[ Damris and Petras, twin youngest-brother-energy terrors. Iorveth tries to imagine it around a mouthful of egg, and finds himself mildly entertained by the thought of them hissing and spitting (harmlessly) at each other.

"I have manners," Damris huffs, "unlike you," to which Gale, the diplomat, tries to implore: "come now, Astarion. Surely we can extend him the same grace we extended you when we found you bent over Lae'zel with that lovely jaw unhinged?"

Stupid move. Reginald guffaws into his omelette, and Iorveth shoots Gale the most exasperated look he can muster. ]

Gods, which layer of Avernus is this? All this useless quibbling in the morning is giving me a headache. [ Chewing, swallowing. ] You'll all defer to Astarion's judgment. Gale, portal the gatekeep to Waterdeep tonight, and we'll discuss this further then.

[ "Gatekeep? Who?" asks Gale, and Reginald pipes up with "if you have a headache, I should take a look!" This really is like being in the hells. ]