[ Astarion frowns. It's one thing to watch Iorveth humiliate himself, but quite another to watch someone else humiliate him. Memories flash in his mind of useless drunks in taverns, too close with their rotten breath and ugly words. The other man carries his invitation in his hand, though, and there's no way Astarion can snatch it out of his grip right now without him noticing.

He moves past them, shoulder bumping his victim a tad aggressively. Inebriated as he is, the man topples into his friend and they both go sideways, purple envelope fluttering out of his hand. ]

You clods, [ he scolds. ] What are you doing standing in the middle of the street like this?

[ Both of the men sway uncertainly, and one of them opens his mouth to bite back, but before he can— ]

Look, you've even made me drop my invitation.

[ He crouches down, snatching up the envelope before either of them can think twice. As he stands, he glances at Iorveth. ]

—Oh, there you are, darling. I've been looking all over for you. Come along, we're going to be late.