[ Astarion perches on a wooden chair, slinging an arm over the back while he glances out at the patrons acting, as Iorveth would say, a fool. Plenty of drunks, some of them imbibing in order to muster up the courage to be dropped down into the well, others enjoying watching said fools as a form of entertainment.

Waving a hand, he says, ] It's hardly my first time in a sweaty bar.

[ Or his second, or his third. Hells, he's more accustomed to being someplace like this than someplace Iorveth might imagine him in. That isn't a good thing, necessarily, but it is A Thing. ]

...And, well, when I'd mentioned it last night. [ A little squirming, now. ] —I suppose I'd hoped you'd be jealous of all the sweaty drunkards I'd catch the attention of.

[ Embarrassing!!! But also true, because at the time he'd mentioned it, he'd still been angry with Iorveth. ]