A soft 'tut' escapes Astarion's lips. He leans on one side, a hand planted firmly upon his hip.

"You know, my dear, I almost think the flowers shouldn't go here." Astarion calls from over his shoulder, before quickly asserting his gaze back towards scrutinizing their arrangement of potted plants.

Once upon a time, Astarion only had to worry about bringing morsels back to his master. After that, he had to worry about an illithid tadpole scrambling his mind and senses. And now...

And now all Astarion has to worry about is if the potted plants look better in the kitchen or in their living room.

"Tsk. I'll move them to the kitchen myself. Clearly, one of us has more of an eye for decor than the other!" Astarion laments, trudging off to go and right this wrong.

Living with a lover. Mundane tasks. Something Astarion finds himself falling deeply in love with more and more.