[ Astarion listens. Not because he has to and not even because he's pretending, but because he wants to. Clothes are important. A language all of their own in any locale, but especially in cities like Baldur's Gate. The clothes maketh the man, or so they say. Astarion knew how to dress up for nobles and down for the Blushing Mermaid. He knew what made him look harmless and what made him look like a threat. He'd kept up with two hundred years of changing fashions. The whos who of Baldur's Gate were finnicky and quick to move on to new trends. But he'd kept up.
He'd had to.
It was a double-edged sword. These were things he liked. He liked playing dress up, and he liked feeling beautiful, and he liked flirting. But they were also things he did because he had to. It made for uneasy memories.
What doesn't make for uneasy memories, however, is focusing on the image of a brightly dressed drow, parading through the streets like he was the gods' very gift to the city. He smiles in spite of himself. What's the fun of wearing what everyone else has on, indeed. Their travels to the Underdark had certainly demonstrated the uniformity of drow clothing. And Tav kept handing off pieces they'd taken from bodies to him, but he had to admit the bonuses to stealth were rather nice.
Perhaps Jarlaxle was a bard. Perhaps the hat was a hat of disguise. It was certainly amusing to try and put it altogether, to imagine what each of these items might be. Jarlaxle seemed like the type to be happy at the center of attention. That's a trait that's easy for Astarion to recognize, usually finding himself in the same position. ]
Marvelous.
[ The word is breathed out, delight heavy. Like he wants to see this spectacle. A balm, against their otherwise bitter circumstances. ]
I appreciate you indulging me. [ and the comment about having him, but he'll save that one for later. ] A pity I can't see it in person.
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He'd had to.
It was a double-edged sword. These were things he liked. He liked playing dress up, and he liked feeling beautiful, and he liked flirting. But they were also things he did because he had to. It made for uneasy memories.
What doesn't make for uneasy memories, however, is focusing on the image of a brightly dressed drow, parading through the streets like he was the gods' very gift to the city. He smiles in spite of himself. What's the fun of wearing what everyone else has on, indeed. Their travels to the Underdark had certainly demonstrated the uniformity of drow clothing. And Tav kept handing off pieces they'd taken from bodies to him, but he had to admit the bonuses to stealth were rather nice.
Perhaps Jarlaxle was a bard. Perhaps the hat was a hat of disguise. It was certainly amusing to try and put it altogether, to imagine what each of these items might be. Jarlaxle seemed like the type to be happy at the center of attention. That's a trait that's easy for Astarion to recognize, usually finding himself in the same position. ]
Marvelous.
[ The word is breathed out, delight heavy. Like he wants to see this spectacle. A balm, against their otherwise bitter circumstances. ]
I appreciate you indulging me. [ and the comment about having him, but he'll save that one for later. ] A pity I can't see it in person.