[ Iorveth's breath tickles his ear, and his lips curl upward far more than a fraction of a centimeter. He imagines the Iorveth of a few tendays ago might have dismissed his 'mischief' as pointless frivolity at best and abject stupidity at worst, so it's a pleasure that he at least humors Astarion now. It's one of the small things about Iorveth that fills him with a narcissistic satisfaction; he likes to be special. ]

I hadn't decided yet.

[ Iorveth should have known better. Expecting Astarion to have a plan is like expecting a pig to fly. ]

I suppose we could go see what deals those brothel workers are offering.

[ Only a joke. He has next to no desire for any strangers to see him naked ever again. ]

Or we could go, ah. What do normal people do? [ He wrinkles his nose. ] Sit in the park and feed the pigeons?

[ Notably, he doesn't mention freeing the spawn from their underground prison. As sick as he feels when he thinks about them down there, he feels even sicker at the prospect of seeing their gaunt faces and dead eyes again. ]