[ Astarion preens under the attention, pleased to be minded to. Shoulders back, chin tipped up, as if to boast to any passersby. ]

Asks the man who's missing blood.

[ Ridiculous. Endearing. The aforementioned blood circulating warmly through his system makes it difficult not to smile, his eyes twinkling with fondness. ]

I'm fine, of course. [ An automatic response, given without thinking. A hard habit to break after centuries of being afraid to show the slightest hint of weakness. Admitting to being anything but fine would have only painted a target on his back then. Not now, though, so he hums in thought, eyes drifting off to the side as he admits, ] I didn't care for being manhandled.

[ It's been some time since he's been touched by a stranger. Hells, since he's been touched by anyone he didn't care for. Shadowheart, with her careful healing. Karlach, squeezing him half to death in a hug. Wyll, offering a friendly pat on the back after a challenging fight. Iorveth, of course. He'd almost forgotten how it feels to be pushed around. ]

But I was mostly worried we'd spend the night behind bars, and I'd have to orchestrate a great escape. It just seemed like a lot of work.

[ His eyes flick back to Iorveth's face. ]

And you?