Astarion is there soon enough, just as promised, weaving through the dark like a cat prowling along the edge of a railing: one foot after the other, silent as the grave— it's almost a wonder how something paler than a sheet manages to blend into Lowtown so effortlessly.

A smile's flashed when he's near enough, lopsided and unsettling. He's bid farewell to the fine leather that'd adorned him before, trading it for a simple, loose shirt with an open collar, bandages still peeking out from beneath its edge.

"Is this all you do for fun?"