[ Yes, sitting across from him was Iorveth's strike one. He never once considered that Astarion might want to be lecherous with him! Getting an eyeful of the beautiful barkeep was strike two, and now he's on thin ice until Astarion forgets to be displeased with him.
Astarion takes a dainty sip of his drink, swishing it around in the glass like he knows anything about wine-tasting. He's had his fair share of wines, of course; he's been having sloppy-drunk tavern-goers order it for him for two centuries. He knows very little about how a nobleman is meant to enjoy it, though, his experience limited to watching Cazador and his sycophants toast at the parties he'd throw. ]
You don't even want to be a little bit lecherous?
[ Wine glass in one hand, he props his chin on the other, pouting. ]
no subject
Astarion takes a dainty sip of his drink, swishing it around in the glass like he knows anything about wine-tasting. He's had his fair share of wines, of course; he's been having sloppy-drunk tavern-goers order it for him for two centuries. He knows very little about how a nobleman is meant to enjoy it, though, his experience limited to watching Cazador and his sycophants toast at the parties he'd throw. ]
You don't even want to be a little bit lecherous?
[ Wine glass in one hand, he props his chin on the other, pouting. ]
Ugh, you might as well be a cloistered sister.