"Nosey? I'm offended, darling. I much prefer to think of it as a healthy interest."

But yes, he's absolutely nosey, and if his expression is anything to go by he seems genuinely amused by Daan's description of his standards. Who'd have thought his tastes would range so widely — Gods, that they would run close to Lae'zel? It's excellent news for him, of course, as it suggests he'd be open enough to a silver-tongued rogue, which is really all Astarion needed to hear.

"How very curious," he all but purrs, before glancing across to the Gith'yanki's tent.

"I'm almost tempted to tell her that she could be in with a shot at you — but I suspect she wouldn't take kindly to any pointers I might offer on toning down her bloodthirsty, impatient side."

A silly, high-pitched chuckle escapes him as he lifts his cup to his lips, before indulging in a long sip of the pilfered mead.

"Although I have to say: I'm a little surprised. I'd thought most clerics would be a bit more ... discerning, in their tastes. Shadowheart, for example."

Pricklier than a manticore, that one.