[ Iorveth steps them both out of the middle of the street and towards the many alcoves nestled between the rickety buildings lining the road leading towards Wyrm's Rock. In front of them is the vine-covered, ramshackle facade of Fraygo's Flophouse, where a group of halflings are arguing fiercely about how much coin they have left to spare at Sharess'.

Leaning into the shade of an overhang, Iorveth curls the corner of his scarred lips. ]

Ridiculous. [ "You're fishing for a compliment again" is implied. It would be an indictment if he didn't feel inclined to dish said compliments out to Astarion for free today. ] One of them could shove their hands down my trousers and my prick wouldn't so much as twitch.

[ He flicks under Astarion's chin, teasing. ]

Don't insult me. I'm not so easily swayed.