He knows what a guitar is. The idea of telling her that dies when she lifts her hand, the damage all too apparent— and where someone else would exercise some degree of decorum, Astarion simply reaches out to grab hold of it, inspecting the differing digits with a tightly furrowed brow. As if by peering at them, the answer will simply materialize.

But he's drunk, of course, and no deductive genius besides.

"One of those monsters?"

His best guess, given her immunity.