[ Astarion longs to roll his eyes at the insinuation that this near-child could tell him, a centuries-long resident of Baldur's Gate, anything about the 'good places' around here. He has half a mind to tell him that, actually, the best calamari is at the Elfsong, not the Blushing Mermaid, and that he'd know that if any of his compatriots ever invited him out. He doesn't say any of that, though, which is a testament to how much he cares for Iorveth. The things he'll do for love. ]

You really know this city, [ he gushes insincerely. ] But, well, of course you do. You're the protector of it, after all.

[ The Flaming Fists like to think of themselves as heroes. In Astarion's opinion, they're ineffectual duds who couldn't even root out a den of vampires in their city. ]

It's a date. —But you're not going to wear that, are you?

[ Astarion gives a quick once-over of his heavy plate armor. ]

I only worry that it'll be difficult to remove, of course. Maybe you should go change.