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Wyll is nothing if not a gentlemanly sort.
So when he catches Shadowheart teetering her way to the forest, loose tongue telling him she has to take a pee, he offers to escort her. Perhaps some – Lae’zel comes to mind - would be inclined to allow her to wander the night alone, get eaten by a bear, but The Blade would be none too happy about it.
It’s a thing of polite intentions, honest. He’s really not out to peep on anybody.
They travel some ways for a spot with decent privacy, Wyll keeping a fair distance with his back turned. All that armor, he assumes it’ll take a hot minute, whistling one of the recent bard tunes.
“Wyll,” That is, until the cleric is calling for him in hushed tones, not too long after, “Shut up a second. Come here.”
Uh. She doesn’t sound like she’s in life threatening danger? Again, he’s really not out to peep on anybody.
Instead, he teases, “Do I have to? What, you make that interesting of a puddle?”
“Ew. Don’t be foul. Just – “
He peeks over his shoulder, and sure enough, she’s decent. Barring the most shit-eatingest grin he’s ever seen on the usually stoic woman. The cleric holds a lone finger over her lips before beckoning him into the brush.
Oh, if it’s tickled Shadowheart, it has to be good.
He follows her on tiptoes, trying to snap branches as silently as possible, not that it saves him any aggressive, slurring shushing. She makes herself a real hypocrite when, as they come to the edge of a downward slope, she pulls him down onto his belly in a heap of rustling.
“Shh! Look, look,” she sniggers between whispers, “Dis-gus-ting.”
Wyll clicks his tongue, not unkindly, before following her line of sight –
Oh.
Is that… Mimin and Astarion?
All the way up here, plus the vamp draped over her, he doesn’t really see anything. But he can tell they’re naked, if Astarion’s blindingly white arse is anything to go by. And they’re most definitely in the throes of lovemaking, with all the writhing going on.
Wyll had polite intentions. He’s really, really, really not out to peep on anybody. And – no offense to either of them, they’re not bad looking or anything - he certainly didn’t want to see this much!
He throws Shadowheart a scolding glare, but that just makes her snicker harder, sputtering into her own hand. Which has The Blades shoulders scrunching in fear of getting caught. Shadowheart’s a bit of a cackler and, even muffled, sound carries in these open parts of the woods. Gods, Astarion will gut him for interrupting his moment twice.
“Lady Shadowheart, you are a pervert,” he chastises more vocally this time, “Let’s get out of here before – “
He can’t hear what’s being said, but he catches a lot of lip movement going on down below, before he watches as Mimin tilts her head and draws Astarion’s own curly cranium to –
No way.
Nope. Yep. Nope. He bites her.
Instantly, any ideas of preserving a sense of privacy are out the window, because it’s such a weird sight he just has to watch in abject horror. It’s not the thing of vampy romance novels, of which he’s jokingly perused with mates over a pint, all flowery euphemisms for penetration. No, it’s…
Well, it’s accurate. Like watching a starved predator snatch and rip open its prey. Too disturbing, yet kind of fascinating, to look away. The spawn latches onto Mimin’s throat with his full mouth, crushing her into the dirt like he’s trying to bury her there, rolling into his victim with feral frantic. Had said victim not seemed so… content, petting his hair like he’s a particularly exotic cat, he’d think he were attacking her.
As if things couldn’t get stranger, it's not long until they both meet their finishing act. The flesh of the choirgirl’s neck does nothing to muffle the pathetic sound that rips from Astarion. Just as he thought – sound carries, out here.
Not once, in all The Blade’s years as a monster hunter, has he seen… uh… whatever this is. Weird. Fucking weird.
He eyes Shadowheart and, likewise, she’s gone from bemused to stunned. He’d bet that that sobered her up, right then and there.
Her mouth opens, hangs in a pause, before deciding very lucidly, “I think I’ve drunk too much for this.”
He’s of equal mind. Too much ale in the belly, to stomach this sight.
Just as the choirgirl starts kissing the spawn, through a thick layer of her own blood painted across his maw, they scoot away as quietly as they can. Back onto the path, where they trudge back to the party in traumatized silence.
For a bit, anyway, because Wyll is a little drunk too – and honestly? He resents the friendly air growing awkward. Despite traversing with her often, it’s the first he’s gotten any one-on-one time with the cleric, and they were just threatening to bond over a bit of gossip. This group, they all like to pretend to hate each other, but…
He breaks the silence with a joke, “You think if a beetle crawls up their ass, that makes it a threesome?”
Shadowheart sputters again, turning away to hide just how funny she found that, and the warlock grins with glee. Add that onto the good pile, then.
“Don’t suppose you saw it coming?”
“Pft. I had my suspicions, especially after the first bite,” she acquiesces, wiping an unshed tear from her eye, “Though, I wondered if he were all talk. Or if Mimin would even notice, if he weren’t. Silly girl.”
“That she is.” While it might not be the case now, Wyll has to ponder how often people have mistaken Mimin’s kindness as amorous. She’s a rare sort, all warm and fuzzy – maybe a little too much, to be all that platonic. It’s a wonder she doesn’t have a line of suitors at her door, insisting that they’re treated much more special than the last.
Even he’s flitted the thought through his head, once or twice, when particularly sincere words are shared. But, alas, everyone’s a little special to Mimin.
Besides, his heart is trapped by another.
“What of you? Don’t tell me you were all that oblivious.”
“I might’ve noticed how often he tries to get her alone. Interrogated him on it, too,” he replies, sheepish over the memory. He likes Astarion well enough, he swears, just doing his duty as a monster hunter. “You know, I still don’t quite know if he’s out for blood or sex.”
“By the looks of it, both. Not that I care to look, ever again,” the cleric grouses, not hiding her curled lip, “I’m not healing them anymore.”
He laughs at that, knowing she doesn’t mean it in the slightest.
“…Is it cause for trouble, do you think?” Though she asks, suddenly serious, “He’s sure to be a bad influence on her.”
He hums but doesn’t disagree. He’d be fool to say it isn’t possible. If there is any indication of Mimin having favoritism, it’s when she isn’t kind. When she’ll, er, be a bit of an enabler, as she is with Astarion.
Yet…He has faith that she’ll be loyal to her principles, when it comes down to it. And have the power to persuade them, at that.
“Or she’ll be a good influence on him.”
Yes, everyone’s a little special to Mimin. It’s not enough to be pretty and prepositioning, not for her. There must be something genuine she sees in Astarion, for her to put up with him. Likewise, something Astarion is drawn by, to put up with her over anyone else. These two, they’ve picked each other.
Call him a romantic, or a gossip, but The Blade is a little excited to see what blooms from this. Shadowheart spares him a glance.
“Still monster hunting, after all?”
He confesses with another grin, coupled with a shrug, “I've come to learn that defeating a villain doesn’t always have to involve bloodshed.”
“Hm.”
…Perhaps it’s not only Astarion she’s been a good influence on. Despite the Sharran’s claims of preferring darkness and solitude, Wyll often catches the choirgirl getting a smile and a playful word out of her, especially that of today. Interestingly, it doesn’t take a lot of arm-twisting, to get her to agree to do a good thing. Now, here she is, worrying her friend will be taken advantage of by a boy.
A vampiric, two-hundred-year-old ‘boy’, but still.
He can’t resist the urge to joke, “Watch yourself, you’re sounding awful close to caring.”
She doesn’t laugh at that one.
“Never imagined that I would,” Instead, Shadowheart replies with slumping shoulders, like that’s so daunting of a realization. Bad pile it is, then. “I was taught to reject anything that distracted from Shar… But there’ll be time for penance later.”
He frowns. Because it’s such an offense, for isolated women to find some mortal company in one another. To do or be something, outside of unending devotion.
But Wyll doesn’t have the mental capacity to be dishing out any well-meaning wisdom, much less confront the brunt of any religious guilt, much much less to a woman who’s likely to clam up if he gets too sincere. So, as they’re approaching the mouth of the party once more, he compromises with, “Well, if you’re going to have to do penance anyway, might as well rack it up.”
She scoffs, but spares another glance and a lazy half-smile, mood effectively lightened, “Now you’re a bad influence.”
“Who, The Blade? Never,” he chuckles cheekily, already making eyes at Karlach, teaching the youth a dance. To think he's even here with her, as allies instead of enemies. To think he was so close to snuffing the flame that'd brighten his life so much, in such short time. “Want to top off with me?”
But Shadowheart’s attentions are already caught by something else across camp.
“No, I…I think I’m going to go have a drink with Lae’zel, if it’s all the same to you.”
He follows her line of sight and, sure enough, she’s staring wistfully at their gith friend. Back in her claimed corner, arms crossed, watching the party with a glare – but an unusually soft glare, for Lae’zel, tempered with success and merriment and probably drink.
“Yeah?”
“Mmhm,” she mumbles, “Might as well ‘rack it up’, hm?”
Well. Color him surprised! They have seemed to let the endless sniping have a rest, for the sake of the night. They’ve even shared a dance, a smile, earlier. Incredible that the world didn’t split in two, right then and there.
He glances back to Karlach. They’ve all strange tastes, and it’s a night of strange matches, indeed.
Even if one half of the strange match is looking all kinds of embarrassed, already threatening him, “If you say anything – “
“Didn’t you hear? My tactics have switched to being a wingman. I’ll keep perfectly mum.”
“…Good.”
“Unless you come back with bitemarks too. Then I’m cracking at you, come first light.”
“Ugh. I’m already regretting this.”