Oh, it's lovely. Exactly the way Astarion had hoped to spend his evening, in fact: pinned between a sturdy, handsome fighter and a lithe, dangerous-looking rogue— only without the minor detail of nearly being pulled apart by them.

There are splinters in his perfect curls, his footing nothing but show at this point, and what was supposed to be a graceful, glorious dance of death has now devolved into a rather stupid looking brawl in a dead end that reeks of fungus and filth. So. For the record, not one of his best nights.

Still, even as Astarion snarls and curses (insults intended for Ellis just as much as their enemies, apparently), Ellis is infinitely better suited for this than the narrow-bodied man clinging to Astarion's other arm: after a few moments of chaos, the thief lets go.

And if Ellis isn't quick enough on his feet, that means that he and Astarion both are going to— much like any rapidly ended game of tug-of-war— wind up veering backwards in a heap of limbs and lost balance.