[Uh-huh. Not that anyone is keeping score. But Astarion's going to have to make certain not to turn this into a habit — can’t have him losing his edge, after all.

He clears his throat as Winter straightens, and— Was that the flicker of movement across those dark markings on the man’s skin? Did his tattoo move? Is this another weird warlock thing?

You know what? Maybe this will be sorted out with a few more questions, and Astarion realizes that he doesn’t know that much about who Winter was before they both shared similar tadpole-in-the-brain circumstances. He had been curious before, of course, but now, odd as it is, he feels more compelled to learn. To wonder. Whether or not he decides to tell himself it’s all to bolster their very transactional relationship(?) still remains to be seen.]

That’s good to know, the unlikelihood of growing extra wiggly bits. Though it sounds like there’s a tale behind that contract of yours.

[There’s always some kind of tale, isn’t there.]

I’d like to hear it sometime, if you’d like to share.

[Maybe when they make for camp again? Perhaps Winter's head will be less pounding then.]