[ The heroes of Baldur's Gate, quibbling over rude comments. No one tries to flag them down for payment, which is nice, and they're able to meander out of the tavern unscathed, hand still in hand.

Iorveth glances at Astarion as they walk, noting the puffed-up offense that's in sharp contrast to the firm lacing of their fingers. A little cute, admittedly, though Iorveth doesn't like to see Astarion pouting for too long. ]

That was before I saw you properly. I used to think you were all style, no substance.

[ Perhaps not what Astarion wants to hear. Iorveth turns them in the direction of the courtyard, treading on thin ice. ]

―Now I can admit that I was wrong.

[ A slight squeeze of their linked hands. ]