[ Astarion wakes up in the cargo hold of the ship, of all places. He manages to narrowly avoid hitting his head upon a rather ill-placed beam as he sits up, taking a moment to figure out his surroundings...such as they were. ]

Not again... [ whispered under his breath like its a curse, and then followed up with:] where in the hells did the rest of you get off to?

[ His head is pounding and somewhere behind it is a reminder of how hungry he is, a desire he cannot sate by simply reaching into one of these barrels of, well whatever is in them, fish, probably, given the smell.

But then, there -- the telltale skittering of a meal. A disgusting one, perhaps, but one does what one must. Quick as a flash he descends upon the rat, plucking it up off the ground, as much as stowaway as he is. The rodent writhes in his grip and he's just about to end its suffering when he hears someone else.

Whoops.

Caught rat-handed and on the first introduction and everything. ]

I was just helping with the, ah, rat infestation. Seems to have gotten a little out of hand.

[ Like any good adventurer, Astarion finds himself at the local tavern later that night. He's got a a glass of brandy in front of him (a successful perception check would tell you it is untouched), but his attention is on the crowd. It is as if he's searching for victims--or maybe for information? Regardless, if someone is attractive enough or simply looks like they know slightly more than he does right now, he won't hesitate to offer a smile. ]

Would you like a drink? My treat.

[ How convenient that the seat next to him at the bar is open! He nods towards it invitingly. He doesn't bite!

Well, probably not. ]

[ Time to get out of these rags! After successfully determining (at the tavern, of course, the heart of all gossip) that his clothes are somewhere on this damn turtle, Astarion heads out on a quest to retrieve his effects. This leads him to digging around in the sand in the dark, but he doesn't seem to have any problem with the lack of light. He did at least remember to bring a shovel but he seems rather put out about the whole thing and, indeed, is complaining to himself as he goes. ]

What kind of nonsense is this, anyway? "Let's steal the clothes off of an unsuspecting individual and bury them in the sand! Isn't that hilarious!" [ he laughs mockingly, as part of the bit, you see. ] What a waste of bloody time. There are far more worthwhile things to bury.

[ should've just hired someone in town to do it for him, really. ]