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"Naturally. And making cotton from scratch is a rather more involved process than growing food, as I understand it."
He sits down on the stool at the worktable, looking at the damage. It's a messy tear, not the kind of split seam that would be an easy fix.
"Mm. Patching this may be our best option."
She dives back into her pack again, produces another oair of pants of similar fabric, but shredded much worse.
"I brought scraps. And also, someday I still want to learn at least the basics of textile weaving. If we can just get a blueprint..."
"The library here would be able to explain how to build a loom, I'm sure," Astarion suggests. "It's not a skill I'm at all familiar with."
He picks up a sheet of thin paper and folds it into a size that would cover the tear with room to spare.
She sets the sacrificial pants beside him, and settles down to watch, paying rapt attention.
"It's part of what pisses me off about this place so much. The things people take for granted, without even thinking about it."
"My answer is completely dependent on what you claim to do with what you've won," Astarion replies, equally innocent.
He kicks up a few leaves as he walks. "Well, I didn't think I'd win. But I was thinking maybe you help me find some nice clothes to add to my closet."
"You hardly needed to win that from me," Astarion laughs softly, and squeezes his arm. "I'd be happy to."
He takes his arm down. "You know...in case you need the practice?"
"It's good to stay exercised," Astarion agrees. "A few more each?"
"We have very little but time," Astarion agrees. "I've learned a great deal in my time here. Admittedly, much of that was so I could follow even a basic conversation about Earth's culture, but - still."
He's working as he talks, slowly and deliberately, so that Rosita can watch and take note.
"So thoughtful," Astarion chuckles. "Would you like to try some arrows from Faerun?"
He holds out a hand for one. "Did you make these?"
"No, no. At home, I'd just buy them."
Astarion draws an arrow which has a pointed loop at its tip.
"An Arrow of Many Targets. It strikes its first quarry, then a further three close by."
He takes the arrow and inspects the tip.
"Magic," Astarion says with a shrug. "I'm no artificer. I just kill things with them."
"Well, let's go have some fun."
"Are you glad you have Gale here at least?"
Astarion grins in answer. It doesn't take long to hear the shuffling of avian life in the undergrowth.
"Aim to the target furthest to the left or right," he advises, and then tosses a pebble into the bushes.
"Holy shit," he breathes, not even bothering to hide his admiration.
Astarion giggles delightedly, watching not one but four birds drop back to earth.
"They're very useful."
"The downside is that the subsequent strikes don't do as much damage as the first. But in a pack of wild dogs, say, it can make quite a difference."
He trots through the clearing and finds the bird, pulling the arrow from it.
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