[If there are rings on the bar's lacquer from condensation, the cost will come from both their hides anyway; Zevlor's too clever to merely dock the one who'd been responsible and call it a day. Not when they're capable and far from careless on their own. No, it's when they're together that their shrewd little minds transmute diligence into oversight.

So to avoid that, and help get them out of here sooner, Astarion cranes forward on his toes, scooting more bottles out of the way in unison— and while not strictly organized, closer to where they belong.

Which is good enough, really.

(And this is normal. This is how it's always been, so why is his heart lodged higher in his throat all of a sudden?)]

You know where.

[The rafters. Their place. The climb is tighter now and the quarters more confined, but it's still the only place where they'll be reliably alone.] I don't want anyone to bother us. I need to focus.

[His scoff is light. Amused to say the least.

He catches the neck of a bottle at the exact same time as his counterpart— knuckles knocking slight against each other.]

Since when were you so fussy about getting into trouble?