[ Wildly, Iorveth's touch does soothe his headache, the lines between his brows softening and every rigid muscle melting under the warmth of Iorveth's palm. Although he'd called Iorveth one of his toys, it's Iorveth who has the power to play with him. Like that bow of his, Iorveth can pull all of his strings like it's second nature. ]

Well, those pipsqueaks need a firm hand from someone older and wiser.

[ Of which Astarion is only one, but beggars can't be choosers. He sighs, reaching up to grab Iorveth's hand with his own. ]

I can hardly blame him. Gods, I was ravenous when I first joined up with our motley crew.

[ It feels so long ago, but in the grand scheme of his life, it was hardly any time at all. He's spent more time hungry than not. He remembers gorging himself on increasingly large woodland creatures in the hopes of sating the endless gnawing inside of him, but even that hadn't stopped his hunger. A vampire needs the blood of something thinking. Cazador created their most base need and then denied it; just another way of controlling them through cruelty. ]

I could barely think straight at first. Honestly, he can probably think of nothing but your delectable neck.