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Responsibility, as a magistrate. As promised. |
He...had nice fingers. Fine, clever fingers. That could spin golden thread into fine cloth with ease. His voice was always syrupy, always thick and caramelized. And he could run, so very, very fast. |
Quinn blinked, noticing they had been staring at their own hands, imagining them as Astarion’s. And only he had brought them out of it. |
"What are you doing?" |
Quinn lifted their head; their eyes darted over his form. His muddied feet, his stained, white shirt, white no longer. A poreless, smooth face. Save for laugh lines, etched there and remaining, ever more. Even after death. His eyes were red. Not golden. Not any longer. |
"You were a Sun Elf." |
Astarion made a noise. A sort of grunt. "The irony of it, hm," and his flat expression weakened. Softened. "I don’t want to talk about it." |
Quinn didn’t press him. They offered the coiled lock, washed free of their blood. |
"I don’t need it. I don’t need any of it." |
Astarion bent down and crouched into his tent, the flap falling shut. Quinn sat there. And they suddenly felt tired. Very tired. |
Astarion woke in pain. |
It was the after effects, the lingering after shock on his body after his skin and muscle and bone had knit itself together. If he squinted with his senses, maybe he could feel the aura of radiant healing: though incapable of helping a true vampire, for spawn it did the job, if with some stinging bitterness to it. But ... |
Opening his eyes carefully revealed a sight. The shadow touched mauve corners of his tent, the flickering of a candle on the small table beside his cot. The open cut of the door, just wide enough to allow a thick slant of light to fall over the working fingers of the bruise colored Tiefling as they sat with their chin ... |
Astarion watched them work, watched the draw of thread through a point in the collar, saw the barest hints of the hand that supported it in the veil of the near spiderweb thin material. Their work was sure, but careful, intent, but serious. He couldn’t begin to guess what about it set their jaw so...but the vision caus... |
He gave it a few more moments, amid the scattering of leaves dancing in their eaves outside, and the quiet brush of afternoon air against the tent folds, maybe he could begin to understand it. |
"You seem to know what you’re doing." |
Quinntav blinked, Astarion picking up the tinge of freshly drawn blood before they tucked the finger into their mouth, curving the digit so only pad and not manicured nail slotted between their lips. "Carnival life. Life on the road. When you’re a sword act with only a few copper to rub together and a particularly belo... |
His voice was irritatingly hoarse when he asked: "Then why so serious?" |
Their eyes skated to his chest. Right, the wound. Or what was once one. By then what could have been a gaping slash to a thin line to a light blemish was gone entirely. But it had been enough of a blow to put him off his feet, and grant him the enthralling image of his Tiefling tearing into someone before he lost consc... |
There had been no joy to be found there. Only hatred. |
"I fear that compared to the work done by the last person to repair it thrice over my skills are horribly underwhelming," Quinntav replied, inserting a note of self-irony into their voice and a sardonic quirk to their mouth, rather then addressing their true concern. |
"Here, let me be the judge," Quinn did not stop him from sitting up, the several cushions he had acquired over time more numerable then he recalled, and they traded it, spool, and needle to his own grasp. Astarion examined it, and they were certainly right. His much smaller hand shown in stark comparison to their own: ... |
"But why not throw it away? I know you remain a deft hand at removing blood stains, but after the raid on that temple where we found our bony friend, I would assume we would have enough funds for casual wear." He was rambling, but he doubted that they noticed. The others said he talked to much, while Quinn had remarked... |
"It’s your's," they replied, tucking their arm into the bottom of the shirt, twitching their wrist until the ruffle lay the other way, and revealing the threading again. They could have very well of slotted their hand through the neck and held back the ruff with a thumb but...then it may have wrinkled. "I would never t... |
Said the Tiefling with the small satchel around their neck, strung with a firm cord, containing the lock of his hair from that day by the river. Quinn had asked to keep it, in case Astarion was stolen in the night by one of Cazador’s agents. The Hunter’s skills were remarkable, though Astarion was certain they were mea... |
Yet again, their thoughtfulness with the shirt, as with the lock, never failed to stun him. |
"But I’ve been dishonest." |
"Oh," Astarion couldn’t imagine what. Did they intend to leave the cushions behind without comment? Had they tucked in a vial of blood clotting into his things in case his body should fail him and he required it? "Have you put my name on the adoption papers for that feathered beast that keeps rifling through my underga... |
"That was done weeks ago, Astarion, at the Druid Camp. Keep up," they said, their smile a may fly of thing, and thus concerning the spawn significantly. "I saw the writing on your back and read some of it without thinking." |
"Oh, Cazador’s little love poem," he rolled his eyes. Was that all? "I can’t imagine how gaudy the language must be. Please, spare me the details." |
"Astarion, I may not be what one calls an artiste, but infernal script speaking of binding anyone is more then on the nose." |
"Excuse me? Did you just say that it’s infernal ?" |
"It is! One of perhaps two languages I seem to recall, and I would know those looping, jagged marks anywhere. Fuck," they dropped the arm holding the shirt, blowing air through their gritted teeth, and seemed to try to collect themself. "Goddamn, sorry. Ignore me." |
"No, it’s hard not to enjoy the sight of someone else feeling utter contempt for the bastard who would name himself my sire," he sighed, leaning back, more then happy to relax for the moment. "Binding. Of course it would speak of binding. I suppose sonnets on something as harmless as sheep herding or flowers was a litt... |
"It actually. It actually hurt to look at." |
Astarion frowned. "Hurt?" |
"It gave me a bit of a headache. Between the eyes. The only time I otherwise...well, it’s not every day that I read Infernal." |
"Tell me, how does one’s race language hurt to read?" |
"When I imagine it’s tied to certain aspects of their character, sadly, not limited to the memory loss," they shrugged a shoulder. "Though that is a great part of it, I reckon." |
"And the other aspects?" |
Quinn’s tongue darted to taste their lip. "The. Blood hungry parts. When I try to tuck them away, nice and tidy, it sometimes leaves a bit of an agony in my head. Call it the worm, but I think it may the forced attempt at suppression that does it. To be more specific, Astarion," they rushed ahead, "the thing on your ba... |
Astarion’s teeth cracked. "A pact binding? A pact as in devils? As in that winged bastard that keeps dangling the promise to rid us of these tad poles if only we sign over our eternal souls?" |
"That’s the one," Quinn bit off the thread after tying it down, dropping spool and needle in a small dish on the bedside table. "I tried to read it and the damned headache started. Lucky thing, because it’s your business-." |
"My business? I don’t know Quinntav, but I think I absolutely need to know what exactly Cazador has caused into my flesh that has anything to do with an actual devil’s pact!" |
"Turn about," they waved a hand, Astarion startled for a moment, until he thought to cross his legs and turn as much as he was able in his cot. "I’ll fetch paper," Quinntav said, having folded Astarion’s shirt and set it down in the table. They disappeared with a tail flick and the movement of the makeshift door, but A... |
Quinn returned, holding board and parchment, quill and ink well. They moved the chair around until they could sit completely facing him, and Astarion turned his eyes on the tent, an itch in his skin from being exposed with someone behind him shaken away swiftly. "Well?" |
"I’ll copy it as quickly as I can..." |
For a few minutes it was only the scratching of the feather, the tap of it’s edge along the well, and the muttering of something under Quinn’s voice. It sounded hissing, a small growl in the words he tried to place but failed at doing. Infernal. Two hundred years, and it was something he had yet to learn a slice of. |
"There." Astarion turned about, seeing Quinn squeeze their nose and sniff heavily. The tang was still in the air, as well as the minute discomfort along their brow. |
"What does it say?" |
They glanced down at their lap, where the parchment was held on the board, and up again. "It’s, it’s part of something larger. A fraction of a ritual. Like, like glyphs carved into the basis of one ingredient of a larger whole." |
"Ingredient? You make it sound as though... Quinntav ." |
"I’ve watched my ring master carve glyphs for rituals that consume the components used, Astarion, and I’m not going to pretend that I know what the hell I’m talking about but when someone makes a pact with a devil it typically means sacrificing something to complete the deal." |
"You’re kidding," he sneered. "Of course! Sending these Gur after me couldn’t have been a simple act of reminding me of my place, no, of course not! It’s about getting back what he needs for some damned infernal ritual, and here I have been carrying it around in my skin for nearly fifty fucking years with nary a goddam... |
"We’ll keep him from you. If this thing was apart of a locater spell, you would have already been taken. He doesn’t know where you are but you’re right; if he’s sending anyone after you, you’re obviously necessary to complete his plans." |
"Is that meant to be the source of some sort of comfort? Because now all I know is Cazador is, instead of getting bored of bothering, is bound to hunt me to the ends of the earth until he gets precisely what I want!" |
"If there’s anyone who knows more about pacts, it’s Wyll. We can-." |
"No, absolutely not! We aren’t telling any of the others a damned thing." |
"But why not? I know we’re still strangers but if there’s anyone who wouldn’t be self serving about it, it’s-." |
"Until I know the fine details of this deal Cazador made, I refuse to let anyone else know. The last thing I need is for that bleeding heart to try to do something out of the goodness of his heart and screwing me over for it!" He clicked his teeth together, muscles jumping. "I need to think about this. The only other I... |
"What eyes would those be, dove?" |
"Those...those big, sad— would you stop ?" |
"We’re headed to the city. If you could only stay away, I can deal with him myself and we can forget-." |
"Pardon me, darling, but the last time I checked one hardly could match toe to toe with a vampire lord ." |
"Oh, I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I could kick his spawn’s ass if given half the chance." With that they stood up and vacated the tent, leaving Astarion fuming behind them. |
Quinn supposed that was their first real argument. |
It was rather remarkable, really. Since being on the road for near on a month and a half it was only natural that there be the occasional spat. Shadowheart and Lae'zel nearly had a duel to the death at dawn, Karlach had to fight Scratch to get her dear stuffed bear back, and it always seemed like Astarion was making an... |
Quinn figured they could blame it on the cruel trick revealed when Astarion had asked them to read from his back. The Tiefling couldn't imagine the sort of fear that had been running through his veins of borrowed blood before, but there was also apparently a pact on his back that Quinn had good reason would lead to his... |
No matter their musings, Quinn gave him his space, aware after a time that they...were not used to doing that exactly, but assuming no one would actually notice. |
"So what's going on with you and the pomp?" |
Quinn sighed, wondering what trickster god they had upset that day. The day was an odd one, spent traveling along one of the twisting, narrow passes of the Underdark. It was a beautiful place, really, if deadly. Nightlight Fronds, and dark grasses, touched with glowing spores from the ever reaching mushroom trees that ... |
"Which pomp are we speaking of, K," Quinn asked Karlach, still half distracted, at least, by admiring the environment. |
"Don't play coy, Q," Karlach nudged them with the heat of her shoulder. Since having her heart reinforced with the proper steel she had revealed her love language thrice fold, telling Shadowheart to feel her arm guns, and challenging every one to a wrestling match at least once. "Coy is the game your man likes to play.... |
"Az isn't my "man", K," she made loud "ha!" that echoed throughout to the green fertile vallies below, straight to the sea. "He's his own person." |
"Right, because the two of you sneaking off really just has sommthin" to do with bein" a caring donor. Wait. You can't be serious!" |
Quinn didn't need to look back to know someone was paying attention. Ahead Wyll kept pace with Gale, speaking something of the wines of the city, while Lae'zel marched further ahead on a warpath of her own. The rest followed behind, Halsin happy to amble along in his bear form with the furry children, with Shadowheart ... |
"We really are just...close companions. Friends, if I should be so lucky, actually." Friends goaded other friends into physical intimacy, right? Though really they hadn't done that since the night of party... "He's got his own trouble, K, I'll not add my dreams of a cottage by the coast to his list of to-dos." |
"I'll be honest, Q, I can't for the life of me see him living it rough. I mean, besides what us lot have been stuck with, anyway. Though, if you ask me," she smiled, all sharp teeth and sweetness. "With the way he keeps your company, maybe you should reconsider asking about that abode by the bay. Or, well, the way he u... |
"Thank you for...saying so, Karlach," their eyes skated to the ground, uncertain. "But all I've done for Astarion is offered him a means of getting by. When we put his master in the dirt, he'll want to retire to a palace or chateaux. Somewhere someone like him can live in the comfort he deserves. And I will have the ci... |
"Alright, none of this," she gave them a slap on the back, Quinn rocking from the unsuspected blow, as well meant as it was. "Is as the bat says, you're meant for laughs. Giving them and hearing them. If you start trudging your way along like Gale every time he mentions his ex-." |
Gale shouted back: " Excuse me ! I do not trudge! I contemplate in weighty silence!" |
"Yeah, sure, you big sack of spells," she glanced again at Quinn, who, yes, was smiling a bit. "Then what will we do? We need the merry in our merry band of misfits, and you're a good portion of that." |
"Did...did Astarion say something about me?" |
"Oh, what, you don't know? Maybe I shouldn't kiss and tell. The two of you might be mates of some sort or another but we get along just fine." |
Quinn made The Eyes. |
"Oh, come on, don't do that! Stop it, it's cheating!" |
"If Astarion complimented me, Karlach, I think it would do my trudging a great deal of good to find out what it is he said." |
"He said you were like the moon." |
"...what does that mean?" They despaired. He had to be sick of the damned moon! |
"Hold on! Hold on! All I said was you'd be a nice shadow to have about if he's forced back into the life he had. Into the dark." Quinn was astounded that she would even dare. "There's a lot more context to that conversation you were there for that I don't have the time to give, Q. The point is what he said." She set he... |
Karlach whipped out a thumbs up, all sparkles and sunshine. |
"Are you..." but maybe they could hear it. Maybe they could imagine him saying those words so clearly. Aloof and yet elegant, thinking inward while looking out. Maybe they had spent enough time around him that Quinn could imagine anything and have it be convincing. |
"Thank you, K, really." |
"Speaking of." Karlach tilted her head along the path, and they heard her chuckle as they may have perked up at the sight. |
Astarion loathed skulking in the dark again. The Underdark was about as damp and disgusting as any back ally or cavern he had been forced to lurk in to escape the sun, except since he had tasted freedom properly it felt worse somehow. As if he were a new born calf that had never known anything but the cage, been given ... |
If there was at least a breeze he could take in the fresh air and remind himself of the return, but nothing seemed to move there save for the rushing rapids below or the ghostly drift of spores. He had been aware of the group's location the entire time, but returning was a relief, seeing them more so, more then he woul... |
He'd noticed the tick soon after meeting them, not every Tiefling wagged their tail so, if they had one, but there was always some part of Quinn's anatomy that had to be moving. Astarion's feet picked up at the sight, though he gave what report he could while keeping his...up lift in mood close to his chest. |
"There's some beast of a creature crawling around in the rock," he told them, the wizard, warlock, and Githyanki fighter near at hand while the remainder ambled over to catch up. When his eyes found Quinn's, they caught there. "I found one of it's exits; the brute is at least twice Halsin's current size." |
The druid shook his head with a huff, as if he very much doubted that, but he waved him off. |
"Now that's a dog I'd like a peek at." |
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