corporeity: (119)
π‘”π‘Žπ‘™π‘’ π‘‘π‘’π‘˜π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘–π‘œπ‘  ([personal profile] corporeity) wrote 2024-02-27 05:37 pm (UTC)

[ As soon as Astarion releases (and shoves) him, Gale goes. It’s not an elegant extraction in the least, their knees knocking, but it does the job and gets him away.

Once upright, he quickly steps to the side, putting a nominal distance between him and Astarion – which he hopes communicates his disinterest in this farce. With difficulty, Gale peels his tunic from his skin and lifts it over his head, the fabric too heavy to bother wearing any longer, modesty be damned. A disgruntled huff slips from his mouth, at the sight of the sand-speckled heap in his hands. ]


Not bloody likely. [ said as Gale twists the soaked velvet, water splashing down to the riverbed. he cards a hand back through his hair, trying and failing to tidy the wet, curling strands. His fingers slip into the loosened waistband at his hip, testing whether he’s likely to lose his trousers en route to camp and deciding, mercifully, that he isn’t.

If he were half the wizard he once was, he could be dry with a flourish of his hand. ]


[ bluntly, ] I propose we forget this every happened.

[ A fair trade, given all they’ve said and seen this morning. Now, it’s difficult to storm off when you’re treading water, but Gale certainly tries. ]

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