Bastien grins and huffs, as much of a laugh as can cut through the tangle of his mood, with a fair enough tip of his head.

"A bard," he says, which could only be a synonym if not for the context. "So I can give you my word I won't open it, but maybe you should give me a copper and call it a contract." He sounds cheeky, not potentially insulted by the prospect. "Just to be safe."