[ Astarion is a strange one, to be sure. Once again, he reminds Gale of a stray cat, content to take what he likes but unused to being given much. As he falls to the side, Gale’s eyes catch on where the tunic hitches higher on his milky thigh, and he swallows, willing himself to arch a brow. Between last night and now, it’s apparent that Astarion is intentional in his flirtations — though he surely only means to disarm and distract.

Gale crouches before the sofa, levelling with Astarion. ]

[ teasing, ] A token of my affections. [ He raises one hand aloft, hovering to the right of Astarion’s eyes, a ring held between the tips of his fingers. The silver band twists and weaves in the Waterdhavian style, crowned with a red sunstone.

His attention flits between the stone and Astarion’s gaze, checking the shade one final time. ]

Just so. [ Mouth quirking, too pleased. A red that’s burnished auburn in the firelight. Not blood-dark or wine-deep. Warm. Gale curls his fingers inward so the ring falls into the centre of his palm and pulls back so Astarion might better see — and take — his offering. ]

It’s been enchanted with my magic. A personal signature, of sorts, that my tower will recognise. Wear it, and you’ll bypass the wards protecting this place, so you can come and go as you like. [ His smile hooks higher on one side, puckish. ] Mind you, it will have no affect whatsoever on the spells guarding my belongings. Fool me once.