That we know of. [Astarion corrects in that stiffened way of his, the one that signals when he's more intent on being calm than actually calm at present— but it's a half step closer to reality for trying, and oh, it matters what he wants to be in this fragile snapshot of a moment. That for all the rage he feels (and the deeper beat beat beat of terror working its jaws against his nape), what he wants is to let azure sparks find a place to den within him as well, and wash away the memories he can't ignore to, quite literally in this case, save his bloody life.
Yet gods how he melts around his mate without an ounce of hesitation to be seen in segue. His fierce, fearsome mate, who brought himself right to the brink to keep him safe—
And who did so again (eliciting a mild hum as Astarion noses in against his cheek much like Ataashi herself is prone to; scolding and appreciating all at once: don't exert yourself, don't drive me to drain you— turn you— I'm not ready to take your life away; I'm not ready to be like him....) all for the sake of their security.
His security.]
It's been years, and if the Devil wasn't lying when he said that Cazador grew more desperate by the day, then there's hardly any telling what thralls or bought-out allies he might send our way. [The thought's a nauseating shiver, rattling along his spine and threatening to bite him: how many would it be now? A third of the city? Half?] He could have the duchy's assets on our heels, the Steel Watch, the Gur— knowing or played for fools, it makes no difference, we—
[Ah, but the alarm. The magic woven through the floorboards, and if it comes to it he'll flee with Leto in his arms— Ataashi will teleport the pups away and manage on their own, while he at least spirits his better half to safety. The old apothecary might do. The one they'd met in in this world— yes, yes all right. That'll work. That's fine. He can calm with that, after all a vampire (even a lone one), is more than enough to fend off—
It's a tension in the air before that magic, thoughtfully applied, is already called to screaming service in a flash of movement quick enough to leave Astarion on his heels— fangs and claws viciously bared to guard the creature laid behind him, obscuring Leto from view mere seconds before the door to their room buckles under pressure, then clicks, then gives way with a fresh burst of tavern air as half the flock of Gale's talked-about companions come spilling in, armed to the teeth and looking for a fight.
'Are you hurt? I smell blood,' presses a warbling, delicate and delicately out of breath voice belonging to the dark-haired half-elf at the fore, her eyes darting round the room towards the ruddy pools that clearly didn't come from Astarion, 'Selûne's breath—'
'Move. MOVE.' Growls the massive tiefling behind her, barreling past in a mad rush— snarling for the adversaries she can't find— and then practically grasping Astarion by his cheekbones and ears: cupping his (comparatively) tiny face in her warm hands, looking him over with teardrops welling in both eyes and then—
—oh and then she hugs him like she'll crush his bones to dust if she doesn't suffocate him first. 'He's all right! Guys, Astarion is—'
(Squawking. Seething. Barking in trapped indignation and feeling like a clay piece in a collapsing kiln between her biceps and the scalding center of her chest, and oh, the curses he howls out in livid outrage fit to end the world itself in every language that he knows— )
'—oh shit,' Karlach gasps from overtop those silver curls, gawking down at the other elven stranger she's not met. The one Astarion had been squirreling away like a mother tiger poised before her laid out cubs, and Karlach—
(It's a hiss-pop of vampiric magic. A fluttering of displaced Weave, and chittering with volatile enmity a small white bat flutters out of her arms, lashing out with claws and fangs for good measure on its way to transformed freedom— little difference that it makes to hide as thick as hers—)
—blinks in stunned surprise. Lifts one now empty hand up towards her shoulder, and waves down at Leto as if he were every bit a tender wonder. A little tiger cub. A delicate, pretty, very special thing for what she knows he means to her companion. 'Hi.']
Fuck off- 'hi!?' 'HI??!' The gall to to to to even DARE— after an entrance like that— to just act like nothing happened, fucking hells I thought you were—
[Oh his gazes slides past the tiefling. Past the half-elf. The humans, the....gith? The flying cat. Past them all to the wooden fixture that's behind them creaking in the wind like a broken, swinging arm.]
My DOOR!!!!
[He shrieks to the point of cracking his own voice by the end of it, clawed hands outstretched in utter bewilderment and shock.]
no subject
Yet gods how he melts around his mate without an ounce of hesitation to be seen in segue. His fierce, fearsome mate, who brought himself right to the brink to keep him safe—
And who did so again (eliciting a mild hum as Astarion noses in against his cheek much like Ataashi herself is prone to; scolding and appreciating all at once: don't exert yourself, don't drive me to drain you— turn you— I'm not ready to take your life away; I'm not ready to be like him....) all for the sake of their security.
His security.]
It's been years, and if the Devil wasn't lying when he said that Cazador grew more desperate by the day, then there's hardly any telling what thralls or bought-out allies he might send our way. [The thought's a nauseating shiver, rattling along his spine and threatening to bite him: how many would it be now? A third of the city? Half?] He could have the duchy's assets on our heels, the Steel Watch, the Gur— knowing or played for fools, it makes no difference, we—
[Ah, but the alarm. The magic woven through the floorboards, and if it comes to it he'll flee with Leto in his arms— Ataashi will teleport the pups away and manage on their own, while he at least spirits his better half to safety. The old apothecary might do. The one they'd met in in this world— yes, yes all right. That'll work. That's fine. He can calm with that, after all a vampire (even a lone one), is more than enough to fend off—
It's a tension in the air before that magic, thoughtfully applied, is already called to screaming service in a flash of movement quick enough to leave Astarion on his heels— fangs and claws viciously bared to guard the creature laid behind him, obscuring Leto from view mere seconds before the door to their room buckles under pressure, then clicks, then gives way with a fresh burst of tavern air as half the flock of Gale's talked-about companions come spilling in, armed to the teeth and looking for a fight.
'Are you hurt? I smell blood,' presses a warbling, delicate and delicately out of breath voice belonging to the dark-haired half-elf at the fore, her eyes darting round the room towards the ruddy pools that clearly didn't come from Astarion, 'Selûne's breath—'
'Move. MOVE.' Growls the massive tiefling behind her, barreling past in a mad rush— snarling for the adversaries she can't find— and then practically grasping Astarion by his cheekbones and ears: cupping his (comparatively) tiny face in her warm hands, looking him over with teardrops welling in both eyes and then—
—oh and then she hugs him like she'll crush his bones to dust if she doesn't suffocate him first. 'He's all right! Guys, Astarion is—'
(Squawking. Seething. Barking in trapped indignation and feeling like a clay piece in a collapsing kiln between her biceps and the scalding center of her chest, and oh, the curses he howls out in livid outrage fit to end the world itself in every language that he knows— )
'—oh shit,' Karlach gasps from overtop those silver curls, gawking down at the other elven stranger she's not met. The one Astarion had been squirreling away like a mother tiger poised before her laid out cubs, and Karlach—
(It's a hiss-pop of vampiric magic. A fluttering of displaced Weave, and chittering with volatile enmity a small white bat flutters out of her arms, lashing out with claws and fangs for good measure on its way to transformed freedom— little difference that it makes to hide as thick as hers—)
—blinks in stunned surprise. Lifts one now empty hand up towards her shoulder, and waves down at Leto as if he were every bit a tender wonder. A little tiger cub. A delicate, pretty, very special thing for what she knows he means to her companion. 'Hi.']
Fuck off- 'hi!?' 'HI??!' The gall to to to to even DARE— after an entrance like that— to just act like nothing happened, fucking hells I thought you were—
[Oh his gazes slides past the tiefling. Past the half-elf. The humans, the....gith? The flying cat. Past them all to the wooden fixture that's behind them creaking in the wind like a broken, swinging arm.]
My DOOR!!!!
[He shrieks to the point of cracking his own voice by the end of it, clawed hands outstretched in utter bewilderment and shock.]