[Oh, Elise, and Fenris' ears lower further, his chin sinking down into his chest as he remembers what he'd shouted. Slut isn't a particularly unusual term in the Moulin Rouge, but still. It hadn't been his proudest moment.

(Even if she is kind of a slut, still).]

Was she upset?

[If they gossip about he and Astarion, well, that's one thing. He isn't happy about it, but nor can he deny they brought it on themselves. And maybe he's being a little too fretful, but on the other hand, she hadn't done a damn thing wrong, and it was unworthy of him to go after her just because he was upset.

And then there's that bit about the play . . . he peers up at Zevlor, his scowl eased into a grimace.]

Can I help at all? I realize things are . . . difficult, right now. And while I cannot get them to focus, I . . .

[But what? He's a willing pair of hands, but that only counts for so much.]