[ Iorveth watches Astarion pick at the lacquer, but doesn't take his hand to dissuade him; mindful, still, of the slight jump he'd felt after the touch. Content to let affection be on Astarion's own terms, or until Astarion yells at him to provide it. Either or.

On the topic of killing: ]

We could restrain him until we find a way to depose Alkam.

[ Finally remembering back to the conversation they'd had about Astarion wanting to spare the spawn if he could, after his kneejerk inclination to cut the eyes out of this unknown threat and toss him somewhere quiet. On one hand, it would be more prudent to do so, but on the other, this mystery tiefling is likely in the same position that Astarion was when he was under Cazador's shadow; not a pleasant parallel.

The barkeep comes back with their bottle and two glasses, and Iorveth waves him away after he's done pouring. ]

Our room has an office we'll not be using. We can keep him in there.