fangsanddaggers - Tumblr blog

[fangsanddaggers]

The spawn is fast, darting forward despite his hunger to protect the other's head with his hand. now flopped on his side by the other in the dark alley. He relaxes finally, at peace with the other at least not howling in rage.

"Well... I suppose that's to be expected." The elf frowns, a small sigh and wince at the scent on the other, slowly shifting to scent him.

Something seemed... Off. An interesting figure indeed. More so when he seemed almost... Dead. Pointed ear to the other's chest he waits, hearing the barest hint of a beat. Alive but differently. A few attempts to wake the man and the rogue decides to make up for both the thieves and terrifying the other to near death.

Near an hour later and he's in the kitchen of his own home, the young man settled in the spare bed upstairs, working to make a wonderful, filling stew for the poor man to feast on. He is sure he hears movement, but still, he works away, the large cat stretching out in front of the door waiting for the new friend to move again.

What Astarion wasn't sure how to cope with was the vial of blood. Having seen it he shoves it back in the bag which now sat on the back of a chair over the kitchen island to prevent him touching it. It wasn't his and it was best kept away from him.

it  should  have  been  DEAD.  there  was  a  corpse  in  the  alley  —  they  were  a  corpse  in  the  alley.  valerius  had  practically  confirmed  it  so.  though  the  vice  grip  around  his  hand  wasn't  painful  per  se ,  it  did  send  what  was  left  of  his  soul  into  his  throat ,  choking  out  what  might  have  already  been  a  strangled  cry.

" y - you  . . . ! " 

shock  warps  the  man's  face  into  the  profile  of  a  prince ,  a  KING ,  with  merciless  hungry  eyes.  valerius  wrenches  back ,  stumbling.  his  breath  shortens  into  a  shallow  wheeze ,  clouding  before  him  as  body  temperature  drops.  something  about  sleeping  reaches  his  ears ,  but  the  stress  flooding  his  mind  absorbs  nothing  else.  

gray  eyes  finally roll  to  the  back  of  his  head ,  and  his  knees  give  out  —  the  tactician  dropping  like  a  heavy  sack  of  flour  onto  the  slick  cobblestones.  the  pouch  in  his  grip  clatters  to  the  ground ,  too  —  a  vial  of  DARK RED  liquid  tumbling far  enough  to  peek  out  from  its  opening.

[fangsanddaggers]

The creatures watch on, clearly panicked and worried. It's not until fingers find the palm that the corpse comes to life. The hand snaps around the offending fingers, head jerking up as glowing red eyes snap onto the frame, teeth bared.

No words come at first, just a low, feral hiss of a beast on the brink. He jerks back, releasing the hand, the creatures instantly piling on him to try and soothe him as he shakes, eyes cast around this way and that.

He looked on edge, like he didn't remember where he was for a long moment only to lick a fang. No blood. He hadn't mangled anyone, that was a start, but his stomach churned, frantic for food, yet... There seemed nothing for him. He cleared his throat, running his hand over his face, shaking as if the cold ripped through bones to his very soul.

"Ah, apologies. Didn't get much sleep last night, must have fallen asleep as I walked." A lie, clear as day, but he needed to try and not terrify the man... More than his sudden awakening might have.

" oja ! "  valerius  calls  after  them  in  lattani  to  no  avail.  breath  runs  ragged  as  heavy  steps  carry  him  through  the  lone  streets  in  a  chase  for  two  creatures  that  have  ultimately  stolen  his  only  prized  possession.  now ,  he  must  TRULY appear  mad  to  witnesses.  " tsekiln."

little  bastards.

watching  them  scurry  into  an  alley ,  he  does  too ,  stopping  short  at  the  figure  in  the  dark.  there  in  the  shadows  is  a  body.

valerius  is  no  stranger  to  the  sight  of  corpses  or  of  those  sitting  on  the  threshold  of  death ,  suspended  by  a  gossamer-thin  thread.  much  of  his  memories  are  composed  of  war  and  death  —  so  much  death ,  many  instances  circling  around  his  own.

thus ,  no  sentiment  rears  its  head  for  the  fallen  man ;  it  simply  cannot.  the  mimic  stands  mere  paces  away ,  eyes  fixed  on  their  fatally  sprawled  limbs.  it  inspires  a  question:  was  he  led  here  to  save  THEM  ?  somehow  that  rattles  a  sound  from  his  chest ,  one  surreptitiously  caught  between  a  cough  and  a  fevered  laugh.

"  i'm  no  cleric  or  priest  —  you  have  the  wrong  person , "  he  finally  says  to  the  creatures ,  doubting  they  can  understand  his  words.  but  they  look  as  pleading  as  animals  can  be  and  guilt  finally  ROILS in  his  gut.  yet ,  the  tactician  doesn't  even  have  potions  or  balms  on  his  person ,  and  synthesizing  a  supplement  would  take  time  and  travel.  still ,  a  step  draws  him  closer  now.

" i  harm  more  than  heal.  but  . . .  i'll  see  what  i  can  do  —  for  my  pen  back.  just  don't  blame  ME if  this  goes  to  shit. "

pale  hands  reach  for  an  equally  pale  wrist ,  turning  the  inside  of  it  upward  to  press  cold  fingers  on  its  pulse  point.  unsurprisingly ,  there  is  none.  but  something  feels  OFF.  valerius  frowns ,  letting  his  touch  climb  into  the  man's  palm ,  trying  to  discern  the  feeling.

[fangsanddaggers]

Well, it seemed insulting the young one was enough to make him finally leave him be. The puffing up and talk about the grand achievements were nothing to him, he could talk about what he's bound to do in his world as well.

He waits to ensure the other left before returning to hunting, huffing dark to himself about teenager humans and early murder. It seemed everyone here had a tragic backstory.

Bear. A challenge, it might kick in his fight or flight response and trick him into feeding. He mindlessly follows the creature until he notes it charging...

Right into the clearing where Deidara was.

Sure, he knew the kid had skill, he could see it in the control of his movement and the leaping around. However, the issue laid in he didn't have any weapons, didn't even know how scenting could track him.

He picks up the pace, eyes narrowing as he tears through the forest after the towering beast. It broke the clearing, roaring as it raised for a strike to the young. Blood suddenly burst from it's face, slash marks forming from seemingly nothing before it's yanked sideways.

A flurry of blue and Astarion was on it's back, hunched down with fangs ripping past flesh into those hot veins. It thrashes against him, retreating where it had come only to slump down as the spawn drained it with the ravenous hunger of a starved man. It takes another moment before he rips from the fur coated skin, gasping for air that it doesn't need, shaking as he felt the hot lifeblood drip from his jaw as red flashed in the mild shade of the tree line to check on Deidara.

He seemed almost blind to the feral look, that he still managed to get nothing on his clothes, hunching forward as his hand wiped at his jaw, tongue tracing his bottom lip as he moves on the corpse beneath.

"You good?" At least he had some braincells in there to at least speak English and not Elvish.

"Naivety, are you serious, un?" Deidara barks a laugh, baring his teeth in what would be a smile if it was any less sharp. "I haven't been a kid since I was twelve and killed a man for the first time, yeah. I fought two of the most dangerous entities in my world practically alone; you don't scare me, un."

That doesn't mean he's inclined to hop down from his high perch and get within range. He knows a predator when he sees one, and this Astarion is dangerous. Not enough to scare him, but make him wary? Sure. He's wary of anyone who might be dangerous.

"Don't taunt a ninja with a secret, un. He'll always figure it out somehow, yeah. But if you want to play cat and mouse until then that's fine with me, un." At least he has something interesting to look into now, something to occupy himself with when life here just isn't enough to satisfy. He flips a little two fingered salute and leaps back up into the higher branches, waiting a moment to see if Astarion will pursue him before he heads back to his makeshift training ground.

[fangsanddaggers]

Hi! I'd like to purchase the ability unlock for Feather Fall for Astarion Ancunin of Baldur's Gate 3 please! Stats are under /stats, emblems /skills!

When you awaken, you feel rekindled. As though some small piece of you has assembled itself back together….

You have regained the ability to cast FEATHER FALL at will.

ABILITY UNLOCK 500 Emblems ALL Abilities and Items listed on a Muse’s application can be bought back at any time. Application unlocks are limited to two (2) abilities/items per Activity Check without exception.

ORIGINAL EMBLEM BALANCE: 825 TRANSACTION: 500 Emblems CURRENT EMBLEM BALANCE: 325

— Mod Leillis  🌸

[fangsanddaggers]

Lids go flat as Astarion is met with the cheek of youth, huffing at the 'I don't know what a crime is sir' from the mouth of what is clearly now a life long criminal of sorts. He's seen many of them in his days as a magistrate so long ago, even seen them a few times as a spawn. His own siblings are... Questionable in their looks.

But... The other had a point. He had just slipped in lazily and left when his stomach had him itching to kill, watching the pulse ripple beneath soft skin-

"When people are hiding things, perhaps it's for a reason. Reasons you shouldn't go digging into for your safety. Truly, at this point, you're only affirming my stance of calling you a young pup with your blatant naivety." It's said so blandly, bored clearly from having to deal with the child, focusing intently on those eyes rather than the neck.

He needed to control himself. He will not attack a child. He refuses.

"Best be on your way pup. Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt here." Finally, he lets his voice dip, that predatory growl he held for idiot bandits or morons who couldn't take a gods damned hint.

Well that's annoying for sure, being caught so quickly. How does he do that anyway? Deidara is quite certain he's hidden well and as close to soundless as anyone can possibly be, so what gave him away? Frustrating.

He doesn't answer immediately, watching the hunter slowly scan for him until he's spotted. Then he drops to a slightly lower and more exposed branch, landing just as silently as he'd been moving before. Not a single leaf is disturbed.

"A crime, yeah? I can't say I know what that word means, jiji, un." He uses his most obliviously innocent tone, pairing it with a wide-eyed look that would be much more effective if he was actually trying and not being actively and specifically sarcastic.

"Can a man not climb trees in the forest anymore, un? Who's to say we're not just going the same way out of pure happenstance and nothing else, un. Or maybe you're the most interesting thing I've seen all week and you're acting like you're hiding something, even though you're the one who came into my clearing and started the stalking thing, un. How am I supposed to just leave that alone, yeah?"

[fangsanddaggers]

Astarion doesn't dare hold the other's gaze, looking out as fingers toy with his wine glass once more. There was so much about this world, about those within, and from beyond that baffle him. Yet, they all suffer equally when things like the moss is around.

"Ah, there was so little for celebration in my life too. Never truly got to see them." He'd heard of them, had playfully joked with Gale that they should have them and a huge party when they save the damn world because 'who else will'?

"Must be awkward to find a broker job here. Yet, I cannot imagine there's a lacking in people needing information with all the echoes." He taps his bag as if it added to his words. "Tailoring is mine. The one thing I was able to truly learn since-" he stops there, taking a breath as fingers gripped the glass.

If he's disturbed by the very-movie-esque glowing of the eyes, like a Terminator or something else, Badou doesn't give any indication.

At least they aren't bright white. That would've been worse, would've had him losing his shit completely.

Distractions are good, and Badou always takes them.

"In my world they were more pyromaniac stuff and-- whatever would burn. Gunpowder, more or less. They didn't happen often. Didn't have anything to celebrate for 'em."

[fangsanddaggers]

The elf moves, his strides smooth like a machine built to slaughter, ducking through the trees and focused on the scent of his prey. A boar. The pig faced beast should be easier for him to take down and not feel guilt for, surely.

A change of wind had his hunt slow, a new scent crossing him as red eyes gleamed in the dark like an animal, head tipping as he finally stopped.

"Nosey, aren't you, pup?" He calls out to the trees, chuckling as he opts to forgo the hunt entirely. He can't have another person terrified of his existence.

Gods forbid anyone else finds out at this point. It was a miracle it didn't get out before!

"Has no one ever told you stalking is a crime?" He adds, finally turning to cross his arms, raising a brow to the trees, still pinpointing exactly where the other was though confident he could win should the man strike. "Can a man not jog in the forest anymore?" Dramatics, a put upon sigh leaving him to cover the itch, the ache in his teeth and the hunger in his stomach.

If he's not careful he might-

"I said I was off, and as you can see I haven't turned back other than to challenge your stalking." He now tries for the firm voice, a soft scolding father as hands find his hips. "What is it you want now, hmm?"

There. The smallest glint of blonde. Eyes snap onto the young, the red practically glowing in a silent threat.

An animal feeling trapped.

"Hard to train when I'm being watched and scrutinized, yeah." Deidara notes the reference to 'his kind' and tilts his head slightly. What did he mean by that?

Of course, then the odd man is swinging from being annoying to abruptly leaving, which leaves the shinobi both a bit wrong-footed and suspicious.

He doesn't say anything, just watches the strange, well-dressed fellow stride away and then counts fifteen seconds to himself.

Then he leaps up into the trees and follows.

As if he wasn't going to investigate this by stalking after him. Besides, it's practice for other shinobi skills, namely the silent killer part of being a ninja. He moves soundlessly, the rustle of leaves enough to cover any little noise he might make and the play of light and shadow enough to hide him. He's not as good at making his way through the trees as, say a Konoha shinobi, but he's pretty good at it and he knows that there's no chance a civilian would catch him.

Whatever Astarion is might, but that's part of the thrill of stalking him.

[fangsanddaggers]

Behind the man was, indeed, a feline. A large one at that. Clearly still a kitten by it's slightly chubby face and stunted legs, but it was near the size of a pitbull. Big green eyes slowly blinked at the man, watching him before turning. She wanted him to follow.

But upon reaching the end of the street, a soft pleading meow for effort, it seemed a second plan was in motion.

Something wriggled from the now tightly clutched pouch from within. There's a small chittering sound before limbs scramble out of the smallest opening they could fit.

Finally, popping their head out, the small pixie dragon turns to look at the man, one eye closing, then the other. Wings spread and the beast took flight, the tiny thief landing on the cat's back, shifting to reveal the heist;

The pretty pen that laid inside. Again the creature blinked in that strange way, flattening to the cat who meowed one last time only to dart off. Now the human had to follow to their master, there was no alternative.

She moves fast and light, tracing back to where the feeling of being followed first stemmed, pausing by the entrance to an alley before skittering in. Dark and unwelcoming, there's a shape limp on the ground.

Pale locks, paler skin, the figure didn't move, like a corpse he just laid there. Adorned in fine fabrics, it was clear he wasn't poor by any means, yet he seemed lifeless. One his spine a tiny white snake tried to dig into his neck, clearly fretting over his condition, yet knowing nothing more than to dig.

It seemed a tragic sight, the creatures turning to look to their hopeful follower, seeking assistance with the strange body.

merciful  be  the  three — valerius  could  feel  the  lurking  presence  pressing  into  his  back  as  he  paces  through  moonlit  streets ,  as  companionable  as  his  dimmed  shadow.  his  quickened footsteps  draw  to  a  careful stop ,  leaving  him  in  the  middle  of  an  empty  street  with  a  cold  sweat.

" i've  had  enough  dealings  with  SHADOWS to  know  you're  there ,"   he  says ,  voice  carrying  with  a  surety  he  did  not  feel.

perhaps  it  is  nothing  and  merely  a  product  of  his  imagination ,  or  it's  a  very  curious  cheshire  cat ,  and  valerius  will  look  no more than a  fool  to  any  who  witnesses.  but ,  he  also  liked  to  believe  a  physical  aspect  to  the  night  could  not  hide  forever  —  not  the  voices  that  occasionally climbed  into  his  thoughts ,  nor  that  roguish  scout ,  ximena ,  who  showed  up  at  every  unexpected  turn.

sometimes ,  a  bargain  is  all  that  it  takes.

if  a  THIEF is  tracing  his  steps ,  what  could  they  want ?  valerius  owns nothing  of  worth ,  no  weapon  to  brandish,  no  spells  to  wield ;  merely  books ,  parchment ,  and  ink  stuffed  within  his  leather  bag  —  and ,  well ,  a  rough-spun  satchel  he  absolutely  CANNOT  part  with.  

he  stills ,  arms  tightening  around  the  misshapen  bundle ,  holding  it  closer  to  his  chest.  valerius  forcibly  swallows  the  apprehension  from  his  throat , and speaks.

" . . .  will coin  persuade  you  to  leave me alone ? "

@fangsanddaggers — starter call.

[fangsanddaggers]

The brazen way the other speaks, a commanding confidence. It reminded him almost of Gale, whenever he'd call him an apprentice or asked him if he was always this awkward around his craft. Tadpoles and bombs aside, those jokes fizzled when he'd heard of the.. Ailment the other had beyond their shared companions.

The repeated 'un' had him wondering if it was a local thing, at least from where the clearly echo originated from. He's begun to pick the natives to the dimensional wanderers by now. It seemed this 'ninja' wasn't all about hiding as the name suggested.

Then again, his training place was in the middle of nowhere bramble.

The constant eyes had a delicate brow cocking up. He didn't seem to care, eyes drifting from the other, trailing around without fear of the youth. Should the man charge, the spawn will strike. He's smell it before the other even got two steps in, tch.

"Ah, but staying on the path means running into people. Hard to get a breath of fresh air away from congested city life when there's several other souls wandering the path. I find nature far more... Welcoming to my kind." Rough as it was, the camping with his rag tag team had truly been the calmest, most peaceful weeks of his life. Thrust only into the manic madness of this false heaven here.

But.... Roberto made it peaceful, made it feel calm, quiet even.

"I take it your hunt for an untouched path was a similar desire." Finally, eyes returned to the other, feigning boredom as hunger burned deep, audible, so subtly now, as his stomach churred with desperation.

He failed to hunt a deer, there was no chance he'd consider a human, let alone a child. He should leave, abandon the attempt at socializing.

"You seem busy, however. Or just... Vicious against the elderly, unclear. I'll be on my way, you enjoy your... Ninja stuff, Deidara." Best to use the name, to purr the word to dissuade any following as he turns to leave.

He should try to hunt again. Perhaps... Perhaps he should find another animal. Worst case he exhausts himself and limps back home as he had the last few nights, much to Roberto's concern.

"Tata." With a lazy wave over his shoulder he all but slips into the forest once more.

One he perceived himself to be out of sight, his shoulders snapped up, a hand resting over his stomach he bared fangs to the ground as he moved, feeling the beast within claw and snarl for the sanguine satisfaction. This was bad, there wasn't meant to be anyone out this far.

Stupid. I'm so stupid to think no one would be in the forest. Of course there would be. His mind admonished his foolishness as he slipped into a jog, nose canted up to catch any scent he could and track the nearest animal to hunt.

"Tsk," Deidara clicks his tongue (the one in his actual mouth) and leans back a little, hands loosely resting on his hips. He doesn't fold his arms, not when he's not sure if the man is intending to be a threat or not. There's too much predator in that careful stance for Deidara to be keen on relaxing any time soon.

"Quit calling me that, un. My name's Deidara and I'm an S-rank missing nin, not some lost puppy you found in the woods, un." He eyes Astarion critically, up and down, cataloging his stance, the way he moves, the way his hands flow, the smile he wears. As relaxed as the man is, there's still hints under it all, subtle and carefully hidden away like a blade in a very fancy, soft sheath. Still a blade, razor sharp under it all.

He's good, for someone who clearly isn't a ninja. Very good. Deidara had better watch him.

"Awfully deep in the woods and off the beaten trail for some fresh air, eh jijii, un?" He smirked, turning his head to swipe away sweat from his chin on his shoulder without taking his eyes off Astarion. He doesn't comment on how wrong he is about having plenty of life left. There's no reason to give that away.

[fangsanddaggers]

Hearing just his name whispered almost reverently in that delicate voice both had the elf feeling as if he were floating, yet his heart shattering. Was this truly so strange for her? Was he always so drawn to the frayed and the broken?

To those akin to himself?

When finally those eyes befell his work, he watched them burn, was she about to cry? The swell of her voice warned him she might, though it... Warmed him, to know his labor of love could light a spark within another.

"Please. I need not words nor anything in return. A gift is given without expectations. Though, if it eases your mind, your laugh and smile is all the payment I could ever ask for." Pale lips curled, a soft look, one a father might reflect to his daughter he was proud of and adored.

Since when was he so eager to adopt lost souls? He'll blame Roberto's infectious fathering of the young around him. It was simply that... A piece of him was desperate to protect, to care for her. He didn't understand her world, her life, but he feared there was some sort of... Demand of her. A brutal expectation.

Perhaps it was his jaded view of religion, of gods who abandoned him in his time of need. Or perhaps the isolated way she always seemed to be, sweet and loving yet only to others.

He was projecting again, he's sure his therapist would scold him and say. He couldn't help it, an innocence before him, a lamb for slaughter should she step wrong, it's what he saw.

And the news...

"I only hope you enjoy your dresses that were made with the intent to shine under your natural beauty, for they are not needed to make you stunning. Simply add." He bows his head to hide the now building mind, working to school his features all over again.

When had it become such a chore to keep his pain from the sight of others?

"But, if you have the time. I'd gladly share in a pot of tea whilst you try them on. if there's any adjustments you'd like I can make them here. I am confident I sized you up well upon our last meeting. took notes when we parted ways to ensure I could surprise you." Finally he met her gaze again, all signs of his struggles hidden behind a light smile, eyes slipping shut from the act. "I hope you've been taking care of yourself, Madame."

⋆˙⟡ Of course her eyes flickered right towards the bandages. Though there were many thoughts that came into her mind all at once, causing it to nearly be blocked out. Well, almost.

Curiosity. The box was just so mysterious. Filled with what she could only have left up to her imagination. However, he did alleviate that mystery in a short time.

Confusion. He made dresses... just for her? She had agreed to be a model for him, of course. She had never participated in such things before. It seemed to her such a wonderful adventure. But she never expected him ... to gift anything to her.

Confliction. Her instincts said 'No.' She could never accept something so lavish as gifts. All of the gifts she received were donated to the church. But he made them for her. The joy of receiving things bloomed deeply within her, as much as the sorrow for what he may have suffered to give her things she did not deserve.

" Astarion ... " she breathed quietly, simply trying to put her racing thoughts together into something she could speak upon. But she found her tongue weighed heavier than she could lift.

Instead with a delicate touch, she reached for the box opening it slowly, carefully, to reveal the craftsmanship inside. And indeed... they were beautiful things. All three of them had care and skill woven with every stitch, every cut of the fabric.

" I... " she stammered, swallowing the rock in her throat. " I'm sorry. " a light laughed exhaling through her lips. " I am... unaccustomed to ... gifts... I- I don't know ... " what to say.

[fangsanddaggers]

The human's comforting words about the teasing has the elf relaxing, finally looking calm for the first time since their meeting. Though, hands do fidget soon after, the sound of something internal writhing in need. He was hungry, still suffering from the moss he smiles sheepishly as he focuses instead on the drink before him.

"So, ah... I hear the fireworks are tonight. I remember them vaguely spoken about in my home world, a feat of magic made possible by artificers and pyromaniacs." A distraction from the way his stomach clawed at his insides, the red of his eyes practically glowing in the dim light of their seating.

Too much, not enough, everything everywhere all at once all consuming all controlling-

"Have you seen them before?"

He-- oh. Ugh....he doesn't really want to take this-- this very visceral version of his grief, of his madness, too-- but, he takes the doll with gentle, reverent hands.

"I'll tell him. I'll give it to him."

Badou doesn't make any comment on pay, not even sure if, at this point, he should charge. And when Astarion continues, he sighs.

"Don't worry about the teasing, dude, I can take it. It's fine." Because what else can he say to that? That he smelt like Nai, someone he notes as safe?

[fangsanddaggers]

Astarion saw black move, eyes flicking to the new life as the dragon finally released him, gliding down to plop on Gale. He smiles, reaching to gently claim the empty container, offering his hand out for the cat to decide what to do with.

"Sorry, darling. I didn't mean to fall apart like a useless Bard. I just..." He sighs, wanting to tear out his hair, rip up his skin and-

"Guess the moss has finally gotten me." He smiles as if the creature could hear him, could understand, and maybe they could. He wish he'd learnt speak with animals from Gale.

Red eyes drift away, looking out over the park as he leaves his hand on the ground near the creature.

"I have a husband now. Well, he doesn't know I intend to propose, so... I would relent to just calling him my boyfriend." He can remember the other's smile, the way it curled as they built their home's internals, decorated to their hearts content.

Just the memory had him chuckling, the harrowed edges lightening a moment.

"Gives me the will to press on. To smile... To hope." He pauses, tears forming against his will as he huffs. "Two hundred years of torment... You become so jaded... You think there's no light left in the world, no hope to be found... Then in comes this man, faking a drunk with eyes sharper than the whole bar yet a heart so soft it put's Gale's fur to shame." He boops her nose with his free hand, scratching her head.

"You have him to thank. His sleepy smiles every morning, the drawl of his voice when he think's he's sounding collected in the early light. He has a son, he's come in now too. Feral doesn't really stay in one place, not sure where he sleeps half of the time. I hope it's the home he was given." He huffs, tipping his head to the beast, glancing at him from the corner of his own eye. "I saw him sleeping in a tree. I don't know how he got up there, but getting down was sudden and abrupt." A snicker escapes him as he shakes his head.

"Kids. If my heart still beat I'd have to worry about it ceasing with them." Them. Since when had he looked to some of his other friends as young kin to parent? Who knew.

"Ah, but there I go, speaking the world's problems and joys to a creature who likely doesn't care." Do therapists even care? He's sure his is terrible, unlike animals who just seem to speak without speaking. "Once you have something, little one. Never let it go. Don't ever let it go." He pauses then, rubbing his face as if he just clued into something.

"Right. You got a home? Somewhere warm before the night hits?" He should have asked that before. Then again, he realizes the stupidity and gently smacks his hand to his face. "Gotta get used to not having the potions." He groans, focusing now as he tired to inspect the cat for any kind of collar.

"No collar... You just lost or..." He softens his voice, wiggling fingers near the creature gently to see if they were even interested in touch, in closeness. "You smell... Familiar, somewhat." Where could he place that scent?

Loki ate the food quietly. The quality was certainly the most shocking aspect of this meal. But the display before him... well, he certainly did not know what to make of it.

Clearly, there were events that had occurred in this life that made him... well, appear unsightly was how Loki would describe it. Tired and frail, and the attempt to be anything else was not helping in the slightest. Loki found it curious how generous he spoke of his own heart - if only he knew who was listening to that.

Why is it so hard to care, when it's so easy to lose? Loki found the opposite to be true. Love was painful. It was vulnerability. Trust. It was something you could give to the world and never receive anything in return. It is not bought, not earned, nor is it anything except what is natural to feel.

To shut out your heart was to protect yourself, but that would always lead to you losing everything you ever loved. He had tried that once before, and he could not bear that weight. It is easy to care. To be kind, to be generous, to be good. But it was hard to lose, to be alone, to end up in ruin.

He finished the meal and sat down quietly. His eyes searched Astarion's expressions closely, hardly noticing his little spat with one of the pixie dragons. He seemed to be going in and out of true consciousness, weighted down by whatever troubles he faced. Loki felt some sympathy towards that, but he did not know much of Astarion to begin with.

But he could not allow emotions to cloud his judgment. Not now. There was too much at stake for him to get attached to people who could not further his goals.

[fangsanddaggers]

Astarion laughed at first, of course he'd adopt the soul so shattered he made Astarion feel as if he were in one piece. It made the world around them flutter, shift as he ran past first a corpse of Xuanyu, then a red eyed form of him in the dark.

However, that was when Roberto tried to writhe. He growled, tightening his hold as he twisted around a corner, one foot instinctively kicking off the wall before they could even consider thumping into it.

"No. No I need you right here. I need to know you're right here, I can't do that from just your hand." He shifted his ear to the man's throat as he watched over the human, uncaring of how silly it might look him all but sloth carrying the man as he moved as fast as he could.

If they stopped, even for a second, the ambitus would catch them, he'd lose Roberto, he'd lose his way, Nico and Xuanyu would be without them. No. Roberto belonged in his arms or they'd both be lost causes.

"Just... Just let me have this." His voice cracks, revealing the terror the moment they booked it past a repeat of that little girl calling out and falling over, her sobs haunting the elf who felt his lungs flutter and break with her. "I need this."

Xuanyu? He'd found Nico and Astarion? Good, that was good, he was glad for that. He'd been worried when he couldn't find the kid again after they'd lost one another. Roberto had been quietly cursing himself for losing him in the first place, but at least he'd be safe with Nicholas.

Hopefully.

Wait, kids?

"Well, you didn't wait for even a second to adopt him, did you?" He chuckles weakly. "I should have figured he'd be just your type." Focusing on that helped, kept the path a little straighter, made it all a little easier. At least for the moment.

The cry of the little girl has him jolting, looking back at her in shock. Her appearance instantly has his heart twisting in his chest and his breath catching for a reason unrelated to physical pain. This is something of Astarion's mind, something he wants that won't ever be. His grip on the cold shoulder under him tightens painfully, and he wriggles a little bit.

"Put me down, I can run now," he says quietly. "It doesn't hurt so much anymore, I'm alright. I won't let go."

[fangsanddaggers]

Astarion's quick to move, darting through streets that melt between his home and the strange metal corridor of Roberto's terror. His head jerks up at Nicholas, but one sniff had him sneering and jerking away.

"It wants to keep us here. Nicholas was wounded when I saw him, I could smell the blood and alcohol. That one's fake." He explains, skittering to a half stop at a crossroads.

The elf panics for a second, eyes snapping around, tracking phantoms before he hears it-

"Astarion! Hurry!" It's Karlach, leading him down the path. He listens, no heartbeat. Then, he drinks in the scent with his eyes closed.

He follows her this time, grinning when she looked almost upset that he did.

"We cannot trust our eyes or our ears. It's all fake... But it cannot fake what we bring in here." He flicks his head to a smear of blackened red on the wall, his own blood. "It cannot mess with ourselves, only our perception." He speaks with the confidence of a man who knows Illusionary magic inside and out.

Was he positive he was right? No. Not in a million years. But...

"Nico won't be here, he's with Xuanyu. He wouldn't leave Xuanyu alone. Your other kids won't be here, they've never arrived. Same with my friends. They've figured out I know not to trust them, so they tried to use Karlach to make me pick the wrong path." He flashes his love a grin, eyes wild but focused. "Good thing you have an Arcane Trickster who loves you dearly." He giggles then, ducking a strike from a displacer beast, pushing on around the corner without pause.

"We just have to keep going. No matter what we see, what we hear, it's not real. Nico needs us, Xuanyu needs us. Our kids here, that we can do something to help, they need us right now, Roberto. Just focus on me, focus on-on my scent! On my breathing, focus on the feel of my body against yours, but behave." He teases at the end, purring the words into the other's ear.

They needed the lighter spark, something hopeful in the dark as even he'd begun to question himself.

"Daddy! Wait!" The little white haired, fair skinned girl scrambled to follow. "Papa!" red eyes teared up at Roberto before she fell and Astarion almost stopped at her cry of pain.

"Not real." Instead, he hissed those words to himself and moved on, rounding a corner to let her fade from view.

He can't get enough wind to yelp when he's abruptly lifted off his feet, can't tear his eyes away from Elendira as she screams angrily and swipes nails like claws at the magic attacking her.

His side pulses with agony so potent he can't breathe, but as soon as they round a corner, he gasps in a breath.

'Focus, dammit,' he tells himself.

One hand clings to Astarion's shoulder while the other clutches his derringer, two points of reality in the shifting maze of the Coda. Considering how often these places changed and rearranged themselves, would they even be able to backtrack out of here? They were deep enough (how deep though? Roberto didn't actually know how long he'd been in here or how deep he'd fled into the maze) that getting out might not be as simple as Astarion thought.

The cry from a voice unfamiliar to him had his whipping around to aim his gun, but Astarion didn't pause and the voice didn't attack them. Instead, another joined it.

"Dads! This way! You're going deeper that way!" Wolfwood held a door open with his Punisher braced on his shoulder, waving them over frantically. "Come on, we can get out and go home!"

"... Star?" Roberto doesn't trust himself to tell right now, not after he'd chased his ambitus straight into hell without pause.

[fangsanddaggers]

Astarion looks over his shoulder, catches the act right as it cracks. His lip curls as the phantom hands tear through her face instead.

He gives Roberto no room for argument. He crouches, snatches the man's thighs and hoists him up against his chest. A kiss to the man's chest, a deep rich drink of his scent and the spawn's eyes light up.

"I can track your scent back the way we came. It's how I found you in the first place. You just watch my back from the prickly bitch and ignore everything else you see, got it?" Already, the spawn is moving.

His legs will scream tomorrow, his spine will ache and everything in his body will bed for undeath all over again, but his only focus was Roberto.

"Don't worry about the brat directly. She'll need to recover." He snickers then, slipping down a path, nose twitching as he tracks the scent of his own blood instead.

Easier to follow the drips and the smears he'd left along the path. His run there had been manic, from the spattering's of the soap laden pants to his own blood, he'd all but marked their way out cleanly. All they had to do was make it out.

Astarion!

He hisses as he heard Gale's frantic cries for his help, tightens his hold on his love as he forces himself to push on. The scent had to lead them out, he had nothing for him here, all that mattered was in his arms. All that mattered waited for him back at the hotel, hungry to get home in their warm beds.

All that mattered was the present.

Roberto might not resort to his gun very often, but he knows how to make it count when he does. Small bullets are still bullets after all, and you have to know damn well what you're doing to get the little things where they'll do the most damage.

"I don't!" He grins closer to normally at Astarion's shock and indignation. "I just shop and get tired of everyone getting hurt." He doesn't have magic, not like Astarion so clearly demonstrates right then by attacking Elendira without having to get anywhere near her. It buys them time to right themselves a little bit, to steal a half second of reassurance when they're both too rattled to describe with words.

He can't help the rough, wild, bark of a laugh, even as he's yanked out of the way of another nail and his side aches hard enough to leave him breathless. It's easier to just relax and let Astarion pull him out of the way of her attacks then it is to attempt to dodge on his own. He's fit for his age but he's old, a smoker, and a drinker, and running on very little but adrenaline right at the moment. Reloading he can do, especially with the healing stones having sealed up the gash on his palm.

"Running is good, running is great, we need to figure out how to get out of here, yesterday." He scowls as he chambers two shots and snaps the gun closed. "Any kid with both of our genes would be a lot cuter then that one anyway."

Astarion spins them out of the way and Roberto lifts his gun and fires again, making a nail spin off to the side uselessly. The gun is aimed solidly at the girl and she gasps and tears up, and suddenly Roberto is right back there, trapped against the elevator, praying his hunch is right because Meryl is clinging to his jacket, shaking a little as they stare down the pointy end of a barrage of nails. The girl's eyes are cold and smug and Roberto might be able to stop her, or slow her, all he has to do is fire.

But he can't. He still can't. His arm shakes and fake tears turn into a real grin full of teeth.

"Run, run now, we're going," his voice is choked and darkly tanned skin is pale and a little grey as he shakily tugs Astarion's shoulder.

[fangsanddaggers]

The sound of the gun barely gets a twitch of an eye, though the same couldn't be said for Cazador. The gaping hole in his head a horror as his body twitches. The second shot has the filth stumbling back and thumping to the floor. He thinks if they had these 'derringers' back home it would more than gladly do the trick dealing with Cazador.

What he wouldn't give for them.

The sudden warmth sinking into ever cold skin startles a yelp from the elf, head jerking to see the hole sealing shut. A healing spell? He was shocked for a second, enough for the man to get in a snarky remark that would have had his face flushing if he still bled.

Though he swore his ears burned.

"You never told me you knew healing magic!" He barks out in shock before the shrill screech of the child earned a groan from the elf. "Gods, will you shut up!" His head snaps to the girl, red meeting twin tones, baring fangs right back at her.

"Invoco te!"

The words resonate in the air around them, a swirl of blue forming to lash at the girl, the clawed hand slashing her face as the elf staggered slightly towards his feet.

"And I'll propose to you however I damn well please! I thought I was going to lose you! How dare you judge me!" He scoffs then, huffing before flashing a grin, stealing a swift kiss from the human. "But if it will keep you fighting, then you have to wait for my sappy idea. Once we're home, deal?" He purred, yanking the man to topple over his form to barely miss another nail as the child screeched.

"Okay, less gay man foreplay, more running from demonic children, agreed?" He laughs wildly as he twists to his feet, pulling the human with him. "Reload. I'll move your body." With that, he wraps and arm around the human's waist and tugs him right out of another nail.

It's awkward, pulling the man around without using his hands, but reminds him of one of the old ballroom dances, where the male loops an arm around the back and spins the woman. Each step coupled with another swipe at the girl to distract her from trying to maul the men.

"Were we to have a daughter, let's raise her with manners, darling. I hate spoilt brats."

Drowning, that sounds right. He's drowning under the weight of the water and the all consuming despair in his lungs--

Astarion presses on his chest hard, and Roberto jerks a little. Hazy eyes flutter with the press of lips and the breath of air forced into struggling lungs and he coughs, suddenly bringing up the water he'd breathed in. Oh, Astarion meant literally. That made sense.

He might be more then a little bit addled right now, he has seconds to muse between trying to hack all the water out of his abused lungs. But then the familiar sound of his derringer rings out again and Astarion ducks over him, trying to shield them both from...

From himself. Spewing abuse and nonsense at his lover how fucking dare that thing-!

He wheezes a laugh when Astarion spits back at it like an angry cat, hackled up and still smug in his little speech despite the frankly dire situation they find themselves in. Astarion will be able to handle this, he's more then strong enough for the both of them while Roberto is still lying on the ground, wheezing and shaking and trying to remember how to move his limbs. Cold sinks its claws into him and makes it so hard to do anything but lay there and try to breathe.

And then Astarion's talking about proposing and the phantom him is gone but they're both apparently at their limit. Elendira's childish laugh rings out from across the room and what can only be Cazador sneers at Astarion, about to take him away-!

Over my dead fucking body, Roberto thinks.

His hands were shaking when he ran from Elendira then too, back in the last few moments he was alive back home. And he still hit his mark. Roberto knows his weapon inside and out, the feel of it in his palm, the perfect way to hold his arm steady, to keep his wrist loose, to pull the trigger with no sway.

The derringer rings out again, one bullet hitting home right in Cazador's eye.

"You don't fucking touch him," Roberto snarls with a fierceness that would make Wolfwood proud and the gun fires again, right in the throat this time. He doesn't know if it's enough, what would stop a vampire lord or this ambitus, and he doesn't have time to figure it out. He does have time to fling himself into a roll, narrowly avoiding the nail thudding into the ground where he'd just been laying, while reaching into his inner jacket pocket for something he'd gotten a while ago and held in reserve for something just like this.

He has to scramble out of the way again as Elendira shrieks angrily and launches another volley, but he gets the little bag open and two items out and makes it back to Astarion's side to reach out and crush the stones against the vampire's shoulder.

The bullet wound knits, the bullet itself dislodged, and whatever other hurts he'd suffered in here or on the way are healed with a rush of warmth that makes Roberto's hand tingle.

"Maybe try again properly once all this shit is over, huh sweetheart? Not the best place to spring a proposal on someone." His grin is fleeting and strained beyond belief and he's still soaked and shaking, but he's on his feet, eyeing Elendira as she stomps her foot childishly.

[fangsanddaggers]

The touch almost has Astarion leaping out of his skin, actually jolting forward before the voice turns tear filled eyes wide back to finally, finally meet brown. At first he just sobs, hands petting through wet hair and cupping his face. He's stumbling over Elvish in his rush to say a thousand things all at once.

But the wavering breath catches his attention, makes him focus. Water, lots of it, in his lungs by the sounds of it.

"Drowning!" He panics now, shaking as he shifts to press hands to the other's chest and compress. "Please darling, please try to throw the water up. I need you." He claims the lips once more, but this time presses undiluted oxygen into the man's body before returning to the compressions.

"Fuck the moss, fuck this mist, fuck being afraid, fuck all of this. I want to go home, with you and our kids and-" Another pop of the derringer had him ducking suddenly, pressing against the human and turning to hiss at horrors closing in.

You can't save a pathetic human like me. Not without turning me into a monster like yerself.

The phantom raised the derringer again, aiming right at the vampire who growled, shifting the human behind him.

"You're a filthy, pathetic attempt at my love." He hisses, watching red eyes widen slightly in shock. "Roberto De Niro is a brilliant man, strong and brave, he'd have made a great rogue in my world. He looks shaggy, yes. His dress sense can get improved, just like you untuck both sides of his shirt, he only untucks one." He points out the flaws of the fake who looks down and sneers when he's caught out.

"Secondly, he'd never call me a whore, not even if I begged him to. Lastly, oh.. Lastly but most importantly, he is not pathetic. Strong, quick witted, spry... Oh, how spry he is. He may be older in years, but that man will kick your ass and skin you alive just for even considering assaulting me." He growls, slowly moving as the phantom trained the gun on him again, a hunter near ready to pounce.

You sure you know your 'husband' as well as you do?

This had Astarion smirking, a twisted, mangled grin.

"Yeah. Because I haven't proposed yet." With that he lunged, swiping the gun out of the way, though as it went off, his shoulder bloomed with pain of a dozen tiny fireballs. "And he'd never point that thing at me. You're not my love!" He rams his head against the mist, watching it burst and vanish before legs sent him toppling to the floor gripping his shoulder.

"Robbie.. Robbie please fight the ambitus. Please." He spits up black tinted blood as his shoulder spilled more to plip plip plip on the floor.

Tch. Are you done being troublesome, boy? It's time to be consumed.

The marks on Astarion's back begun to glow as the vampire lord stepped ever closer to the two, the spawn scrambling back with one useless arm towards the real Roberto, whimpering through the pain tearing him apart.

There's something going on around him, nearby. He can hear, faintly, the strains of other voices through the heavy, dark fog he's sank into. His body feels like it's made of lead, impossible to move no matter how much he might like to investigate the noise.

Voices, a familiar one, two. His own, and...

Star.

It stirs him slightly, and he almost attempts to rouse himself through the pain and despair and weight.

'Don't be silly, darling. I wouldn't come all this way for you, you're just another play thing to be used and tossed aside.'

The noise in the back of his throat is softer then a breeze, barely there as he gives up the attempt. Astarion too is so much more then he'd ever be and there's hardly a point in trying to argue with him right now. As crushing as it is, how can he even try?

The familiar pop of his derringer sounds once, twice, and the haze he's slipped into lightens just a touch. What was going on?

Hands on him, turning him over, and they're met with sodden clothes and cold skin, the beat of life in his chest almost reluctant. He doesn't know why anyone would bother; he can't help anyone at the moment, not even himself, and he won't be able to help in the future either. What good would dragging him out of the fog do in the long run?

But it's Astarion's voice again, closer, desperate, aching. And cold lips against his, a touch he knows all too well. Not a phantom, something in the back of his tired mind whispers. The phantoms aren't real in the end, not real.

The breath in his lungs shudders and another soft noise makes its way from the back of his throat. A hand raises to catch at Astarion's elbow and hold, albeit weakly. Hazy olive eyes crack open and focus on the beloved face so close to his own.

"'Star?" A voice made gruff by sand and smoke is worse now, gravelly and hoarse and choked by water and terror. But alive at least, that was something.