[ The threat to bed Astarion here is largely facetious. Iorveth can feel the occasional set of eyes on them from visitors meandering downstairs, most of them flitting by Iorveth and settling, naturally, on Astarion and his perfect profile, prettier than anyone else in this dimly-lit place of casual sin; even that rankles a bit, in Iorveth's half-buzzed state.

Instead of dwelling on that unprompted flare of unwarranted possessiveness: ] Another round, if playing rigged games amuse you. [ Brow raised at the card-based theatrics, impressed by Astarion's deftness despite himself. ] ―You really are clever with your hands.

[ Iorveth cracks open his second bottle of wine. ]

Lockpicking, pickpocketing, embroidering, shuffling. If I handed you an instrument, I wager it wouldn't take you long to learn to play it.

[ If, in fact, Astarion doesn't already know how to handle a lute or a violin. ]