[ Astarion shrinks a little, chastened. It's like all of the fight left his body when Iorveth turned away, and he was transported back to being the pathetic spawn he used to be, internally composing his apology for fear of what his master's consequences for misbehavior will be. That isn't what Iorveth is to him, but he fears the consequences all the same.

He shifts, glancing down at his—well, Gale's—shoes. ]

Well, I guess it wasn't a joke, exactly.

[ It was sharp sarcasm, but not a joke. He'd felt offended, and he'd attacked. A bad habit of his. ]

Really, I didn't care that you didn't care who I stuck my fangs into. [ He didn't! What could be wrong with some guilt-free snacking? ] At least, until you said that you didn't.