#softersinned

gods, it’s a moment like this that they’ve been craving. with their head on astoria’s lap and the illusion of peace wrapped around them like a blanket, they feel their tongue loosening.

“ do you know what i used to tell myself ? ” a pointless question, but they push forward. “ when i was free of the abbey’s halls and in its courtyard, i would look at the weapon in my hand and say there will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword. . . ” 

"Still can't find what keeps me here. When all this time I've been so hollow inside."

there hadn't really been any animals around the clubhouse before shay came in with stray cats trailing behind. at first, there'd been grumbles and curses. hale even shouted several times about the superiority of dogs over their feline friends but that was purely the bias of his childhood talking. the club he'd grown up near had a number of members with dogs clogging their home life. several even had therapy animals for reasons that a younger version of himself didn't understand. now? after the years he'd served in the army? he understood.

a little too well.

hale was sitting on top of one of the tables; combat boots nestled on the seat of the bench in front of him. all around him was the whirring of air guns of pumps and all the other machinery that kept their legitimate business turning.

a black and white ball of fur hale had affectionately started calling ' moo ' waltzed over and plopped down close enough that claws could scrape against the biker's jeans. two inhales of his cigarette later, the stick was flicked to the side and the cat lifted high into the air. when their heads were close enough, hale kissed the fuzzy little forehead and brought the cat in close to his chest. purrs rewarded his efforts along with a paw lightly pressed to his chin.

" ehhhh, " one shoulder shrugged. " hadn't really thought about it. mostly dogs where i grew up and i kinda had this idea that cats were just these assholes who wanted nothing to do with anyone. " moo lifted into the air again. " but you're just a lil love bug, aren't you? aren't you? "

the biker couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. not only did the cat put it there but the presence of his best friend did, as well.

From the dark surface of the mirror that should have been reflecting Astoria’s likeness back to her, Graz’zt smiled.  His projected image was seated in a dim room, lit predominantly by flickering candles and the light of a smoldering hearth;  it was too dark and thick with smoke to make out much detail of the decor, but the Prince himself reclined in a wide, plush seat of soft, dark velvet, and he cradled a drink in his six-fingered hand.  The glass was crystal, simple but perfectly elegant, although whatever substance it held was black as ink.  He was dressed down—as “down” as his dress could ever be described—in an open tunic and jacket, artfully disheveled.  

The compact he’d given her was Astoria’s direct tether to him, but once she had invited him in, he no longer needed it.  He could come and go as he pleased, lingering in her dreams, projecting through reflective surfaces, and Graz’zt had been nothing if not attentive in those first weeks.  He was happy to make himself present, available. It was, after all, what she craved most.

It was a funny thing, craving.  So easy to manipulate, but so delicate.  It was only as powerful as its sustainability;  he had to satisfy and disappoint her in precisely the correct measure.

And so he had taken a break, distanced himself.  Not for very long—only a few days more than the average intervals they’d fallen into over the course of their first weeks working together, but enough to be felt.  He wanted to see what she would do, and more than that, he wanted to see how she would act now.

“I hadn’t planned on accommodating any distractions from you, but something rather urgent came up that demanded my attention.”  His tone perhaps suggested he disagreed with the matter’s urgency and had found it rather tedious, but there were certain unavoidable responsibilities required of his lordship.  “I also missed our little talks these past days.”

it wasn't a long journey from orzammar to grimhold. they had set up camp for the night, though if ellis had to guess, they would arrive within the next day or so. ellis could nearly excuse the mud. it was a beautiful mountain range, with quick little streams & more life than ellis knew what to do with. with the wet creaks of snow under their feet, they would send rabbits bolting this way & that. it was refreshing after being trapped under ground for so long. it was almost easy to forget how damned cold it was. almost

ellis had thought that with enough time he could shut out the cold. that one day he would magically shake his body's reactions. it bit through his skin & gnawed through his boots. astoria had warned him to get a better pair before they left orzammar - he had insisted, quite stubbornly, that his old shoes would work. now he was half-frozen but wasn't going to admit that she was right, so he resigned to let his feet slip & slide in the mud with only the occasional complaint.

they walk the perimeter of camp together & he rubs his hands together for some scrap of warmth. but his breath still frosts in front of him & he keeps his eyes anywhere but on astoria. he insists on keeping his distance despite how desperately he wants to be near her. it was stupid, terribly stupid.

it was strange, seeing her truly. it was still difficult for him to digest but it left him hungry, waiting for the next taste. it was equally infuriating, terrifying, whatever he wanted to call it. astoria left him at odds with himself more often than he cared to admit.

he feels a wave of relief when she reaches up to slide her coat over his shoulders. part of him wants to resist, insist that she needed it more than he did... that part of him was quieter than the cold, though. he snuffs out the spark of excitement that stirs in his chest when she is so close, careful not to betray himself.

" astoria, " though he groans, cool blue eyes glimmer with with the warmth he's been chasing," i can take a bit of snow." he can't & he's sure she knows it. he sinks into the fabric instinctively, breathing in her honey-scented bliss. he bumps her with his shoulder gently. he thinks it should feel familiar. it almost does, but it's newer than that. they are new, he muses.

Her voice lingers in his mind, low and steady, threading through him with a thrilling sort of dread. He knows what she’s capable of—knows better than most, he thinks, having watched her leave trails of blood and ruin in her wake. She has been monstrous, merciless, beautiful. What she would do for him. He’s seen the way her eyes harden, the ruthlessness she wields like a blade. She is loyalty twisted into something sharp-edged and dangerous, something that could destroy them both. And gods help him, he wants it. He wants her. More than anything.

Stori is a storm, her devotion fierce and unyielding, and he has let himself be swept up in it. He knows he should be terrified, should feel trapped or desperate for escape. Instead, he feels like he’s drowning in a dark, exhilarating warmth. And he would let himself sink willingly.

But she has never said anything like this before, never offered him a glimpse of the power he holds over her—if it could even be called that. He doubts anyone truly controls Stori, not even Bhaal himself. And yet, in this moment, she has given him something raw, something almost fragile. His voice is soft as he allows himself the luxury of honesty. ❛ You think you’re the only one, my dear? ❜ He reaches for her hand, his fingers grazing hers, a cold and tentative touch.

Her skin is cool beneath his, a reminder of the hunger they both share, the endless, gnawing need. ❛ You have all of me, you know. Every dark and twisted piece. And the worst part is . . . I’m not even certain you realize it. ❜

He tilts his head, crimson eyes gleaming in the firelight as he looks at her, really looks at her, as though seeing her anew. She is the only one he has ever felt safe around, and the irony of that doesn’t escape him. Stori—his savage, terrifying Stori—is the one he would trust to guard his back, his secrets, his life.

flirtatious.

astoria does this on purpose. a look here, a touch there – yes, @softersinned knows exactly what she’s doing, and florence is far from entertained. ( liar. ) they tighten their hold on the old journal, straining to read the delicate writing. 

they lose the page. 

“ reading this damned journal is difficult on its own, ” they can’t force a tone, “ and you are making it worse. ” not that they’re doing anything to stop it. they’ve caught @softersinned above the wrist, but they haven’t pulled her hand away. should they? surely, a small break wouldn’t cause any harm.

The benefits of staying off the main road included, but were not limited to, spying potential ambushes before they spotted you.  Gossamer was fairly certain that was what they were looking at: two figures in the distance, crouched among the brush, waiting.  If there were more — and there must have been, she knew — she hadn’t spotted them yet, although she was looking.  Most likely, if they were smart, there would be a pack on the ground on either side of the road and maybe one or two up in the trees.  But she couldn’t make out any other figures.

“Two,” she whispered, gesturing in their direction. “Just crouching there.  Probably an ambush; bet there are at least two more.” She moved forward on light feet, jewelry eerily silent; the bells and baubles adorning her horns only ever seemed to make noise when she wanted them to, although it was imperfect in the uncontrolled wilderness.  They were quiet enough compared to the ambient noise of the forest.

“Wait, don’t interrupt them.  Let me do it.”