[ He hadn’t thought of blood as such a holistic, revealing element of his person. It stands to reason that there are several factors that make Gale unappetising, then, from the Netherese blight nestled above his heart to the lifelong melancholia in his veins. His magic must surely have an outsized impact, as powerful as it is consumptive.

It fascinates enough that he’s tempted by Armand’s offer for reasons both academic and personal — wouldn’t it be better, to know for certain before Astarion indulges? Gale would rather avoid being the source of hurt or discomfort for one so treasured, even for a brief moment. ]

Always an honour to be invited into your head, for a change.

[ To hear his honest thoughts, on anything at all. He looks down at the blue-green veins in his wrist, pensive, but his hand strays to the purple leylines that trail his throat. ]

Perhaps another day, if Astarion does not mind it. I’ll admit I’m curious, but I’ve promised him the right of first refusal for my most peculiar vintage — [ He lifts his gaze, eyes sparking with amusement. ] And I’m learning you’re something of a territorial bunch, aren’t you.

[ Vampires, that is. He’s not so naive, after witnessing the triad in play at the manor and learning how Astarion accosted Spike, on his behalf. His smile remains easy, at once friendly and flattered. ]

—Did you wish him to change you?