[ Iorveth is inclined to throw the sharpest piece of cutlery they have on their table at the strangers who accused elves of having no decorum (Iorveth truly is the elvish embodiment of the Navy Seals meme), but he's preoccupied with: a) Astarion, and b) getting drunk. The peanut gallery lives to see another day.

Still holding Astarion in his half-embrace, Iorveth drums long fingers along the small of his back. Incorrigible, he thinks, and he's not sure if the thought is meant for Astarion or for himself. ]

She'd sooner slit her own throat than touch me. Lucky you.

[ On one hand, watching Astarion get bullied by Lae'zel might be a little funny (again, affectionate), but on the other, there really is just no chance of Iorveth being interested in anyone but Astarion. Between the liberation of his clan and being insane about Astarion, it really doesn't leave Iorveth much space to care about anything else.

He kisses his stupid cat-vampire's jaw, and the whole tavern groans under its breath again. Except for Hyacinth, whose devotion to Sune means that she's very pleased by public displays of affection in her establishment. ]

I can feel the drink working. [ Teeth scour over Astarion's skin, gentle and playful. ] Ask me more questions.