Lingerie does a great deal of work, I thi— oh.

[It's not his fault that the hardworking employees of the Blooming Rose are roaming this time of night— nor that they're, ah, aggressively advertising their services. Fenris blinks as he tears his gaze away from one particular woman and focuses on where Astarion's gaze rests.]

Er . . . I do not know.

[How do they stay up there, anyway? How does the sun stay up there? Or the stars? He's never bothered to wonder. Fenris squints up at them both, then shrugs one shoulder as he glances over at Astarion.]

Because we would not be able to wander around at night if we did not have their light to go by, and that would make for a dull life.

[A beat and then, his mind swimming in alcohol and forgetting that Astarion has, one, almost certainly been out at night before and two, has lived here for five days now, adds in an attempt at a gentle tone:]

The smaller one is called Satina. The other is just the moon. Have you ever seen a moon before ...?

[It comes out more than a little patronizing, but like, he's trying, okay. Drunkenly, soppily, stupidly trying.]