Cool and clear was the star-freckled night. Everything was too merry for him: the wide-toothed grins of the tieflings, sharp strums of the lute, the chatter. Even the wine was downright awful - pungent and tart like vinegar. Astarion would've normally indulged in his bitter mood, but it was the sight of your drunken smile that diffused his prior desire to complain.

"Here's my little treat with their cheeks all flushed," the words dripped from his mouth with a sweet cadence.