[ Gale carefully sets aside the grimoire, trying not to dwell on whether he might have ignited its former owner. He crouches by a stack of books he's piled precariously by his tent; each appears meticulously cared for, with nary a creased spine in sight. As he sorts through the stack, he feels a familiar thrum of nerves. Not anxiety or worry, but something he's felt far more times: eagerness for approval, a desire to impress.
As intolerable as he can be, Astarion is also an interesting person. Gale wouldn't mind blowing him away with his refined literary inclinations. ]
Oh! This one is brilliant, [ he says, holding up a tome so heavy it nearly falls out of his hand. ] A complete and total history of Aglarond from 1065 to— [ He trails off, thinking better of it. ] But... perhaps not for you.
[ Maybe fiction is a safer bet. He immediately sets aside the classics, assuming Astarion has either already read them or finds them boring. Lifting another, he considers it for a moment before glancing back at Astarion. ]
Ah, the protagonist here is a bona fide rake. You might relate.
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As intolerable as he can be, Astarion is also an interesting person. Gale wouldn't mind blowing him away with his refined literary inclinations. ]
Oh! This one is brilliant, [ he says, holding up a tome so heavy it nearly falls out of his hand. ] A complete and total history of Aglarond from 1065 to— [ He trails off, thinking better of it. ] But... perhaps not for you.
[ Maybe fiction is a safer bet. He immediately sets aside the classics, assuming Astarion has either already read them or finds them boring. Lifting another, he considers it for a moment before glancing back at Astarion. ]
Ah, the protagonist here is a bona fide rake. You might relate.