[ Astarion adores attention, but it's surprisingly uncomfortable to be looked at by so many people. It isn't the lovely, feel-good attention that he gets from Iorveth; with the stylish crowd staring at them, he feels gawked at, like an animal in a cage for display. He tugs Iorveth's arm a little closer. ]

Please. I'm sure your attention is enough for that old fussbudget.

[ Said without too much scorn. She doesn't strike him as the materialistic type, despite her penchant for fashion. Dolores seems lonely, and perhaps she is, with her husband's mind clearly going. Mere conversation from Iorveth is probably worth more to her than any trinket. ]

—But, [ he adds, under his breath, ] if we spot something we like, well, there's no reason not to... relieve the attendees of it.