[ "Oh hush, is Dolores's flustered retort, accompanied by a harmless swat to Astarion's leg with the end of her measuring tape. Iorveth chuckles as he watches her puff up, still birdie in her mannerisms, and moves to take his trousers off. ]

Nothing she hasn't seen before, I'm sure.

[ Unless she doesn't get many elves in her salon, which would be a shame. Elves in Baldur's Gate are clearly sleeping on Dolores if they're not frequenting her business: his new pants fit perfectly when he shimmies into them, which isn't something he's experienced since he's taken to cramming himself into human-proportioned clothing. Finally, something that isn't cropped above his ankles and doesn't require a belt to keep up.

That said: ] It might fit too well. We're going to an auction fête, not a sex party.

[ Another small splutter from Dolores, who protests that he looks very formal-party ready, and that the pants aren't at all lurid. To be fair, the party they're infiltrating tonight is a gathering of less reputable members of the city, planning to peddle ill-gotten gains to other individuals of questionable repute; they probably wouldn't care if Iorveth showed up naked. ]