#vampsyred

@iron-hearts-ablaze my husband @vampsyred and I saw you across the bar and — well, let's just say we felt the heat before we even laid eyes on you," she purred with a grin. "So, how about a little stress test for that furnace of yours, hot stuff? We've got fireproof sheets."

The wife...

@vampsyred spoke: "You're the architect of your own warped morality."

⚔︎ ▍ Criminal Sentences ▍ ♪

" I don't really want to hear you talk about morality. " Yes, Faenethra wasn't a perfectly good person. Not like Wyll. Not even like Karlach. Her kindness was conditional and often oddly placed. She tended to avoid killing others if she could help it, but she wouldn't step in if someone was getting wrongly beaten. But 'warped' as her morals tended to be, she wasn't convinced Astarion had any at all.

Maim a Man As a Treat

Mizora barely contained a groan as the man prattled on about his oh-so-impressive lineage. Something about generations of hunting monsters, some powerful abilities, overtly high libido, and— oh, who cares? She sighed, tipping her head back ever so slightly, considering.

Was it even worth it to keep this mortal disguise? Really, what was stopping her from just blowing his head clean off? Not even for consumption — no, no, this one wouldn’t even be good for that. He reeked of bad wine and worse decisions.

She exhaled through her nose, eyes flicking elsewhere in search of anything more interesting. Like her husband, for instance. Her pale little dot of entertainment. And that’s when she felt it.

A weight.

Heavy, sweaty, and presumptuous.

The man's arm, draped over her shoulder.

Mizora visibly recoiled, a strangled noise of sheer disgust escaping before she could stop it. Oh, she practically gagged. The sheer audacity. The nerve.

Her fingers twitched. Just one little spell. One tiny infernal incantation, and this waste of existence would be a smoldering smear on the floor.

Instead, she forced herself to smile — tight, thin, and filled with the kind of restrained violence that could make the bravest men rethink their choices.

"Ah-ah-ah," she tutted, reaching up to delicately pluck his wrist from her shoulder, as though removing a particularly offensive stain. Her nails dug in just enough to make his breath hitch. "Touch me again, darling, and the only abilities you’ll be boasting about would be posthumous."

The gang's all here

Mizora glanced at the very, very dead body at Astarion’s feet, then at Astarion, then back at the body, and at Astarion again. She wasn’t sure what else she expected from him.

"Oh, bravo, darling! Truly, a masterclass in corpse identification! A gold star for you!" She clapped her hands together, all mock enthusiasm.

She’d read somewhere that creatures from the material plane needed words of affirmation to keep their morale high and their little fragile egos intact. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be like this, but, eh.

Send, "You're never getting out of here." for sender to handcuff receiver to the furniture.