[ Ugh!! Denied further affection. Astarion pouts like the spoiled brat he is when Iorveth steps away, displeased at being cut off. The sweet admission of not having enjoyed trancing softens the blow, though, and he gravitates toward Iorveth again, slinging the mustard-colored 'bag' over his shoulder and petting the soft blanket. ]

Oh, I hated it.

[ His own admission, albeit offhanded. Trancing only meant restlessness and reliving events he'd rather forget. Even in a semiconscious, meditative state, he had no peace. ]

Sharing a room with my imbecilic siblings didn't help. Ugh, Yousen snored louder than Karlach.

[ How can one gnome be so godsdamned loud? Regardless— ]

But I've much better bedfellows now.