Astarion gives him a sidelong look, slightly unsure of what he's being told, then decides that if he's being being made a fool of then he can just skin Collins alive later. He lifts the glass, sniffs it discreetly and then takes a sip.
It...tastes like wine. Not vinegar or ditchwater or sour milk, but wine, a rich sharp red.
He hasn't properly tasted anything except blood in two centuries.
He takes another sip, tries to pace himself; for all he knows, the contents of that bottle are all he's getting.
no subject
Astarion gives him a sidelong look, slightly unsure of what he's being told, then decides that if he's being being made a fool of then he can just skin Collins alive later. He lifts the glass, sniffs it discreetly and then takes a sip.
It...tastes like wine. Not vinegar or ditchwater or sour milk, but wine, a rich sharp red.
He hasn't properly tasted anything except blood in two centuries.
He takes another sip, tries to pace himself; for all he knows, the contents of that bottle are all he's getting.
"...Good gods. How did you get this?"