#tav: zynatheri rivati

[psalacanthea]

OC Meme

thanks very much for tagging me, @vspin! Sorry it took me so long, I'm in a one-track brain state. :) (art by the best person ever, @tadpole-apocalypse)

name: Zynatheri Rivati. Born Ilethri Zhenafeyl. Many AKAs.

nickname(s): Zyn

pronouns: any/all, afab. if gender is a spectrum Zyn's missing like 1/8th on the masc side.

star sign: whichever one gives you an excuse for being a bitch because that seems convenient to have

height: 4'11" or 5'5"

orientation: Pan

race: Drow

romancing: Astarion

fave fruit: Pomegranate

fave season: Autumn. Not unbearably cold yet, but in Waterdeep as a child, there were more overcast days. She was expected to keep a human schedule, which meant lots of headaches from the sun.

fave flower: Half-blossomed roses, violets

fave scent: Jasmine and vetiver

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: Whatever's on hand. She isn't picky.

average sleep hours: Depends on where her head's at. Sometimes it's a four hour trance, sometimes it's a five hour sleep. When she travels alone, usually trance.

dogs or cats: she has a big soft spot for cats, but loves them both.

dream trip: somewhere quiet, maybe an empty villa overlooking the ocean, to stay still for a little while without feeling restless and unhappy. if such a thing is possible.

amount of blankets: If her being poor doesn't get in the way? Maybe just one, but one of those giant fluffy duvets she can sink into smugly.

random fact(s):

Genuinely did not believe Volothamp was Volothamp throughout the whole adventure because he couldn't possibly be that stupid. Never meet your heroes.

Is so incredibly lucky that she is just...lucky. Not good luck, not bad luck. Just luck. She cannot win and she cannot lose.

Has had seven step fathers.

[psalacanthea]

WiP Whenever

I don't know what to say. It's in my head so I wrote it down to try and purge it (but ofc this is a plot bunny so I just gave it more space in my brain). If you want me to continue writing this, please do let me know.

Astarion x Tav, modern au. When you accidentally rescue a spoiled brat on the street who got turned into a vampire last night.

...

There was someone in Zynatheri's bedroom- not unusual, but she didn't remember bringing anyone home from last night's gig.

Eventually, she realized the intermittent creaking and shifting of her mattress was not, in fact, a one night stand trying to sneak out without waking her, but someone kicking it.

One eye slowly cracked open, took note of the thin streak of light peeking between her curtains, and Zyn closed her eyes again.  Still daytime.  “M’sleeping.  See y’self out.”

A high, irritated voice drilled into her brain like a five in the morning construction crew.  “Why are you sleeping?  You’re marginally elven.  It’s been five hours, get up already.  Your fridge is empty, I'm hungry, and you don’t have any tea.”

Her mattress was kicked again in an irritable rhythm, like a tantruming child.

Oh, right, she’d accidentally picked up some patriar on a bender last night who'd wandered into the wrong neighborhood and gotten jumped.  Great.  She gathered up her blanket from under her neck and chest, and bunched it up so she could shove her face into it.  “M’nocturnal, sun hurts my eyes.  Go home.”

“I can’t go home!” His voice finally penetrated with some nuance, and she realized he sounded…scared.  Why was he scared?  His voice sharpened.  “Now wake up!”

Why was he scared and annoying?

Last night’s chaos and confusion finally filtered in, reminding her of just what the hell was going on.  He’d all but burst into her apartment just before dawn, yelling something about being chased.  Right.  She’d assumed he’d gotten lost slumming it, and had given him a couch and thrown a ward on the door because she was too tired to deal with it.

But now it was daytime and he was still here.  

Ick.

Why couldn’t he go– “Dedicated robber.  I guess.”  Reaching up, she pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing her fingertips into the corners of her eyes.  Ick, eye crunchies.  Still not paying attention to him, she excavated them with a nail, flopping over onto her side.  “Just go out through the alley, there’s a door marked garbage in the lobby.”

“That won’t stop me from burning!”

Something was shoved into the line of her blurry vision, which she lifted a hand to bat out of the way, only to realize the skin was blistered and peeling.  Wait, what?  Was that– “Are you burned?”  Had he been burned before?  She didn’t think so.  Well, he was a patriar.  “Did you try to cook or something?”

“No, the sun did this.”

Wait, what?  Zyn was too tired for this.  With a little groan, she reached up and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to banish sleep.  Luckily the idiot moved out of her way as she swung her legs off the bed, heaving herself up to sit.  

Raking back her hair with both hands, she inhaled sharply through her nose and stood up, feet instinctively avoiding the splintered bit of wood just at the edge of her bed.  The landlord kept claiming he was going to finish the flooring.  She didn’t care; Zyn got a slight discount because it wasn’t and she needed the money.

Ignoring the tall, irritatingly pale eladrin standing over her like she was supposed to solve his problems, she turned away from the bed and headed for the bathroom. Zyn tugged her t-shirt down over her ass.  Avoiding the damaged threshold, she pulled open the creaking bathroom door and headed for the sink.  The eladrin followed.

Turning on the tap, she let the water run for a few seconds before splashing her face, the ice-cold water penetrating both mind and body alike, briskly waking her up.  There.  Now she could be lucid.  The toothbrush she definitely needed to replace was shoved into her mouth, and then she set to picking the dried toothpaste off of the mouth of the tube.  

“I’m having a bit of an urgent situation here, if you don’t mind.”

“Mhmm,” Zyn mumbled absently, squeezing out a thin ribbon of toothpaste and smearing it over her brush.  “I don’t have a spare toothbrush.”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

“You should, it’s important to–” she glanced over her shoulder again, un-blurred eyes finally taking him in.  Oh.  That’s why she’d let him into her apartment.

His face was long, a little too aristocratic for her liking, but with a very pretty mouth and devastatingly attractive eyes, despite the colo– wait.  Narrowing hers, Zynatheri peered into the stranger’s scarlet eyes.  Red eyes.  On an eladrin.

“Are you half drow?”

He drew himself up, looking offended.  Still disheveled, though.  “How dare you.”

“Don’t be a bi–” She stopped.  Her eyes flickered down to his burned hand.  Burned.  Red eyes.  He’d been standing behind her when she– 

Zyn turned back around, staring into the spotty, tarnished mirror.

Only her own reflection gazed back, the doorway behind her empty.  Shit.  All right, so she’d invited a vampire into her house.  Fine, fine, that was fine.  But why had he tried to go out in the su–

“So weird question, but those guys that jumped you last night.  Did one of them bite you?”

“What are you– yes, if you must know.”

“Look in the mirror.”

There was silence from behind her for a good few seconds, as the stranger had a Revelation.  Not wanting to waste time, Zyn took the opportunity to wet her toothbrush and start brushing away, waiting for reality to sink in.  Neh.  If he tried to bite her he probably didn’t know how, so a swift kick to the balls should settle things.

Luckily she knew a lot of people who were probably okay with being bit by a vampire spawn, but as far as she knew usually spawns weren’t just…able to escape like this.  Probably better to hand him off to someone and be done with it before the big one came to claim him.  If he really was a spoiled little patriar, his family would probably figure it out.

“Shit,” he said from behind her, voice hushed.

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

Since Durge and Gortash won the Friday poll, I'll pull something out of the other BG3 fic for WiP day. My pace with the new chapter is a little slow, between taking a week off and now dealing with Pain, but hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to focus enough to make some real progress.

From the Astarion x Tav longfic, a little bit of WiP for your amusement. (if you would like to be tagged to do your own in the future, pls let me know)

...

“Well, if you used that sensible mind you keep claiming to have, you’d know that obviously I’m her patron,” Astarion sneered at Shadowheart.  His voice relaxed, going lazy and dismissive once more.  “And muse, naturally.”

Zyn considered drawing a gigantic curly moustache on her sketch of him.  It was rude to interrupt.  “My peerage or lack thereof has not yet been shared– please avoid making assumptions about me.”  No, this wasn’t right.  He looked too…neat and tidy.  She grimaced at her sketch, and then glanced back up at her subject.  “Could I see a little more collarbone on the left side?”

“I’m not giving it away,” Astarion scoffed.

“Darling it’s for aesthetics, not expression of base lechery,” she begged.  “Your neckline is too symmetrical, it doesn’t give me ‘careless dandy’.”

Astarion scowled at her, lifting her stolen goblet as he demanded, “regal!  Make me look regal!”

How dare he not trust her artistic acumen.

“Even if your life depended on you appearing ‘regal’, I doubt I could oblige,” she snapped. "You egregious twink."

Shadowheart laughed faintly.

Astarion gasped, lifting a hand to his chest. His not nearly bared-enough chest.  “How dare you!  I am your patron! I could have you thrown out on the street!”

“Oh please, if there’s one thing upstart would-be nobles need, it’s portrait painters.  There’ll be another dozen of you by teatime.  You can dictate when you pay me, you contrary piss-puddle”  Zyn added shading to his neck, pausing as she glanced up to find his eyes on her.  He didn’t look angry, despite the insult.  He was smiling.  Ugh, that was the wrong expression entirely!  “Tilt your chin to the side!  Again. I told you to stop moving.”

Astarion sighed in annoyance and rolled his head to the left, hair swaying.

“I have no idea what’s going on, and yet I can’t look away,” Shadowheart said.

She settled down abruptly, pausing with one hand on the ground to snag one of Astarion’s pillows.  He made an irritated noise, but didn’t bother retaliating.  Zyn’s briefly riled mood flared up again.  Why could she have a pillow, but Zyn hadn’t been allowed one?

Traitor!

Zyn glared at Astarion until he glanced away from the goblet of wine he was staring into contemplatively. Her nose wrinkled as their eyes met. The pasty reprobate sighed heavily, eyes rolling skyward.

"What now?"

“You’ll not be welcome in my bed any longer if I catch you giving someone preferential treatment over me,” she threatened him.

“You–"  Astarion stared at her in shock, and then laughed, lifting a hand to his mouth. "Aha. Ha!" He dissolved into laughter as he sprawled back onto his pillows, ignoring her scowl.

Zyn slapped her stub of twine-wrapped pencil down on the paper, leaving a crumbled line as the tip snapped. "Stop it."

“Hah! I can’t believe you actually thought that would work!”

“I mean it, this is serious!” she whined as he started laughing over her again, throwing his head back. “You blaggard! That's it. It's moustache time.”

[psalacanthea]

Vampires, Romance, and Other Dead Things- Ch. 7

a new chapter in the Modern AU astarion x drow bard tav story found HERE! Having set up a counter-ambush to an anticipated attack from the other vampire spawn, now all Zyn has to do is drag his ass onstage. He promised Shadowheart one live show, and afterward they'll draw out the servants of Astarion's mysterious vamp daddy.

But Zyn's used to working alone, and it's starting to cause problems.

...

Certain the Harpers were shadowing her, she’d found a back street that didn’t look like it would damage too much if there was to be a scuffle here.  Between a half-dozen old buildings converted into multi-housing units there was an empty lot.  There was a No Excavation notice on one of the walls, which explained why it was here.  Seemed like this place was over one of the many dangerous structures under Baldur’s Gate.

Maybe caves.  Or a drop into the Undercity, like the place by hers she’d dumped Aradin’s corpse down.  A scan showed no convenient dumping spots, however.  A broken stone bench, a lot of weeds, and a few bags of garbage.

“Hey Vamp Juniors,” she called, stepping dead-center between the buildings, gazing up at the sky.  How funny would it be if they were up there, being trailed by invisible Harpers?  Stupid vampires.  “I’m here for my money!  My friends are bringing your guy!”

She stood with her hands in the pockets of her jacket, feeling arrogant enough to do it.  They’d cobbled together a pretty good trap.  No way they’d figure it out.

“Didn’t you refuse the offer?  We were told to get rid of you,” an unfamiliar voice said from the shadows, snide and superior.

He walked out of the shadows with another vampire beside him, scarlet eyes glowing, casual upscale bar look slightly impeded by the…well, by the face.  And the hair.  They hair was the worst, really, with the poofing, and the– well, it looked like a guy with straight hair had tried to make his look kind of like Astarion’s.

His face also gave that impression, weirdly enough.

Budget Astarion.

Creepy, but also triggering to…certain instincts enhanced by her having reached out and touched misfortune.  “I don’t make it a habit to speak with men, they’re too lacking in reason and emotional control.”  She turned her attention to the vampire next to him, tiefling woman with scarlet skin.  Glowing eyes.  Hopefully it meant the vamp daddy could…see out of their eyes or something.

She wanted him to watch.

Angry.

“Do you want him or not?” she asked, noting movement out of the corner of her eye.  A trash can lid, jostled, fell to the ground with a thud.  Bad luck for them.  There were more than two of them, for sure.  “And if you try to sneak behind me , I’ll teleport to the roof and fireball this space, so you can either get out here or you can get crispy.”

“Clumsy,” the elven vamp said, voice high and mocking.  Almost childish.  Okay, maybe she wasn’t the one to speak to.  “Sister Dalyria, isn’t that embarrassing for you?”

“Violet, stop,” Great Value Astarion said.

“I was sympathizing.  Everyone’s always picking on me,” Violet pouted, crossing her arms under her breasts.

Zyn couldn’t tense up as two more vamps stalked out of the shadows– a wistful-looking elven woman and the long-haired shirtless guy from before.  Four was still doable.  They were fine.  “Okay, so I can see the tropes we’re going with her.  Insane child vampire was always a favorite of mine.  Bet you’ve got all sorts of creepy dolls!”

Violet glared at her.

“But I can’t quite place you.  Comic relief?”  she suggested to badly-cloned Astarion.

“Can we kill the prattling bitch, already?” he asked, scoffing and taking a step back.

All of their attention shifted, fast as a hastened monk, as the sound of voices started echoing from where Zyn had come from.  All five of them stood poised in silence as the voices and footsteps came closer, people finally emerging from the alley.  Astarion was being carried over Karlach’s shoulder.

Through the high of bullying, Zyn felt a tingle of amusement.  Of course he’d made Karlach carry him.  What a bitch.

“Got him secured?”  Zyn called.

“Put me down, you brute~” Astarion called with posture still completely relaxed, voice lilting a little too theatrically.  She wouldn’t be surprised if his cheek was propped up in his hand.  

How was he a bad liar, on top of everything?

The man was in politics!

[psalacanthea]

this is for everyone but mostly @tadpole-apocalypse who is of the very correct opinion that Astarion's sibling Petras is in dire need of bullying. I happen to agree, so I took a small break to write something in post-game. :P (is spoilery for my current fic but not hugely)

...

Astarion couldn’t be back soon enough.

People were trying to get Zynatheri to decide things, and utilize her power and parcel out judgments, and she just didn’t want to!  The way she’d explained it to Astarion was most sensible.  They were making a society of vampires.  The politics were going to be corrupt!  Why not start the corruption from the top, where it belonged?  She’d much rather be his puppet than do work.

And now Petras had showed up, knowing Astarion was gone, and demanded an audience.

She’d already been in the bath, of course, which meant she’d had to heave herself out, throw on some slippers and her robe, and storm down to the meeting room.  And then on top of that inconvenience, the part of the palace they did have access to was massive!  Enormous ebon corridors where every step echoed, gigantic frescoes of her horrible ancestors and their horrible spider goddess, every surface slick and shiny obsidian.  Even the smallest light penetrated far here.

Echoes, too, which she rather thought was the point– every single sound carried.

Dwarfed by the architecture, a clammy bite to the air making her skin prickle, Zyn passed through the hall and into a freshly emptied chamber.  The last of the crumbled stone had been moved, the bowed-in stone wall on the left side propped up and tidied up as best as they could.  It still looked…rough, but they had seven– six now– thousand vampires to look after.  Cosmetics were still a far distant concern.

Before they could try to hire stonemasons or wizards, they had to ensure said professionals wouldn’t be eaten the moment they stepped into the city.

It was rather touch and go.

Passing by a low torch, Zyn clutched at her robe, annoyance turning into frustration and amusement as she mulled over the irritating arrival.  Of course.  The instant he found out Astarion had left on an expedition to scout further into the city, Petras came to poke at her.  After all, she was a surefire way to draw Astarion’s attention.

And Petras very much did want Astarion’s attention, like any annoying little brother.

Not that she knew much about siblings.

In the antechamber outside of the meeting room, a huge vaulted space of ebon columns and recessed ornate sconces of blackened iron, Zyn paused.  She tucked her fingers into the component pouch at her belt, searching within until she found her sending wire.  Untangling it from the mess, she lifted it to her lips and hummed softly into it until it vibrated in her palm.

Closing her eyes, she sent her voice to her beloved.  “Petras has come to try something.  Little schemer.  I’m going to offend him terribly, so please be prepared.  I love you, dearest, so be careful.”

While she waited for a response, she tucked her wire back away.

Astarion’s voice reached her mind within a few moments.  “And I love you.  If he dies, he dies, but do try to keep him alive?  We need him to do the work we won’t.”

He’d managed to just hit twenty five that time!  Oh, excellently done.  His rhythm and pitch might be horrid at best, but her darling could handle a bit of wordplay.  

Steeling herself with that slightest snatch of Astarion’s voice to comfort her, Zynatheri began to do something she had to do so rarely now.  She was going to play a part.  Glad she hadn’t gotten dressed, she loosened the neck of her dark green, velvet-trimmed robe, letting it slide off of her shoulder, lazy and careless.  She tugged out the comb in her hair, letting it untwist, uncoil down to her ankles.  The delicate golden comb went behind her ear, contrasting the silver of her swaying hair.

Lazy, idle, uncaring- decorative.

An easy enough ruse.

With the embroidered silk of her robe sliding up her arms, she reached up and pushed open the doors.  Normally they were left open because they were so bloody big.  Petras must have closed them behind himself, for some petty purpo–

“Forgive me, sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”

The doors were pulled away from her hands, her weight shifting dangerously, and although she knew it would likely aid in making a complete ass of Petras, she still couldn’t bring herself to fall into his arms.  Yuck.  Avoiding his hands, she caught herself and stepped back, staring at him through the now-open doors.

Gods.

She looked at him critically for just a moment– hair unfortunately similar to Astarion’s again, despite the fact that he didn’t have the curls for it.  He was wearing his nicer set of clothes, which should have been respectful, but wasn’t.  All it meant to her was that he really was trying something.

“Yes, that’s clear,” she said sardonically.  His strength was severely lacking in areas other than physical.  A complete lack of charm, for one.

And he wanted to be Astarion?

The very idea was laughable.

Petras stepped back politely from the doors.  “I’m sorry, I should have reassured you.  There was no reason to hurry.”

Why was he being nice?

Ew.

“I didn’t,” she replied, swanning past him and heading for the far end of the table, where her and Astarion’s seats overlooked the rest.

“So you intended to meet me in…wearing that?”

Hells, she wanted to put a hole in him.  Or some lightning.  “I wear what I like in my home.  Please leave your notions of ‘society’ behind.  That world rejected you.”  She turned at the head of the table with a flare of her robe, hair annoyingly clinging and twisting.

Gods, right, this was why she kept her hair up or shorter.  Ugh.  It was so heavy.  “I would rather speak of a new world.  One that we create.”  She sank into her chair, gesturing for him to take his.

Much further down the table.

But instead, in some sort of power play, he walked up the line of chairs, running his doughy hand along each one.  Zynatheri tried not to be judgemental, but she was a bit of a snob when it came to hands.  His fingers were short, and not tapered elegantly.  They were repulsive in a way she hadn’t known she’d felt until they were attached to the man himself.

Now every time she saw someone with similar digits she would have no choice but to be disgusted.

“You cut your hair again.  I thought you’d been so determined to grow your hair out, now that you’re a ‘full vampire’ at last,”  Zyn said, refusing to be cowed when he leaned on top of Dal’s chair and stared down at her.  Sometimes it was difficult being the lone mortal.  

“You can’t still be holding a grudge over that,” he said, annoyance touching his face.  He even leaned back a little, his body language betraying his attempt to manipulate her by seeming friendly.  Well, more than friendly. "I didn't mean to kill them."

"But you did."

Here she’d thought he was coming to whine and threaten, but instead he was attempting seduction.  As much as these siblings of her lover infuriated her, she felt a deep and profound sympathy for them all.  They had all been harmed in the same ways, and had some of the same behaviors, and she could not help but give them grace.  Which was Astarion’s fault.  He was the one who had softened her heart to his past suffering, after all.

Was it any wonder that concern now extended to his siblings?

It was a strange sensation, the simultaneous desire to protect and care for them, mixed with the constant desire to cause them harm– bully them– both mentally and physically.  Was that what they called…siblings?  If so, a great many things she had read and witnessed in her life suddenly made much more sense.

 All of that to say, she was worried that if Petras was trying to seduce her, there was something very wrong with him.  That was dangerous.  The family, co-ruler, victim and tormenter both dynamic they all had was precarious, volatile.  If it collapsed, so would their delicate, tenuous grasp on the spawn in the city.

That might mean death for them all.

“Whatever you need, if it’s reasonable, I won’t block you– in fact, I’ll help you.  There’s no need for this,” Zyn said firmly, hoping that was all it was.  Maneuvering, and not…lust or a desire for her blood.  If it was bloodlust she could just smack him silly and not feel guilty. "I have no desire to pretend we're friendly."

A well-placed bit of vicious mockery and she’d have him sobbing.

In response, he leaned towards her, Zyn holding her ground with annoyance as he came closer.  When his hand darted out, grabbing her by the neck, she only felt relief.  Oh, good.  He’d come to do something stupid.

Petras glared down his nose at her.  “Listen here, cattle.  You’re going to watch your tone and do what I say, or I’ll snap this pretty neck of yours.”

Coming from Astarion that would have been attractive and threatening; Petras just managed sullen and bossy.  Hardly impressive.  Plus, the cattle thing, which was stunningly unattractive.  She stared at him flatly, eyes half-lidded, lips pursing into a line.  His hand tightened, fingers pressing into the sides of her neck.

Ugh, no, if she didn’t retaliate he’d ruin choking for her with those shapeless, ugly hands of his.

Rather than say something snide, she gathered her rising anger and breath while she still could, and screamed directly in his face.  The thuderwave hit him full-force, and Petras went arse over teakettle, hand ripped from her throat as he slammed into the heavy stone chair and then went tumbling to the black tile, landing heavily on his back and skidding.

“That’s it?!” she demanded, voice fighting with the echoes of her scream.  Zynatheri  shot to her feet and stomped after him, eyes blazing with fury.  “All of this just to do your best Cazador impression and attack me?  You pissing malcontent!  You whey-blooded simpleton!  Astarion isn’t stupid and your plan isn’t clever.  He’d uncover what you've done, and then you'll be dead!”

Petras pulled himself up to his elbows abruptly, hair just cut back into his old mimicry of Astarion’s falling into his face, making him look all the more stupid.  “I am fully capable of hiding a body!” he retorted, vibrating with pure offense.

Her own fury rose in tandem.  How dare he think for even a moment he’d be capable of killing her?!  “Even if you failed your way into success, he would never stop until he found out what had happened to me,” Zynatheri retorted, stepping in and kicking him back down to the floor, her hands balled up in her robe.  He started to struggle back up but she stepped in, planting her foot and shifting all her weight onto it. 

She ground her heel into his chest.

“You will listen to me.  Astarion’s survival is all that matters to me, and you being content enough not to do anything foolish is important to me because of that.”

His scarlet eyes blazed, lips pulled into a sour, furious grimace.

“All of us are better off because you are alive, so stop trying to die,” she said, dragging her foot across his chest as she pulled back, heel pressing the whole way.  Dropping her robe, she smoothed her hands down her soft hips, glaring down at Petras.  “But never forget– you are beneath me.”  She smiled, slow and mocking, their eyes holding with a vibrant intensity.  “So stay beneath me, or I might notice you when I’m feeling less…altruistic.  Your oafish presence offends me.”

His fingers clenched into fists.  “How dare you.  Let go of me!”

“Let go of you? You are entirely free to go,” she said, gesturing with one hand.  “Have you forgotten where the door is, I wonder?  What a very poor memory you have, Petras.  You attacked me.  Don’t play the victim.”

Why the Hells was he still lying on the floor?  She wasn’t even that strong, she couldn’t have kicked him hard enough to do any damage.  What a dramatic little twit.

Well, if he wasn’t going to leave first–

It was petty to step on his shoulder on her way past him, but she did it anyway.  A test, perhaps, to see if he would retaliate, but that was just an excuse.  The little arse had annoyed her.

He made a small sound in the back of her throat as she ground her weight into his shoulder, but that was all she heard apart from the soft echo of her own footsteps.  When she glanced back at the exit to the meeting room, he had pulled up to sit and was staring at her, rage barely contained.  She smiled, sweetly.

“Next time your humiliation will be public.”

Oddly, he didn’t snap back immediately, but the intensity of his stare grew all the more intense and venomous.  Perhaps he was learning some self-control.  When he spoke at last, it was mocking.  “I can wait.  Sooner or later, Astarion will tire of playing with his food and you’ll be just as dead.”

Was he trying to get her to smack him around more?  Ugh.  As if she was going to rise to such poorly crafted bait.

“See yourself out, little brother!” she sang mockingly, spinning dramatically and swanning through the doors.

It was an excellent exit despite the insults he was shouting after her, which she was quite smug about. Zynatheri shuffled through the antechamber, yanking her hair over her shoulder so it would stop twisting around her ankles.  Very good, very dramatic, hair like this, but she’d forgotten what a nuisance it was.  Well, Zyn might as well go chop it off.

Part of her did regret not teaching the brat more of a lesson, but– wait.

Had he been trying to get her to slap him around a bit more?  Was that all on purpose?  If so, that meant…oh dear.

Malice and misfortune, of course it was.

Zynatheri knew it was a waste of what power her poor body could handle channeling in a day, but Astarion was gone and she needed someone to share this with.  Without him, what was the point in anything?  If she couldn’t speak with him, why speak at all?

In her haste, mirth bubbling like a spring, mixed with the delight of sheer horror, Zyn Sent to her beloved without counting the words.  “Darling, oh my beloved viper!  My sanguine heart.  Come home, I’m suffering.  I may have just accidentally fed one of your brother’s fetishes.  Sorry–”

Her fingers clutched around the tangle of wire in annoyance as she was cut off, lips pursing.

“Well,” Astarion responded in her mind, highly amused, “I suppose curiosity killed my little fox, didn’t it?  Poor darling.  I’ll be home before you know it.”

Pouting to herself, she went skulking back to her bath to scrub the feel of his hand from her skin.  All she could do was hope she was wrong, and hope it never happened again.  Zynatheri had a small, sneaking suspicion that this was far from over, however.  Gods and archdevils, she wanted to kick the little pissant around some more.

But if he liked it...

Ugh, having siblings was complicated.

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday!

Since the game canon Zyn x Astarion was voted, I worked on Dissonance and Debauchery for my writing time the last couple days! I still can't promise when it'll update, but I have made progress on the next chapter. So here's a bit from it, for all of you that voted!

Astarion x Tav (drow bard), tiefling party night post-coital cuddling negotiations. 1900ish words.

Languidly Zyn accepted the kiss that was being pressed on her, lips swollen and lax.

Astarion stroked a finger from under her lip to down the line of her throat, with just the edge of a nail dragging.  It felt nice.  Grounding.

“There we are.  See?  Much better when you’re properly rested and sober.”

Zyn gave an impish little smirk, but couldn’t quite maintain the energy for it.  The smirk went gooey.  Loose.  “And when you’re not in danger of killing me?”

With a long, self-satisfied sigh, Astarion abruptly sat up, pulling out of her line of vision.  Turning her head to the side, she watched as he straightened, arms stretching languidly over his head, fingers spread.  With a slow exhale he collapsed, arms falling to the bedroll.  He tilted his head to the side, hair spilling across his forehead, and their eyes met again.

“You can go now,” she offered lazily.

Instantly his posture stiffened, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as he snapped waspishly, “I’m sorry, are you kicking me out of your tent?”

What?

“No, I’m saying that if you want to go, you can go,” she replied, grabbing the discarded pillow from above the bedroll and dragging it back under her head.  Gods, her hair was going to be a mess.  Hmm, chopping.  “I’m not going to try and get you to stay this time.  You obviously have no interest in it.”

His lips pursed, thinned, and then twisted to the side before he rolled his eyes to the side.  “Stop assuming things about me, it’s irritating.  You’re not as all-knowing as you think you are.”

“Mmh,” she replied dismissively.  He just didn’t like that she was right, that was all.  Maybe up to the shoulders?  Higher?  Oh, she could be bald.  Hmm…

His voice turned ingratiating, which drew her attention back instantly.  The actual words, however, were displeasing.  “Pet, stop pouting.”

Why would she– “I’m not pouting, and you’re ruining the mood.”

“You ruined the mood when you told me to get out,” he retorted, voice a little sharp as he dropped the facade, obviously annoyed by her refusal to play along again.

Ugh, was he serious?  Why did he keep acting as if her drawing boundaries was her having a snit?  If he didn’t cuddle, fine.  That made them incompatible.  “I didn’t say you should get out, I said you could if you liked.”

His hands slapped down on his bare thighs, noisily.  Shifting back, his scarlet gaze bored into her, chin lifting so he could assert his superior position by sticking his nose in the air.  “Well, I want to stay!  What about that?”

Zyn’s cheeks puffed out as she blew them out.  “Then stay?  I’m not going to tell you what to do, you’re a grown man.”  Part of her really didn’t want to say anything, but another part of her was tired of how confusing he was.  “Sometimes you make absolutely no sense to me.”

“Oh, you never make any sense to me,” Astarion replied, chuckling grudgingly when it made her laugh, slow and drowsy.  “What is it that you want?”

Zynatheri gave him a look of sheer disbelief.  “I have been completely upfront about what I want.  What do you mean what do I want?”  Was he really being this obtuse?

His lips curved into a very ill-timed seductive smile.  “Well, darling, if you’re not satisfied…”

“Ugh, you’re doing that again,” she sighed, regally waving a dismissive hand, forcing him to lean back.  Gods, did he have no artistry in his sou– oh, right, no soul.  “Sex is not just the thrusting bits.  Don’t you enjoy the comfort of just…being around another person?  Listening to a heartbeat?  Feeling the warmth of a body?  Brushing someone’s hair, being massaged, counting freckles?  Listening to stories?  Just enjoying learning about a person.”

“I…no,”  Astarion replied, voice surprisingly subdued for a split second.  And then it took on a humorous edge.  “Maybe I’m just not much of a cuddler.  What’s wrong with that?”

“And I’m not used to sleeping with the same person twice,” she retorted, a little sourly.  How dare he only take, and not give.  That sealed it; if he didn’t cuddle, she was done with him.    “This is new for both of us.  I am reluctantly forced to admit that…”  The earlier incorporeal god botherer had really driven it home.  “This little adventure is unprecedented in my almost two hundred years of life.  I think you feel the same.  So why can’t we both try something new?”

“Not the worst argument.  But still…”  Astarion gave her a sidelong look, the charmingly tousled state of his hair giving him a rakish air.  “Your obsession with pillow talk is bad enough.  If I let you cuddle me, I’ll never be free of you.”

Aah.

He wanted to be convinced.

“Trust me, my sweet viper,” she reached up and caressed his chin, a playful little beckon.  “I’m not going to be catching feelings.”  And he couldn’t, which she had to remember.  Vampire.  He was undead, he didn’t feel things like other people.

Astarion was safe.

Which was why his next words didn’t bother her.  “That sounds like a challenge.”

“I know you’re at least considering giving me what I want– I can see it on your face,” she said, smirking when he rolled his eyes and glanced away.  She rolled onto her back, stretching languidly.  “Mhmm.  Darling, this isn’t a case of me lacking interest in you.  I find you very entertaining.  But I don’t like sleeping with the same person twice in the first place, and especially not when I don’t get any cuddling out of it.  I’m already compromising by not pretending you don’t exist the next morning.”

It broke him, a twitch of a smile touching his lips despite his efforts to keep it back.  When her grin widened, wickedly, he reached down and pinched the end of her nose.  “You do realize how insane you sound, don’t you?”

Jerking her chin up, Zyn snapped at his hand.  Pulling it back abruptly, dramatically, Astarion gave her a wide-eyed look of horrified shock. And then he smacked her cheek, very lightly.  Much like he spanked her, it was a little too hard to be a pat, but she’d be exaggerating to call it a slap.

It pleased and amused her that he never treated her as fragile.

Flashing him a wink, she didn’t deny the accusations.  “Well, always!  It’s part of my charm.  It’s up to you if it’s worth it to you or not– I must emphasize, I’ll hold no ill will at all.  I’ll think fondly of you.  Write a few dirty songs about you.  In fact…”

She rolled over onto her side in search of her lute, only to be grabbed and yanked back over.  

“Get back here!”

She blinked, sprawled out underneath him as he released her upper arm.  He gave a small ‘ugh’ of frustration, tilting his head back, the heel of his hand pressing into his forehead.  How dramatic.  It made him look extremely pretty, though.

That didn’t mean she missed the lascivious little peek at her bouncing tits, though.

The words ‘don’t touch me’ had yet to make an appearance, in that fretful, almost reflexively irritated voice.  She imagined he said it a lot.  Not wanting to follow that thought any deeper, though, she set it aside and focused on her reaction when she poked him testingly in the thigh.

Had he put his shield back up yet?

It seemed not, because he just sighed like a diva, raking his hair back and away from his face.  She took advantage and threw her arm across his waist, curling up against the side of his thigh and arse.  Astarion tilted his head slightly to stare down at her, ruby eye glinting faintly in the hints of light that pierced the cracks in the tent.  She wrinkled her nose at him.

“You’ll do it regardless,” he told her imperiously, like the brat he was.

“Do what?”

“Write songs about me.  There’s no point hiding it– I make a perfect muse.” His voice lowered to a beckoning purr.  “Don’t I?”

She smiled, unabashedly smug.  Oh.  Did this mean she was winning?  “Mmh, I suppose.  So you’re…compromising?”

He tapped her nose again.  “Just for now, my little fox.  To…keep my options open.  I haven’t decided if I’m done with you or not yet, and I’d rather be the one to decide if we’re done or not.”

Zynatheri giggled, full of mockery.  “Oh really?  Is that how this works?  You know, I never asked.  Why ‘fox’?”

He leaned over her, a hand planting next to her shoulder as he twisted to stare her down from a closer vantage.  She made a small contented noise as he sprawled on top of her, enjoying the triumph maybe a little bit more than his presence.  But they were both enjoyed.

“Because…darling, you are a smug little trickster who thinks she is the cleverest creature to ever grace this plane.”

Oh, well, when he put it like that…

Zyn nodded slowly in acknowledgement.  He was right.  Very well, she could add that into her mishmash of identities somewhere.  “Mmh, I see it.”

“Just as you call me ‘viper’ due to my deadliness, grace, and–”  Astarion glared down at her as her smug smirk widened.  “Oh no.”

How dare he leave himself vulnerable for such an attack?  If Zyn didn’t take the opportunity, it’d be a waste.  “Because you have fangs and you’re cute,” she told him quite seriously.

His expression soured, instantly.  “I hate you.”

“I have a book you haven’t read, and a very comfortable lap.”  she didn’t bother to hide the luring little purr in her voice.

“Mmh.”  Astarion wrinkled his nose.  Pushing up onto his forearms, he scooted further down.  Before she could ask what the Hells he was doing, he collapsed, face-first, into her chest.  It did hurt, slightly, but men could be like that about tits.

“Just because they’re soft doesn’t mean they’re invincible,” she groaned in annoyance as he burrowed in.  Irritated, she gently swatted the back of his head.  “What are you doing?  Awful bloodsucker.”

Much to her great relief, he pushed up on his hands, smirking down at her.  “Bloodsucker?  Was that an invitation, my little fox?”

“Don’t you dare bite my tits,” she scolded, lifting a finger in front of his nose.

“Mmh,” his eyes left hers, raking down her body.  “I do love forbidden fruit,” he purred.

“Decide, you absolute stray tom.  In or out?” she sighed, quite over his waffling– even if it was playful now.  Instinct had her snapping, before his mouth had a chance to do anything but open, “do not say something sexual.”

Astarion pouted, jaw tight as his mouth closed.  Reaching up, he intercepted her hand as it reached for his cheek, flinging it away lightly.  Before she could protest, he rolled off of her and sat up again, lifting a hand reflexively to fix his hair.

“I was promised a book and a lap, I believe.”

Zyn smiled delightedly as she sat up, endlessly amused by the snobbish facade.  It made him so fun to play with.  Addictive, the desire to poke and prod, tease, annoy, anger, seduce…but no.  No.  She’d just won, she should be gracious.

Let him be the Lordling tonight.

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Vampires, Romance, and Other Dead Things- Ch. 2

ok, here is a new chapter of the Tav x Astarion modern au! astarion tries and fails to come to grips with his new unliving situation, and they learn a little bit more about each other in the process. unfortunately.

...

It had been three hours of The Real Househusbands of Menzoberranzan, and Zyn was losing his mind.

Astarion was huddled on his couch under five blankets, cradling a cup of tea he kept demanding be reheated.  As far as Zyn knew, he hadn’t drank any of it besides a sip.  But, well, underneath all the annoyance with the entitled, rude, spiteful, whiny little bastard, he did feel bad for the guy.  Being turned into a vampire– especially a spawn– sucked treant balls.

But even so…

“I hate this show so much, please.  I’m begging you.  Last episode.”

“Now?!  Be’thenn is divorcing Pavernyn,” Astarion replied from the depths of his blanket-cave.

“They’re not getting divorced, they said that at the christening, too.  Remember?  After that hair-pulling match Pav got into with the guy– shit, what was his name?  The one who’s had so much cosmetic magic done he looks like he’s having an allergic reaction.”

“His name is Mark.”

“Mark.  Mark?!  He’s drow.”

Astarion laughed scornfully.  “This is the Underdark.  Things are different down there.”

Zyn gave him the most unimpressed look ever.  “I’m drow, eladrin.  I know more than you.  Aren’t these reruns?”

“If you must know, I’m behind,” Astarion said shortly, burrowing deeper unto his blankets until all she could see was his hands clutching the best mug in the house, a gigantic chipped thing emblazoned with ‘Mama Needs Wine’.  “I actually have a job.  A real one, not just…playing with a guitar.” Barely could Zyn hear him mutter at the end,  “I think.”

“You think?” he asked, rather than getting offended.  Not that Zyn didn’t like a good fight, but he just didn’t care enough about this vampling to get riled up.  Also, his claim was pretty fair, Zynatheri didn’t really ‘do’ jobs.

“I’m–” Astarion cut off, the somber tone of his voice going sharp.  Annoyed.  Or defensive, maybe.  “Well, I’m a vampire, aren’t I?  It isn’t as if I can saunter into the office without bursting into flames!”  He sure did talk with his hands, which was a bit distracting.  Because they were very attractive hands, long-fingered and graceful.

“You can’t use the vampire thing every time I say something you don’t like.”

“Thi– thing?!”  Gods, here he went again.  His voice scaled up as he emerged from the blankets, charmingly half-curled hair askew, eyes wide.  “The vampire thing?!”

Zyn groaned, throwing his head back against the couch cushion, eyes closing briefly.  “Ugh, you’re so dramatic!  I get it!  You’re undead!  News flash, baby boy!  There’s a fucking lich living in a guy’s basement like two neighborhoods over!  Welcome to Lower City!  Everything’s fucked!”

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Vampires, Romance, and Other Dead Things- Ch. 6

New Chapter of the (genderfluid) Tav x Astarion modern AU at this link. Bickering, snuggling, attempted makeovers, and other such enjoyable nonsense, all interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of The Plot. Vamp daddy makes his first move to try and recover his escaped spawn.

...

Astarion immediately shot to his feet, ignoring Shadowheart’s shout of annoyance.

“Darling, please.  Whatever it is, we can talk about it!” he begged, darting towards her.  

When he got too close, Zynatheri pointed the closed scissors at him threateningly, making him stop short.  With a flick of her wrist, she pointed the tip at the bedroom door.  Hands up defensively, he flashed an awkward smile.  

“You wouldn’t hit a man with wet nails, would you?”

“Go.”

“Er, Zyn…”

Shadowheart interrupted Karlach.  “Better not to get involved.”

Karlach clammed up, frowning.

With no hope of backup, Astarion finally retreated to the bedroom.  Zyn followed at a stalk, not bothering to say anything else.  If she did she’d probably blow up, and she’d rather not do that in front of people.  Appearing chill on the surface was very important to her.  

Probably too important.

Because then people thought they could take advantage of her!

With nowhere else to go, Astarion had sat on the edge of her bed.  Which was fine.  She’d rather loom if at all possible, but switching genders just in case on the way home had put a damper on that.  Tactical gender-switching, just in case the detective was full of shit and was just tracking her in a different way.

Also, Zyn had wanted to be ready to throw a punch.

“Perhaps we could put the scissors down, my dear and very appreciated roommate?”

She stared at him for two seconds, taking in the irritatingly skillful pathetic puppy dog eyes, the hopeful posture…and the barely-contained tension.  He was afraid.  Good.

“I would like to know…” she began, pacing over to set the scissors down on top of her dresser.  Zyn saw Astarion relax slightly out of the corner of her vision.  “How stupid do you think I am?”

“Not at all, of course!  Thank you so much, by the way–”

“No.  So I figured you were, what, in your eighties?  Nineties?  But now I’m starting to think it’s closer to what.  Fifty?  Forty?  Thirty?”

“That…isn’t the question I was expecting,” he admitted, staring at her face intently, as if trying to divine her intent.  “What does my age have to do with anything?”

“Because I’m not sure how someone could live to see their first century and still be such an immature piece of shit.”  Zyn kept her voice even, but when he flinched, some deep desire to bully the little fuck burst right through her self control.  “You fucked up.  You fucked up big time.  And then you ran away from mommy and daddy like a pathetic little coward, didn’t you?”

The woebegone look was gone so quickly she knew it’d been fake, his eyes averting as he reached to rub the back of his head.  “I need space.  I wasn’t expecting this– how could I?”

“This vampire thing is so convenient for you!  One more way to avoid the consequences.”

Astarion rallied, shooting to his feet with a fiercely angry look, jabbing a hand to his chest.  “I didn’t ask to die!”

“But you sure are taking advantage of it,” she scoffed, folding her arms under her tits.  “So either you’re a fucking idiot and you didn’t realize paying with daddy’s money would finger you, or you sent me so I’d be your patsy.  Which is it, Astarion?”

“It–”  He stopped short, and then scowled.  “You’ve left me no response.”

“Which is it, Astarion?!”

He threw up a hand, gesturing at her dismissively and dramatically.  “If I’m stupid then so are you, because I told you it was on my father’s account and you had no qualms!”

Shit.

She glanced down and aside for a moment, until Astarion’s faint look of triumph was noticed out of the edge of her vision.  Zyn whipped her head back up.  “I didn’t know you’d run away from home!”

“Would you stop phrasing it like that!  I have my own home!  I am an adult!”

“So go home!” she snapped at him, throwing up her hands.  “Stop making my life worse!  I got stalked by a fucking private detective, Astarion!  For fuck’s sake!”

[psalacanthea]

Thanks to @tadpole-apocalypse for this amazing icon of Zynatheri 'Zyn' Rivati, the Silver Mockingbird; my Tav.

She's a drow bard I've been playing and writing even before bards were added to the game. <3 Pictured as she deserves to be- like a smug Faerûnian anime villain.

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WiP Wednesday

now that I have a second to breathe, a bit from the upcoming chapter of the Tav x Astarion Modern AU fic (FOUND HERE!). Zyn once again destroying his own flirting because he can't watch her damn mouth.

...

Eventually his repeated stubbornness drove Zyn to snapping, capping the eyeliner with a vengeance and tossing it at Astarion, the small tube bouncing off his chest and falling into the sink between his thighs.

“You have to commit!”

“Your idea of ‘committing’ is practically heels and drag makeup.”

Irritated by his bloody-minded bullshit, Zyn slammed his hands on the mirror to either side of Astarion’s head.  “Malice and Misfortune, stop being so reductive!  You’re not even talented enough to be a drag queen; don’t flatter yourself.”

Catlike, scarlet eyes narrowed at Zyn, arrogance oozing from every word.  “How dare you.”  But there was a hint of something, a little smugness that peeked out.

“I’m sorry, are you irritating me on purpose?” he inquired, shifting from flat hands to forearms, thumping against the tarnished glass.

Their faces, nearly nose-to-nose, were close enough that he could feel Astarion’s breath on his skin when he laughed, self-satisfied.  The moment had become taut, pulled tight, like a string desperate to be played.  Emotions pulled to the surface by arguing bubbled under the surface, wobbling dangerously.

Well, sometimes that was how sexual chemistry went, wasn’t it?

This kind was…messy but fun.

“I don’t like it when you pretend to be nonchalant.  You’re not very good at it,” the bastard replied, lifting a hand to run fingers along his jaw, sliding down towards his neck.  There was a frivolously academic lilt to his voice.  “You’re fascinating, you know.  And all the more intriguing for being so…” His legs tightened around Zyn, dragging them an inch closer together.  “Flexible.”

Zyn was pulled up off his heels.  “Interesting choice of words,” he breathed against Astarion’s skin, arrested by his eyes.

“I like it.”  A hand tucked under Zyn’s chin, lifting his head slightly.  Astarion smirked, pinkie drawing lazily across his throat.  “I can see you…the real you.  It isn’t in the face, or the…”  His eyes flicked down and to the side, playfully.  “Well, what’s between your thighs.  No.  It’s your smile.  The little wrinkle in your brow, and across the bridge of your darling nose.  The little white freckles…under your exquisite moonlight eyes.”

Dumbstruck, feeling abruptly swept up in some violent current, Zyn went briefly silent.  

It felt like a trick.

“And?” he finally asked.

“And I think…”  Fingers nudged lightly to tilt his head, Astarion’s voice going quieter, throatier.  “I think I’d like to kiss you.”

The moment was tense…but too tense.  Instincts galloped to the fore; inappropriate and gleefully glib.  Definitely badly timed as well.

“I knew I’d win eventually.  Don't be a sore loser. Let’s cancel this whole business and go to bed,” Zyn teased as his sense of humor won out over his libido.  

Like always, it backfired.

Astarion instantly leaned back, eyes averting as he gave a faint ‘hmph’.  With a dismissive flick of his hand, he threw Zyn’s head to the side as they parted.  His pinkie nail dug slightly against skin in retreat, leaving a sting.  Ow.  Vampire claws.

Pouting, Zyn jerked his head up.  “Hey!”

"You ruin everything!"

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday

Y'all voted on banters this week! I went for 'end of act 1, in the Underdark' Baldur's Gate 3 banters for the companions and my drow bard Tav, Zynatheri.

There's no only Gale banter because they're not speaking to each other at that point (because Zyn will not stop bullying him).

if you see these and think the idea is fun, I would love to see yours for your Tav or Durge! Just tag me if you do so I can enjoy it! :D

...

Zynatheri: All right.  Shuffled thoroughly back into the deck.  Now, as I call upon the mystic powers of the Talis…are you watching?

Karlach:  Harder than I’ve ever watched before.

Zynatheri: I draw from the very top of the deck, and…Nine of Winds.  Is this your card?

Karlach: Holy shit.  It is!  That’s my card!

Zyn: The cards always know.

Gale:  They most certainly do not.

Karlach:  I didn’t show her the card, Gale.

Zyn: Yeah, Gale, just because the powers are beyond your comprehension doesn’t mean they’re not real.

Gale:  Your provocations fall on deaf ears.  I refuse to succumb to your clumsily strewn bait.

Zyn:  That’s fine.  Karlach, do you want to see another magic trick?

Gale: Stop calling it magic!

Karlach: You ever think of playing music while we battle?

Zyn: Would make casting spells hard.

Karlach:  What about right at the end, then?  When I crack the last skull and then we look for loot.

Zyn:  Like victory music?

Karlach:  Yeah!

Zyn:  Sure, sounds like fun.  Just save me any jewelry you find.

Karlach:  Fuck yeah!

Lae’zel:  You and Wyll fight similarly.

Zyn:  We probably learned the same style of fencing.

Lae’zel:  Why is he more skilled than you are? Was your instruction inferior, or are you?

Zyn:  Insult or observation?

Lae’zel:  If my observations insult you, that is due to your own weakness.  I only speak truth.

Zyn:  No, you speak ignorance, not truth.

Lae’zel:  Explain.  Alleviate my ignorance.

Zyn:  No thanks.

Lae’zel:  Kainyank.

Lae’zel:  During our last battle I asked repeatedly for healing and was ignored.

Zyn:  Sorry, I was feeling too weak and inferior.

Lae’zel:  Ah.  You were attempting an object lesson.

Zyn:  Sure, it was definitely that and not me being petty.

Lae’zel:  Wyll also employs magic, and his blade does not falter as yours does.

Zyn:  Wyll was given magic.  Nothing against him, but it’s true.  I earned mine through hard work, creativity, and talent.

Lae’zel:  That is no excuse to neglect your sword.

Zyn:  Ah, well, see…I’m also lazy.

Zyn:  Where there’s a Wyll, there’s a way.

Wyll:  Not bad, but I have used it before.  What’s wrong with ‘provoke the Blade and suffer its sting’?

Zyn:  The more mottoes the better.  How about ‘if you seek the Blade, be ready to pay’.

Wyll:  It does rhyme.  ‘Anger the Blade, and prepare to pay?’  It’s quite pithy.

Zyn:  Oh, you’re talking about revenge.  I was working from more of an advertisement angle.

Wyll:  (Laughs.) I am not an adventurer for hire, my friend.

Zyn:  I could make a poster that might change your mind…

Wyll:  Hmm.  Show it to me later.

Shadowheart:  I believe I found some of that moss you mentioned.

Zyn:  Great!  I’ll show you how to prepare it tonight.  We’ll just need oil.  I’m going to need some of the eyeshadow for my own uses, though.

Shadowheart:  Since you’re the one teaching me to make it, I assumed as much.

Zyn: Oh, not for me.  I was going to paint all over Astarion’s face while he’s in reverie.  Of course a cock is classic, but a giant glowing eye on his forehead in the dark would look striking.

Shadowheart: (Laughs.) Why are you so terrible?

Zyn:  I’ll save the cock for Gale.  He deserves it.

Astarion:  What were you and Shadowheart whispering about?

Zyn:  You.

Astarion:  Well, naturally, darling.  What about me?  Hopefully not spilling too many intimate secrets…though I wouldn’t blame you, of course.

Zyn:  She was asking me if the giant mole on your face made it difficult for me to kiss you.

Astarion:  The what?

Zyn:  Did you not– okay, calm down. Calm down! It was a joke.

Astarion: Don’t talk to me.

Zyn: My dear, sweet viper.  Please, stop sulking.

Astarion:  I am not sulking.  I simply have no desire to speak to you.  Or look at you.

Zyn:  Such a shame.  I guess Drizzt isn’t sneaking into your tent tonight.

Astarion:  How dare you threaten me!

Zyn:  It works and has no repercussions.

Astarion: Well, yes, but that isn’t the point.

Zyn: I’m teasing you.  Don’t worry.  Just a quick polymorph, and you’ll finally get your hands on the legendary blade Icingdeath.

Astarion: Gods, you ruin everything.

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday- 5/3

The poll decreed I must pull out something ridiculously self-indulgent I wrote for myself, so here you go!

Astarion x Tav if they'd met before he was a vampire spawn, and she had an oopsie baby after he disappeared.

Post-canon, trying to build a home in a ruined Drow city in the Underdark while dealing with two separate families- mortal and vampire.

This is NOT kidfic (all children involved are full adults, lol), but rather them reconnecting after she was bullied by their daughter to help kill Cazador so her father could finally be free.

10kish words, SFW. (lmk if u think i should put this on AO3)

Much like the rest of their unnamed city, deep in the bowels of the Underdark, Astarion’s study slash meeting hall was half-ruined, empty, and lacking in livable touches.

He hated it.

Still, they were ostensibly safe, and at least for the moment he had some company to complain at.

“And then– you’ll never believe this– Octavia said that it was Rydell who had insulted the Drow ambassador, and worse still, Dalyria defended her.  Everyone knows it was Octavia.  She’s not subtle!  It’ll be a wonder if they ever speak to us again.”

“The amount of drama a bunch of vampire spawn can get up to is rather impressive,”  Lilithera said, voice just a tiny bit distracted.  It usually was.  She spent far too much time working, something he’d have to talk to Zynatheri about.  “Did it cause problems with the negotiations?”

“No,” Astarion sighed, grateful that wasn’t a problem, at least.  “Luckily the myconids standing guard kept things civil.  It was a spot of brilliance suggesting a bit of– what did you call it?”

“Mmmmmmh, symbiosis?”

“Yes, that.  Darling, what in the Hells are you doing that has you so distracted?”

“Sorry, father,” she said, chagrined, voice echoing out of the scrying orb awkwardly as she moved away from her half of the enchanted relic she'd installed for him.  “I’ve been buried in that stack of books you had mother bring me– the cyphered necromancer’s journals you unearthed in the grand crypt?  I don’t know if there’s going to be anything helpful in them, but they’re still fascinating to translate.”

Anything but that.  Ugh.  It was his fault for feeding the wizard’s curiosity, he supposed.  “Your mother would kill me if you turned to necromancy, love.  Especially Drow necromancy.  You need to get out more. Get some sun.”

Lilithera laughed, an edge of sarcasm sharpening it.  “The irony of being told that by my undead father is not lost on me.  I’m trying to help you get out more.  I was invited to a Liar’s Night party, though.  I haven’t been to Waterdeep in an age, I was considering it.  Mother said she’d look after the twins.”

Waterdeep?

Oh no.  “Who invited you, exactly?”

“Archmage Dek–”

“Absolutely not!  Gale?!  Stay the Hells away from that man!”

Zynatheri was going to murder him.  Quite honestly he would let her, rather than being subjected to the idea of being Gale’s father in law.  Oh gods, just thinking those words made him want to vomit.  No, no, absolutely not.

Whatever was going on between Lily and Gale, as her parents they had a duty to utterly sabotage it.

“Father, he’s a colleague!  You and mum are utterly unreasonable.  I’m a hundred and ninety three years old, a widow, and a mother of four, need I remind you.”

“Mmh,” he muttered with an annoyed purse of his lips, trying to think up an actual, valid argument.  She was always so reasonable and logical, it could be frustrating at times.  She certainly hadn’t gotten that from him or Zynatheri. 

“What is your problem with Gale, anyways?”

“He’s my friend, darling, it feels…wrong.  Plus his romantic history is absolutely horrifying, let me tell you.  Who would want that for their daughter?”

Who would want the possibility of having Dekarios grandchildren?

Disgusting.

“I don’t think the man that got my mother pregnant and then disappeared has any right to judge me.  Speaking of, is mum there yet?  She should be arriving soon, shouldn’t she?”

“Who knows with that woman.  She’s worse than a stray cat,”  Astarion dismissed, despite wondering as much himself.  He was still feeling irritated over their argument last time she’d come by, and the fact that she’d gone and disappeared after it– he didn’t particularly mind disagreeing with her, but she always ran away afterward.  It was getting frustrating.  “How the Hells do you keep her from running off?”

“Oh, I stopped trying years ago.  Are you saying…you don’t want her running off?”  there was a sly, cunning little note to Lilithera’s voice.  That she had gotten from him.  Devious brat.

“I’m saying she showed up in my life, saved said life, dropped an entire family in my lap, and then went prancing off into the sunset.  Now she only reappears to do incredibly helpful things, and then briefly infuriate me before disappearing!  It’s very confusing.”

“Imagine having her for a mother.  Have you tried thinking up a reason for her to stay?  A task you might need her help with?  She might be fickle but she always keeps her word, you know.  Or are you too busy pouting and refusing to actually be the one to blink first?”

He rose from his seat, tossing aside the endless piles of reports.  The warming bottle Gale had enchanted for him was only half-full, but that was the state of things right now.  Food was in very short supply, especially with how the idiots kept losing their self-control and stealing from the rothe herd.  And actual thinking food?  

Nothing more than a daydream.

Still, at least he was eating in a more…civilized manner these days.

Pouring blood from bottle into glass, he raised his voice.  “No matter what I say, you’re going to twist it around in that pretty little head of yours until you’ve convinced yourself we’re pining after one another.  She’s a maddening, smug, evil little wretch and just because she confuses me doesn’t mean I’m desperate to learn all her secrets.”

“You’d never know if she were pining after you, anyways.”

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at the scrying orb, raising his eyebrows.  “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Father, she knows what you’ve been through.  Mother would never make the first move, she’s far too respectful for that; she doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.  She told me as much last time I badgered her about you.”

“You really are a meddlesome little pest, aren’t you, darling?”

There was laughter in her voice.  “It’s a family trait.  When I was a child, before she discovered what had happened to you, I hated you.  I was happy you were gone.  Now that I know you and understand…well, you’re probably the only person I know of that could put up with her.  And vice versa.”

“Stop meddling, love.  You’re too pretty to fret over such things, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“You’re only saying that because everyone says I look like you.  I should go, I’m having dinner with Portia.”

“Tell the girl I say hello.”

“You’re going to have to get used to the word ‘grandfather’ sooner or later.”

Astarion grimaced, glancing out the window.  “No thank you.”

“Ilethra’s getting married.  You might be a great-grandfather before you know it.”

He scowled out at the fungus-lit cavern beyond, spite and annoyance simmering.  How dare she make him feel old like that?  “You’re no longer my favorite.  Why did you have to marry a human?  At least if your children were elven we’d have more time.”

“If you want another full elven child, I suggest you make one yourself.  Ta, father.  I love you.”

By the time the words sank in past his surprise, the spell had long since been banished, the scrying orb dark.  Still, he glanced over his shoulder, gazing at it as an unfamiliar, but welcome warmth rose within him.  She said it so easily, and so earnestly.  

He had someone who loved him.

Of course he put his best foot forward with her most of the time, but Lilithera wasn’t a child.  She was a fully grown woman, and an intelligent and discerning one at that.  He hadn’t tricked her into saying it.

She really, truly meant it.

He wondered if she still would if she knew everything he’d done.

Still, there was no point dwelling on it.  Not when he was neck-deep in shit without a shovel in sight.  Why he’d thought two centuries of in-fighting and petty conflict could be banished all at once, he didn’t know, but when they weren’t demanding he provide all the answers, his siblings spent all of their time arguing.

They’d lost a good thousand of their people already to death and decampment, which he couldn’t say he felt too badly about.  Less mouths to feed, at least.  But the others were panicking, worried about the ill-will those that left could be garnering.  As much as he hated to agree, they might be right.

Petras was trying to convince him to hire assassins to hunt them down.

As if they had the money for that.

Hells, they’d barely stopped traveling, and half of them were sleeping the days away in holes in the ground.  Hardly a safe situation.  That was why allying with the myconids had been a spot of brilliance.  Still a tenuous alliance, but they were working on it.  The Sovereign trusted Zynatheri at least; which would be more useful if the damnable woman would stay.  Now, if only they could forge an alliance with the nearby Drow, instead of having to fear they’d be turned on at a moment’s notice…

He really needed someone to talk to about all of this that wasn’t a vampire themselves.

Just to clear his mind, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it took a full fortnight for the cat to come back.

“Poppy!  Lysander!”

Why were all her bloody family members so tall?!

Zyn’s fault, entirely.  If she wanted a child, she should have found another drow, but no– no, she’d gone and had a daughter with a high elf.  And then, even worse, her daughter had gone and had children with an even taller human!  It wasn’t fair, that’s what it was.  She was tempted to polymorph herself just to keep up, but after they’d gotten into a scrabble with cloakers earlier, Zyn was feeling a bit low on spellpower.

The twins, of course, were in fine spirits, galumphing along like colts.

“Come on, little mum!” Poppy called back, standing at the top of a narrow cliffside path.  It needed widening.  Some masonry, supports, and a retaining wall, at least.

She knew Astarion had other priorities, but having a good route to the city would be important.  Sadly, she knew as much about road-building as she knew about city planning.  Nil.

“I need you two to hold back!  We can’t enter the city without an escort, you know this!”

The pair paused at the cusp of the hill, but their backs were to Zyn.  She took the incline herself with ill grace, very, very ready to be off of her feet.  She despised the Underdark.  Zyn couldn’t believe in the past year she’d been down here almost a dozen times.  The things one did for family.

Lilithera kept thinking up reasons she needed Zyn to come down.

The girl couldn’t be more obviously trying to herd her parents into a relationship if they tried.

Zynatheri felt…pleasantly surprised by Astarion.  Over the years she’d had nothing at all to do with him after locating him.  And what Lilithera had told her from her scrying wasn’t enough to make any judgments about what he was going through, not enough to know his attitude about his unlife.  When he’d been kidnapped, Lilithera had immediately begged her to find him and protect him, and she’d done her best.

But her expectations of a man who had been tortured and a vampire for two hundred years were very, very low.

So to find him more like the young man she barely remembered than expected was a shock.  Oh, he was more confident now, much more traumatized, and far more worldly and mature, but there was still something of that ambitious, fussy, self-absorbed spoiled brat she’d liked so much in him.  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t gotten more bitter and nasty over the years, herself.

Life did that even if you weren’t being abused by a vampire.

Zyn finally reached the top of the hill, ignoring the worried look and gracefully extended hand Lysander offered down her.  He was a sweet boy, but spent far too much time worrying.  It made her feel old.

“Darling, I’m barely even three hundred,” she told him, not bothering to hide the exasperation.  “Before long, you’re going to be older than me!”

“That isn’t how it works, little mum,” Poppy said with a roll of her eyes.

The twins couldn’t be more different and yet oddly alike– they both were the most curiously sensitive and caring children she’d ever met, but with a morbid streak a mile wide.  But while Lysander turned it inward, with dreamy eyes and a worrying penchant for poetry, Poppy turned it outward, with a ferocity of purpose and a helping hand that preferred to hold an axe.  And yet, there had never been two siblings as close-knit as they were.

When Lysander had asked to meet their grandfather, it hadn’t even been a question that Poppy would come along.

Besides, she needed more combat experience.

Together they stood on that precipice, attention naturally drawn to the ruin below them.  An ancient drow city, where her mother’s own people had been driven out generations ago in a conflict with the Houses of Menzoberranzan.  It looked…better than she recalled from last time, some signs of repairs beginning.  Clumsy repairs, mind, but between the vampires’ awkward attempts at masonry and the myconids’ aid in the form of natural fungal structures, it was beginning to look livable.

The multicolored mushrooms glowing against the surface of the ancient, slick black, spiky architecture was a surprisingly pleasant contrast.

“This was once called Arzullnioth.  It’s where your great-grandmother’s family lived long before the Spellplague.  The Houses of Arzullnioth attacked Menzoberranzan.  It did not go well,”  Zynatheri commented, starting to lead the way down the slope.  “Llolth chose Menzoberranzan, but your great-grandmother’s House was spared her wrath because they sacrificed every first-born daughter to her in a desperate placation.  They killed and killed until Lolth bid them stop, with only a single heir left– your great-great grandmother Kiivashti.  Thus, they were allowed to flee the city with what remained of House Tzahane.  My mother told me of it when I was a girl.” “That’s vicious,”  Poppy said disapprovingly, short raven curls bouncing as she shook her head.

“It’s very beautifully sad,” Lysander agreed, amber-and-earth eyes gazing over the cityscape with misty wonder, as if viewing its past.  “Did grandfather find their bodies?”

“Well, I don’t know, pet,”  Zynatheri said, too well-used to fatalistic minds to be bothered by it.  “We can look.  Perhaps they’ve found some clues that would point us to where great-grandmother’s family put their dead.”

“Honestly, little mum, I can see why you don’t like your family,” Poppy said with distaste.  “Killing all your own children; how evil.”

They walked together down the uneven slope of stone, the remnants of an ancient roadway more visible now.  The gate and wall that had closed out the great cavern of Arzullnioth were crumbled, damaged, but it seemed there were sentry myconids patiently standing in the gap where the city’s entrance had been.  Proper guards.  It was good to see.

The Sovereign Vorm had been busy at work budding, it seemed.

“Flower, we are walking into a city full of vampires, so try not to be too enthusiastic about calling things evil?”

“There’s a difference.  I’m not a child any more, I understand,”  Poppy huffed, rolling her eyes.  “The person who is evil is the one who turned them all.  And he’s dead.”

“Righteousness has done just as much wrong, if not more, than those they claim are evil,” Lysander agreed, softly sad.

Zyn fought the urge to scoff at youthful philosophy.  It was fine.  It was a luxury they had which meant they’d been raised safely and well, she had to remind herself, which was exactly what she’d sacrificed so much for.  So that they didn’t end up like her.

The idea softened her momentary exasperation, warming it.

“Ah, I did such a good job raising you,” Zyn self-congratulated, ignoring the pair rolling their eyes at each other behind her.

“Mum had something to do with that, little mum.”

“Well, hells, I raised her, too!”

As they approached the gate, it became clear that the city was still very quiet, only the fungal folk wandering the broken streets.  Shit.  She’d meant to arrive well after nightfall, but it seemed they were still a bit early.  While they took a pause just outside at the shrine of Beshaba Zyn had built, they all did their perfunctory offerings, and then she bid them wait.

“We shouldn’t go in until your grandfather sends someone to fetch us,” Zyn said apologetically.  “Stay right here, I’ll go speak to the guards.”

While she dealt with communicating the fact that she needed Astarion to fetch them, Zyn watched the city streets.  She could see a few shadowy figures out now, which meant it was probably just past nightfall.  Yes, better not to parade the children through the streets in front of a bunch of barely-awake, hungry vampires– that was a recipe for disaster.  

After she got her point across and managed to extricate herself– communicating with myconids was simple for her as a bard, but also addictively enjoyable– Zyn returned to the twins to wait.  And wait.  And…wait.

She was starting to get genuinely annoyed by the time Astarion arrived, and had paced back to the gate to wait, crossing her arms over her chest.  Coming down the hill, disheveled and still in the process of fastening his belt, Astarion looked about as annoyed as she felt.  When he noticed her and frowned, she lifted her chin and stared him down.

“You know where I live!” he snapped at her as he approached.

“I do,” she agreed, lifting her hands as he bore down on her.  “Come here.  Your hair is a mess.”

“Yes, well, I was still in my dressing gown,” he fussed, but obediently leaned down so she could fix his hair for him.  “Why didn’t you just come u–”

“Hello, grandfather!”  Poppy called cheerfully, the twins crunching up to join them.

Astarion straightened abruptly, pulling out of her reach.  He tugged down the front of his embroidered jacket, staring at the approaching pair for a moment before turning an accusing gaze on her.  She gave a small shrug.  Astarion sighed, heavily.

“Don’t take it out on them,” she hissed.

“I know,” Astarion snapped back.  Much to her relief, his mask slipped into place.  “You must be Poppy and Lysander.  I apologize, I hadn’t been told you were coming!  Imagine that!”  The last two words snapped with pointed accusation.

“Can we not fight in front of them, either?”

He gave her a dour look, and then sighed and stepped past her to greet the children.  She kept her peace all the way to the half-ruined palace he had claimed, which amusingly she had realized from the designs of the stonework had once belonged to her mother’s family.  Not that she’d mentioned it.  In fact, Zyn didn’t think she’d ever brought up House Tzahane’s history here to him– it hadn’t seemed relevant.

Having grown up on the surface, she had about as much connection to this place as a pig did to a plate of ham.

Whatever they would make of this place would be their own.

At any rate, Poppy chattered the entire way, so that filled the silence quite nicely.  

As she’d been suspecting, their bright, noisy presence drew a lot of attention as they traveled the shattered streets, something Astarion also seemed extremely aware of.  The twins were relaxed, but they were both on high alert.  Naturally Lysander was drawn to mooning about every even slightly interesting feature, but Zyn kept her hand close and gave him a bit of a tug every time he started to wander or pause to peek in ruined courtyards or fallen buildings.  

He was a bit too much like his deceased mother at times– head forever in the clouds.

As they approached the House, she looked it over with a critical eye.  The towers were missing their old statuary and spires, but it looked like he’d managed to get one of the roofs repaired, finally.  The gardens that spread before the building were neat and tidy but mostly empty, nothing but dirt, rocks, and old paths, with just enough fungal and bulbfruit foliage to feed the pair of rothes stabled there, tied to the remnants of an old shattered obsidian statue of the Spider Queen.

“Well, this is grim,” Poppy remarked.

“Gardening is a bit low on my list of priorities right now,” Astarion replied, sounding fairly annoyed.  “But I agree.  Aesthetically displeasing.  A state of affairs I’ve had to grow accustomed to.  It’s irritating.”

“Why empty it out, then?”

“Half the plants here were aggressive.  They kept trying to kill people.  I much prefer plants I can use to kill other people.  I was unaware kelpies were such an issue here in the Underdark, we’ve had a full half-dozen run ins with the damned things.”

“I’ve never met a kelpie.  I’ve heard they’re very beautiful,” Lysander mused softly.

“You would die,” his sister retorted sharply.  “Please don’t go looking for them.”

“Drowning seems like a peaceful way to die.  Don’t you think?”

“No, love, it involves a lot of choking and thrashing and loosening of the bowels,”  Zynatheri said tolerantly, unphased.  “The right poison or a beheading will do you much better.”

“Beheading is classic,”  Astarion agreed.  “But what about you, dear?”

“I’m going to go out fighting.  I’ll spit blood in their eye as they run me through,”  Poppy said with delighted relish.  

“How vicious,” Astarion laughed.

She knew he was irritated they’d come, but Zynatheri was grateful to discover that he respected her requests to keep things like that private.  Whether it was because they were virtual strangers to him or not, it was still appreciated.  After Ilethra and Portia had gotten to meet him, she hadn’t seen real reason to refuse the twins that wouldn’t have been infantilizing on her part.  Just because they were the babies of the family didn’t make them children.

And she couldn’t say yes to Poppy and no to Lysander just because he had a more, mmh…passive personality.

But Hells, she was going to have to keep an eye on him.  If they weren’t careful, he’d wander into the middle of town in an open-fronted shirt, reading poetry and looking wistfully melancholic.  Then they’d have to explain to Lilithera how they’d gotten her youngest killed.

Or worse, they’d end up with a vampire-in-law.

Silly, lovely boy.

“Let’s try to stay at the House, loves, shall we?”  Zynatheri suggested as they wandered into the vaulted front hall, the massive funguswood doors she’d painstakingly magicked back to life cracked open enough for them all to file in.

“No exploring?”  Poppy asked, obviously disappointed.

“There’s plenty of exploring to do here,”  Astarion said, in tacit agreement with Zyn, which relieved her.  “I haven’t been in half the rooms of this place.  And on that note, we’re a bit low on furniture, so you may have to break out those bedrolls again.  I haven’t the supplies to be a good host.”

“I brought some furniture, and we’re fully provisioned,” Zyn assured him, and smiled at his questioning look.  “Lily found me a portable hole.  I thought it was high time I brought you some things to make this place a bit more livable, now that it’s survivable.”  And because she knew he’d be annoyed and she wanted to sweeten his temper so he didn’t take it out on the children.

Astarion shot her a look of wide-eyed gratitude that made her laugh.

“You suffer more than anyone has ever suffered before,” she teased him.

“Even a single rug sounds like bliss right about now.  The floors are always cold despite how warm it is here.”

“Little mum said you like to read, so I brought you books,” Lysander said, attention fixed somewhere among the buttresses.  He tripped slightly, staggered, and then straightened up with Poppy’s hand on his elbow, looming over all three of them.  “When you have time later, grandfather, Poppy and I were hoping we could speak with you.”

“My docket’s rather full for most of the night– at dinner later, perhaps?”

“Dinner?  Dinner’s already passed,”  Poppy said with a laugh.

“When you’re a visitor, you have to follow local customs.  We’ll follow his schedule.  You heard grandfather, he has a lot to do.”  Zyn turned her attention to him, raising an eyebrow.  “Should I put them in the room you gave me last time?”

“Thank you,” he said simply, already stepping away.  “I’ll leave you to it?”

As she’d much rather he processed their arrival away from the twins, Zynatheri left it at that and they parted ways.

It was always such a struggle to keep your damage from infecting those around you.  And Astarion?  He had a great many scars both literal and figurative.  Well, if he got too snippy with them, she could always threaten his life again.

There was always time for murder.

...

Astarion cradled his head in his hand, slumped deep into his chair.

“There is no need to waste energy on a farce of a court when immediate suppression is necessary to our survival,” Aurelia said firmly, with a hint of hurt and frustration in her voice.  “We lost another of our brethren today, and–”

Violet sighed in deep ennui, eyes rolling up and to the side as she splayed forward.  Resting her pale cheek on her palm, she stared at their tiefling sibling.  Her voice dripped with sing-song disdain. “Stop pretending to care.  You just want power.  You’re afraid giving Astarion judicial power means you can’t be Queen Aurelia.  Give it up. Nobody wants you to be in charge, you overbearing, weepy cow.”

“Why are we worrying about a few dead rothes when there’s runaway spawn out there, muddying our name everywhere we go?  We need to strike them down!  This is about our long-term survival!” Petras snapped, slamming his hands on the table.

Astarion sighed again, well aware Yousen and Dalyria were staring at him expectantly.  Of course when Petras said something, he was expected to respond.  “And what do you expect us to do in the short term, I wonder?” he asked, head rolling to the side as his hand dropped with an exasperated flourish.  “Do tell, brother.  Where does the money come from to fund your little hunting escapades?  Will we starve while you play?  Or are you just trying to get permission to go lurk in the nearest city?  Hmm?  Do a little clandestine hunting yourself?”

Predictable as always, Petras’ expression immediately stiffened.  Idiot.  Gods, at least he was still stupid; imagine if he’d actually become intelligent in the wake of freedom.

This all would be even more complicated.

They didn’t have the time for complicated right now, there were some corners that needed cutting.

“There’s no need to overthink it.  It’s only a judicial court, and we’re immortal!  We either execute people, flog them, or fine them within an inch of their lives.  What good will imprisonment do?”  Astarion declared, leaning back in his seat to scan across his siblings once more.

Dalyria gave him a look of disapproval, but he ignored it.

“He has a point,” Yousen said sardonically.

“We may not have time for building a code of laws just yet, but we cannot start executing people in the street!”  Dalyria protested, tearing her gaze away from Astarion.  “If people are afraid they will flee, and the damage already done will worsen.  What we need to do is focus on a cu–”

“Cure?  What, while we starve to death?  The idiots are killing our source of food.  They may as well die,” Petras said, giving Dal a look of frustration.  When she turned away from him, lifting her chin, he raised his voice sharply.  “Don’t ignore me because you don’t like my point!”

“Waaah,” Violet said snidely, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

“What an intelligent rebuttal.”

“Rebuttal?  What a long word.  Have you learnt to read at last, Petras?”

“Leon?”  Aurelia interrupted from the head of the table before things grew any more fraught.

“Do as you like,” their silent sibling said, staring at a polished black stone mural behind Aurelia’s head.  Leon’s voice was affectedly bored.  “What do they call those spider-drow, Astarion?”

“Driders,” he replied, cautious about the change in topic.  

“I found a skeleton of one below my House,” Leon said, voice musing.  “Within tunnels surrounding a whole…temple of Lolth.  Have we any knowledge regarding Lolth’s opinion on vampires?”

“Necromancy is common in Drow society,” Astarion temporized, trying to search his memory.  Did he know that?  Had he asked Zynatheri?  No, he didn’t think he had, beyond using their dead.  “Ritual sacrifice is her favorite activity, I doubt she draws the line at vampires.  Just try not to desecrate the temple?”

Being the opportunist he was, Yousen slithered into the conversation then.  “Lucky for us you’ve acquired a pet Drow, then.  You can ask it.”

“Jealousy is ugly, brother,” Astarion retorted dismissively, waving a hand.  Considering how she had chosen to arrive this time, he knew the information would have reached his siblings.  He also knew Yousen was ensuring that everyone else was certain to know.  Stirring the pot.  

Conniving little gnome.

“You should share food with the whole family.”

Fine.  He wanted to push?  Astarion was more than happy to push right back.  “Speaking of pets, brother dear, have you told Violet yet that you were the one who killed the kruthik hatchling she was keeping?”

Yousen went silent immediately, but the silence didn’t last long.

Within moments the table had descended into threats, verbal attacks, and accusations as two centuries of bile spilled over once more.  Normally Astarion would have been among them, goading, but being in control for the moment, he only felt a detached sense of amusement.  They were so easy to manipulate.

Granted, this wasn’t progress, but at least they weren’t irritating him any longer.

And wasn’t that what really mattered?

As the others attacked one another, Astarion and Leaon observed one another across the table in silence.  Their alliance was, and remained tenuous, but Astarion understood his youngest ‘brother’ more now than he had before.  What he had done– what he was still doing for his daughter– was completely comprehensible now in a way none of the others could understand.

It also, unfortunately, settled some of his rage and vitriol towards Zynatheri for never rescuing him.

Although he didn’t feel it, that urge to protect a child, he did at least understand it now.  It wasn’t fair that his grudge was being ruined with this new comprehension, but oh well.  She didn’t need to know he wasn’t angry any more.  

If she did, she might feel less guilty, and then she wouldn’t be so quick to placate him.

Eventually, when he made no attempt, Aurelia bullied and tearfully manipulated everyone back into line.  They made a few pressing decisions, though the greater one of ‘justice’ remained undecided apart from temporarily being shoved onto Astarion’s plate.  Dalyria was the odd one out, determined to give grace and understanding for some reason.  He assumed she wanted to pick a fight with Aurelia.

And Astarion also knew she was already experimenting on some of the spawn assigned to her House.  Another tidbit to keep in his back pocket.  One never knew when it might come in handy to toss out at a necessary moment– no matter how lenient he was towards the three of them, he was also more cautious around his sisters.

Yousen was wholly untrustworthy, Petras was stupid and petulant, and Leon, well…he was only here at all due to bribery and threats.

Things wound down a bit more tense than before, as they always did, and everyone parted ways to go back to secretly trying to manipulate one another.  Part of him had hoped being free would mean things would get better, but that seemed impossible unless they went their separate ways.  Their scars were all twisted together, making them parts of a whole in an unwholesome and unpleasantly familial fashion.  They had been forced to be family, but that was over, and somehow they still were.

Even Leon, though he denied it.

And right now, they needed each other.

He waited until they were all gone before leaving the table himself, knowing none of them would be stupid enough to go skulking through his House right now.  Later, when he wasn’t expecting it would be more likely.  He did note that Yousen hadn’t mentioned the children, which made him think that he hadn’t known they were Astarion’s mortal relations.

None of the children looked enough like Lilithera to be easily identifiable as his blood, thankfully.

Finally he rose to leave, ignoring the papers and reports.  Not now.  Now he wanted to relax, as being around family could be exhausting.

“Astarion.”

Hands clutched abruptly at his sleeve as he left the ancient dining room they’d been using as a meeting chamber.  Astarion paused with a start, exhausted mind already ready to snap until he looked into Violet’s worried eyes, her lips pulled down into a deep frown.  Annoyed, he still tempered his frustration.  Not listening to her would just send her into a fit.

“Yes, Vi?”

“Before the meeting over the judicial court, I overheard Petras telling Dalyria that Aurelia wanted them to vote against you.”

Astarion fought the urge to roll his eyes, well aware of the simple attempt at manipulation.  “While I appreciate you telling me, dear, you do know that for this to work, sometimes we will vote against each other?  Otherwise, what’s the point in making a council at all?  I would just name myself tyrant if that weren’t the case.”  As much as he hated to admit it.

“Yes, but they’re plotting.”

He tapped the end of her nose affectionately, and she clutched him closer, fingers creeping into the crook of his arm, possessive and spidery.  “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

She smiled at him with an innocence that almost hid the wicked edge, ducking her chin, scarlet eyes averting.  “I thought you would want to know.  I’ve been working very hard on my House.  Will you come see it tonight?”

For a moment he nearly, habitually said yes, and then remembered the hapless relatives gamboling around in his House with fearless abandon.  Also, Zynatheri was waiting for him.  With a smile, he peeled her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a small pat as he released her.

“Tomorrow.  I have things to do, still.”

“You mean you’re going to spend time with your mortal.”  All affectation and smiles left her face; she didn’t even bother to look hurt or pained.  Just cold, and nasty.  “I don’t like her.”

“She is the only reason we’re safe down here,” he rejected her simply, taking her arm with a pointed air and all but dragging her to the exit.  The last person he wanted to be here right now was Violet.  

Once he ensured all of his siblings were gone, he turned away and headed deeper into the House, away from any errant spawn.

Every step echoed.

That echo was constant, a reminder of how empty this place was.  When Astarion had sent them to the Underdark and promised to follow, he’d been anticipating a crude camp, a constant struggle, carving a life out of dangerous caverns.  He’d even been considering leading them to Grymforge in the hopes of making it livable, but…

To have found this half-shattered, ancient Drow city was beyond all of his expectations, and it was Lilithera and Zynatheri who had made it possible.

But gods was it empty.

Then again, empty was better than how it had been when they’d moved in; stuffed full of monsters, traps, and other dangerous things.

He didn’t blame Zynatheri for preferring to be in his room– it was the only one decorated.  Again, thanks to her and her daughter.  He should dig something out of the artifacts they’d found to send back to Lily in thanks.  Something that wasn’t necromantic.  This time.

“Grandfather!”

The word still roused a twinge of unease, and not just because it made him feel old.  Because it made him feel dead.  It was the same reason he’d rejected Lilithera’s offer to find what remained of his mortal family– that all was so ancient and forgotten he would rather leave it that way.  For now.  But his own discomfort, well, it hardly mattered to the children.

And Zynatheri had made it rather clear she would murder him if he in any way upset them.

They bore down on him, golden-eyed, energetic Poppy and wistful, distracted Lysander.  A continuation of his life, like lively mushrooms sprouting from a dead log.  All of them made him feel the strangest sense of rejection and yearning, wanting what they were to him but not wanting to admit what he’d lost.  He did try to keep it from them, at least.

His relations were twisted enough without inflicting it on these bright, curiously innocent creatures his mortal life had made.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I’ve never been in a Drow Great House before!  Sometimes I forget that we’re quarter drow, it’s not like people see that.  They just call you a half-elf and be done with it,” Poppy chattered, beaming at him until her eyes crinkled like Lilithera’s.

“It’s beautiful and lonely,” Lysander opined, untidy hair falling back from his eyes as he gazed upwards. "The walls are full of ghosts, and the floors hold memories of blood."

Poppy grinned with a hint of feral excitement. “We were just going to go find little mum, to see if she wanted to go exploring! Maybe we'll find an ooze.”

Astarion knew by now that there was nothing she wanted less.  Lazy woman.  “Your grandmother is resting.  Under orders.  I would appreciate it if you two would head downstairs and survey the second level for me.  Take an inventory of what remains.  But if there’s danger more than a trap or a few undead, you have to promise to come fetch us at once.”

“We promise,” Poppy agreed earnestly, cheeks dimpling in an irrepressible smile.  

“Go on, then.  My rooms are just there,” he pointed down the left-hand hallway.  “You’ll be able to see the firelight.  You have…food and things?  Water?  Potions?”

“We are provisioned for the journey,”  Poppy said, curls bouncing as she nodded vigorously.

He was about to let them go, until a thought struck him, uncomfortable and worried.  No.  They weren’t truly safe here, were they?  Not even in his demesne.  It chilled him to think about what Violet would do if she had them in her hands.  “If you…see anyone at all.  Any strangers.  Please come right back.”

“Little mum told us not to trust anyone but you,” Lysander reassured him, those dreamy copper eyes suddenly, and surprisingly intent.  “We won’t succumb to the lure of darkness.”

“He means we won’t talk to strangers,”  Poppy said, with a hint of exasperation.  Grabbing her twin by his upper arm, she started dragging him off.  “Honestly!  They act like we aren’t grown,” she complained as she pulled him towards the grand staircase in the main hall.

“They have seen centuries; us, mere decades.”

“That doesn’t mean they have to be so overbearing about it,” Poppy complained.

“I’m still standing right here!”

Poppy glanced over her shoulder, pulling down the skin under her eye with her free hand, making a horrible face.

Reflexively he made a face back at her, and her expression shifted into an impish smile.  

Bemused, he watched them disappear into the darkness.

Once their footsteps died away, a thin silvery thread of sound drew his attention.  A soft, ethereal voice, languidly singing a wordless song.  A siren in the shadows.  It was the barest beckon, only audible due to echoes and the slight crack of the bedroom door that spilled gilded light into the massive ebon corridor.  

A lone figure, dwarfed by the empty and lonesome architecture, he followed that lure.

The austere, icy darkness of the reflective walls and ominous vaulted space faded away as he pushed open the door, the gilded firelight spilling over him.  It was warmer within, a spiral of steam rising from the newly-hidden bathtub in the corner.  The wood and silk folding screen Lilithera had bought him was in front of it, partially blocking it from view.

What had once been a room empty of everything but an icy stone bed frame and an empty basin was now a living space, hangings on the walls, rugs on the floor.  Books and furnishings and a sturdy desk covered in papers, curios.  A painting of his family on the mantle.  Signs of life and living, tucked into a space that was his.

And before the fire, lounging on the daybed with her nearly-dry alabaster hair cascading over the arm and down to the floor, was the curious creature who had barged her way into his life and gleefully disordered it.  A glowing golden glass of brandy was sitting on the floor just under her dangling fingertips, her moonstone eyes vague and distant.  Zynatheri was singing to herself, drowsy and soft, blue cheek pillowed attractively on a bright golden pillow, her knees curled up under his burgundy dressing gown.  The curve of one soft calf peeked out, her foot pointed off the cushion in a graceful, sinuous line.

Astarion was struck, in the oddest fashion, by a desire to let her do nothing but lounge and sing like a contented songbird for the rest of her life.  Avarice wanted her caged, unable to leave so that he could always have this curiously warm sensation, but humanity– if that’s what you wanted to call it– wanted her here like this.  A sweetly nested bird with no desire to fly away.

It suited her.

“Are you drunk, little fox?” he asked, amusement spilling over the words.

She startled, knees curling up to her chest, hands clutching the front of his dressing gown closed– as if he hadn’t seen the unbound, ripe curves of her bared chest already.  Accusing moonstone eyes turned on him.  “You bid me relax, brought me brandy, and I have drunk.  I cannot un-drink, or un-drunk.”

“But you can draw me a bath, it seems.”

“I heard you talking to the twins and heated it up, so it’s still warm.”

“Thank you.”

Pushing off the doorframe, he pulled the door closed behind him, knowing there would be a sliver of light in the hallway.  Feeling a sudden buoyancy in his mood, he paused while passing by the daybed, leaning over the curving back.  She peered up at him, nose wrinkling irritably as he swiped a finger down her cheek, the skin velvety and warm under his fingertip.

Mockingly, he rubbed his fingers together, inspecting them.  “Hmmh.”

“I washed,” she said, tartly.

“So you did,” he agreed, smirking to himself.

“There’s a wooden box of bath essences on the table,” she murmured, eyes slitting closed like a contented cat when his hand briefly rested on her head in passing.

The reaction was so soft, so natural, that his mind couldn’t help but dwell on what a more affectionate caress might do.  He might as well admit it.  Astarion was fascinated by the little minx.  Attracted to her.  He might be a little more uneasy about that if her two centuries of devotion felt in any way attached to some adoration or sexual desire, but they didn’t.

She’d looked for him for their daughter, not out of love or infatuation.  He knew what those looked like.  In her eyes he saw neither, just a friendly affection that had been slowly growing with each meeting, much like his for her.  But even her disheveled state of sexually charming disarray right now was just relaxation and her feeling comfortable, not any active attempt at seduction.

She was simply a seductive person.

Why was she still here?

Was it really just for the children?

His thumb caught the catch on the richly-scented wooden box settled on a small side table carved with sinuously twisted designs– a decorative table.  Such a small, pointless luxury, but one he had now.  The box was filled with small glass bottles, and he smelled them each until one struck him.  Earthy, woody, relaxed and warm.  

Not a scent made to hide anything, just to be enjoyed.

He plucked the oil out of the box, and headed for the heated water.  “What do you expect me to wear?”

“I’ll go dress,” she muttered drowsily.

“If the dressing gown is damp I don’t want it.”

He heard a huff, but no verbal response.

The vial poured into the water filled the air with an inviting, rich scent, beckoning him to relax.  After today, it wasn’t a lure he could resist.  Shrugging his clothing to the floor, he stepped into the deep tub, pleased to find the water scalded his skin, warm to the point of discomfort.  Perfect.

Astarion closed his eyes and sighed as he sank into it.

Seconds flowed by, languid, as he let the heat sink into his bones.  It felt good.  Rejuvenating.  The room would normally be empty, but he could hear the small sounds of someone else moving around in his space, filling it with a strange warmth.  Her footsteps, breaths, the soft hum.

“Sing me a song, little nightingale,” he murmured, lungs filled with heady steam.

Instantly, but distantly, she lifted her voice in song, a softly lilting little folk tune that was as gentle as it was morbid. Like so many folk songs.  Her sweet voice sank into him, relaxing muscles he hadn’t even known were tense.  

After so many nights alone in the darkness, working, having her here was a balm to wounds he hadn’t even known were causing him pain.

Her voice wandered closer as she completed the song, some little tune about a woman dying on her wedding day.  She tossed his dressing gown over the top of the curtain, followed by a loose pair of pants.  Nothing else.  He gave a rather pointed ‘ahem’.

“What?”

“Generally undergarments are worn under trousers.”

“Get your own underwear,” she scoffed, making him laugh.  Her voice softened minutely.  “Don’t worry about your dirty things, Lysander needs to practice his cantrips, I’ll have him clean them.”

“I was under the impression that he was learning wizardry, not bardic arts.”  Astarion scooped up the sponge, finally feeling relaxed enough to bother with scrubbing.

“Lily tried, but he just doesn’t have the mind for it.  Not stupidity, just focus.  He doesn’t like it, so his mind wanders– music is easier for him.”

“Too much of a dreamer.”

“Hmmh,” she agreed softly.  “We should let him dream.”

“I suppose it is a luxury we can afford him,” Astarion said, trying to ignore the weight of that statement and the bitterness it brought up.  “So what do you think of the twins’ grand plan to reconnect people with their families?”

Zynatheri sighed, the sound trailing off into silence.  Nothing but the crackle of the fireplace and soft sloshing of the water filled the air, until she finally blew out a breath between her lips.  “I think it has a lot of potential to do good, but also a lot of potential to summon an army of Lathander’s followers intent on wiping you all out.  I still think isolation and discreet alliances are your wisest courses until you are stronger.  I think that they are…thinking the best of people.  I think that they are thinking ‘our grandfather is a vampire, and we don’t care.  Why would anyone else?’”

She was absolutely correct.  There was no way they could survive a crusade, and any followers of Lathander would slay them on principle.  They were vulnerable, and would be for some years as they started slowly creeping past survival into thriving and growing.  And they needed those years.  Their weakness was a lack that only time and hard work could cure.

No skills, no martial talents, no magic even beyond Leon’s.

Which was why Astarion didn’t feel the least bit badly about blackmailing him into staying.

“I’ll speak to them.  Perhaps you and I could think of another outlet for their…youthful enthusiasm.”

“Do you even have the mental fortitude for more problem-solving?” she teased.

He gave an exhausted sigh that made her laugh, slumping back in the bathtub until his head rested on its edge.  Astarion closed his eyes.  It was a valid question, and the answer was no– but they both knew that.

“I’d like to help, but my knowledge is more broad than deep– I don’t know a lot about logistics.  But if it would help, I’d be happy to make a donation.  The twins will want to stay for a while, so I’ll have time to recover.”

Was she–

Shock spurred his tongue, water sloshing dangerously as he sat up straight.  “Are you offering me blood?”

“It’s the easiest way to help you, isn’t it?  I do like things that are easy.”

“I’ve never had someone offer it to me before.”  At least not out of altruism.  Thinking of that alchemist from Moonrise just made him disgusted, however, so he moved on quickly from thinking about that.  And in his current situation… “I’d be a fool to say no.”

“Should we wait until I’m sober?”

As much as he wanted it now, in a desperately hungry way– that uplifting warmth that washed away the eternal fog, that invigorating breath of life… “We should wait until dusk.  It’s nearly morning.  I’d hate to waste even a drop.”

“It’s funny how you can tell,” she said, and cracked a soft yawn.  “In the morn– er, dusk, then.”

The water was starting to cool, and with it his desire to be in it any longer.  It was a shame, though.  When she wasn’t here, the best he could do would be a cauldron heated over the fire, which wasn’t enough to lounge in, just enough to get clean.  But what real impetus could he give her to stay?  How could he make her stay and take care of him the way he wanted, the way she owed him for the two hundred years she’d done nothing.

It wasn’t at all true, but it felt true– which was enough for him.

It didn’t matter what he thought, as long as he didn’t say it.

Regardless, Zynatheri wasn’t in love with him, he couldn’t provide for her or offer her comfort that she wasn’t the one giving to him.  Asking her to stay would be asking her to struggle.  And for what?  So he could enjoy her company and the comforts that came with it?

Well…why not?

It wasn’t as if there would be any harm in asking, right?

If she wasn’t willing to stay and indulge him, then she’d simply say no and that would be the end of it.  She wouldn’t hold a grudge.  Right?  Of course that was right, why was he even second-guessing it?

When he finished dressing, she'd pulled herself up to sit on the daybed, leaving space for him. She'd thrown on her loose linen traveling shirt and trousers, bare feet tucked under her, head resting on her arm. He didn't ever think he'd seen her with a fully upright posture.

Always lounging like a cat.

The temptation was near-impossible to resist, and by now he knew she'd allow it.

Astarion was proven correct when dropping onto the seat next to her and slumping to the side only had her shifting her posture, legs dropping to the floor, back settling into the embrace of the fainting couch's arm. Willingly, he let her shift him from her shoulder to her lap, head falling onto the soft pillow of her thighs.

Gods, the damnable woman was comfortable.

“You’re so tired,” she said fretfully, running her fingers slowly through his damp hair as he adjusted himself.  “You need to relax more.”

“Two centuries of…spite, rivalry, competition, and puppeteering by our M– by Cazador has made it difficult between the seven of us.  They listen to me, of course, but the constant bickering…ugh. Exhausting.”

“Do I make things more difficult for you, because I keep coming by?  Would you prefer that I stay a–”  She stalled as he cracked open an eye and placed a single finger on her lips.  Bemused, she pursed them.

“Yes, I would,” he said.

“Then I’ll go,” she said, posture stiffening, an amusingly annoyed expression on her face.

“What are you talking about?”  Despite knowing exactly why he’d irritated her, Astarion pulled a confused expression.   A little game. Except...much to his surprise, he was the only one playing it.

Usually she was quick, but he’d forgotten– Zynatheri was drunk.

While her face went through a long journey of utter bemusement, he watched from his very comfortable position, highly amused watching her alcohol-sodden brain trying to function.  When she turned a glare down on him, he smirked.  The silly creature pouted.

“You’re taking advantage of my muddled head,” she whined, flicking his forehead.  

He swatted her away, knuckles smacking into the back of her hand, stinging.

“Owwwwh,” she whined pathetically.  “What are you doing?  You told me to go away, so I’m going away.”

“You didn’t say go away,” he replied, discreetly shaking his own hand.

“Yes, I did, I asked if you wanted me to go away and you said yes.”

“No, you asked if I wanted you to stay…” he finished by placing a finger on her lips again.

Her pretty moonstone eyes went rounder than usual, lips pursing under his finger out of shock and not affection.  Still amusing.  Cheeks flushing an unfairly charming shade of purple, she stared down at him.  His smirk grew into a wide, amused smile of delight.

Was she actually–

“You’re blushing!”

“No!  I don’t blush!” she protested, reaching up and clutching her cheeks.  “I’m flushed from drinking!”

“I’ve been lying here wondering if somehow all my charms have gone stale,” he teased her, laughing when she gave a faint ‘hmph’ and turned her face away, nose in the air.  He let his expression turn cajoling, amused by her pouty little act.  He saw the little peeks she gave him, wanting to know his reaction.  Softening his voice, he tried to lure her out with a low croon.  “Come now, little fox. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

She shot him a scornful, aloof look, her big silver eyes turning distant.  “Are we?  Well, friends shouldn’t be indebted to each other, should they?  I’ve been raising your non-vampiric spawn for two hundred years, that adds up!”

Offended, but too comfortable to move, he folded his arms over his chest, steepling his index fingers together.  “Really?  You’re extorting me?  I wonder what Lilithera would say if I told her that you said that.”

Immediately she puffed her cheeks, looking mortally, but hilariously offended.  Any attempts at dignity flew right out the window.  “Don’t you dare!  You bully!”

“I’m the bully?!  You just threatened me!”

“You were teasing me,” she replied, a little whine to her voice.

What a frustratingly, infuriatingly adorable creature she was.

“You’re impossible to be angry at.  It’s annoying,” he informed her, amused by her smile of triumph.  And then she went back to stroking his hair, which soothed away any thoughts of continuing the play-fighting.  His eyes closed, the rhythmic, affectionate touch soothing and gentle.  

His words gained no response, but he had no desire to break the peaceful, calm silence.  The fire crackled, her touch wound through his hair, strands curling around her fingers, tugging lightly when she freed herself.  It was hypnotic.

She smelled like brandy and night-blooming flowers, a rich, sultry perfume, and her lap was warm and soft as he lounged bonelessly against her.  Her embrace was possibly just a little better than the bath.  And all of this with the oddest lack of seduction or sexual intent– just intoxicatingly guileless affection.  It made him think of Lilithera’s words, about how she would ‘never make the first move’.  If she hadn’t by now…

Zynatheri’s velvety voice was soft.  “Did you mean that?”

He knew instantly what she was referring to; a shared thought.  “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s no reason for you to stay even if I had meant it.”

Zynatheri gave another of those soft ‘hmm’s, voice a low murmur of sound.  “Do you think the pleasure of your company isn’t a reason?”

“Well, naturally, dear, but usually the company is a means to an end, not the end goal,” he said flippantly, not liking the direction of the conversation.

“Not for me,” Zynatheri replied, voice slow and casual.  “I’m a very simple creature at heart, Astarion.  I do what I enjoy.  I enjoy your company.”

 He couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice any longer, the odd uncomfortable anger he’d been feeling all evening when all he wanted was to relax.  His voice sharpened, body restless.  “There’s nothing down here, don’t you understand that?  No fine food, wine, society, no safe audience for your pretty songs but me.  It’s dark, cold, and empty.  Dangerous.  Every luxury I could possibly give you is something you’ve given to me.”

The comfort was unwanted now, meaningless in the face of his internal strife.  Astarion rose to his feet abruptly, pacing across the floor with frustration in every stride. He glanced at her, but it only made him feel badly, the rejected hand still in the air, her patient stare.  Why was she doing this?  Why did she keep wandering into his life only to leave?

It drove him absolutely mad.

Her voice was frustratingly calm.  “I feel like even if I said those don’t matter, you’d still feel otherwise.  Why is that?”

All of the frustration and annoyance he hadn't felt towards his siblings seemed to have turned on her, rising with the tone of his voice as Astarion whipped around to stare down at her.  “Because my mind keeps telling me all I would have to do is seduce you to keep you by my side, and I don’t want to do that any longer!  But without that…what?  What? What do I have to give you?!”

She watched him from the daybed still, cheek lowering to pillow on her arm, silver eyes turned up towards him.  There was the faintest hint of a smile on her face.  Infuriating wretch.

“What are you smirking at?!”

“Have you forgotten how to court someone without sex?” she asked, voice teasing him.

It was so unexpected that his anger lost its momentum immediately.  She– “Court– who said anything about courtship?”

“Isn’t that what you’re asking?  You want me to stay.  You want me to sing for you and coddle and spoil and flatter you– take care of you.  So…figure out how to make me want to stay, then.  And no, I don’t want to sleep with you either.  To make me be a part of degrading you in a way you’re finally free of just as an attempt to placate me…I’d never forgive myself.”

“Just– ugh.  Just because it isn’t about sex doesn’t mean it’s romantic.”

“No, it doesn’t have to be romantic…but it is,” she replied, fingers splaying against her cheek.  “I’m not going to pretend it’s not.  You’ve shown me what you have to offer me, told me why it’s not good enough, but I disagree.  I like what we have for what it is.”

“Yes, but that won’t get you to stay,” he insisted awkwardly.

“It might.”

Finally he had to avert his gaze, unease overtaking anger.  His emotions were confusing, shame and discomfort and disbelief that she was saying it at all.  But she was.  “You mean that, don’t you.”

“Just think about it.”  

He shouldn’t resent something as simple as her standing up, but he did.  Astarion knew she was leaving.  The last thing he’d wanted was to stew in his own mind like this, but it seemed his mind didn’t care.

“I’m going to go find the twins,” she said, confirming it.  “I think if you contacted our daughter, she’d be more than happy to help you.  But if you need somewhere to start…”  She grimaced, heaving her hair forward over her shoulder.  “You could learn to braid.  Rest well.  I’ll see you first thing in the evening, hmm?”

“I can’t help but feel as if I’m being punished for being honest,” he admitted, despite knowing it wasn’t true.

“I can see why it might feel that way.  But we’ve been dancing around in this gray area for a while, so it’s probably time to figure things out.  You were right to say something.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job of putting this all on my shoulders,” he pointed out, wishing she’d give him some damned indication of how she felt about it all.

She glanced over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him, and then smiled impishly.  “How much have I been doing for you lately?  Tsk.  The nerve of you.” 

“Well, how do I know you’re not this sweet to everyone?”  He gave her an aggrieved pout, crossing his arms.  “Maybe I’m not special.”

“You are.”

“And how many beautiful former lovers have you said that to over the years, I wonder.”

She smiled faintly.  “Ask Lilithera.  Sweet dreams.”

Well, it seemed she was determined to go.  As much as he wanted to shout at her, leaving things on a bad note would make their next meeting unpleasant instead of restful.  Right now, those crumbs of rest were all that was keeping him sane. 

And he wasn't going to lie and claim he didn't desperately want the blood she was offering.

“Sweet dreams, little nightingale.”

Zynatheri’s good mood was unabated, glancing over her shoulder with a wink at him on her way to the door.  “You sound so sulky,” she teased.

“Begone,” he ordered her irritably, throwing himself down on the daybed she’d abandoned.

Despite the fact that this room was no longer empty, her laughter still echoed long after she’d left.

[psalacanthea]

Vampires, Romance, and Other Dead Things- Ch. 5

New chapter of the Astarion x Tav Modern AU fic. Zyn learns (shockingly), that his unwanted vampire spawn squatter has been lying. Who could have predicted that?

...

Zyn was cuffed by the back of his hoodie and dragged towards the door, away from the collection box.  No!  His easy out!

Like a scruffed cat, he flailed, hood falling back, hair tumbling in his face.  “Come on! Get off me!”

“You disrespectful little rat!”

Shit.  

It was Joe.

Ducking down low, he threw an elbow back, hitting a disturbingly solid beer belly with the swing.  Joe gave a loud, offended ‘oof’, smacking him on the back of the head with a meaty hand.  Zyn did some shoulder-checking and slapping, but didn’t make it free until he was all but thrown against the wall, forehead bonking the doorframe.  Spinning around, he yanked his hood up, trying to hide from what brave sunlight managed to pierce down here.  Silver eyes met narrowed, muddy hazel ones.  Glaring up at him, a half-elven man with jowly face and rough complexion smacked his hand against his chest, sending Zyn back against the rough stone wall.  

“I got errands to run, man, come on.”

“You can’t take five minutes out of your– look at me.”  Joe smacked him on the cheek roughly.

Zyn glowered, forcing his attention back.

“You can’t take five minutes out of your day?  You gotta act like you’re too good to be here?”

“You think I want people seeing me here?”  Zyn asked snidely, and got another smack for his trouble, this time a little harder.  With a grimace, he rubbed his aching jaw.  “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“I got an errand for you to run.”

“No,” Zyn snapped, shrugging the man’s hands off of him.  “I’m goin’ inside.  I’m gonna go pray.”

Joe stuck a thick finger in his face.  “You do it properly.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna do it properly.  Lay off me.”

“You get away with a lot of shit, you know.”  Joe lifted his voice as Zyn threw his hands up and stepped inside.  “You get away with a lot!  I wouldn’t put up with this shit from anyone else!”

Zyn stepped into the cool darkness of the shrine of Misfortune, rolling his eyes so hard there was a stab of pain from his aching eyeballs all the way to his brain.  Ow.  Grimacing, he yanked off his sunglasses, rubbing his forehead.   The altar was just a few steps, taking up an entire half of the round room, candles sputtering and flickering, larger offerings besides mere cash stacked up on the altar.  Random bits of gold-plated shit like candlesticks and statuettes, some phones, jewelry, one or two magical items, weapons, even a designer handbag.  It wasn’t about what you gave, it was the fact that it was worth money.

Everything here would just end up pawned at the end of the week; Joe’s family ran a whole chain of pawn shops that laundered anything that wasn’t cold hard cash.

Now that he was in here, there was no more attitude.  Zyn wasn’t going to get himself in trouble just to be a shit.  There were consequences for that.  Above all, he really hated consequences.  Stupid things.

And never proportional!

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

I've started writing again! Still quite ill, so it's slow going, but at least the pilot light's back on. You can have a little bit from the Astarion x Tav Modern AU fic. You can find the fic in question HERE

i do love my bitchy banter.

...

Zyn watched Wyll go lazily, not really listening to the conversation.  It washed over him, just noise, the only thing expected of him the occasional smile.  In a lot of ways, being an artist was superior.  You could be an asshole and people would make excuses for you.

Because frankly, he didn’t really want to be here at all– not in this bar, not in this situation, not in fucking Baldur's Gate.

“Pay attention to me.”

“Mmh?” Zyn’s drowsy question was truncated by a rather rude shove at his face, forcing him to look to his left.  He squinted an eye at Astarion, lifting his beer.  Wait, was he still here?  “Oh, I thought you went with Wyll.”

“No.  Why is Shadowheart so upset with you?  What did you do?”

That was a fair question.  “She thought if she got me to do the show, I’d care.”

“You’d think she’d know by now.”  Astarion laughed at his helpless shrug, leaning against Zyn’s shoulder.  “Poor thing.  I know you didn’t want to come and be adored, but at least it’s over now.”  The mockery in his voice was sharp.

Still, even fake sympathy was good.  Nodding in agreement, Zyn leaned into the vampire, getting a condescending pat on the head before Astarion slung his arm across his shoulders.  He might have been making fun, but it was true.  Now that he was off stage the ennui was sinking in.

At least they still had people to murder tonight if things went well; that would be fun.

The woman he’d been chatted at by was apparently still there, voice cutting through the noise.  “My friend and I were wonder–”

Astarion leaned around him, voice taking on a sing-song mockery.  “I’ve already claimed him, dear.  But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find something to crawl into.”

“That was so harsh.  Come on,” Zyn said, pulling a long frown as he sat up.  Not that he meant it or cared, but he was the nice one so it was expected. “She was just asking a question.”

“Oh, please.  Don’t act as if you won’t get distracted by the first thing that bats her pretty little eyes at you,” Astarion said, voice turning particularly snide on the last handful of words.  The pettiness of it was endlessly amusing.

Zyn wrinkled his nose, fighting back a smile.  “I can talk to more than one person, can’t I?”

“You?  No.  I have no choice but to force you to give me what I deserve, or you’ll lose focus and wander off to try and be the center of attention somewhere else.”  He pointed to himself, punctuating his demanding words.  “This is where your attention belongs.  Come now.  Don’t self-sabotage again, hmm?”

Arrogant as that was, the bastard had a point.

A voice cut in, for some reason.  “Wow. You don’t have to be so ru–”

They cut her off in tandem, Zyn’s head whipping around, Astarion leaning to glance past his shoulder at the forgotten girl.

“Sorry, could you excuse us?  He’s kind—”

“Could you be a dear and shut up?” The last two words snapped viciously, silencing Zyn.

The woman reared back, staring at Astarion with wide eyes.  The shock faded quickly, leaving behind a scornful, irritated look.  “Bitch.”

Astarion laughed, high and mocking.  “The bitch, thank you very much!  You can’t compete.  Run along back to the minor leagues, darling.”  He flapped a hand dismissively.

For some reason, the woman was staring at Zyn.  He wasn’t sure why.  Well, that was a lie– he knew exactly why.  He was just pretending he didn’t.  “Glad you enjoyed the show.  Tell your friend I say thanks, too.”  He turned his attention back to Astarion.  “There.  Better?”

If he was giving up a threesome for this demanding asshole, it'd better be worth it.

“No, you hurt my feelings by not looking for me first.  Make up for it,”  Astarion said.

Zyn fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Still, he kept it off his face and out of his voice, flashing a lopsided, devil-may-care sort of smile. “Of course I looked for you first.  When I was on stage…you were all I could see.”  He waited a beat to let it sink in.  “You’re practically reflective now.”

“You…absolute…!”  Astarion smacked him on the chest, leaning over him as Zyn fell to the side, laughing.  “I actually liked that one, and you ruined it!”

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday- Escape

since Astarion x Tav was chosen, and this week my health has not been great, I dug up a bit of my post-canon Tav x Ascended Astarion that needed some finishing and polishing. 2kish, SFW, but sad

Despite what she’d told herself, the valiant promises she’d made, now that the moment was here she felt useless.  Worthless.  Weak.

Zynatheri couldn’t kill Astarion.

She sat in silence in the darkness, tears trickling down her cheeks.  The day had finally come.  When that moment had passed she doubted if he had even realized it.  It was the first rule he’d promised her, so long ago, and he’d finally broken it.

The conversation had been stupid, another argument like the ones he picked near-constantly now.  She was feeling trapped, restless.  He was refusing to let her go, yet again, arguing with her over why she kept ‘leaving’ him.  Last time she’d backed down, and that had been her mistake.

Gale’s words never left her, his warnings.  And she knew that next time she backed down, she’d never stop, until there was none of her wants left, none of her needs.  None of her happiness.  A trapped pet, kept at his feet forever just like he wanted.  Except then she wouldn’t be herself any more, she wouldn’t be who he claimed to love.

But they’d had the arguments before, and Astarion never seemed to realize they were escalating like she did.  Because he only pushed a little more, and a little more every time. Tiny sacrifices she made for his stability and happiness, again and again, as he slowly backed her to the edge of the cliff.

Her line she never wanted to cross had been crossed, and now she'd slipped off that edge and plunged into the darkness she'd feared for so long.

He’d demanded they go to bed and stop talking, and she’d said no.

She’d said no.

And that no had enraged him.

In his temper, he'd dragged her to the stone vault below the castle and sealed her in. She'd screamed at him, fought with him the whole way, hoping if she showed enough emotion he'd stop. Zyn had never truly believed he'd do it-- for hours after the door had sealed closed she waited for him to open it, to laugh at her for being afraid, to pick her up and carry her to bed.

He never came.

Astarion had done to her what Cazador had done to him.

She had no doubt that in less than a day he would let her out, but...the line had been crossed. It couldn't be un-crossed. She knew that now. He would back down sometimes, but he would never show regret, and once a boundary had been broken he always made it the new normal.

She would be locked down here again, and again, and again...as long as she continued to fight him.

And one day he would leave her here until she became like he had been so long ago; afraid, cowering, broken.

No.

It was over.

For weeks now she’d always kept Gale’s gifts close to hand, since the arguments and her restlessness had been getting worse.  The scroll had been folded up tightly, a little rumpled from how many times she’d unfolded it.  Stared at it.  Thought about using it, feeling the magic contained crackling under her fingertips.  Then she’d hidden it back under the pile of magic baubles covered in gems that she didn’t want.

It was in her pocket now with the amulet.

That necklace was a heavy weight, but somehow lighter than the one around her neck.  She’d never taken it off since the day he gave it to her, but it was time.  Somehow unclasping the chain felt like the final goodbye, the point of no return.  She stared at the tarnished silver, tears spilling onto it.

It was over.

They hadn’t even gotten a lifetime.

But the man she loved was gone now, subsumed by what she’d helped him become.  Gale was right, there had been a price, a terrible price for Astarion’s freedom.  If she was a good person, she’d kill him now so he could never make anyone else suffer.  But she wasn’t.

The amulet Gale had given her rested against her breastbone with a solid, comforting weight, the chain draping over her head.  For an hour she sat, breathing shallowly, her eyes closed as she focused on it.  She could feel the magic inside, safe, secure, shrouding.  Protection from scrying eyes.

It felt like casting off an old life for a new one.

When she roused from her brief trance, not a thing in the vault had changed.  And when he came to fetch her, Astarion would pretend they hadn’t argued, call her boring if she brought it up again.  Nothing would be fixed, nothing would change.  It would just slowly get worse.

And so would she.

She would just become a worse, and worse person.

Zyn had no clothes, no pack, no money.  Only the scroll and the amulet– only a way out.  She didn’t even have her lute– Irilen’s lute.  That was the part that hurt most of all.

For so long she’d prided herself on being fiercely independent, and this was what she’d been reduced to.  Throwing herself on Gale’s mercy with nothing to her name.  But at least she knew he would catch her.

At least she knew he was still her friend no matter how horrible of one she had been.

Zyn left the necklace on the floor and didn’t say goodbye.  No last kiss.  No dramatic gesture, not this time.  She was drained of them, empty at last from everything Astarion demanded of her.  Fed from her.

Unfolding the scroll one last time, she finally used it.

And then she was gone.

For what must have been hours she’d sat and sobbed, alone in the room atop Gale’s tower, huddled in the center of the teleportation circle.

Regret, fear, pain, they washed over her in waves, again and again.  She was almost glad she’d had only one scroll, that the door was sealed.  So many moments she would have gone back, to try and erase this monumental mistake she was making.  But she couldn’t go back.

It was over.

She’d exhausted herself of tears more than once, each time thinking she had no more.  Her lips were dry, cheeks damp, eyes aching.  A pathetic, hateful mess.  And even still, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to send to Gale.  Maybe she’d just let herself starve here, wasting away in the corner of his tower.

At least when he found her body someone might mourn her.

Selfish, petty, vicious thoughts seemed to be the only ones she had any more, and all of them were attacking her now with no other target.  She’d betrayed the only person who knew her and still loved her.  A disgusting, vile little traitor.

She’d been so sure when she’d left, but now that she was here she couldn’t feel strong.  And not only in an ephemeral sense– she was shaking from how weak her body was.  Fool.  She’d been such a fool to starve herself for attention like that.  Why was she so-

Stop.

She had to stop spiraling.

Logically, if she died here, it would be cruel and selfish.  The smartest thing she could do right now was send to Gale, and then when she’d gotten out of here…leave.  Take her idiocy and her problems and leave, so that she wouldn’t burden him with them.  It was too cruel to let him find her body.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in and gathered what of her strength she could to find his mind, praying he wouldn’t hate her.  “I’m here.”

The seconds of silence following her sending slipped by with painful slowness.

“I’m coming.  I’m coming right away, Mockingbird.  Stay there, please.  Just stay there.”

The voice was a relief, a flood of it coursing through her so intensely that she nearly blacked out.  She was so lightheaded.  Even if she’d tried to stand right now, Zyn probably couldn’t.

In a daze, she lay against the wall, head dropping down to her knees.

Time passed, though how much she didn’t know.

She heard the sounds of arguing long before she could make out the words, a familiar sort of noise.  By the time she could pick out voices, they were just beyond the door.  It was thick and heavy, and muffled most of it.  But her hearing was acute.

“-can’t keep being so capricious like this!  People are depending on you!  This is going to severely impact-”

“I have no time for this right now,” Gale interrupted, the other male voice cut off.  “I’m sorry, love, but some things must take precedence over politics and power plays.”  The door was opening, and she was simultaneously chagrined and grateful.

Gods, it’d been three years, and she’d just shown up like this in the middle of his life.

An interruption.

What was she doing, why was she so-

The door opened and he rushed through it, and their eyes met as she lifted her heavy head from her knees.  The pain and worry– the flash of terror on his face– broke her heart all over again, tears she’d thought herself too exhausted for spilling down her cheeks.  He was still for only a moment, and then he came for her.  She knew she shouldn’t, she was an interloper, but as he reached for her she lifted her arms, wrapped them around him.

Gale pulled her into a tight embrace.  “It’s all right, you’re safe now.  You’re safe, Mockingbird, I promise you that.  I will keep you safe, from now until forever.”

Shaking, she just buried herself against him and cried like a child as he cradled and reassured her.  Her body didn’t want to believe him, but she’d been on edge for so long and was so exhausted from it that gradually she collapsed into the comfort he was offering.  She didn’t understand how he could give it to her, after the way he’d treated her last time.

No.

After the way she’d treated him.

It was time to stop lying to herself, and face what she'd become.

His voice was only comforting despite what a loathsome snake she was, warm and low and steady.  “It’s all right.  I promise.  Did he harm you?  Are you hurt?  Is anything broken?”

She shook her head violently, and he let out a long sigh of relief.

“Hurt…Gale, what exactly is going on here?” the unfamiliar voice asked.

She refused to open her eyes and see what it was, fingers twisting in, clutching Gale tighter with a surge of pathetic selfishness.  He was all she had.  She wasn’t going to let him go for anyone.

“We’ll talk about it soon, love.  This is my friend Zynatheri, I told you about her,” Gale replied.  And then he stood up, pulling her into his arms, up against his chest.  “I’ll take you somewhere you can rest, Mockingbird.  Are you all right?  You’re skin and bones.”

“He wouldn’t let me leave, so I stopped eating,” she whispered, ashamed by her petulant little starvation temper tantrum.  It sounded so childish to say it out loud.  Everything sounded so much worse when said to people who weren’t them.

No one understood them.

Gale sighed, heavy and sad

“I’ll go fetch a healer,” the other voice said, but it was tense, tight.

“Thank you, love.”

Although she wanted nothing more than to stay, she had to admit her failure.  She’d made Gale a promise, and she knew that breaking promises meant punishment.  If he sent her away, it was only right.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t kill him.”

Gale was walking, the motion gently rocking her as he cradled her in his arms.  “I know.  You’ve done enough, you are safe.  I will carry you from here, Mockingbird.  I will protect you.”

He was still talking to her as he carried her out, but after that she couldn’t puzzle any of it out.  Her head was too muddy, body and heart exhausted with next to nothing left.  It wasn’t quite a faint, it was more a fog.  She was aware of being tucked into a bed, a hand rested on her forehead, a kiss on the top of her head.

And then everything got blurrier.

Even now, the last things she thought and felt were for Astarion, fear and worry. He must be so upset to find her gone. Hurt, lost, alone...like she'd promised he'd never be again. He'd be so lonely.

How could she have done this to him?

Exhaustion kept pulling on her, dragging her into the darkness of unaccustomed sleep, and eventually even her self-loathing and torment could not resist it.

She was safe.

But Zynatheri didn't deserve it.

[psalacanthea]

Vampires, Romance, and Other Dead Things- Chapter 1

sigh. I really can't stay away from a modern au. This will hopefully be a regular novel-length fic instead of a monster. Modern+magic Tav x Astarion, set in Baldur's Gate. Here's the fic!

...

Luckless, aimless, and quite fine with that, Zynatheri's neatly ordered and lazy life is thrown into chaos when she stumbles across Astarion bloody and beaten in an alleyway.

Drunk and confused, she rescues him and dragging him home to sleep on her couch...only for them to realize the next morning that she didn't save his life after all. He's dead now. UN-dead.

Unfortunately, behind a vampire spawn there's always a true vampire, and if he wants to stay free Astarion is going to need some help. While Zyn's irritating friends seem more than happy to help, she's not quite so certain. He's messy, entitled, rude, demanding, and selfish. And to top it off, he's incredibly dramatic. That's HER job!

Zyn would much rather bed the annoying patriar, dump him somewhere in Upper City, and wash her hands of it, but no. Her best friend Wyll's hungry for adventure, determined to rescue another monster from a worse monster. Do-gooders. Just the worst.

And if that weren't bad enough, the irritating(ly attractive) spawn won't leave her apartment.

What's she supposed to do, keep him?

...

“I’m having a bit of an urgent situation here, if you don’t mind.”

“Mhmm,” Zyn mumbled absently, squirting toothpaste into her mouth.  She brushed, spat, and rinsed.  He tapped his foot the entire time.  She straightened up and raked her hair back out of her face.  “I don’t have a spare toothbrush.”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

“You should, it’s important to–” she glanced over her shoulder again, un-blurred eyes finally taking him in.  Oh.  That’s why she’d let him into her apartment.

His face was long, a little too aristocratic for her liking, but with a very pretty mouth and devastatingly attractive eyes, despite the colo– wait.  Narrowing hers, Zynatheri peered into the stranger’s scarlet eyes.  Red eyes.  On an eladrin.

“Are you half drow?”

He drew himself up, looking offended.  Still disheveled, though.  “How dare you.”

“Don’t be a bi–” She stopped.  Wait.  His eyes had been a different color last night.  Her eyes flickered down to his burned hand.  Burned.  Red eyes.  He’d been standing behind her when she– 

Zyn turned back around, staring into the spotty, tarnished mirror.

Only her own reflection gazed back, the doorway behind her empty.  Shit.  All right, so she’d invited a vampire into her house.  Fine, fine, that was fine.  But why had he tried to go out in the su–

“So weird question, but those guys that jumped you last night.  Did one of them bite you?”

“What are you– yes, if you must know.”

She bent down.  “Look in the mirror.”

There was silence from behind her for a good few seconds, as the stranger had a Revelation.  Not wanting to waste time, Zyn took the opportunity to wash her face, including the vestiges of last night’s makeup.  Whoops.  Neh.  If he tried to bite her he probably didn’t know how, so a swift kick to the balls should settle things.

Zynatheri grabbed her hand towel blindly and yanked it down.

Luckily she knew a lot of people who were probably okay with being bit by a vampire spawn, but as far as she knew usually spawns weren’t just…able to escape like this.  Probably better to hand him off to someone and be done with it before the big one came to claim him.  If he really was a spoiled little patriar, his family would probably figure it out.

“Shit,” he said from behind her, voice hushed.