[He grins for that bit about thirds, but it's amusement for amusement's sake; he's too drunk to realize it was a slip of the tongue. Too drunk, too, to notice that blush in this lighting; he thinks it mere surprise that delays Astarion's answer, and then promptly forgets in the next moment.]

Well. If I am to teach you of this world, I wish for that to be my payment. Learning how to be more— to perform—

[Maker's breath, what's the word? He struggles for a few moments, then waves his hand dismissively as he shortens it to:]

Slight of hand. I wish to learn it while we're on our way to Antiva. The charm I can do without, but it would be fascinating to learn the other bits. How long did it take you to learn?

[Years, surely, but now he's interested: his eyes gleaming (if not a little overbright thanks to the alcohol), his ears flicking with interest and his chin set firmly in his palm as he watches Astarion.]

Was it to, to steal— mmph, no, you don't . . . survival, you said. Survival of what? Why learn it in the first place?