[ Iorveth, a weird gremlin, draws the line at frills but wouldn't care about his nipples showing at a fancy function. That's a conversation for a tenday later though, when he's getting shoved into whatever absurd outfit Astarion conjures up for him.

Now, he reaches for a piece of cheese pie and breaks off the very end of its crust, holding it out for Max the cat to nibble on while he mulls over the implications of Astarion having to figure the act of dancing out. Yet another example of something from his old life that was irrevocably stolen, Iorveth assumes.

He doesn't want to reopen more of those old wounds－ gods know that Astarion has so many of them, still bleeding. ]

That makes two of us. [ Stretching stiff limbs cramped on his gnome-sized bed, Iorveth takes a deep breath. ] No matter. Everyone will be too busy looking at your face to notice the state of your feet.

[ Pretty privilege. ]