#aancunin

Over the course of about two weeks, their little band had gone about dispatching the Grove's little goblin issue. They had finally rescued Halsin after removing the three leaders from the playing field, with the final fight in the cells being one Gale was privy to participating in. Halsin had conversed with their silently appointed leader, Gale assumed expressing thanks and planning their next steps from what pieces he could hear from where he was. He would be inclined to join the conversation to offer his knowledge in the plan moving forward, but he was distracted by the looming presence that dismissed grace for frustration when it came to looting the goblin bodies around the room. Astarion made his disdain very obvious to their leader about going through the unecessary effort of dealing with these 'cultists,' and Gale supposed he couldn't blame him. Their little group had all the reasons in the world to ignore the plights of those around them, in favor of saving their own lives. But Gale was ever-selfless, and was all too happy when their leader upheld a level of heroics.

In those same two weeks, Astarion and Gale had their night together that ended less-than-ideally for the both of them, which fueled the thick and uncomfortable atmosphere that hung between the two. Gale had refrained from approaching the rogue out of turn, saving conversation for the necessary exchanges that usually boiled down to communication during combat, or a polite greeting in the morning. Ever since that night, Gale had felt impossibly guilty, as if he had used Astarion to some degree. He knew enough about Astarion at the time, and even moreso now, to understand that he sought companionship in others like it was a requirement, a necessity in order to secure his safety. It was something in relation to his master he would overhear, absorbing the minute details he was given as a third party. Gale felt like he had somehow contributed to that, like he had satiated his crippling need for intimacy that he had just let Astarion try his game with him, and he happily played it. Gale had certainly been soft towards Astarion at that point, moreso than he realized given their surface-level differences and moral stances, and now he felt like he burned the bridges that led to anything beyond the palpable silence that cling to the two of them like a vice. Ever since that night in question, Gale had slowly been resigning himself to the shift in dynamics between the two, despite his desire to be at the very least, friends. He just didn't know how to breach the silence.

He was pulled from his thoughts at hearing their leader call to him, the earlier conversation with Halsin seemingly concluded as they were finally ready to head out. Gale began to make his way to join the others, but not before catching a pair of red eyes on him for the briefest of moments.

⸺

With the Grove secured and the goblins handled, the tieflings they had saved eagerly wanted to reward their group and throw them a party. Gale had assisted in the necessary preparations, utilizing a very convenient floating disk spell to transport a lot of the heavier supplies to camp. As soon as the sun began to fall the celebration began, tieflings filling the camp and the sound of laughter, song, and the sharing of drinks filled the air. Everyone seemed happy, or at the very least content with tonight's festivities, Gale included. But as his eyes scanned along his companions, as soon as he saw Astarion he felt something churn and sink in his chest; a feeling he quickly swallowed down. He was immediately drawn away as he heard someone approach, turning his attention to their de facto leader and greeting them with a smile.

The two of them conversed for quite some time, even sharing a moment in the weave together at his companion's insistence. And when their minds mingled together, he was surprised to find just what the other had imagined with him. Gale couldn't help the slight red finding purchase in his cheeks, his puzzled expression melting away into a smile. Their conversation for the evening had ended with appreciation from Gale, a clap of a hand on a shoulder, and the same line the wizard had given the rogue; "I fear any undue excitement may tip me over the edge."

That conversation delivered even more complex emotions straight into Gale's core, his thoughts swirling and as he tried to decipher his problems like any academic would. But his mind wouldn't settle easily, and in an attempt to sequester his growing anxieties, he partook in drink. As the night continued, his mind would eventually return to where it had began.

Gale looked over to Astarion, who had also been helping himself to some of the wine — with each drag of the bottle he recoiled in disgust. Gale found it charming, in a way. Their leader had made the rounds with all of them earlier, and was currently chatting with Wyll about something he didn't really pay much mind to despite how close he was. As he watched the vampire, he would eventually snag the man's gaze, their eyes finally meeting. Gale silently wondered if Astarion had looked at him at all during the celebration — and in that same moment Gale realized he had been making his way to the man's tent. He panicked briefly, not knowing what he would even say, but he was already at the halfway point between their respective tents. And in just a few short moments, Gale was standing a good few feet away from Astarion.

Bezi didn't make a habit of sleeping around strangers, but there were exceptions to most rules and as far as exceptions went, this one was pretty big. He and his traveling companions were each infected by a parasitic little hitch hikers, destined to turn into mind flayers. The possibility had kept him up for the first couple of days, but now? Lulled by exhaustion and the beginnings of trust in his fellow survivors, he was out like a light, sprawled under the open stars. Firelight danced across his tawny skin and his long, blond hair haloed his head in waves. His chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths. One powerful hand lay harmless on his chest. He was the very picture of repose- until something caught his attention. Be it instinct, some heightened sense, or the very puff of Astarion's breath, the result was the same; Bezi's eyes popped open, and the hand on his chest snapped away to press itself to Astarion's own breast, buying room for Bezi's drowsy mind to catch up.

With the way Astarion paraded about day to day as the weeks went by with very little attempts to hide his true nature, Gale was surprised that he seemed to be the only one who immediately caught on just days into their adventuring as a group. He had begun to suspect the truth the first night Astarion had slinked into the shadows of the night during their rest, and it was simply further confirmation the moment their defacto leader came across the dessicated boar with the two of them in tow.

"We better keep our eyes out then," Gale had said in that moment — eyes focused on Astarion all the while.

When it was apparent their little group only figured it out when Astarion had foolishly tried to snack on one of them did Gale question the mental capabilities of the bunch. In the same vein however, he felt a sense of pride at being the only one to have seen it from the start.

Either way, Gale was content to exist alongside Astarion, as long as he refrained from snacking on him. A similar stance that everyone else upheld, which was pleasant to see. Gale understood the hunger, afterall. Perhaps in a different way though.

What was surprising was that no one seemed to talk to Astarion about what had happened the night prior, but they could simply be ruminating on how to even approach the subject, which was understandable if so. But the air felt thick around their neighboring tents, especially given that they were the only two that remained in camp to watch over the area while the rest of their group set out to handle more issues associated with the Grove.

Gale really couldn't handle the silence — or the meandering eyes that Astarion seemed to cast towards him every now and then. Whether out of frustration, nervousness, or something else, he couldn't quite tell. Whatever it was, it was like a thick wall of ice that the wizard was intent on breaking.

With a sharp breath exhaled out his nose, Gale snapped the spine of the book he had preoccupied himself with shut and set it aside.

There was a sea of both strangers and familiar faces alike, many of them mingling, drinking, and making merry. If he weren't the man he is, he wouldn't have noticed the more shadowed practices going on between some of the guests — only evident in the subtle hand gestures exchanged, and the occasional small pouch traded from sleeve to sleeve. Dekarios, though amused, ignored it. He cared little for the innerworkings of the Gate if it didn't directly involve him. All he was here for was to play the pretty face, uphold the peace, and secure future trade — a task he always did with elegance and pride. He would go on to mingle with a few familiar faces, playing up to his role, before eventually going on to discuss political matters with one of the current Dukes whose name he knew but didn't care to put much weight onto.

The evening progressed, the Archmage completing his duties easily, and eventually falling into a simple casual conversation with a resident of Baldur's Gate. They introduced themselves as Cazador Szarr, apparently a big player in the politics of the city, but Dekarios couldn't care less. He immediately spotted the way the dark haired man carried himself; all pride and wrath and hunger. The mage might've even felt a pang of curiosity if the man didn't make himself so obvious. There was no tangible mystery, nothing to unveil behind a black curtain. Internally, Dekarios rolled his eyes, excusing himself from the man and turning, perhaps a bit to abruptly. In the act, he collided with another patron, only a tad shorter than him, his previously held goblet spilling its half-empty contents onto the poor man.

"Apologies," the mage quickly spoke, "I can clean that up for you, if you would allow."

For @aancunin

After a long and grueling tenday, the small group of adventures had successfully cleared the goblin camp, freed the First Druid, and gained more information on the cult surrounding the Absolute. The tieflings who were once faced with numerous challenges on their way to freedom could now safely make the trek to Baulder's Gate, free of the goblin threat that had once loomed over them. All Quillen wanted to do was find something to eat. He had struggled to find the time to feed properly since the journey had first started and now his poor body was facing the consequences. He was tired and his stomach and fangs ached constantly. Whether it was the blood of a squirrel or the blood of a boar. No matter the size of his prey if Quillen didn't listen to his immortal body's needs he would be prone to frenzying and the last he wanted was to go and bite one of his companions.

However, his little feeding fest would have to wait. The tieflings, in an act of gratitude, wanted to host a party at their campsite. There was no telling how long it was going to last but Quillen humored the idea and watched as his newfound companions indulged in good food, wine, music, and conversation.

Alfira had taken it upon herself to play for the party and sneak a few sips of wine in while no one was looking. Halsin and Zevlor had been chatting amongst themselves, trading stories and talking about what was to come next. Wyll had been off by himself drinking as he watched the river flow under the stars. Karlach was by Rolan and his siblings as the sorcerer showed off some of his magic skills. A few children were close by, watching in awe as the colorful aura lit up the space with wide eyes.

Bright eyes flutter downward towards the gore when its presented to him in all of its horror, and he finds himself quick to pull his gloves taut; a practiced motion and step that brings the two of them closer. Robin's fingers hesitate for only a moment before they connect with the chilled flesh of the vampire's arm, a scowl on his face. The mage plucked a clump of flower petals and lifted them to Astarion's lips, hovering just before and waiting for him to take them. There's no harsh quip or snarky response, instead his gaze traces over the man's features only to collapse back on the main source of his interest - and how Bel silently chattered that it seemed stale.

"I wouldn't presume to touch you. Here. These will help dull the nerves enough that I can pluck out the gravel and clean it properly... It was well of you the block when you did, any more and it would have struck your ulna." A satisfactory nod angles his head, a sharp movement that is barely caught - one that almost rings of approval, "Come then, shall we sit? It'll be easier for you, and me frankly... I've never liked dealing with twitchy ones, at least down on the grass I don't need to worry about you fainting."

✧ ──𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 (TRIGGER   WARNING:   blood,  murder,  death,  violence.    please  do  not  read  forward  if  you  are  easily  squeamish!) ═══ BG3 VERSE ═══