She doesn't grow flustered, not over talk of sex, and certainly not over death. The whiskey tastes as awful as the first time, but she ignores the burn and takes a much longer sip this time. After, she's forced to clear her throat.

"I'd never heard of my Dothraki complaining about... itching and burning, nor any of my sell-swords. If any were to receive that, it would likely be them." She snorts, quietly amused. "I suppose they wouldn't be complaining of that before my generals. Who would have ever imagined sex causing insanity and death? Does 'bumping uglies' mean sex, in your world?"