[ His eyes flit over to the unconscious human, asleep in a puddle of his own drool, before they return to Iorveth. The glass he's pouring isn't full of the red liquid he'd really rather drink, but it would probably be uncouth to ask if they've any ox blood in the back. He lifts the glass delicately from the rim, watching the light reflect off of its claret-red contents as he swirls the wine idly. ]
It's the sort of thing people want, isn't it?
[ There's a reason this brothel exists in the first place. People want pleasure badly enough to pay for it. ]
It's the sort of thing I would have wanted.
[ Back when he was still a spoiled, privileged magistrate, before Cazador and all of those terrible nights spent entertaining victims. He could have just kidnapped them by force; it was deliberate, he thinks, a way to make the spawn feel helpless and debased. Admittedly, he can't remember if he was ever the kind of person to indulge in debauchery like this, but it does seem like him. Who he used to be, at least. ]
no subject
It's the sort of thing people want, isn't it?
[ There's a reason this brothel exists in the first place. People want pleasure badly enough to pay for it. ]
It's the sort of thing I would have wanted.
[ Back when he was still a spoiled, privileged magistrate, before Cazador and all of those terrible nights spent entertaining victims. He could have just kidnapped them by force; it was deliberate, he thinks, a way to make the spawn feel helpless and debased. Admittedly, he can't remember if he was ever the kind of person to indulge in debauchery like this, but it does seem like him. Who he used to be, at least. ]