FSBE 15 - Somebody Call Chris Hansen
You almost commit violence.
On AO3.
Y’all hit the food and drink. Take a bite of hot stew filled with peppery fish and what you think might be turnips and your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Then you head outside onto a wraparound deck to find water barrels so you can wash mugs and plates and all. Decide to check out this other cleric in the morning, after y’all get some rest.
The rooms is upstairs, off an inner balcony. But it’s as y’all find the stairs that a nasty scent crawls up your nostrils to curdle in your sinuses.
Sulfur. And cherries, for some godforsaken reason.
“Oh no,” Gale says.
You feel Astarion stiffen next to you. But when you look over at him, it ain’t disdain or that cool, guarded look he wears when he’s nervous. It’s…attentive. Alert. But not in a “was that a firecracker or something else fired off out in the parking lot” kinda way, and more like you catching a whiff of good coffee at a distance.
Y’all turn the corner, and there’s a sonuvabitch sitting there.
Raphael the devil sits across what looks a lot like a 3D chessboard. Opposite him is one of the tiefling kids, with a ponytail and an eye patch. It’s the one who bailed y’all out with Jaheira.
“No matter where the knight goes, I’m gonna lose it!” the kid says.
“Then make the sacrifice useful,” Raphael says.
You never actually seen that old catching a predator TV show, but you know the memes, and this right here…
It’s also, weirdly enough, directed at you’uns.
Holy fuck, you hate this fucking guy.
“Look who it is,” the kid says upon noticing y’all. “For once, I save your butts out there, didn’t I? We’re square now, chief.”
She looks over y’all. Gaze lingers on Wyll the longest. “Say, you don’t play lanceboard do you? It’s my first game.”
“I can’t say I’m well-versed in it,” Wyll says. “Much to the dismay of my father.”
As Gale leans in with a frown. “Oh, he’s laid a fine trap for you, Mol. But it looks to me like his Cyric could be dethroned.”
Ain’t make no sense to you. You’re more a checkers type. Or solitaire. But the man shuffles closer and the kid makes her move. To your surprise, that fuckface in a human suit seems more amused than offended at the intrusion.
And when the kid whoops him, he says, “I was right to make you the offer I did.”
Like a proud papa to his scheming daughter.
You see right through it. The way she beams. The easy grace that devil accepts his loss with. He’s fucking baiting her. Hyping her up to lure her in. Where the fuck is Chris Hansen?
You look to the girl, but she only chews on her lip and hums.
The devil turns to y’all as she leaves. Calls her a blushing apple, and you ain’t never fantasized about punching a man in the dick before this moment. It’s fucking vivid.
Vivid enough you’re apparently broadcasting it, because Lae’zel makes a thoughtful sound while Karlach outright snarls.
“I’m down for it,” she says. “Fuck this fucking creep.”
The devil only gives her an oily smile. Prattles on about choices and shit. Fucker really just loves the sound of his own voice, huh. You’re ready to up and leave, except…Astarion stares at him. Not with wariness but with…
“Now,” Raphael says. And looks Astarion square in the face. “I sense there’s something you want to ask me.”
You don’t mean to whip around. But you do. And the elf ducks away from your gaze to clear his throat.
“I do. I have a…proposal for you,” Astarion says.
“Fangs?” Karlach says.
Shadowheart gives you a questioning glance. But he done caught you with your drawers around your ankles. The fuck does he need from fuckface? He seemed leery before. Said people like that don’t play games unless they know they can win. And considering the last bet he made turned him into a vampire…
“A proposal?” the fuckface says, lighting up like he just got asked out to an all you can eat buffet. You ain’t never punched somebody in the face before, neither. Not with a bare hand. You’d probably break some fingers, but it’d be worth it to wipe that sleaze off his fucking face. “If you hope to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than wyvern whiskey.”
“This is serious business, devil.” Astarion’s voice has an edge to it, but it’s more than annoyance. The pitch is tight, upset he’s trying to hide, and almost succeeding at if his body weren’t quite a traitor. It stabs you right between the ribs.
“Astarion,” you say. Y’all can leave. Y’all can fight that fuckface. But Astarion don’t even look at you. Just lifts his shoulders and straightens himself.
“My old—well. A long time ago, someone carved something into my back,” he says. “I’d rather like to know what it says.”
Wait. Wait, wait, wait.
The fuck? That’s…you ain’t…
You seen his bare chest, once. He wasn’t wearing a shirt in that clearing. But that ended quick and dirty, and for all you been fooling around lately, y’all have kept dressed. Even if he does deliberately unlace the front of his shirt lower than it needs to be when he’s around you.
You ain’t never touched his back. Barely touched the man’s shoulder or his neck, and only then when he set your hands on him himself.
This time, he does glance to you. Just a flash, expression unreadable.
But the devil is a cunt who catches that. Catches whatever’s on your face, too, before you can button that down.
Mock surprise twists up his own face, the malice twinkling in his eyes. That fucking sonuvabitch. He presses a hand to his cheek. “You haven’t told them? And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you.”
Fucking clicks his tongue. You’re gonna commit a murder. Gonna crab up a water pitcher and crack him in his smug ass face with it—
The devil lifts his hand. Says, “Don’t be shy.”
Snaps his fingers.
Astarion armor and all his gear shimmers. Flickers. Melts away like morning fog. Leaving him with nothing but his pale skin as you whip around to look the other way.
Not before you see it, though. Long, thick lines of scar tissue. A huge, slashing circle covering most of his back. And worse, the way his eyes widen. Not like when you told him you liked his voice. No, this is fear. Old fear. One he shoves under a huff and what has to be a false, sassy head toss.
“Godsdamnit,” he says.
Does not shy away. His hands twitch, before falling back to his sides. But he just…stands there, bared to the room.
Resigned to it.
You met confident people, before. Hell, this one met you with no shirt when he invited you to a hookup. But you known people who would not flinch being naked in a room of strangers or friends. By on their choice (or high as a kite). And stripping themselves. Most people have bad dreams about this kinda thing. Most people’d at least flinch.
Not him. Not him. He just stands there.
Your pack hits the floor and you tear into it.
“What the fuck, you sick freak?” you snarl.
The devil regards you. Gives a condescending smile (you wanna rip his lips all jagged and nasty from his face). “Don’t pout, little human. This peach went bruised and rotten long before you came along.”
“Give the word and I’ll rip his head off,” Karlach says. Her chest is see-through, ribs a dark outline against the fire raging inside her.
“And deprive your vampling of the answers he seeks? A shame.”
“No,” Astarion says.
Where the fuck is it, why can you find everything but what you’re looking for.
“No, it’s fine,” Astarion says. “I am world-endingly beautiful. It’d be more of a crime not to show it off. So, devil, what say you?”
There! Hands brush soft cloth. You rip the blanket out in a spray of cutlery and tin plates and potion bottles. They thunk all over the floor but you’re already up and turning, keeping your gaze to the ceiling as you hold out your only blanket.
“I,” Astarion says. You bring your gaze down, careful not to look lower than his face. He kinda blinks at you.
Something in you twinges. Something nasty.
It’s his compliment surprise. Only worse. Very much worse.
So you drape the blanket over his shoulders. Only once it touches him does he move to take it and wrap it around himself. Cover himself back up.
You make sure you stand in front of him, between him and the devil. Who watches this all with a kind of glee.
“Such devotion,” the walking corpse who don’t quite know it says. “Hopefully not misplaced.”
“If you don’t get to some kinda motherfucking point—” you start.
“Yes, yes. Those marks are one of great importance to your master, little Astarion. I can give you all the gory details. But of course, you’ll have to do something for me, first.”
Fucking devil bargain. Fucking humiliating Astarion. Making him defend his own humiliation because he can, because he got what Astarion wants. You seen petty cruelty. You been on the end of it plenty.
That fucker is going to die. One way or another, he’s fucking dead.
The devil taps his lips. Says, “Let me think on it and I’ll get back to you.”
“What?” Astarion says. “Get back to me? When?”
“Don’t worry. I’m motivated to help you.”
The fuckface folds himself into a stupid bow and poofs away in a puff of stench cloud. You don’t even try to hide your gag.
“Did he take your armor?” you say to Astarion.
He clutches the blanket stiffly. “I. I’m not sure.”
You nod. Search his face while trying not to be obvious about it, but he’s back to avoiding looking at you. Avoiding looking at everybody. “I’m sure we all got spare gear of that fuckface turns out to be a thief.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” Gale says. “For now, I could use a very stiff drink.”
“Agreed,” Wyll says. “I’ll see what they have. Astarion, you prefer wine, yes?”
“Only if it’s a good vintage.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Karlach glares at the spot the fuckface still stinks up. Takes a deep breath, and blows it out slow as her shoulder vents blast furnace-hot air. “We’re definitely going to kill that fucker, yeah?”
You look at her. She gives a small nod.
“Would y’all mind bunking up with the boys tonight?” you say.
This is finally what draws Astarion’s attention fully to you. With a frown that he shoves down lightning quick. Replaces it with a sly smile. “Oh, a room all to ourselves, my sweet?”
It turns your guts into cold, writhing snakes.
“It would be inefficient to split the part so unequally,” Lae’zel says. “Astarion has an adequate physique. He should not—”
“If we must,” Shadowheart says with a hearty eye roll. All the while clamping a hand onto Lae’zel’s shoulder. “The last thing I want to see is the two of you making disgusting moon eyes at each other while drunk.”
All the religious shit aside, she looks at you. Doesn’t nod, but don’t need to.
“Come on,” you say to Astarion. “I heard they got some kinda bathing situation somewhere in here. I ain’t never seen how y’all do that that ain’t wading into a river.”
