As if a slave was ever worth something so important.

[Drawled rather than growled, a testament to his lingering good mood. He sits sprawled on the ground, his back resting against the bench and Astarion's leg not an inch away. It's a childish pose and he doesn't care, not when he's tipsy bordering on drunk and still so exhilarated about tonight.]

No, they would hire common thugs, if anything, and half the time they wouldn't even find the right slave.

[Everything feels warm and out of focus right now, pleasant in a way that Fenris hasn't felt in a long time. His head rolls to the side, his smile a little wide as he peers up at his companion.]

You still owe me a dance, though. We did not finish ours, and you never proved yourself to me. You cannot count that as a victory just yet.

Now give me that bottle. And tell me what that dance was, anyway, for it was nothing like anything I have seen before.