A curtain is not going to spare him much. Even thicker clothes barely keep him from fully igniting in a shower of shimmering ashes. But... Well, he's never tried an entire Karlach before. She's certainly thicker than any curtain.

So no, it doesn't make sense, but it is an executable plan. Which is miles ahead of where they were a second ago. Confusion, skepticism, and finally resignation sort of flit across his expression as he comes to that conclusion. If this works, it'll be the stupidest solution he thinks they could possibly have concocted. And a little chaos between friends is healthy, he supposes. Fine. Why not try?

"Makes sense," he agrees slowly, having to convince himself between syllables. "If this works, I owe you a drink." He'll owe her a lot more, but he thinks booze is a good place to start.

Astarion draws in a deep breath, tries not to laugh at the absurdity, and nods.

"Ready when you are, my dear."