[ Astarion tosses the cloth aside, letting it make a wet thwop sound as it hits the floor, and stands to give Iorveth room to step out of the tub. He places his hands on his hips and tilts his head as he watches Iorveth rise, pleasure tugging at the corner of his mouth. ]

I really do love to see you all moist and dewy.

[ He likes a wet man. What can he say? He bends to pick up the scissors Iorveth stole from poor Shadowheart, who'll soon find herself unable to trim her bangs, and tests them out in the air. Snip, snip. ]

I'll have to get you soiree-ready, of course. It won't do to have you walking into the party of the season with overgrown hair.

[ Canting his head toward the stool: ] Go on, sit. Clothing optional.