Disgust briefly flits across Astarion's expression. "You could not have worded that more nauseatingly if you'd tried - just so we're clear," he says as he tries to shake the phrase 'incubating in our cerebral fluids for some time now' from his mind and finds it near impossible. He rolls his shoulders back anxiously before releasing a breath, because he feels as normal as ever (better still from his recent drinking of blood, his ability to still remain in the sun).

He glances at the nails of his hand before looking back up at Gale. He does not appear to be feverish at all, no, and Astarion does not feel feverish himself. Some part of him thinks he would recognize the feeling of his entire shifting of his body once more, and he has no idea how he would react. Better to make light of it then.

"Hmm." Then he tilts his head to the side with a smile. It's strange (or not) the flirtatious tone Astarion will take to talk about such a wide variety of subjects. His body leaning toward Gale's as his eyebrows lift with interest. He may very well be the only individual that Astarion can currently... rely on. "I do not believe I surveyed you previously as to your preferred method of being killed prior to you sprouting tentacles."