[ Right. Being starved, feeding off rats. Iorveth lodges another knife in imaginary Cazador, and kicks him in the ribs for good measure.
Trying to straighten his posture (vaguely aware that none of this is painting him in a particularly flattering light), blindly reaching sideways for Astarion's still-full glass: ] We could see.
[ Ah, there it is. He downs the rest of the glass' contents in a single, needlessly graceful tip of his head, then sets it back down. Imperious in the way that only a drunk guy with too much confidence can be. ]
If I'm to be drunk at the circus, you should be too.
[ You know. Sound logic. Never mind that blood alcohol content isn't actually about one's blood fermenting in one's veins; it just makes sense to Iorveth that they should be equal in all things, being buzzed at a family-friendly environment included. ]
no subject
Trying to straighten his posture (vaguely aware that none of this is painting him in a particularly flattering light), blindly reaching sideways for Astarion's still-full glass: ] We could see.
[ Ah, there it is. He downs the rest of the glass' contents in a single, needlessly graceful tip of his head, then sets it back down. Imperious in the way that only a drunk guy with too much confidence can be. ]
If I'm to be drunk at the circus, you should be too.
[ You know. Sound logic. Never mind that blood alcohol content isn't actually about one's blood fermenting in one's veins; it just makes sense to Iorveth that they should be equal in all things, being buzzed at a family-friendly environment included. ]