[ An imaginary argument plays out in Astarion's head β one in which he protests that he'd be perfectly worthy of someone's favor and the subsequent hemming and hawing over whether or not he'd want Gale's, and so on and so forth β that he decides to keep to himself, considering the fact that it hasn't wound down to a resolution by the time Gale points out that the favors have been enchanted. He resists snapping out I know at the explanation of a favor's purpose, too, which is a herculean feat for which he ought to be feted. ]
Of course it is, [ he hums, his lips pursing. He shouldn't be surprised that the house wouldn't let even such a small token go without some sort of mischief attached. ]
Everything in this damned place comes with a catch. [ A beat. ] βWhat sort of enchantment is it?
no subject
Of course it is, [ he hums, his lips pursing. He shouldn't be surprised that the house wouldn't let even such a small token go without some sort of mischief attached. ]
Everything in this damned place comes with a catch. [ A beat. ] βWhat sort of enchantment is it?