mortar from the basket and places it on an end table before filling it with yarrow and crushing the herb into paste. "Goodness," she says as she glances over at Iorveth's exposed wound. "I'm afraid I'm no healer, but I'll do what I can, love."
What she can is still more than Astarion is capable of. With no outlet for his anxiety, he resorts to manhandling Iorveth onto the mattress. It's a sizeable bed for a gnome, but too small for Iorveth's long limbs. He'll have to bend his knees to fit. ]
Lie down already before you bleed out.