[Gods. That tiefling tongue. Should he be averting his gaze elsewhere?]

Now, I think it's quite funny... were I not a victim of the hotel's molten floor. I've had my fill of lava back in Faerûn, so why must I suffer through it here, too?

[Note how it has become "I" rather than "we." Well, anyway, Astarion is gracious enough to fish around in his pocket and unearth a handkerchief. Should she care enough to unfold it and notice, it is neatly embroidered with a saying in one corner that reads: Keep your shite together.]

Use this.