[He's lucky he complies when he does, because he was at serious risk of being dragged by his ear. Childish, helpless, perhaps he's neither of these things or both-- either way, deep in the black recesses of Teren's shriveled heart, there is affection for him and genuine affront that he would be so rude.
She stalks ahead of him and flips her tent flap open, her eyes like the points of daggers dragging him across a flat surface, and once he's inside she gestures at the mirror.
The ensemble is for certain fancier than anything he's likely worn before, but all things considered, it's fairly understated and isn't half as frilly as it feels. The style is more Fereldan than Orlesian, and, like most of Teren's creations, strikingly utilitarian.
She stands with her arms crossed, glaring and waiting for him to comment.]
no subject
She stalks ahead of him and flips her tent flap open, her eyes like the points of daggers dragging him across a flat surface, and once he's inside she gestures at the mirror.
The ensemble is for certain fancier than anything he's likely worn before, but all things considered, it's fairly understated and isn't half as frilly as it feels. The style is more Fereldan than Orlesian, and, like most of Teren's creations, strikingly utilitarian.
She stands with her arms crossed, glaring and waiting for him to comment.]