[ He probably should have thought this through. It's just that he had this fantasy of returning back to Iorveth victorious and getting the blood tenderly scrubbed away, so he'd be squeaky clean before anyone could see. The reality, though, is him sitting up with his bruise now fully purple and Henrik's blood dried on his shirt. He doesn't exactly look innocent.

Astarion stares at Dolores for a moment, grimacing. He'd really rather not make an enemy of someone he only just convinced to tailor Iorveth a fancy new outfit. And, he supposes, she does seem nice. It would be unfortunate to have to kill her. ]

Murder is a strong word. Honestly, I didn't even check if he was dead.

[ He'd gone invisible and followed Henrik and his friends on their way home from the tavern. The idiot had stepped into an alleyway to relieve himself, and that's when Astarion had struck. A short scuffle, entirely unlike the elegant revenge he'd imagined, and Henrik was bleeding out with his unmentionables out. A moment later, he'd heard one of them call 'Henrik! What's taking so long?' and the sound of heavy-booted footsteps approaching, and he'd absconded. For all he knows, Henrik survived the ordeal.

He hopes not, though. That would be even more unfortunate. ]

I assure you, it was self-defense. What callous murderer would come back to a stranger's house covered in blood, hmm?