It all happens in quick succession, and in a way that he's wholly unused to. It isn't the first time he's had somebody fixing his clothes but there's far less deeply religious undertones. A cult member serving him on the back of a kill is a long way from what this seems to be. It's not business-like and yet it's also not subservient. He doesn't recognise it for what it might resemble more because he doesn't have any experience of a connection anything like this.
In the end it's the kiss that strikes him as the most strange, his expression half concealed in the darkness. But he looks confused, as though he's not entirely sure what is happening, but not disliking it either.
His lips tingle even as he reaches up, fingertips brushing over them. He looks like somebody who has just had their first kiss, and perhaps this is his first kiss that hasn't been driven by a carnal desire of some kind.
"Until then," he eventually says, corners of his lips ticking up briefly before he's turning and walking away.
Should his exit from the grand hall be monitored at all, it's clear he sweeps out without paying a single pawing patriar a shred of attention. The ripples of gossip after that only last for as long as the well-to-do can be bothered to be offended by such a slight. But soon enough their attention has shifted to something else.
Hours later, when he invariably comes looking, he finds Enver's office empty, though small signs that the man has at least been here are dotted around. When the man himself returns it'll be to the sight of a half-drow fully reclined across the table he likes to use as a desk. Bhaal's Chosen, in an entirely different set of clothes, occupies himself with a blade he's been throwing up and down in the air over himself. Nothing like a pointy game of don't drop to keep him entertained while he waits.
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In the end it's the kiss that strikes him as the most strange, his expression half concealed in the darkness. But he looks confused, as though he's not entirely sure what is happening, but not disliking it either.
His lips tingle even as he reaches up, fingertips brushing over them. He looks like somebody who has just had their first kiss, and perhaps this is his first kiss that hasn't been driven by a carnal desire of some kind.
"Until then," he eventually says, corners of his lips ticking up briefly before he's turning and walking away.
Should his exit from the grand hall be monitored at all, it's clear he sweeps out without paying a single pawing patriar a shred of attention. The ripples of gossip after that only last for as long as the well-to-do can be bothered to be offended by such a slight. But soon enough their attention has shifted to something else.
Hours later, when he invariably comes looking, he finds Enver's office empty, though small signs that the man has at least been here are dotted around. When the man himself returns it'll be to the sight of a half-drow fully reclined across the table he likes to use as a desk. Bhaal's Chosen, in an entirely different set of clothes, occupies himself with a blade he's been throwing up and down in the air over himself. Nothing like a pointy game of don't drop to keep him entertained while he waits.