[ One can only hope that those two drunk men will be best friends in the morning, when they're both hung over and halfway to the Hells. A few feet away from them, a pack of young tieflings taking turns fixing each other's horn jewelry complain loudly about the annoying tourists taking up space in their neighborhood. "Fey Day is so passé", one of them groans as they glance at Astarion and the flower in his hair. Kids these days. ]
You need to eat.
[ Is Iorveth's simple answer, as he glances at a sign reading "Meiroth's Fine Silks". ]
My attachment to your mouth has nothing to do with your need to feed. [ "I'm an adult and can acknowledge when my petty discomforts are just that: petty." ] I won't tell you that my blood is the only blood you're permitted to drink.
[ That would be ridiculous. (Someone with a slightly more moral bent may insist that Astarion not drink from anyone else for the simple fact that Astarion should not be out here murdering people with his teeth left and right, but whatever. Iorveth is deranged.) ]
no subject
You need to eat.
[ Is Iorveth's simple answer, as he glances at a sign reading "Meiroth's Fine Silks". ]
My attachment to your mouth has nothing to do with your need to feed. [ "I'm an adult and can acknowledge when my petty discomforts are just that: petty." ] I won't tell you that my blood is the only blood you're permitted to drink.
[ That would be ridiculous. (Someone with a slightly more moral bent may insist that Astarion not drink from anyone else for the simple fact that Astarion should not be out here murdering people with his teeth left and right, but whatever. Iorveth is deranged.) ]