#iago is such a cringefail loser when theyre trying to be honest and true. where did your swag go iago..... your suave facade...

[accultant]

They really hadn't meant to belittle him. For once, they thought they were being rather genuine and honest, not teasing. They're usually only good with social cues when it's filtered through at least three, four calculated layers of manipulation overthinking - it's such a nuisance for their more honest moments to always come out so... odd. Off-putting. They are rather odd and off-putting, they suppose, and entirely unused to speaking so bluntly, so it makes sense, but still...

He doesn't seem bothered for long, at least, his voice softening, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. Seems he had been quite worried about holding that in. Do they always look that tense? Would they have the same sort of release if they had someone to confide in?

Then his expression shifts. There's an unspoken question - or, not quite a question, but an idea that surely Iago wouldn't be the only one to come to. They eye him as he narrows his gaze, and think aloud ( even though that didn't go so well just a few moments ago, they figure they could give it one more shot since he so stupidly kindly bore his vulnerabilities or whatever ), "Only a taste? Seems harmless, if I am to trust you. I'm not, for the most part, but hypothetically speaking. I could leave you be after this, let you continue your hunger-slash-lust towards Puck or whoever else is looking particularly appetizing. I have no problems keeping your secret for you, that's easy enough and it really isn't too bothersome that it requires any extra fanfare or panic. We all have to eat, no?"

They cross their arms, tilting their head to the other side when they continue, "But it'll get worse the longer you wait, I assume." That means less control, if they're basing it off of their firsthand knowledge with Puck. This kind of hunger needs to be satiated before he's so far gone that no one gets a say in the matter. If he still chooses Puck as his target, well - Puck won't die. Again, their brother is stronger that even he knows at this point. But he could very well unknowingly use that strength against a peckish vampire and said vampire would not make it out of that interaction alive. And Puck would probably cry. That certainly won't do.

Or, maybe even more likely, Puck would be too sweet to know when to quit and he'd let Astarion drink him to death. Like a little gentleman.

"Only a taste?" they say again after letting them both stew in the tense silence for a few moments longer. They're rolling up their sleeve after another couple of seconds, "I'd be willing to offer as long as you understand that any more than a taste and I'll have you burning alive. Or - dead. Undead? Whatever. Semantics. I'm just trying to properly threaten you, not tease you, if I have to clarify this time."

He feels a sharp flicker of annoyance rise within him, his jaw tightening as Iago's casual tone brushes over his confession like it’s some kind of game. He lets out a scoff, his lips curling into a scowl. ❛ Here I am, baring my vulnerabilities, laying my secrets at your feet, and you make fun of me. ❜ He rolls his eyes, throwing a hand up in frustration.

As Iago continues, though, Astarion finds himself settling, the tension easing from his shoulders. Their lack of immediate aggression, of fear or disgust——it’s more than he could have hoped for. He was prepared for the worst, ready to bolt if necessary, but this? This strange, almost clinical curiosity from them… it’s a relief he didn’t know he needed. He takes a breath, slow and measured, and the weight of his secret being unburdened makes him feel lighter, as though a shackle’s been loosened, if only slightly.

He straightens, his expression shifting from annoyance to something more composed, more measured. ❛ I’m used to the hunger, ❜ ( Cazador starved him frequently ) he admits, his voice softening, though there’s still an edge of tension beneath it. ❛ I’ve lived with it for centuries, after all. But it’s been harder to manage lately. ❜ He pauses, his gaze flickering back to the camp in the distance. ❛ It’s difficult to find a moment to hunt without raising suspicion when everyone is so bloody close. ❜

Astarion smirks, his lips curling up in a dark, almost predatory way. ❛ But no, I don’t need much. Just a taste, really. ❜ His eyes narrow, glinting with something darker, something hungry, as he watches Iago. He doesn’t ask outright, not yet, but the implication hangs between them, heavy and palpable. His fingers twitch at his side, his thoughts racing.

There’s something else gnawing at him, though. Cazador’s rule——Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures——still echoes in his mind, a command he’s been unable to break for as long as he’s been a slave. But the tadpole has already shattered so many chains. Could this be another? Could he finally taste the blood of a thinking creature, free of his master’s grip? He doesn’t voice the thought, but it lingers in his mind, twisting like a thorned vine. He wonders… and he waits.