I don't like that Falin doesn't remember dying. I mean, it's great she doesn't have the memory of death, that's wonderful, no one needs to remember that (and indeed, most examples of resurrection seem to show that no one really does have the exact moment), but she doesn't even remember the events leading up to it. Everyone else can piece it together pretty well, sometimes down to the exact thing that killed them, but not her.
Actually, uh. Is this Falin??? Missing none of the backstory, but doesn't seem to know why the Red Dragon was there. Rebuilt out of said dragon, which may not mean anything, but is nonstandard. The method of resurrection to begin with. Weird shit going on with her magic, doesn't have the moment of death,, I will call back to the intro with Falin sitting there, alone in the dark, clearly used to being there, and wonder.
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[Five Days Before the Nautiloid Abduction]
Astarion x Tav
Rating: PG-13? (ALSO, no spoilers)
AO3
Edited by @asaara-writes (thank you <3333)
Astarion is out, collecting another victim for Cazador when he has a chance meeting with someone he doesn't know yet, but will know soon enough *doomed by the narrative noises*.
Astarion scanned the hull. Tavern, technically speaking, but how anyone allowed that to happen is beyond him.
He sipped his shitty wine, and tried not to choke on the sweltering smell of the boat. Years of bodily fluids and cheap alcohol stained the wood. Astarion could count each distinct atrocity on his fingers. The amount of people crammed into this tavern made the air humid, and sticky. His target certainly liked to slum it.
At least it distracted him from the scent of blood. Mostly. His stomach twisted in on itself.
Boisterous music competed with drunken stupor. Scantily clad barmaids roamed the room, offering drinks among other services. Gambling chips clattered on tables and brass mugs clinked. Here patrons drowned their sorrows with alcohol and poor decisions, if only temporarily.
Except for Astarion. And perhaps that Goliath in the corner; he was sobbing into his dinner.
Astarion swirled his wine and refocused his attention to the reason he was in this filthy tavern. The noble’s son sat a few tables in front of him with some friends. The two other upper-crusts ogled the women. They got a little handsy when any strayed too close.
The noble’s son nursed a drink, throwing in forced laughter at the lewd behavior. His eyes strayed to Astarion more than once now. Poor bastard never stood a chance. Well, no one did in the end. Especially not if Cazador wanted them.
The noble’s son excused himself from the table, opting to get a refill from the bar rather than call over someone for his friends to torment.
Finally, Astarion thought. An opening. Time to get this over with.
He stomached the rest of the wine. As he rose out of his chair, a small, hooded figure ran straight into him. Heat flashed across the back of Astarion’s neck. This place was trying his patience.
“Watch where you’re going-” Astarion started. Then the smell hit him. Intoxicating. Like a bee drawn to the sweet scent of a flower. It drained all the noise from the room. His mouth watered. He never smelled anyone like this.
“Watch where you stand!” She snapped back.
Astarion caught a glance at her profile. Brief glance. Light, pastel blue skin. Dark turquoise hair. Freckles ran across her nose, and she pierced him with her eyes. Molten amber eyes.
He stammered as she stalked off and disappeared into the crowd. But Gods, he could smell the trail she left. He hated to admit it, but it left him a little stunned.
The rest happened so fast.
She climbed up on a table. The music changed. The cloak fell around her ankles, and the crowd erupted into cheers.
Astarion’s mouth went dry. His head spun just from the smell of her, and her face made him linger, if only temporarily. He was glad that Cazador had a more specific target in mind this time, because what a waste she’d be on him. Astarion drank her in, and wondered how she’d taste.
Red silk contoured her body. The color was striking against the contrast of her skin. Back to the audience, she beat a tambourine in rhythm on her hip.
Without the cloak, her tail and horns were visible. Tiefling. Her tail ended in a spade shape with a cute little ribbon tied around the base. Her horns curled around her head and slightly outwards. The freckles kissed the top of her shoulders too.
She twirled to face the crowd. Her skirt flared around her, and a slit that traced the length of her leg, all the way up her thigh, revealed itself.
One of the noble’s friends climbed on the table to get a handful. She smacked him square in the face with the tambourine. He recoiled and tripped over a strategically placed tail right off the table, which elicited an even louder round of cheers.
There was a transfer of magic between the two. Astarion barely caught it himself. She didn’t have to utter a single incantation or perform any special somatics. The pig laid rigid on the floor. Not dead, unfortunately for any woman who breathed in his direction. Just paralyzed. Granted, it was still hilarious.
Guards rushed into the hull. Not Flaming Fists, yet, just hired security. Their presence only added to the spectacle.
The Tiefling leapt from table to table, dancing and spinning out of their reach as they dove for her ankles. Then the crowd started to get in on it, intentionally blocking the guards’ path. When she had a moment of reprieve from the chase, she flicked out a leg into a turn. The music slowed. Every other beat was accented, and the crowd clapped along. It was like she played the instruments with the movement of her body. They were perfectly synced.
She dragged one hand across an outstretched arm, across her chest, until the opposite arm was extended. She repeated the movement then dipped into a back-bend. Everything she did was slow, deliberate, and pointed. It was a dare. Waving a red flag in front of the proverbial bull.
The guards busted through the humanoid blockage. The music accelerated again, and she pulled red handkerchiefs from her bust. The crowd went wild as she waved the fabric in the guards’ faces and twirled from tabletop to tabletop.
Astarion couldn’t help but smile. When was the last time he did that? Genuinely? Clever little tief.
Something moved in the periphery of his vision. Two people snuck out from a backroom. The guards didn’t even turn around, too preoccupied trying to restore order to the tavern. One of them pulled out a short copper wire. They pointed at the dancing Tiefling and muttered something. There was too much of a ruckus for Astarion to hear what they were saying.
It dawned on him. This wasn’t just a prank, it was a heist. The Tiefling was the distraction. Very clever little tief, and a very effective distraction, Astarion thought, giving her another admiring look over.
She was prancing on the bar now. She swiped a bottle and took a swig before sliding into splits as the song finished. The exasperated guards finally got to her, and pulled her off the bar-top. She had one guard per arm, holding her firmly.
The Tiefling half raised her arms in triumph, or as much as she could while she was being apprehended. The entire room was on their feet, cheering.
Silvery mist seeped from the floorboards, and encased the Tiefling. Then she was gone. The guards looked aghast. They stared dumbly where she once stood. A loud whistle sounded from the other side of the room. The crowd roared even louder.
She was on the stairs leading to the deck.
She had done it again. Cast magic out of thin air. Useful trick that must be.
“Thank you for sharing that dance with me!” she hollered to the guards.
She blew a kiss and turned on her heels, away and soon out of sight.
Astarion took a step towards the stairs after her, but that step was as far as he got. His body seized, wouldn’t allow another step. His fate was sealed.
“Excuse me?”
Astarion whirled around. The noble’s son was there with two drinks in hand. Wine. Lovely.
“Would you care to join me for a drink?” And the noble’s son’s fate was sealed too.
Astarion accepted the drink with a gracious smile and half bow. He followed the noble's son, obediently, to another table.
It was going to be a long night. An even longer eternity thanks to Cazador.
Her scent still lingered just a bit longer. He hoped that he would never see her again.
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