[ They're all the fucking same, it seems. He'd laugh if he didn't feel so murderous. Instead, Astarion seethes with rage, a familiar, almost nostalgic feeling. Gods, he used to feel like this all the time. It's been a long time, though, since something managed to muster the sort of deep hatred that used to occupy his every waking moment.

He's torn between comforting Iorveth and throttling this tiefling. As a compromise, he stands, fingers still lightly brushing against Iorveth's back even as he waves his dagger like a madman. ]

Fix him, you worthless wretch, or I'll flay you open like the animal you are.

[ He chooses not to acknowledge how much he sounds like someone else when he says this. Ugh, to kill him would be a mercy. There will be nothing that frightens him more than-- ]

Oh, or better. I'll tell on you to your daddy. He'll be so furious if he finds out you came here to beg me to help you to freedom. On your knees, even.

[ Falling into old habits is so easy, 'I'll tell Cazador' becoming 'I'll tell Alkam' in an instant. ]