“I already know I don’t.” Astarion puffs confidently, the way his neck stretches taller with pride almost making him look like a bird fluffing its own ruff for show. The silken layering of his cravat certainly doesn’t dissuade the impression, either, spotted with flecks of gold and false pearl. High enough to almost kiss the underside of his jaw.

“But it’s nice to hear, anyway. So go on, then. Regale me.”