[ The walk to their room proves even more treacherous than lingering in the reception, with beautiful priests and priestesses in varying amounts of finery. He has the distinct misfortune of recognising a former classmate, whose brows raise to high heaven in turn. It all serves to deepen Gale’s rouge into a permanent stain.

Can’t help but sigh in relief, at leaving the mass of bodies behind. There’s nothing so lurid in the astral — the smell of sex lost in the sweet rosewater of the Weave. Gale double-checks the door has locked behind them. He’d very much prefer to stay at the end of the room, thank you, but Astarion calls him forward as the line pulls taut. With obvious hesitation, he surveys his surroundings. Whatever debauchery he imagined has yet to come to pass, thank the gods.

Annoyance subsumes his apprehension, when Astarion speaks. ]

Arkhenneld. [ an immediate correction, his irritation obvious in his pinched brow. ] Mock me all you like. [ A flicker of shame across his face, nonetheless. ] It’s a privilege to share knowledge with another — the fault lies with the one who would abuse all he learns.

[ Despite his reservations, he edges closer, curiosity lifting his features. ]

Did you intend to steal that night…or had you hoped to find a meal?

[ A theft of property is one thing. A theft of life, another entirely. ]