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"Does anyone else but Quinn have an opinion on the matter?" |
"We'll just have to keep our eyes and ears open for signs of an earth quake," Wyll spoke up, Quinn showing a flash of their tongue's points at his apparent lack of fun: "Must be a Bullete. Jenny wanted one for riding pups around, but they're positively massive." |
Karlach gaped, cut off when Shadowheart raised a hand: "We are not looking for one on purpose." |
Both Tieflings deflated visibly. |
Astarion was fortunately able to find a location for staking up camp, the landing thin enough that he assumed this "Bullete" wouldn't try to cross it from within, and a wall to them that secured their back. Once his tent was up, he was more then prepared to lay down within and pretend he was somewhere more pleasant. |
Until Quinntav hurried over to him, their exposed skin glowing in the dark. |
"What in the hells have you done to yourself!" |
"The Nightlights," they yelled to him before they had cleared the space, as if that answered anything. Somewhere Asterion could hear Wyll bellowing in laughter at the sight, Karlach alongside him. "I took the paste of the Nightlight Fronds and used it as paint to cover myself!" |
"Are you completely insane! If you wanted to show a cry for attention you didn't have to roll yourself into the nearest mushroom and paint a target on you back! Show off your bits like the rest of us!" He glanced towards their trousers. "How far does that go exactly?" |
Their grin was wide and sharp: "Everywhere." |
If it was literally anyone else Astarion would assumed that this was an invitation to see for himself. And certainly it was, only without the outcome that, oh, ninety right percent of the population would otherwise intend. |
"Damnit," he cocked a hip, trying to hide the giggle in his voice for what it was: rest deprived, nerve addled, and altogether too genuine. "Two hundred years of thinking I'd witnessed everything and here you are proving that there is still wonder to behold in this world. Yet again. Can I see?" |
Quinn answered by ducking into his tent, making no effort to hide the act, and leaving Astarion to flip off Karlach from afar for their sake when she gave a dog whistle of appreciation. They could think what they wanted, they all likely assumed they were fucking anywhere. He would have. |
In truth it had happened all of the once since they met, and since then it had only been about the feedings. |
At first Astarion was dumbfounded. Hell, he was still nervous. He spent far too long turning seduction into an art, a matter of survival, for it to mean fuck all the second he entered the big wide world. If only everyone was willing to share some blood if he sat to listen to their terrible humor occasionally. |
Not that he was complaining. He couldn't decide which was worse. The lack of sexual intercourse to manipulate Quinntav into keeping him from Cazador or the miserable comfort of what he knew. What he thought he had knew. |
Now he was entering his own tent, the first room he had ever had of his own since becoming a spawn, and it was to the sight of his Tiefling stripping to their smalls to show off their startling visage. |
And it still had nothing to do with sex! |
"What led you to pull this new bout of nonsense," Astarion asked, eyes skimming with abandon over their form. Every inch of them was truly covered. The foraged paint had to have dried quickly, as none of it came off with the removal of clothing, though there were some patches on the inside. |
"I thought maybe someone or several someones could use a bit of absurdity to help liven up the situation," they replied, by then having shirked their overcoat of spun mail, leather, and color. This meant they were down to their loose under shirt, with it’s cut sleeves and wide cut neck. They leaned back on his cot, fol... |
"I'm unsure, darling," he began, testing the waters. "Perhaps I need a complete picture to fully grasp the meaning behind this work of art?" |
Quinn snorted cutely, sitting up. "Ask me again when we have four walls around us. Unless you're feeling stressed. My offer from before is still open." |
"To be honest...this place leaves much to be desired. Including in the bedroom department. If you... understand my meaning." |
"That works for me," they sat up from lounging, no less content then to sit next to him there. It boggled the mind how far they went to ensure that he couldn’t assume the worst. |
"I do have a small question." |
"And what would that be," he sat at the end of the cot wondering if it was worth it to take off his boots with who knows what horrors were lurking outside. |
"I know you can't possibly be feeling better since I read your back," Quinntav began, Astarion looking at him shrewdly. "And I've wanted to give you space. But if there's anything else I can do, even as a sounding board, then I'm all ears. Always." |
"Is that why you've been keeping your distance? And here I thought I wasn't your favorite any longer." He was avoiding the question. |
"Dove, if I had the smallest by your leave I would move into whatever over sized castle you're bound to end up ruling by the end of this quest." |
"A "castle"? I was thinking more of a châteaux, who really has time to manage anything as borish as some heap of mud and stone?" He could feel himself easing as he side stepped the implications of what they had said. Why Quinntav, full of life and laughter and song would want to lock themself up in the estate of any va... |
"I was thinking I could be your fool, if we were still going with the castle bit," they replied, continuing their charade. "Look at me, Astarion. I would be perfect!" |
"I'm not letting you anywhere near high society vampires. You may hold your own with your wit and your sword work, but they're an entirely different species of beast, Quinntav." |
"I would say I spend enough time with one as is, but I wonder if you're anything like any of them." |
"I'm no bleeding heart, if that's what you're thinking. Pun not intended, calm your tail. Hunter, unlike nearly everyone else in this group it takes more then a sob story and a handful of coppers to frankly make me give a damn." |
"Then I'll be your front door man. When anyone comes by, asking for alms, I'll make the donation. Next thing you know, Astarion, you'll be the jewel of the city, and I your humble shadow." |
"Shadow." He couldn’t imagine it. He found that he didn’t want to try. "If there's anything you are not Quinntav it's a shadow." The fun had gone. The amusement. He was left sighing again or wishing he had the will to do that much. "Would you...do something for me?" |
Their eyes shone as twin moons, as if all they had been waiting for was a request made on his behalf. "Yes?" |
He swallowed, unsure of himself. "Sing a song for me. Play something. I hate this place. I just want the sunlight again, I've spent too long...please." |
In the same low voice they replied, "I can do that." |
Quinn sat back, trusting the wall of the tent the cot was pressed against to hold them up, and weaving their fingers together to rest on their abdomen. Rather then stare, then watch as their eyes fell half mast and their words turned honey sweet, Astarion began removing his own leathers. |
"Has anyone told you, "Your hands are too small"? |
My heart cannot compare to your strength, |
But in terms of love, it conquers all. |
Dogging your footsteps, foolish and blind, |
Seeing nothing, seeing everything; |
May it be kind. |
May it be kind that I saw you, |
And stopped to stare. |
May it be kind that I tried to know you, |
And more then cared. |
May my love never be a burden, |
Too much to bear. |
Your hands are so small |
Can I hold them? Can I hold them for you, my dear?" |
The cot creaked as Astarion set a knee to it, as he climbed into their lap and pressed his mouth to their’s. It was easier to ask them to fuck him with his actions, then to ask them to stay with words. |
"You're not honestly serious about being apart of a circus act, are you, Hunter? I know one can be rather dedicated to one's art if need be, but literally bleeding for it?" |
"Juggling swords wasn't all I was up to, mate," Quinntav had replied to him, at the time strangely amicable despite it being their first night together. Astarion would later write it off as a result of their life's history, however short. As an entertainer they had to be affable after all. "I would help pitch the tent,... |
"Oh. Is that it?" Astarion had glanced at them from beside the fire, from beside Quinn. He picked up quickly that they were not at all off put by a stranger being so near, though that same stranger had drawn a dagger on them that same day in a fit of startled fear. "I expected, well." |
"The trapeze act?" |
"Our high flying routine," Quinn had grinned, their sharp canines glimmering against the fire. Not so deadly as Astarion's, but no less noticeable. "It means climbing to the breast of one of the supportive pillars of the main tent. Walking, step by step, across the wire that cuts across the space end to end. And fallin... |
"That sounds like madness!" He had seen it first hand only once, but though so much time and yet so little had passed since Astarion could still see it so clearly. Quinn leaping, Quinn falling. |
At the time seeing a repeat performance seemed as likely as carving the tadpole from their heads. But as the weeks progressed and anyone stole a moment to ask about some trick, some show, some roadside acrobatics for a few coppers, he thought maybe...maybe he could just ask. And they could both runaway together, to act... |
When the Bullete erupted from the earth, Astarion's eyes were on Quinn. Quinn flying. Quinn falling. With no net in sight. |
Wyll stole it from his mouth: "QUINNTAV!" The terror, but not the shock. He still couldn't believe his eyes. Then he had to stop staring, because the beast was bearing down on them like a star, and there wasn't any time to feel fear. |
It was there anyway. |
The Bullete ended up fleeing mid-battle, but with a concussed Karlach and Quinn nowhere in sight, no one complained. They split up, Shadowheart staying behind with the red Tiefling while Gale and Lae’zel formed a group and Wyll attempted to run with Astarion. |
He didn’t argue about the pace, but the Warlock was no light foot, not like the vampire or the Hunter. The second time he nearly stumbled from a twisting root vine, the thick corded branches sprouting crystalline shards that were nearly blinding in their brilliance, he dared to tell Astarion to slow down. |
He sounded breathless, tired. "We won’t help anyone by falling into a chasm after them-!" |
Astarion tossed back: "Then stay behind!" |
The Hero’s footfalls did not cease; together the two of them wound their way down, tracing a path that could have led to a monster den, to yet another chasm, to straight back the way they had come. But there was some god that seemed to favor Quinn, because the root led down to the waters, the secreted wizard’s tower lo... |
Of Quinntav’s mouth on his neck, the salty sweat of their skin causing the mushroom paint to leave marks across Astraion’s skin. As with their blood before, they had lit a path down to his stomach, then took a nibble that had him jerking in equal parts frustration and desire. |
Astarion shook off the memory, barely paying attention when he spotted a figure across the water, and hitting the shallow reaches with a splash. Not one figure, but two, the second turning their head and stepping once away from the kneeling Tiefling in the water. Head bowed, hair leaking crimson. |
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THEM!" |
Astarion didn’t stop running, Wyll cracked off an Eldritch Blast, sending a spray of water upwards in a shot of red energy. Astarion hit the resulting mist full on, but the water settled the stranger was gone. |
It alarmed him— did they teleport out? was it an illusion? — but not as much as Quinntav did when they turned their head to look towards him, flickering red eyes wide. |
A sudden chill hit Astarion— a primal warning that a predator had spotted him. |
Wyll had finally joined him, halting in place, sensing his hesitancy, and there was a flicker of movement in the cavernous darkness about their head. A large eagle, Gale, with a shining length of Lae’zel holding onto one taloned foot with both hands. He swooped low, allowing her to land gracefully on the water. By then... |
The eagle screeched in sudden alarm, Astarion, Wyll, and Lae’zel crouching instincively at the shrill cry. |
Again, Wyll gave his alarm words: "Did they just Curse Gale?" |
By way of response Gale began to crash to the earth, his great wings folding under him to soften the blow of his body hitting the rock beneath the water. He crashed into the rock, the lump of a form transforming back into a mortal man before the wave slapping Astarion’s forelegs stopped moving. Gale moved, clutching hi... |
Quinn had withdrawn one blade at their hip, their attention turned towards the Wizard, but that attention snapped to the side when Lae’zel gave a cry of her own, blade drawn, the Githyanki propelling herself towards the Tiefling in a full charge. |
Quinn rose a free hand and Astarion heard Wyll’s gasp as their arm snapped back: a red lined Eldritch Blast shooting out from one finger, hitting the warrior full on with unexpected ferocity. Lae’zel was sent careening back, legs over head, but Quinn was busy, throwing their sword towards Gale— the Wizard barely making... |
The Wizard yelled out, flying back as Lae’zel had before. |
A matter of seconds, all Astarion spent too stunned to speak. |
Astarion opened his mouth, but a gust of wind at his flank signaled an opening portal— ash, brimstone, fire — and a red skinned Cambion erupted from Wyll’s up held scroll, the paper burning away as the Warlock tossed it aside. The winged hell spawn flew towards Quinntav, boots skimming the water, mission intent, and... |
The Cambion understood, and out was his own blade, a long sword that went down in a powerful arc, hitting and meeting with the twin blades of their friend. |
"While they’re distracted-!" Wyll moved and Astarion followed, removing his own blade, unsure of what the fuck he was going to do with it exactly once they were there. |
Another slap of blades, the Cambion trying again to stagger his foe— and he screeched, reeling back, dropping his weapon to clutch at his head. A psychic attack? He could only guess— Astarion knew Quinn used something called "Rites" but they typically took the form of fire, an allusion to their time juggling flaming bl... |
The increased response speed, the Eldritch Blasts, the ability to call back their blade— Quinn was strong, but they had never fought on this level before. Gale’s voice echoed through the chamber. For a moment purple shackles sprouted out from his raised hands, flinging them over the space between him and Hunter, th... |
Wyll gasped, side stepping a thrown blade. Wyll yelped, clutching his side as it returned. Astarion took his chance in moving in close, swiping upward with his blade, and catching the meat of Quinn's arm. Fabric tore, the too fine material that barely protected the skin there blossoming in red. |
Quinn retaliated, arching up, but Astarion bounced back. He had to shut off his mind, but the blood, Quinn's blood, was boiling beneath his skin. He couldn't think. He couldn't focus. The Tiefling snapped out a laugh, Astarion grunted at the clash of their sword against his. Then the sweep of another, and another, both... |
Midlock they twisted in place and kicked out, catching his stomach, Astarion flailing back. Lae'zel entered his vision, barreling at the Tiefling with both hands. They came together in a roll of bodies, Lae'zel getting astride the Hunter long enough for them to grab the collar of her armor with one hand, send off anoth... |
Gale's spell, a second Hold Person, hit only water. |
Quinn was standing up, the leathers of the front of their jerkin torn open. Lae'zel was not. |
Astarion cursed, he flashed out a hand, Marking them for tracking and damaging. Quinn must have felt the tickle, they laughed again, and ran towards him, bladeless, snarling. |
The next Blast from Wyll was dodged, and then there is was Astarion, Quinn suddenly too close, the hilt of a scimitar sailing into their hand and it's blade running across his chest. He pulled back, tripped on a grabbing tail, and fell. |
Somewhere Wyll yelled in alarm. Above him, Quinn climbed atop the vampire, holding the sword with two hands, and stopping the point mere inches from Astarion's throat. |
This would be the memory that remained. |
The gleeful desire in Quinn's face. Astarion's hand floundering for the dagger he had dropped. A scream of their name from somewhere far else. And the tremble. The tremble of the scimitar, rattling in their grasp. The tremble in their thighs blocking his own. The tremble of their expression as it began to flicker. To c... |
Quinn cut down between the leather folds, into their own abdomen. Astarion lay there, stunned, for hours, for years. The motion of Quinn leaning forward brought him him back. He heard himself gasp, a useless, stupid reflex, and Quinn fell sideways. Astarion rolled with them, forelegs submerged, grabbing their face. |
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