[ Astarion doesn't like the idea of Iorveth making unilateral decisions like this, but he does like the idea of Iorveth trying to seduce some 20-year-old human, so he doesn't argue. He adores Iorveth, really—the light of his life, fire of his loins, and so on—but there's very little provocative about him, unless one finds murderous scowls alluring. Luckily, Astarion does, but he can't see it going over as well with someone who's on the hunt for a one-eyed wood elf terrorist.

It's midday by the time they return to the Elfsong. Astarion opens the door without preamble, striding in on a half-elf and a githyanki with their lips locked. Lae'zel practically jumps back, green-yellow skin turning a dark coral color as she blushes profusely. They weren't doing anything salacious, but perhaps that's the worst of it; Lae'zel, fearsome githyanki warrior, kissing her sweetheart chastely. Shadowheart looks offended at having their canoodling interrupted, and Lae'zel glowers.

"Surely you've heard of knocking," she hisses, "or did the tadpole jumble not only your brains but your manners?" ]

Our manners! This is a shared space, you know. You're only lucky that poor Wyll didn't walk in and learn the facts of life!

[ He is, of course, only performatively scandalized. After all, he had his hand down Iorveth's pants in this very room yesterday. ]