[ Very messy. Iorveth watches the dead body fall facedown into tall grass, and crouches to rid it of its coinpurse before ripping off a segment of tunic to wipe Astarion's mouth with. It still rankles just a little to see Astarion so giddy over someone else's blood, but it's the nature of vampires, Iorveth supposes.

(Any sane person would harbor a healthy amount of disgust for what he just saw, not to mention its aftermath; Iorveth, love-stupid, just sees his unruly cat displaying poor table manners. Deranged.) ]

The closest I'll ever get to seeing you drunk, I suppose. [ Combing his fingers through Astarion's hair as a reward for incredibly bad behavior. Iorveth is beyond saving, at this point. ] Are you satisfied?

[ A flick under Astarion's chin, before gesturing to the corpse. ] He has a hunting knife and a satchel. Hold on to both.