[A gesture Astarion is careful not to return, if only for the fact that reaching out would stretch too close to direct light. (Also, because she doesn't damned well want to, but in the grand scheme of self-preservation and resentment, it's mostly the first that drives her present reasoning:) borrowed gauntlet lifting only two of its fingers in casual salute while enmity makes its way up onto her shoulder, crosses the back of her neck beneath collar and cloak, and dens down into the edges of a sharper smile.

What luck.]

Astarion [slinks its way out of the shadows in her stead] and so charmed to make your acquaintance. After all, I've heard so much about you my dear Silversong— though I'm ashamed that you've caught me in such a disheveled state after an earlier mishap with a visiting merchant prince.

[Alas, comes with a smile. A canting feint of her chin towards her shoulder, hood dipping morosely over her eyes.]

Oh but look at you that dress. Where in all the realms themselves did you ever find it? I've never seen anything of the sort in all my years.

Are you starting a new trend?