[ Well that is hardly fair -- how is Valryn supposed to argue that? Rude, Mishal.
Valryn has cleaned himself up while waiting, because there is just no one else around to do so for him, but it makes it even more of a dramatic scene for Mishal to return to: the prince laid on the bed, shirt removed, the sleeve of his conceivably ruined shirt separated off and tied around his upper arm, to keep the bloody mess at bay. Hasn't bled too terribly, but the cut was deep, that much is certain. ]
Don't take that tone with me, ussta chath... [ There isn't even a bark, much less a bite, in Valryn's own tone. Well, perhaps a nick of a claw, but such is when Valryn plays...!
He moves to sit up, ] You were gone long enough. [ He beckons with a hand for Mishal to come to him, before he can remove his cloak. Valryn intends to entitle himself to the honors, right here from the side of the bed. ] Have fun at the tea party? [ That is a clawed-swipe, and only for the fun of it. ]
[ Mishal admires the picture Valryn makes, artfully draped across the bed, with his wounded arm on display, all of which he's sure is entirely calculated to get his attention. Not that he minds. Get his attention it does. His eyes go a shade of emerald that resembles spellfire as they take the drow prince in. His tells are fairly obvious. He couldn't control the fire inside him if he wanted to, and he doesn't want to with Valryn. He's not ashamed to let the drow see the effect he has on him. In that he's as brutally honest as he is vicious on the battlefield.
He raises an eyebrow as he comes forward, but the smile that lights upon his face is nothing but dark delight. Dropping to one knee beside the bed, he turns his attention to Valryn's arm. ]
As a matter of fact, yes. It was an eventful evening.
[ The freshly drying blood on the sleeves of his robes is enough to attest to that. He smells of ash, incense, and bloodletting. ]
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Valryn has cleaned himself up while waiting, because there is just no one else around to do so for him, but it makes it even more of a dramatic scene for Mishal to return to: the prince laid on the bed, shirt removed, the sleeve of his conceivably ruined shirt separated off and tied around his upper arm, to keep the bloody mess at bay. Hasn't bled too terribly, but the cut was deep, that much is certain. ]
Don't take that tone with me, ussta chath... [ There isn't even a bark, much less a bite, in Valryn's own tone. Well, perhaps a nick of a claw, but such is when Valryn plays...!
He moves to sit up, ] You were gone long enough. [ He beckons with a hand for Mishal to come to him, before he can remove his cloak. Valryn intends to entitle himself to the honors, right here from the side of the bed. ] Have fun at the tea party? [ That is a clawed-swipe, and only for the fun of it. ]
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He raises an eyebrow as he comes forward, but the smile that lights upon his face is nothing but dark delight. Dropping to one knee beside the bed, he turns his attention to Valryn's arm. ]
As a matter of fact, yes. It was an eventful evening.
[ The freshly drying blood on the sleeves of his robes is enough to attest to that. He smells of ash, incense, and bloodletting. ]
And I see you found your own entertainment.