[ It's strange, seeing the multicolored patroons breaking up the oppressively purple atmosphere of the inn's bar. Most of the people seem relatively well-off, perhaps frequent fliers between the Bridge District and the Scepter District; the only one who doesn't quite fit into the picture is the shifty barkeep whose inn uniform doesn't fit him quite as nicely as it should.

Iorveth squeezes Astarion's hand once, before slowly letting go. It might be difficult for them to manage this if Iorveth is hanging behind Astarion like a stern-faced wraith. ]

Or I could stand around with my coinpurse dangling and see who tries to snatch it.

[ If they don't want to go the seduction route. ]

I don't relish the idea of you having to cozy up to fools.