[ Forced into servitude for the sake of survival; no place for poetry or ethics in that particular situation. Not everyone could choose death over dignity, and if Astarion hates himself for the things he's had to do to live, then that's punishment enough for two hundred years of committing crimes on Cazador's behalf.
Still, Iorveth laughs under his breath at the comment about vampires being gifted in being shady. It seems almost like a self-own, so: ]
Is that what you'll say to me if you ever do anything questionable in the future?
[ Teasing, but also curious. A part of him hopes that Astarion would know better by now than to try to win him over with pretty lies, but another part of him kind of likes when Astarion looks at him with big doe eyes. Insulted by the insult to his intelligence, but also, like. Astarion's cute. Sue him.
Into the apothecary they go, met by the sharp stinging smell of dried herbs and half-made decoctions. A young-looking human wearing an apron waves to the both of them, but goes back to grinding something using mortar and pestle. ]
[ Into the apothecary they go. Astarion wrinkles his nose at the pungent aroma of alchemical supplies; he has experience with making concoctions himself—poisons, mostly—but he's never been particularly passionate about the process of making them, only what happens once they hit someone's bloodstream. Perhaps this is the sort of life Damris imagines for himself, creating admixtures at his workbench before returning home to Linus and their 2.5 adopted children. Gross. ]
Little old me, do something questionable?
[ He does bat his lashes, the picture of innocence except for the malicious little twinkle he'll never quite be able to get out of his eyes. ]
Darling, I would never.
[ So, yes. If Iorveth ever finds himself in a position to be upset with Astarion for something he's done, Astarion will gladly pull out all of the manipulation tactics in his repertoire. He adores Iorveth with every fiber of his being, but that doesn't mean he's willing to tolerate his disappointment or distaste for the sake of honesty.
Still hanging off of Iorveth's arm, he reaches with his free hand to pick up and sniff a nearby bottle on a shelf. Gods, it's acrid; his nose hairs are practically singed. ]
You don't think there's any chance they have a 'tincture of immortality' here, do you?
[ So that's a "yes I'll do questionable things", and "yes I'll bat my lashes and expect you to forgive me". Both of these things would usually make a man love someone less, but they slough off of Iorveth's broad shoulders for now; he trusts Astarion too much to believe that Astarion would ever do something that would seriously harm him, physically or emotionally.
A brief exhale through his nose, warm, and Iorveth plucks the bottle out of Astarion's hand. ]
Ever the optimist. [ Dry, but fond. ] I doubt we'll be treated to two miracles in one day.
[ Still celebrating Astarion's win, honestly. Iorveth smiles, a small hidden thing that he presses quickly to Astarion's cheek before turning towards a rack full of more familiar-looking vials. Standard-issue potions, kept mostly consistent among the Realms in order to avoid people accidentally purchasing the wrong thing.
He takes a few, and puts them into a handy basket scattered strategically around the shop. Another bottle catches his eye, and he inspects it along with its label. ]
"The next time you see a creature within ten minutes after drinking this philter, you will become infatuated by that creature for one hour and regard it as your one true love," [ he reads. ]
[ The liquid in the bottle is a dark pink-purple, ever-so-slightly shimmery. Pretty, really, if it weren't a potion for forcing feelings of love onto unwitting bystanders (he assumes). Not that he particularly cares about the ethics of it, but it's a little gauche to not even be able to seduce people the old-fashioned way. ]
Mm, I don't need that. When you've a face like this, it does the difficult work for you.
[ The only people who don't fall in love with him within the first ten minutes are blind or stupid, obviously. It just so happens that most people are blind or stupid.
He leans against Iorveth's arm, just this side of 'too shmoopy for the public'. ]
[ Iorveth could say something about not having fallen in love with Astarion's face, but he decides not to ruin the moment with it. (It's a vexingly pretty face, at any rate.) Instead, he unstoppers one of the potion vials and offers it to Astarion to drink, which makes the young man with his dirty hands look up from where he's hunched over his bench and call out:
"Hey, I hope you're going to pay for that!"
Iorveth ignores him. ] You're not even a bit curious as to how Damris would act if he were madly in love with you?
[ Not that Iorveth would drug Damris even as a prank (he hates magical coercion by principle), but gossiping about him is free.
With the vial passed on, Iorveth can move on to inspecting salves and oils. Primarily looking at things that might help soothe cat-related injuries, but also looking skeptically towards the various so-called 'massage oils' to be used for 'creative purposes'. Gods. ]
[ Peering over Iorveth's shoulder, he says, ] Oh, don't worry, darling. I've already purchased a rather large amount of oil for that purpose in Athkatla.
[ More things he probably shouldn't be saying in public. Oh, well!!! He would have already dipped into his lubrication supply, if not for this stupid leg. Being close to Iorveth is not enough, he needs one of them to be inside the other.
But he's still on stupid canoodling restrictions, so he sighs and rests his chin on Iorveth's shoulder. ]
I wouldn't mind having you tenderly rub some of that [ —a salve in a soothing, pale blue tin— ] on my wounds, though. [ A pause. ] Tenderly.
[ A 'rather large amount'. Iorveth's brow shoots up, making his eyepatch strap slip somewhat in the process; there's something a bit embarrassing about how just the suggestion of that is enough to make Iorveth feel slightly hotter under his collar, but it does. Astarion should be able to feel it, nestled close as he is－ just a faint hike in temperature, and a skip of Iorveth's pulse.
He combs his fingers through Astarion's curls, petting him slowly. Distracted, but trying to seem impassive. ]
We've already broken the healer's rules. You'd best not tempt me again.
[ Kissing the crown of Astarion's head, while the shopkeep glances at them, at where they're standing and radiates, 'oh, those types of customers'. ]
[ Most of Astarion's affection is out of a genuine desire—or urge, or perhaps need—to be as close to Iorveth as he can, but a small part of it is performative. He enjoys showing off, proving to the world that he has someone who loves him, someone who cares. That's why he catches the shopkeep's exhausted eyes (he can't ever catch a break; just last tenday some irritating wizard came in and started questioning if his fleshwort was ethically sourced) and presses a kiss to Iorveth's cheek. ]
You know how I feel about rules.
[ Not a fan. Two hundred years of having to follow far too many, and now he'd rather follow none at all.
Another sigh. ]
But I'd prefer to be in my most athletic shape the next time we, ah, canoodle, so perhaps it's for the best that you attempt to control your wild, lustful urges.
[ The shopkeep is tired of people coming in to buy the most basic of items when they could be sampling some of his more eccentric offerings, but that's life. Meanwhile, Iorveth sways sideways and loops an arm around Astarion's waist, hugging him close－
－and nearly knocking over a row of small, amber bottles in the process. Crisis only narrowly averted. Alarmed, the young man wipes his hands on his apron and calls out: "careful! Those are expensive, and if you break any of them, I will throw you two out."
Hm. Iorveth squints at the tiny label, which reads 'Modify Memory Potion: Very Powerful! Use Responsibly'. The kid over there must be better at his job than Iorveth'd thought. ]
―I'm liable to turn us both into frogs if I start wanting to 'canoodle' here. [ This place is a den of dangerous substances, apparently. ] Though you'd made a pretty frog, mind.
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Still, Iorveth laughs under his breath at the comment about vampires being gifted in being shady. It seems almost like a self-own, so: ]
Is that what you'll say to me if you ever do anything questionable in the future?
[ Teasing, but also curious. A part of him hopes that Astarion would know better by now than to try to win him over with pretty lies, but another part of him kind of likes when Astarion looks at him with big doe eyes. Insulted by the insult to his intelligence, but also, like. Astarion's cute. Sue him.
Into the apothecary they go, met by the sharp stinging smell of dried herbs and half-made decoctions. A young-looking human wearing an apron waves to the both of them, but goes back to grinding something using mortar and pestle. ]
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Little old me, do something questionable?
[ He does bat his lashes, the picture of innocence except for the malicious little twinkle he'll never quite be able to get out of his eyes. ]
Darling, I would never.
[ So, yes. If Iorveth ever finds himself in a position to be upset with Astarion for something he's done, Astarion will gladly pull out all of the manipulation tactics in his repertoire. He adores Iorveth with every fiber of his being, but that doesn't mean he's willing to tolerate his disappointment or distaste for the sake of honesty.
Still hanging off of Iorveth's arm, he reaches with his free hand to pick up and sniff a nearby bottle on a shelf. Gods, it's acrid; his nose hairs are practically singed. ]
You don't think there's any chance they have a 'tincture of immortality' here, do you?
no subject
A brief exhale through his nose, warm, and Iorveth plucks the bottle out of Astarion's hand. ]
Ever the optimist. [ Dry, but fond. ] I doubt we'll be treated to two miracles in one day.
[ Still celebrating Astarion's win, honestly. Iorveth smiles, a small hidden thing that he presses quickly to Astarion's cheek before turning towards a rack full of more familiar-looking vials. Standard-issue potions, kept mostly consistent among the Realms in order to avoid people accidentally purchasing the wrong thing.
He takes a few, and puts them into a handy basket scattered strategically around the shop. Another bottle catches his eye, and he inspects it along with its label. ]
"The next time you see a creature within ten minutes after drinking this philter, you will become infatuated by that creature for one hour and regard it as your one true love," [ he reads. ]
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Mm, I don't need that. When you've a face like this, it does the difficult work for you.
[ The only people who don't fall in love with him within the first ten minutes are blind or stupid, obviously. It just so happens that most people are blind or stupid.
He leans against Iorveth's arm, just this side of 'too shmoopy for the public'. ]
And I already have my one true love.
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"Hey, I hope you're going to pay for that!"
Iorveth ignores him. ] You're not even a bit curious as to how Damris would act if he were madly in love with you?
[ Not that Iorveth would drug Damris even as a prank (he hates magical coercion by principle), but gossiping about him is free.
With the vial passed on, Iorveth can move on to inspecting salves and oils. Primarily looking at things that might help soothe cat-related injuries, but also looking skeptically towards the various so-called 'massage oils' to be used for 'creative purposes'. Gods. ]
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[ More things he probably shouldn't be saying in public. Oh, well!!! He would have already dipped into his lubrication supply, if not for this stupid leg. Being close to Iorveth is not enough, he needs one of them to be inside the other.
But he's still on stupid canoodling restrictions, so he sighs and rests his chin on Iorveth's shoulder. ]
I wouldn't mind having you tenderly rub some of that [ —a salve in a soothing, pale blue tin— ] on my wounds, though. [ A pause. ] Tenderly.
[ He's delicate. ]
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He combs his fingers through Astarion's curls, petting him slowly. Distracted, but trying to seem impassive. ]
We've already broken the healer's rules. You'd best not tempt me again.
[ Kissing the crown of Astarion's head, while the shopkeep glances at them, at where they're standing and radiates, 'oh, those types of customers'. ]
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You know how I feel about rules.
[ Not a fan. Two hundred years of having to follow far too many, and now he'd rather follow none at all.
Another sigh. ]
But I'd prefer to be in my most athletic shape the next time we, ah, canoodle, so perhaps it's for the best that you attempt to control your wild, lustful urges.
no subject
－and nearly knocking over a row of small, amber bottles in the process. Crisis only narrowly averted. Alarmed, the young man wipes his hands on his apron and calls out: "careful! Those are expensive, and if you break any of them, I will throw you two out."
Hm. Iorveth squints at the tiny label, which reads 'Modify Memory Potion: Very Powerful! Use Responsibly'. The kid over there must be better at his job than Iorveth'd thought. ]
―I'm liable to turn us both into frogs if I start wanting to 'canoodle' here. [ This place is a den of dangerous substances, apparently. ] Though you'd made a pretty frog, mind.