And it is already worth my time. Now I am a radiant resource.
[ He lazily sweeps an arm toward the steps in a shall we gesture and falls in alongside him. They're the same height, white hair and black, and he thinks that if Astarion had worn white they might look like matched chess pieces. To Hightown's eyes—to any Thedosian eyes, really—they might instead look like a human employer and elven employee who traded outfits for the day, save that any snug parts of Astarion's clothes would be snugger on Bastien. Maybe that's why the human employer demanded a swap. ]
You were radiant to begin with, even without my saying so.
No. This is...mm, a new arrangement. [best not to say anything ungracious in general, but especially so right now with the pair of them strutting about like mismatched statues through decorated streets.] As I’m sure you’ve already guessed from my own predilections, High Elves in Faerun were practically the peak of dignified aristocracy. I myself was a respected magistrate, in fact.
Now, first things first before you begin asking after all the sordid little details of my life and all lost loves: we need wine. The most perfect bottle of it, in fact.
[ Bastien can't always stop himself from blushing. It's a fault. He can, however, blush on command, which is what he's doing now. Sort of. It's more that he's allowing it than that he's entirely forcing it, albeit with a squint up at the sun and a moment of shading his face from it like it's to blame. ]
Half of the details will be plenty, merci, [ is a lie. ] Except about this perfect wine. About that I have to know everything.
A red, naturally. I have taste, thank you. [And a lingering affinity for the color itself, which he won't be delving into even as he slides his own stare sidelong to take in the sight of his companion.
Darling, you'll hurt your precious eyes like that.] Something bold, well-aged. Dare I say riveting, even.
The rest is irrelevant, though do keep in mind I'm dealing with a decent amount of coin, not an infinite supply. Something supposedly kissed by Andraste herself might be well out of the picture, I think.
That said, we could always lead the staff on a bit for a laugh first.
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[ He lazily sweeps an arm toward the steps in a shall we gesture and falls in alongside him. They're the same height, white hair and black, and he thinks that if Astarion had worn white they might look like matched chess pieces. To Hightown's eyes—to any Thedosian eyes, really—they might instead look like a human employer and elven employee who traded outfits for the day, save that any snug parts of Astarion's clothes would be snugger on Bastien. Maybe that's why the human employer demanded a swap. ]
Is it like this for elves where you are from?
no subject
No. This is...mm, a new arrangement. [best not to say anything ungracious in general, but especially so right now with the pair of them strutting about like mismatched statues through decorated streets.] As I’m sure you’ve already guessed from my own predilections, High Elves in Faerun were practically the peak of dignified aristocracy. I myself was a respected magistrate, in fact.
Now, first things first before you begin asking after all the sordid little details of my life and all lost loves: we need wine. The most perfect bottle of it, in fact.
no subject
Half of the details will be plenty, merci, [ is a lie. ] Except about this perfect wine. About that I have to know everything.
no subject
Darling, you'll hurt your precious eyes like that.] Something bold, well-aged. Dare I say riveting, even.
The rest is irrelevant, though do keep in mind I'm dealing with a decent amount of coin, not an infinite supply. Something supposedly kissed by Andraste herself might be well out of the picture, I think.
That said, we could always lead the staff on a bit for a laugh first.
If we wanted to.