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“This is shameful, nay – humiliating.” Astarion glances over at Gale as he monologues, hands motioning as if he is speaking directly to someone and not the air in front of him. The two have been forced to go on a walk to “talk out their differences, maybe bond a little,” according to Kalmara, their self-imposed leader. While they walk, she is having what she calls couples therapy with Lae’zel and Shadowheart; Astarion and Gale are next. The thought causes Astarion to roll his eyes. Even worse, the wizard won’t shut up. “This is exactly the sort of thing we should have expected from her. Both a paladin and a bard, ever the flair for the dramatic with a passion for justice.”
Astarion turns his head to face Gale, expression disinterested. “How you find time to breathe astounds me.”
Gale seems confused for a moment before returning a pointed look. “I’m simply making conversation, Astarion – if we’re to begin getting along,” he extends an arm towards the vampire, pointing index finger upwards, a small nod of his head accompanying the words, “friendly conversation is a necessary step.” Everytime Gale points it irritates Astarion even further. Gale’s hand returns to his side, gaze falling forward so he can focus on not tripping over the uneven terrain.
“This isn’t a conversation,” mockingly, he copies Gale’s pointed finger, “it’s a soliloquy.” A smirk graces his features as he spots the shift in Gale’s expression. Astarion derives quite a bit of pleasure from getting under the wizard’s skin – and he makes it so easy. As much as Gale is putting on a friendly appearance, Astarion knows he doesn’t want to be out here either. They had a brutal combat today that left them all exhausted; Gale mentioned to Kalmara the importance of rest, especially for a wizard, if he is to be of any use tomorrow.
“Fine – then what would you,” hands sweep towards Astarion, brow furrowed, “like to talk about? Maiming puppies,” as he lists the options, he sticks up a finger to count them, “brutalising innocents?”
Astarion spots the bait and straightens himself, stepping closer to Gale, close enough to feel the warmth the wizard radiates. “Maiming puppies.” Gale seems taken aback that he actually chose an option. “The blood of the young, no matter the species –”
Gale puts distance back between them, waving his hands in front of them. “Astarion, stop.” The vampire grins. “I don’t need nor want to know how that sentence finishes.”
Astarion pouts, using a condescending tone fit for a spoiled primadona. “Too much for our pompous wizard? Do you need a hug?”
Gale sets his jaw, eyes narrowing. “I’m simply not interested in entertaining your, let’s call it, displays.” At this point, the two have stopped walking, holding a glare, as if sizing the other up and deciding which button to push next. Gale breaks the silence, commencing their walk. Astarion should’ve seen it coming as the wizard seems allergic to silence. “We should begin working our way back towards camp.” He casts a glance toward the sun, almost gone behind the horizon.
“Scared of the predators that might lurk in the shadows?” A fanged grin is flashed towards the mage.
Gale barely entertains the comment. “Not all of us have your keen senses, and I would rather be at camp than stumbling my way through foliage.” By the way Gale takes in their surroundings, Astarion ventures a guess that he’s lost.
“I know a shortcut,” Astarion purrs, taking a turn to head for some thick shrubbery. In reality, he’s planning to take them on the most difficult path back to camp he can think of. “Just through here – keep up!” He disappears into a mess of green, revelling in Gale’s appalled and stressed expression.
“We don’t need a shortcut – Astarion, there is absolutely no need!” Gale grabs at his robe, lifting it and bringing it close to himself so it won’t get caught on branches. “They make paths for this very reason – oh, this is ridiculous.” Gale fights his way through, robe getting caught on foliage anyway; Astarion swiftly navigates ahead of him. At one point, when he pushes a branch out of his way, he waits for Gale to approach before letting it go. Thwap! The wizard startles with a yelp, stumbling backwards and barely catching himself. “That – that hurt.” Astarion is cackling. “It isn’t funny!”
Stopped in a clearing, the vampire is doubled over in laughter as Gale emerges looking rather upset. “You should have seen your face,” he snickers, straightening himself and making a display of wiping a fake tear from his eye.
“Are you done?” Tone is flat, tired. It sets Astarion off again, barely-contained laughter spilling from his lips. He mutters something indiscernible under his breath – likely insults, going from the tone – and pushes past Astarion to cross the clearing. The vampire turns, mouth open to warn him of the net trap hidden within the clearing, but then he stops himself – what a perfect consequence for the wizard, getting stuck as a result of his impatience and irritation. Astarion waits, arms crossed and head tilted, and then –
Gale yelps, torn from the ground as a net snaps around him and hangs him in the air. His arms are crumpled awkwardly beside him, the tightness of the net leaving no room to wiggle. “Oh, you –” he attempts to glare at Astarion but is unable to shift so he can see him. “Astarion, I know you saw it. You have the eyes of a bat, now – get me down.”
Astarion walks into his view, pulling as innocent of an expression as he can. “I didn’t see a thing!” Head tilts. “I’ll let you down on one condition: you ask nicely.” He taps a finger against his chin, feigning deep thought. Gale is huffing, attempting to arrange his limbs so they aren’t all twisted and uncomfortable. “Now that I’m thinking of it, I’m quite hungry. I might grab a bite – want anything?” The net swings as Gale thrashes; Astarion watches until he gives up and grumbles in discomfort. “Nothing? Well, I’ll be back soon, darling.”
“Astarion – oh, you vampiric bastard.” Astarion slips off, hiding beyond Gale’s vision to watch for a moment before slinking off into the forest. He has to move quite a distance from Gale, as he’s making a lot of noise in the net and scaring away any prey. He makes a note to tell Gale to squirm quieter. After catching a rabbit and making a meal of it – he would hunt for another animal, but he’s excited to see what position the wizard is in – he makes his way toward the clearing.
As he nears, he hears a group of sounds – ears twitch as he pauses, focusing on the noises. First, he recognises Gale’s voice but included in that is a jumble of voices he doesn’t recognise. The voices are energetic, aggressive, loud. A growl builds in his throat – only he is allowed to mess with the wizard. Returning to the hunt, he stays low and quickly navigates the woods, approaching the clearing without making a sound.
As he gets closer, he discerns overlapping laughter and pointed, insulting remarks. Oh, it’s just like the wizard to get himself into trouble – Astarion refuses to acknowledge the role he played to make that happen. Peeking into the clearing, he spots Gale – now on the ground, tangled in the net as if someone simply cut it and let him crash to the ground – and a bearded, red-haired gnome crouched in front of him, knife drawn. A pang of guilt tries to push itself to the surface, after all, he is why Gale was in the net in the first place, but he smothers it.
Gale, from his awkward position in the net, has his hands held upwards in a submissive gesture. “I believe we should be able to reach a mutual understanding,” he says, an anxious chuckle following his words. “See – I’m simply camping with my friends.” Astarion raises an eyebrow, keeping an ear out as he positions himself to take the gnomes from behind. The leader guides the flat side of the knife under Gale’s chin; the wizard’s words slow and quiet. Those stupid, brown eyes look at the gnome in a way that almost has Astarion convinced of his story.
“Yeah,” the gnome begins, voice low. There’s an accent he can’t quite place. “I know yer friends – they’re workin’ with the goblins.” The knife is pulled away. Gale hisses as the blade nicks his chin.
“Ah! Okay, um, easy misunderstanding. You see –” A hefty kick is delivered to Gale’s midsection, eliciting a gasp and whimper. Astarion readies himself, eyes on a gnome close to the edge of the clearing. She’s standing back, arms crossed, a toothy grin across her face. Obscured by the dark, he swiftly sneaks forward and slits her throat before yanking her into the brush. His teeth sink into her neck.
“Shove it. There’s no misunderstandin’. We’ve seen ya traipsing in and out of the goblin camp, not a hair on yer head touched.” Astarion finishes his meal, delighted by the warm fullness. Red eyes find his next target – two gnomes a little closer to the net but still off to the side. He pays no mind to the blood trailing down his chin, quiet and aware of the foliage under his feet as to not make any sound. “Now,” the leader lifts the knife again, pointing it at one of Gale’s eyes, “tell me where yer little friends are campin’, eh?”
Gale shifts, eyes looking to the side to avoid staring directly at the dagger. He looks behind the two gnomes, and the way he hesitates for a moment, Astarion wonders if he can see him. Gale whips his head back towards the leader, tone irritated. “I’m aware of how it looks, but if you would just listen –” A breath is drawn as the knife is jabbed uncomfortably close to his left eye. He freezes.
“I know everythin’ I need to. I’ll give ya one last try before I start takin’ fingers.” Gale steadies himself. Astarion can smell the fear and anxiety in the air, but to Gale’s credit, the wizard isn’t saying a word. After a weighted silence, the leader grins. “Yer choice.” He makes a quick move towards Gale, which results in frenzied movement and the summoning of a mage hand which grabs the back of the gnome’s collar and yanks. The chaos makes for a perfect distraction as Astarion lunges forward, a dagger in each hand. The two gnomes in front of him barely make a sound before he sinks a blade into each of their necks. He doesn’t bother retrieving the daggers just yet, movements hurried yet precise.
He taps the leader on the shoulder, mouth smeared with blood. The gnome whips around, likely expecting a second mage hand, but instead finds a grinning vampire. “I am not the wizard’s friend.” Then – teeth sink into flesh. Astarion drinks greedily, fully soothing his ever-present hunger, stomach bloating with contented fullness. He isn’t sure how long he drinks, but when he comes to, he’s bent over the exsanguinated corpse and Gale has fully untangled himself from the netted mess, standing awkwardly to the side.
“I don’t know if thank you is the correct response. I had that.” Astarion regards him, licking at his lips. “Besides, it was your fault that I was in that position.” A pause. “But you didn’t have to come back – I mean, you should have, but – I recognise it was a choice, and so thank you for –”
“Shut up.” Gale opens his mouth to continue and Astarion squints his eyes. The wizard closes his mouth and looks sheepishly off to the side. “You’re so much prettier when you aren’t talking.” He stands. “So, what say we find some goodies and then head back to camp? We can keep this between the two of us.” That way, Astarion can keep any loot he finds without debating who gets what back at camp.
Gale seems pleased with the idea, gaze flickering to one of the bodies. Going by the look of hunger in the wizard’s eyes, he assumes he’s spotted a magic item. Gaze returns to meeting Astarion’s. “And don’t tell anyone that I was stuck in a trap, please.” Astarion is already rifling through pockets.
“As tempting as it is, it would pose too many questions.” He flashes a smirk. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thank you – and no more shortcuts.”