It's funny, really, how a chance encounter could awaken such an objectively morbid curiosity. Urianger has made Nocwich a regular haunt and yet he's never had an especially close relationship with Ikorr's vampires; he's aware of what they are and what they need, of course, but bottled blood has always been readily available to satisfy their sanguine tastes. He supposes such a disconnect from the sourcing of said blood speaks to his naivete on the matter β but then he'd witnessed Astarion feeding upon the beast in the woods, and it stirred up further, more graphic thoughts as to how vampires might partake of blood.
He finds he isn't disgusted. Perhaps it's the academic in him that views it as an opportnity to learn more of vampiric needs; perhaps it's something a little more indulgent that he doesn't yet know how to explain to himself. Either way, the scene before him is as hypnotic as it is fascinating, and Urianger sips from his own glass of full-bodied red as he observes the spectacle of the feeding.
Astarion's voice slips through the pleasant din of merry-making, somehow both surprising and familiar. Urianger turns to greet him with a smile, finds himself struck momentarily speechless by the man's dramatic, feathered attire, then chuckles warmly as a little warmth flushed into the high points of his cheeks.
The alcohol? Perhaps. Then again, perhaps he simply isn't used to being confronted so boldly. )
... Ah. Thou art forward as ever, Ser Knight. 'Tis a pleasure to share in thy company once more.
( Urianger offers a wry smile as he offers a nod of greeting, his own outfit glittering where the gold beading and embroidery catches the low light. He glances towards the feeding vampires, then back to Astarion, his free hand curling beneath his chin in a gesture of thought. )
I confess, I find myself ... curious.
( There's a moment of hesitation, just a heartbeat's worth, before he continues on: )
'Twould appear there are some who find the process to be most enjoyable.
no subject
( Urianger is watching the scene.
It's funny, really, how a chance encounter could awaken such an objectively morbid curiosity. Urianger has made Nocwich a regular haunt and yet he's never had an especially close relationship with Ikorr's vampires; he's aware of what they are and what they need, of course, but bottled blood has always been readily available to satisfy their sanguine tastes. He supposes such a disconnect from the sourcing of said blood speaks to his naivete on the matter β but then he'd witnessed Astarion feeding upon the beast in the woods, and it stirred up further, more graphic thoughts as to how vampires might partake of blood.
He finds he isn't disgusted. Perhaps it's the academic in him that views it as an opportnity to learn more of vampiric needs; perhaps it's something a little more indulgent that he doesn't yet know how to explain to himself. Either way, the scene before him is as hypnotic as it is fascinating, and Urianger sips from his own glass of full-bodied red as he observes the spectacle of the feeding.
Astarion's voice slips through the pleasant din of merry-making, somehow both surprising and familiar. Urianger turns to greet him with a smile, finds himself struck momentarily speechless by the man's dramatic, feathered attire, then chuckles warmly as a little warmth flushed into the high points of his cheeks.
The alcohol? Perhaps. Then again, perhaps he simply isn't used to being confronted so boldly. )
... Ah. Thou art forward as ever, Ser Knight. 'Tis a pleasure to share in thy company once more.
( Urianger offers a wry smile as he offers a nod of greeting, his own outfit glittering where the gold beading and embroidery catches the low light. He glances towards the feeding vampires, then back to Astarion, his free hand curling beneath his chin in a gesture of thought. )
I confess, I find myself ... curious.
( There's a moment of hesitation, just a heartbeat's worth, before he continues on: )
'Twould appear there are some who find the process to be most enjoyable.