To his credit, Astarion betrays nothing. His lips move to widen his smile by nothing more than a flicker, his eyes made slightly more narrow by the gesture.

He looks, for all the world, like a cat studying something through glass. And if he had a tail to flick— it’d no doubt be flicking.

“Quite right,” he breathes, sounding all at once relieved. “It’s the grievously overfed I just can’t seem to abide. Spoiled creatures who haven’t a shred of mercy in their hearts.”

He says it as though he doesn’t look the part himself. But then again, considering where he is and how he’s opting to cut his teeth, that’s all facade.

“Someone really should do something about that. And by someone, I mean us.”