[ Damris glares, first at Astarion for daring to call him dramatic, and then at Iorveth, whose approach he tries to wriggle away from. Iorveth doesn't let him, of course, and crouches near the struggling tiefling with imperious purpose, reaching with the same hand he'd used to gently stroke Astarion's hair to yank at Damris's bindings. ]

I don't wish to be uncivilized in front of my love, [ he states with dry dispassion, making sure that the knots keeping Damris bound are tight and immovable. ] So I'll lay out the terms of this conversation.

There's a window three paces from where you currently lay bound. Should you answer anything I ask with blatant falsities, or if I find that our talk isn't proceeding in good faith, I will be compelled to draw the curtains and let the midday sun make you honest.

[ Iorveth watches Damris shudder and bare his fangs again, though he doesn't miss the frisson of fear that courses through the tiefling's trussed-up body. It's been a while since he's had to torture anyone (a normal thing that normal people muse about), but it's easy to slip into the role; perhaps this is how Astarion feels when he has to wear his masks, at times. ]

Now, I'll remove the gag. [ He glances at Astarion, and for the brief moment where their eyes meet, Iorveth softens. ] Close the door for me, beloved. In case he yells.

[ Again, very normal behavior. If and when Astarion obliges for him, Iorveth reaches out and narrowly avoids being bitten when he removes the gag, but Damris, to his credit, doesn't scream: he only hisses, spits at Iorveth's foot, and coughs out a low "what do you want, Cyclops? I already cured you. There's nothing else for me to say or do." ]