underdarken

[underdarken]

Maybe if they're honest with themself (they aren't), Arkezet might admit to preening just a bit. They've done little more than expedite a campfire, after all. It isn't uncommon or extraordinary by any measure - given enough time and kindling, anyone could do the same - but that Bella plays along like it's a spectacle to end all others sees a shift in their bearing, the corner of their mouth threatening a smile in response. They manage with a shake of their head instead.

"Thank you for humoring me. I owe you one," they say, a small bow at the waist for dramatic effect. "Now for my grand exit. I'll be back before you know it. And when I am, might I suggest you get a bit of rest of your own?"

Rhetorical for now, a thought left for her to chew on as Arkezet beds down under the open sky, thin wisps of smoke and cloud winding among a blanket of stars. It isn't long before the trance takes, dreamless but laden with memory.

By the time a few intrepid rain drops begin to pelt them on the scales cresting their brow, the weather has done them the small mercy of waiting through the bulk of their meditative cycle.

"Alright. I'm up, I'm up." Their muttering, accompanied by a speculative glance above, is all for show, slipping into wakefulness as naturally as breathing. "One final insult after a day of them. Why not?"

{ ♪ } -- She watches them carefully, eyes shining with curiosity. While she could summon bolts of fire herself, she'd used far too much power that day and the strain on her body was making itself known. Still, the moment the fire burst to life, she gave a wide smile and a joyous yell! Bella took a moment to catch her balance, having flung her hands into the air with her yell out of pure excitement.

"That was so cool! I love it!"

The cleric gave a bright laugh, slowly shifting how she was sitting again to place her hands on her crossed ankles. While she watched over their camp, she'd be able to work through a plan for the coming day. There was no need to use magic to protect the camp, at least not so much that she was stressed about everything being locked down now. Whomever had ransacked their things likely wanted them to move forward in some form of haste and anxiety. The decision to stay put was one they probably weren't expecting, which made it safer. That, and she had plenty of projectiles and her mace at her side.

"Rest well, Arkezet. I'll ensure no strange creatures wander too close, and I'm happy to call for you if I feel even the mildest inkling that there may be something amiss. Promise."

She'd already gathered her pack in her lap, moving to sort through it for the moment. Organizing what could be sold, what should be kept, and what could be used immediately.

[underdarken]

By nature, Arkezet knows themself well enough that they'd never claim to be a gracious loser under the right circumstances. Not when and where it counts. And this, the aftermath of their sparring and the sly speculation of what awaits at the safety of camp? Well, it isn't the harrowing frenzy that has dogged them so recently, careening off course and into strange waters. In the face of the thing that awaits them, the looming possibility that any moment their luck might end and they would not even have the breath to cry out as they are subsumed, it isn't a chore to admire a clear advantage when Arkezet sees one, at the expense of a small blow to their pride or not.

"I'm seething, clearly," they announce in a tone that proclaims the exact opposite. "I was just thanking my very unlucky stars for not screwing me over that little bit further and letting you be on our side instead. Impressive work. Where did you learn swordplay?" The question is nearly knocked from them in a burst of laughter. "Peeping! Gods, don't let him hear you call it that."

PERHAPS HE WAS . . . cheating, though it had not been made clear exactly what rules they were supposed to be following. in a life alone and destitute, wyll has only ever considered "cheats" those that have dodged death, an outcome that should consume them all - and his mind wanders to the fact that they, with tadpole in mind, are constantly evading the inevitable. with devil whispering in his ears, one eye captured and meant for these correspondences, he supposes he is a cheater. everything it takes to survive, anything he will give to keep on going. he hopes to make that clear to his companion, at least in the days to come; that they will continue to practice with their weapons but the only way to truly come together and win the battles ahead, is if the interworking of their minds are finally on display. that is best done with tensions at a height, with the clanging of metal and breathless lungs that come from combat.

but for now, he supposes he can keep poetic endings to a minimum - to his thoughts at the very least. because this is just practice, and he can be granted the smile and chuckle that escapes his own lips. " are you upset that you have been bested? trust me my friend, i would not do anything out of poor conscience. or negative intentions. " thus he sheathe and stows away his weapon, a nonchalant smile gracing his features. " i will indeed. - and i do believe you would be right in that assumption. he must be aware of us coming back somehow, and i do not believe he is above a little . . . peeping. "

[underdarken]

Arkezet doesn't think he'll actually dignify their silly suggestion with an answer. That he'll see it for the lighthearted thing it is, toy with it a bit, and move on to the matter at hand. They can't help the way both eyebrows creep toward their hairline, the swath of scales rippling like smoothed silk.

"Oh, of course. Ridiculous not to do the thing I'm already doing. I'll just do it even harder."

What does Astarion imagine they do? Run up arm in arm with Karlach and give their quarter staff a mighty, useless swing? Wave to the enemy flankers and invite them right over? It's the second time in mere moments he almost implies as much, if not for an unnameable insistence braced behind his every word. He can't actually think they're a bumbling idiot, or he wouldn't still be here. So, why?

They're of a mind to leave him to it until he figures out exactly what he's trying to say. "Fancy, get away spells, you say. You mean like this?"

A rushed whisper, resonant and cool, and their figure fades from view.

How can he explain it in a way that doesn’t paint himself as completely and utterly pathetic? Astarion debates, settling on the choice that only slightly paints him as worrisome. He doesn’t know precisely how Arkezet would react to learning that he’s never cared for anyone else. That he’s never felt this particular fear before.

And then this whole debacle strikes him as even more ridiculous. He’s suffered countless torments.

“ Well, for one, you could stand behind our resident tiefling meat shield, ” Astairon begins, holding up a finger. “ Or, you could use those fancy spells of yours to get away quickly. I hear taking an axe to the face is bad for you. ”

“ Who would we listen to if you weren’t around, hm? ” Astarion shudders, a false grimace crossing his face. “ Shadowheart? Gale? ”

[underdarken]

hello, it's me. i thought my queue was going this whole time. spoilers: it was not. fixed that and drafted what i owe. sorry if you get an oldish reply suddenly!

[underdarken]

"Obviously."

A bit contradicted by the fond shake of their head. As some of the humor fades from the moment, the haze of contentment does not, nearly startling in the face of their own expectations. Everything about Astarion continues to surprise and remind them of all the reasons, malignant parasites aside, they end up precisely where they are.

They can't pinpoint the exact moment the connection between the two of them stopped terrifying them.

"Meddling spiders aside, I hope that does put you at ease. No need to sleep with one eye open. From her, anyway."

Astarion, for his part, seems pleased. The danger of being swept up in a cocoon of silk seems far away, a flitting thing he’s already half forgotten. Something tight and warm passes through his chest, not unlike a long forgotten heartbeat. It isn’t the same, nothing ever will be, but it’s pleasant and comforting when so few things in recent memory have been.

Even if all it took to make it so is a territorial spiderling. 

That pleasant feeling gives way to wryness. Part of him still shies from the thought of being quite so serious about whatever it is that they’re doing. 

“ My, my, Arkezet, are you trying to seduce me? ” he asks, his eyes rounding in a comical way.

[underdarken]

"Imagine that. I'd better leave the cryptic greetings to Withers, I suppose."

Shrugging free of their cloak, Arkezet promptly drapes it over the godsawful statue carved in their own image. Their initial instinct had been to leave the thing behind, but when the city expressed interest in it as some sort of monument, they had decided it had made a better coat rack, to be tucked away and never to be seen again. Fortunately, they'd managed to lump enough clutter onto it ( with help from everyone else ) to render it barely recognizable.

Unlike Astarion, who they would recognize anywhere. They are slow in their approach, coming to rest their hip against the chaise's single arm and leaning down to place a kiss atop his curls. The picture of repose he might be, he's clearly kept busy and then some.

"Well, my fellow Savior of the Gate," a fact they will never let him live down, "we've had a few job offers land in our laps. Depends on how far you'd like to go and how that lines up with what you found here."

@underdarken said: "we meet again, as predicted." / unprompted (always accepting)

“ Funny, that. It’s almost like we live together. ”

Except there’s nothing funny about it at all. He can still recall the moment Arkezet decided their end goals were more important than self-immolation. And, of course, the many dissonant hours afterwards where he grappled with losing them, the sun, and potentially everything in between. It feels like a bruise, and if pressed upon still causes aftershocks of pain. 

He lounges across a chaise he pilfered in the aftermath of the Elder Brain’s destruction. While the sun burns high, there’s little for him to do but wait for nightfall. Books spread out in front of him, a veritable feast of research notes on vampirism, inter-dimensional travel, and even a torrid romance novel. 

“ I do hope you had better luck planning our next move than I did, Mighty Savior of the Gate. ”

[underdarken]

Arkezet understands the unsaid. If he is expecting someone on his trail, darkening the threshold of the camp, he is expecting them as an agent of Cazador. It is a vigilance, a growing dread, he doesn't have to elaborate on further. Expecting trouble and feeling disconcerted surprise when there is none? Well, that seems to be something the two of them have in common.

They nod their agreement in turn. They do find it strange how many nights, ignoring the tadpole, pass in relative ease.

"From what the mercenaries had to say, it seems the road from here to the Gate is a rough one. That works in our favor for now."

But that advantage won't hold out indefinitely. The closer they draw to the city, the more attention they're likely to attract. Arkezet is of a mind to invite some of it, of course, to lead the answers concerning the Absolute cult their way, but never where they're most vulnerable.

"We stick to the plan. Watches and wards at night. Eyes open when we travel. Business as usual until it isn't. Then we remove the problem."

He knows he’s not off the hook, having seen the way Arkezet deals with certain individuals who manage to piss them off. The cool, shrewd look on their face just before they cut someone loose. Then, the inevitable hail of fire that’s rained down upon them. No, he’ll most definitely have to watch his back after that little outburst. 

They’re sneaky. It’s a trait he both respects and abhors. 

He sighs, not in the normally gusty, put upon way that signals a dramatic story. “ I’m worried about– ”

Multitudes, if he’s honest. His growing fondness for Arkezet. The camaraderie he feels with their companions. The knowledge that it could all be so very easily ripped away from him. 

“ –how quiet it’s been. I expected more monster hunters beating down our metaphorical doors. ”

[underdarken]

Arkezet doesn't appear to be in any particular hurry to divulge. It is the feeling of eyes upon them, an inherent sense of patient observation, that peeks open a single eye blown bright in the light of day, the dark center narrowed to a vertical sliver.

"Fantasies, huh? Well, for starters, an honest-to-gods bath. I think we've all earned a good soak." A finger lifts, ticking off one on their apparent list. "Proper food. Gale is nothing short of a miracle worker, but even he can only do so much with a handful of grapes and a bit of carrots. Oh, a bed - or at least a new blanket. Mine's practically in tatters."

It ends with their full attention resting on Astarion again, and while all their confessions are nothing short of true, it becomes a little clearer they might be intentionally missing the point.

"Not what you had in mind, I take it."

“ Be still my un-beating heart, ” he says, all teeth. “ I wonder what little fantasies there are floating around in that head of yours to prompt this. ”

He props himself up on his elbow to look over them. Their appearance isn’t so strange now–no stranger than Wyll’s new horns or the death orb scarring Gale’s skin. It makes sense that they’d enjoy basking, probably something to do with their cold-blooded ancestors needing warmth to survive. 

He can attest, though, that nothing about Arkezet is cold. Everything seems to be fiery where they’re concerned. Astarion wonders idly if he’ll have his work cut out for him in the form of one fiery tiefling.

“ Do you often think of me, dear Arkezet? ”

[underdarken]

"For my next trick, no flints necessary."

It's always a breathe, a thought, a blink away. An extension of the senses. As vital as a pulse. Arkezet spends only a few moments fussing over the final positioning of the kindling. The rush of heat, the scent of cinders, rise to obey the curvature of their fingertips. A brush against the splintered debris, and it roars to life with light and flame and fury, casting the camp into sudden brightness and warmth.

"Wouldn't mind the idea of moving on if we weren't dealing with intruders on our tails. If they're counting on forcing us into hasty decisions, best not to give them that edge."

As soon as Arkezet is confident the campfire is secure, they rise to their feet and give Bella a nod. Their need for rest is confined to quick bouts of meditation, but they can easily use the spare time to secure the area through magical means.

"That works for me. I won't be out for long - and only a call away if you see so much as a suspicious deer."

{ ♪ } -- "That's nice. I really don't like dealing with flints... I could use magic, I suppose, but... Hmmm."

She felt odd using her magic for mundane things. Not all the spells she knew required divine power, but... Seeing as she was a servant of Mystra, it still felt weird to use the Weave in such a way. She shook her head then, refocusing on the task of gathering and arranging all the scraps of wood into a good orientation to burn. At least the blaze would be a great way to keep warm, and it would make it easier to roast some of the things she'd stashed away.

"You're right, unfortunately. I'd prefer to move, but... Unless one of us summons some form of light, we'd be wandering in the dark. I'm not that big of a fan of that in this context. If I could guarantee my safety and yours, I'd probably be pulling you along for a moonlit jaunt."

The comment earned a little smile from her. Arabella was plenty open with her albinism, the fact that the moon had been a constant companion for her since she was young. That was part of why the Lady of Silver appealed to her so. But, ultimately, it was Mystra that called to her.

"I can take the first watch, if you like. I have a hard time sleeping most nights anyway, so I won't be tired for some time still."

[underdarken]

The admission warms something within them, taking them back to quiet nights spent together, the comfortable companionship eked out against all odds. Arkezet considers themself a part of those odds, if they're honest, how long spent denying and suspicious of what was happening between them even as it did. And now, here they are, a challenge between them where to lose is no loss at all.

It's fitting, Arkezet thinks, as falling in love with Astarion had been the same. Fearing the vulnerable thing their feelings for him might make of them, only to find themself more cherished than they'd ever been.

"Noted for later, then."

Later, when they can draw him close and traces patterns against his palms. Later, when they can rest their head against his soft curls. Later, when he will be a solid, cool weight beside them in silence or conversation.

Later is not yet now, as they learn swiftly. The cool, glancing touch of the dagger brings reality back into sharp relief, quickens their breath, their pulse, just so. Their mouth eases into an uptick, leaning in past the blade and close, a whisper made for his ears. Power, lacing and layering every word in an unnatural resonance: Inveniam Viam.

Then they are gone, the gentle rush of their magic pushing against his back from their place atop the weathered barn. "Looking for something, love?"

That Astarion does not doubt. Arkezet has a way of turning things on their head at a moment’s notice. At least, that’s the way he sees it. 

“ I look forward to being the complete focus of your charms. ”

There’s not a hint of anything other than the truth. Astarion has found he has taken a liking to the careful intimacy between the two of them. Arkezet resting by his side, Arkezet allowing him to take their hand in his, and Arkezet asking, rather sweetly he might add, for a few stolen kisses. 

“ Oh, I can think of a great many ways I’d like to have you, ” Astarion says, tilting his head with his most come hither look. He takes a slow, prowling step closer. Then, another, until he’s well within Arkezet’s personal space. 

In a flash, one of his daggers is raised, just beneath their chin. “ But tonight? I prefer this. ”

[underdarken]

As he adjusts, shifting their way, Arkezet rolls onto their side properly and loops him into a gentle embrace. His scowl doesn't belong, out of place in the quiet between them. They soothe with a press of their lips to his, a brush of their nose against the underside of his chin.

"I might have noticed that a time or two," they say, feigning thought.

Astarion's sentiments aren't in question. Their mutual comfort is, and he's made himself clear on the matter; that's good enough for them.

They watch him now, the valleys and lines of face in repose. The vibrancy of his eyes by dimness. The fall of his hair, curling around his ears and against the bedding. They reach to smooth at his curls, and not for the first time, they are stricken with how wonderful he, this, is. Reveling in possibilities, what else the two of them might steal, defy, build if only time stays on their side.

"Wish granted. Absolutely stuck with me."

While Arkezet may not mind where they place their things, Astarion busies himself arranging them into something more comfortable. While neither of them have need for sleep and meditation is a quick affair, it doesn’t mean he wants them to wake up with sore muscles in their neck and back. Neither does he, for that matter.

“ I’ll hold you to it, darling. ”

Strange, how quickly things can change. Stranger still that he craves it, this closeness, this quiet intimacy that demands nothing of him other than to be present. 

Astarion stretches languidly, like a content cat, before maneuvering himself closer to Arkezet’s warmth. It’s pleasant, the way that they seem to run hotter than anyone else. Or perhaps it’s just his deathly touched skin craving the life it’s lost. Either way, he’s savoring the closeness before something inevitably interrupts them. 

He does, however, scowl at Arkezet. “ Now, why would I do that? I am capable of being romantic, you know. ”

[underdarken]

"Oh? Explain the solid tenday we all smelled like unidentified pod goo. I'll wait."

From gratitude to lament in the space of a blink. Their laughter is nearly startled from them, both impressed and awash with affection for him. They check his shoulder with their own, a pointed arch of their brow giving away their skepticism before they even speak.

"You hate getting dirty. I thought I was doing you a favor. If you're so eager, we can have a nice, romantic stroll there right now." But then, his subtle scent greets them again, and they crowd in a little closer. "On second thought, I don't think I can be bothered to move."

To Astarion’s credit, he doesn’t leap away at the knowledge that Arkezet has probably traipsed through more waste today than he cares to think about. They’ve done a great job of cleaning up, though, so there’s not so much as a tense. To think, he’s finally given up the ghost about smelling pleasant. 

“ Thank you for not dragging me along, ” he says, thinking specifically of how leaky one of his boots has become. He wasn’t an outdoorsman before all of this mess, and his wardrobe was new centuries ago. “ I always smell great. ”

Then, he asks, “ Why didn’t you drag me along? Usually we’re inseparable. A perfect pair. ”

[underdarken]

things have been running off queue while i try to drag my energy levels back out of the toilet. got sick late last year and it kind of exacerbated everything else. will keep loading up replies into queue now and again. hope everyone is keeping well. if you need to toss anything my way, inbox and dms still on and checked when i stop in.

[underdarken]

I don't think you planned for it at all.

They try not to let it be a dig at their pride. They try not to let the endearment and wonder they feel, that someone thinks of them and their safety, swing in the opposite direction and veer into just the slightest bit insulted.

Mostly, Arkezet is successful, but they don't entirely understand, either. A thousand perilous moments are the exact composition of their journey together. There is no guarantee, no accounting for what awaits them next. What makes this any different?

It is that thought, nagging at them, that they consider as they watch Astarion now, even as they welcome the cool press of his touch against their face. There is something within him uncharacteristically subdued, and they know it to mean only one thing. He is truly troubled.

"I'm open to suggestions, then. Let's hear all about Astarion's patented, personal safety techniques that I am very sure he himself follows to the very letter." They pause, taking in the nearly sorrowful expression that is his smile. "C'mon. What's going on in that well-coifed head of yours?"

“ Now you’re just being rude. ”

Astarion’s ‘porcelain-smooth’ expression remains just as displeased as it did before their continued teasing. If only he could see it for himself, but the damnable mirror he still carries remains completely blank. He thought (hoped, really) that with all his other changes, perhaps a reflection would surface. 

And he remains displeased by Arkezet’s response. It would be easy to fall into step and match their teasing with his own. “ I don’t think you planned for it at all. ”

They didn’t see the ruffian. They didn’t have a premonition of the death of the only person he can remember caring about. They most certainly don’t know the desperate, clawing horror that threatened to drag him down mid-fight. Of course he would watch them slip between his fingers, leaving him alone in a dark, blisteringly cold world. 

Distantly, he knows that Arkezet is mortal. They may be long lived, but he is cursed to eternity. That seems so, so very far away, though. The threat of today has put a new worry in his heart that he has no name for.

He reaches forward, his fingers brush gently across the hinge of their jaw. Finally, his face breaks into a bittersweet smile. “ You have to be more careful, my sweet little arsonist. ”

[underdarken]

The way Arkezet's eyes narrow on him lacks genuine venom, the tilt of their mouth giving away how they fight against the urge to smile. At least he's merciful in catching them out. This time. They have a feeling it won't be the last time they hear it.

They wouldn't have him, this, everything about this moment, any other way. "No, nothing at all. Hush, you."

Of course, they intend to keep their every word, but the shift in Astarion's mood inspires their same in theirs, something playful and languid, stolen and cherished, pushed and pulled.

"I did make a promise. Hm. What kind of reminder should it be? Decisions, decisions."

The words are out and nothing catastrophic has happened. For that, Astarion counts himself lucky. Their current streak of bizarre happening is enough to make him think the heavens would swallow him up for daring to care about another person. That, and his own all consuming fear of it all. He has no star to chart his course in these choppy waters. 

But Ark is a balm to his weary, wounded soul. That is enough, for now.

He can’t help but grin. Arkezet’s heart gives them away as much as any other kind of tell. How unfortunate for them they’ve decided to place all their love into a vampire. 

“ Something exciting you about all that? ” he asks, tone light and teasing. It’s a strong departure from the almost morose way this conversation has gone. “ Hm, I may need a little more reminding now, if you please . ”

[underdarken]

"You know what? I'd hate to ruin whatever fun your imagination is having over there. I'll let you keep that one."

The situation is ridiculous. Astarion is ridiculous. Arkezet feels ridiculous. Even now, the phantom urge to chuckle over it all comes and goes in waves. His laughter nearly sets off theirs again, but they remain strong.

And they're glad they do. Because they see him, alive with his own amusement and happiness, the spark of it that meets his eyes and flashes at his exposed, sharp teeth. They feel something warm, happy, content unfurl in answer. They can't help but smile, too, a soft, lingering thing that doesn't quite fade in the face of his mischief.

"You caught me. It was all an elaborate ruse," they begin, playing along. "The question is, did it work?"

Astarion finds it delightful how shocking it all is, really. There’s very little that he hasn’t seen when it comes to courtship rituals. Devouring his partner (not like that) is something entirely new. He throws his head back and laughs. 

“ You mean to tell me this isn’t a drow courtship ritual? Truly, darling? ” he says, once he’s managed to calm himself. 

And dear, sweet Arkezet does indeed look so lovely when they climb down from those high walls they’ve built around themself. He finds his lips curving in an unspoken answer. Perhaps this ridiculousness has been good for something, after all. 

“ No need to be coy. We don't have an audience anymore, ” Astarion says, raising his eyebrows.

[underdarken]

They understand, in this moment, all of Astarion's charms exactly - and Arkezet is not immune to them. He seems to be genuinely enjoying himself. Genuinely enjoying their company. Genuinely enjoying this fragile, serendipitous thing they find and build against all odds. How can they do anything else but smile back, a half-curl of their lips, for maybe longer than they should?

"Maybe I will. When I do, you won't see it coming."

They almost mourn the idea of breaking the spell, shattering the moment, but the coin is cast, and it lands solidly on the dusty ground between them. Tails, as he calls, luck on his side for another evening.

First strike, first move, will go to Astarion. Arkezet makes a show of bowing in teasing deference.

"Your turn." They pace some steps back, the gold piece forgotten. Then, just as they warn him not moments ago: "How do you want me?"

Firelight winks back at Arkezet from a quick flash of fangs, there and gone. Flirting is a language he learned long ago, all the mysteries of the syntax laid bare and used for someone else’s rotten conversation. But now, he can use it to show his ever building affection for Arkezet. Though, if they singe him tonight it’ll be quite a shame. Who else will tease them mercilessly? 

“ Precisely–well, if you want something to be hard, my love, all you need to do is ask nicely. ”

He can practically hear the rolling eyes of their companions all the way back at camp. Of course sparring would be the verbal kind and any actual use of weaponry slides quickly off the table. Astarion actually laughs, a pleasant, rough from disuse kind of sound. 

“ If I say heads– ” he says, giving them a pointed look. His hand falls to his hip.

“ Tails. ”