Alistair grins—wide, genuine, the equivalent of a laugh from a man who's fairly stingy with the real deal—and nudges Zevran with a knee. Or a thigh. Actually. It reminds him to stop grinning, and to let go of Zevran's hand. "Sorry. It can't be the worst thing anyone's ever said about you, though," he says. He's aiming for light, but he can't help sounding bothered. He's brought into trouble along already without adding more. "Close, maybe, but not the worst."