[Astarion's lost the plot. Spirited off to a cursed forest, captured by bandits, rescued, exposited to about undead lords, and now... a wedding! Why not.
And if he was going to go hungry tonight, he might as well get drunk. He's artfully sprawled over more of the furniture than a single elf should be able to manage, drinking without any respect for the flavor. Because it tastes awful.]
Mm. They're either dead boring, or more interesting than I gave them credit for.
[Either way, that was reason enough to interrupt them. He pulled himself upright, retrieving the bottle so he could pour himself another glass on the way.]
Does the wine please the couple?
[There's sounds of movement on the other side of the door. A voice calls, one that doesn't quite sound like either of the newlyweds,] Oh, it pleases me, but him? He won't touch it! He's gone completely cold!
[The door slides open, and he's greeted with a sobering shock--the bride's wide, angry eyes have turned orange and the pupils slit, her unnaturally long face now sporting a creeping layer of fur. And the blood. The scent is immediate and powerful, her robes and clawed hands are covered in it, and a trail of misshapen footprints leads back to the bed--] He won't even talk to me anymore!
Well, [He laughs, because... what else is there to do? A lycanthrope! And oh, all that blood, she's wasted it! Gods, he's envious of that excess. ...And she might kill him next, if they don't do something. That's also a problem.
He holds out the glass, as if he'd planned this all along.] We can't let him spoil the whole night, can we?
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And if he was going to go hungry tonight, he might as well get drunk. He's artfully sprawled over more of the furniture than a single elf should be able to manage, drinking without any respect for the flavor. Because it tastes awful.]
Mm. They're either dead boring, or more interesting than I gave them credit for.
[Either way, that was reason enough to interrupt them. He pulled himself upright, retrieving the bottle so he could pour himself another glass on the way.]
Does the wine please the couple?
[There's sounds of movement on the other side of the door. A voice calls, one that doesn't quite sound like either of the newlyweds,] Oh, it pleases me, but him? He won't touch it! He's gone completely cold!
[The door slides open, and he's greeted with a sobering shock--the bride's wide, angry eyes have turned orange and the pupils slit, her unnaturally long face now sporting a creeping layer of fur. And the blood. The scent is immediate and powerful, her robes and clawed hands are covered in it, and a trail of misshapen footprints leads back to the bed--] He won't even talk to me anymore!
Well, [He laughs, because... what else is there to do? A lycanthrope! And oh, all that blood, she's wasted it! Gods, he's envious of that excess. ...And she might kill him next, if they don't do something. That's also a problem.
He holds out the glass, as if he'd planned this all along.] We can't let him spoil the whole night, can we?