[ Complimentary and affectionate. Iorveth's drunken antics are a dream come true. He isn't the first to sloppily press himself to Astarion while inebriated, but he is the first that Astarion hasn't wished he could shove away. He inhales Iorveth's familiar woody scent, mixed now with the dark fruity aroma of wine, and scratches lightly at his back through his clothing, the way he imagines he might want someone to do for him if he were blood-drunk in the middle of the day.

It's a very drunken question, but one he would deign to entertain if he had the answer. Unfortunately, he doesn't. Dalyria might know, physician that she claims to be. Cazador surely knew; most of the victims Astarion brought to him were far more intoxicated than Iorveth is now. ]

I know I'm the leading expert on vampirism in the group, but I'm afraid I don't know. I've never tried.

[ He snorts under his breath, wry. ]

I was practically a vegetarian before you offered up your veins.