[nexelart]

finally a proper ref for Echo (bg3 tav, haven't been able to play yet so i'm just winging it for the Looks). i know he looks like a pirate but i swear he's a bard

[darksunrising]

Reference sheet for Echo, featured in my lazily aptly named Echoes of Faerun fic series!

[darksunrising]

Bard On Bard Violence (5/?)

Masterlist of the Echoes of Faerûn Series

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Rating / Warnings : Mature audiences. Slight dubcon in this chapter.

Fandom, Pairing : Baldur's Gate III, Raphael x Tav (focus), Astarion x Tav (background)

Author’s notes : Echo is starting to get used to his newfound warlock powers, when Raphael's next summon comes in early, much too early for what the contract allows. Did he miss a footnote, or is there something fouler at play?

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Echo figured after he had gotten some sleep, that he’d be feeling much better. That this uncomfortable tug at his heartstrings was only manufactured by the excitement of the hellish party, and that terrible liquor. Unfortunately, it becomes obvious as he drags himself out of his tent, lured out by the enticing smell of breakfast, that he will not be offered any mercy, save for a persistent headache that does distract somewhat from the emotional turmoil. Not everyone seems to be up - it’s early, the clouds still bearing the bright colors of sunrise. Gale, perfect man that he is, is busy cooking breakfast over the campfire, and Echo can hear the faint sounds of metal on wood indicating Lae’zel has been at her daily training for a while now.

“Did you have fun at the demonic sex party?” Astarion’s voice comes slipping into his ear, as arms do around his waist, planting a little kiss at the back of the tiefling’s neck. Always sneaking, that one, though Echo never gets surprised by him. His perfume sometimes comes before him, and sometimes, it’s a near supernatural instinct that he’s near, a compulsion to turn back and pull him close.

“It wasn’t a sex party”, Echo groans through the little smile floating on his lips. It might have been better if it had been a sex party, at least, he wouldn’t be so confused about that last... interaction, with Raphael.

“I always knew, deep down, that this Cambion was a boring nerd”, the vampire sighs, squeezing his lover to his chest briefly before he lets go. He’s usually not that demonstrative so early in the morning, which Echo has to assume is a tiny bit of possessiveness leaking through. He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy that a little. “Though you do famously have a soft spot for those”, Astarion adds, a bit louder. Echo gives him a playful shove as he gets to the campfire to beg for sustenance to the wizard.

“I love you too, Astarion”, Gale says, handing a plate to Echo when he reaches him.

“Thank you, I owe you my life.” He drops to the ground, legs crossed, and digs in with the hope that some food will manage to eradicate his hangover.

“I would go to Shadowheart, if you are having trouble with processing alcohol”, Gale says with a tone of sage counsel, and the face of teasing mischief.

“Of course, because I would love to tell her to exert herself healing me from my inability to hold one glass of infernal liqueur”, Echo replies in between two bites.

“Well, at least you did not die from it. I know of a warlock, once, who-”

Astarion sighs loudly as he leaves, and Echo gladly sits next to the wizard to listen to him. He’s usually the talkative one, with all the Bard thing, so it’s quite relaxing to listen to someone else, for once. Not that Astarion isn’t chatty, he certainly is, but Gale has an encyclopedic knowledge of tales and trivia that would probably make him a great teacher. It’s also easy to only pay half a mind to what he’s droning on about, and let himself be soothed by the sound of his voice. Gods know he needs the distraction.

× × ×

The merry band of heroic misfits has had quite a few days, since Echo’s first favor to Raphael. He’s had more than one occasion to try out his newfound abilities, delighted to remark how much more easily warlock spells come to him, even those he had started working on learning before striking the deal with Raphael. He’s focused on spells that call for ice, maybe an act of defiance, maybe the Canian blood coursing through his veins, even so far removed. Wyll had been an incredible help mastering the few spells he’d picked, Mizora much less so, now that she enjoyed lounging around at camp like she didn’t have anything better to do.

Whenever the spell he casts calls upon his infernal pact, Echo swears he can see something shift in the rubies dangling from the tip of his horns. He did ask Gale if the ‘gift’ had been enchanted, and the wizard had found no foul play, which didn’t really set his mind at ease. Not that he didn’t trust Gale, but getting repeatedly bent over by forces beyond his comprehension had made him a bit careful, if not downright paranoid at times. Everything about this deal had gone on a little too well, and he knows that Devils, by design, do not make unprofitable deals. That much Mizora had made clear, giving her opinion unprompted.

Raphael’s second letter, arriving much earlier than the contract allows, does set his mind at ease in that sense. So, the Devil had found that loophole. He should be a bit mad about it. Unfortunately, he’s still annoyed he’s been cast out so unceremoniously the last time, and he would enjoy an opportunity to give that Devil a piece of his mind - maybe also on how to respect contracts, since he’s at it. He slips the edge of his bladed tail at the corner of the envelope, and opens it in one fell swoop. He picks the little card out, and reads the words aloud, bracing for the teleportation spell laced within.

The House is now almost familiar, after the party. He knows the corridors, which doors are locked to him, and which are not. He expects to be transported in the main hall, or Raphael’s office, with some prepared, flowery line to greet him. He doesn’t expect a ridiculously large bed, and an equally ridiculously underdressed Raphael lazily lounging on it, his gaze piercing through Echo like fire through paper.

“That’s awfully presomptuous even for you, Raphael”, Echo says, trying not to choke on the words. He’s wearing a harness, and nothing but, for crying out loud, what in the name of- The devil on the bed interrupts the train of thought with a mocking little laugh, wings fluttering behind him.

“Raphael? Oh, do come closer, little mouse, look again”, they taunt him. It is Raphael’s voice, but besides the obvious, something does seem wrong. Their face is too, smooth, youthful, their hair lacks any grey, their eyes his laugh lines, and those between his brows, sculpted after Gods know how long reading contracts at candlelight. Not that Echo’s paid too much attention to all that.

“Who are you?”, Echo asks, not risking a step forward, but refusing to flee either, helpful as it would be since the letters are a one-way trip each time.

The Devil smiles, flashing their teeth as the tips of their forked tongue run over the sharp points. “I am curious, above anything else, about my Master’s new... pet.” They roll that word off their tongue like a delicacy, still keeping that predatory gaze fixated on the little tiefling as they slip off the bed. “You’ve gotten him in quite a state, you know.”

They’re just as tall as Raphael in his non-human form, towering more than a full head of height above Echo, horns and wings nonwithstanding. Every movement is the pinnacle of grace, and they scarcely stays still at all, making it very hard for Echo not to look at their perfectly sculpted body, the hard ridges into their hips, the veins snaking underneath the skin, barely suggesting their heartbeat, slow, strong. He wonders if that too, is a true likeness to Raphael.

“Well, delighted to meet you, Curious Aboveall, I’m Echo”, the tiefling replies, doing a neat little mockery of a bow, and hoping the Devil has a sense of humour, at least. If they do, their response is still to catch Echo’s chin between two fingers, the claw on their thumb digging into his lip.

“Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?”, they purr, their tail brushing against the side of his hip. “I see why he likes you.” There’s a warmth to their skin not even Raphael has, and Echo starts to understand why some bards like to pretend just a smile can fell a man.

“You’re-” His voice pitches higher, involuntarily, before he can catch it. “You’re an incubus, aren’t you?”, he asks, blessed by a sudden insight when he finds himself parting his lips for the stranger, his heartbeat strong and erratic against his ribs.

“And smart, as well! Aren’t you quite the catch?”, the Devil coos, their tail gently slipping to the inside of Echo’s thigh before it retracts, and they let the poor mortal go, circling him like a wolf does a wounded elk. “I’m Haarlep-”, they whisper in his ear when they pass behind him, and does a smooth little twirl, arms and wings opening in what looks like a debauched version of Raphael’s power play, “- Raphael’s personal incubus, and living testament to the man’s vanity.”

Isn’t that a turn of events? Somehow, Echo can’t bring himself to see Raphael have use for an incubus, though the proof seems rather indisputable. He can’t imagine he’d need one, though he considers, shamefully, that his own personal bias regarding that matter may be tainting his thought process. One more intersting, and pressing question, might be what Raphael would be doing summoning Echo into his incubus’ chambers, all the while not respecting the contract’s clauses.

“Well, Haarlep”, Echo starts, trying to regain his usual composure. “Could you perhaps tell me what I’m doing here, considering Raphael is not supposed to summon me until about two days from now, as per our contract?” Legal speak, legal speak, do not look at the Devil’s tits.

“Oh, Raphael didn’t summon you”, Haarlep laughs, and brings a hand to their chest, leaning in a little, almost conspiriatorially. “I did. And I thank your eagerness to respond, it’s only rare Raphael leaves the House for any substantial ammount of time.”

A slight shiver runs down Echo’s spine, though he lets nothing transpire of this. If Raphael is gone, that means he’s in the House, with no means to leave, and without his... Ally? Patron? to help. “You could have come to the party, I was playing for hours”, Echo says, tilting his head to the side.

“I was unsurprisingly banned from that specific event, probably not to disturb your mortal sensibilities”, Haarlep replies, faux-devastated.

“Considering Raphael sent me to kill Yurgir, I don’t think my delicate sensibilities are that high into his priorities.” 

“Anywhoo”, Haarlep dismisses with a sigh, and pulls Echo back to the bed by hooking two fingers into one of his necklaces, prompting a little cry of protest that gets utterly ignored until he’s been pushed into the plush mattress. Haarlep’s large hand pins the tiefling down with humiliating ease, and their smile looks almost hungry. Fortunately for him, something clearly stops working in Echo’s brain to make the distinction between fear and arousal, which is demonstrated on his face by a deep purple blush, and a heartrate that really can’t be good for his health. “I want to know what you did to him.”

Echo’s expression veers into confusion, though it’s still clearly the most subdued of the emotions currently affecting him. “I- I didn’t do anything to him”, Echo protests like he’s on the stand.

“Oh, please”, Haarlep scoffs. “Hours after he dismissed you, he was still pacing his office like a caged feral beast, you must have done something.” The incubus leans in, lips parted, inches from Echo’s face. “I can find more pleasurable ways to make you talk, but you’d be gambling your soul, little mouse”, they purr, low and quiet.

Echo feels like he’s swallowed a lemon, and he’s fairly certain he’ll need a long bath after this, if he ever goes back to camp again. He can’t say he’s not the slightest bit tempted. Haarlep is almost straddling him, they’re so close he can feel their warm breath on his lips, they smell so nice-

“I kissed him”, Echo blurts out, the words almost enough to end that last remaining half-inch between them. “That’s it. He didn’t even seem to enjoy it all that much.”

Haarlep freezes, and for a second, their eyebrows shoot up before they have a deep, throaty laugh and lets themself fall to the side, supporting their head with a folded arm.

“That certainly would do it, yes”, they drawl, shoulders still moved by little chuckles.

“... Would you care to explain a little?”

The incubus, clearly very satisfied with the inner turmoil on Echo’s face, takes their time answering, lasciviously stretching, laying on their back in a way that somehow manages to highlight all their features in the most flattering way. “Raphael does not kiss, darling”, they say, lazily, looking at their nails - shorter on the right hand, Echo notices, of course he does.

“What do you mean?”, Echo presses them, with half a mind to use the same tactics on them, though he doubts he’d have the same effect on an incubus.

“Whenever he needs to fuck someone, he sends me to do the dirty work - and believe me, his clients should be all the happier for it. And he doesn’t kiss me, that’s not the sort of relationship we have.” That one sounds particularly sarcastic, though it doesn’t help Echo understand.

Haarlep pauses, waiting for a response from Echo, and pouts when they get none, the bard, for once, finding himself mute. “You're probably the first person who's kissed him in eons, or Fuck Knows how long. No wonder he was so shaken.”

“I did ask”, Echo blurts out. 

“Even worse”, Harlep replies, voice silky sweet. “Having a choice can be such a burden”, they continue, extending a hand to trace the tiefling's jawline, a claw slipping down his neck. 

“And you would love to spare me that trouble, wouldn't you?” Echo's voice is slightly strangled, though he's not entirely hostile to the idea. 

Haarlep has a deep, silent chuckle, dark and rumbling through their chest. “Oh, far from it, little mouse”, they whisper as they get closer, slipping a thigh in between Echo's, their wings forming an almost protective cocoon around them.

“I would like to make you beg for me”, they purr, slowly pressing themself against Echo's core. “I would have you whimpering my name like a prayer with just my thumb, I would make you discover new Gods with my tongue, I would take your soul for my own and feast on it like the finest dessert...” Their voice is low, deep, every syllable igniting nerves in Echo’s spine, every twitch of his body bringing him closer to making a huge mistake. It’s getting hard to form any coherent thought, especially when the incubus presses their thumb to his lower lip to coax his mouth open.

“Come on... Play with me, pretty please?”

The sound Echo makes in response is unsuitable for any and all kinds of audiences, and his hand quickly finds one of the many leather straps of Haarlep’s harness to pull them in and close the last inch of distance between them. The incubus has an ominous little laugh against the tiefling’s lips, and tips his jaw open to slip their forked tongue in, enthusiastically welcomed by an eager sigh. Echo doesn’t understand immediately the gravity of that particular mistake. Only when the first spark of electricity runs down his spine and makes him arch his back and roll his hips into Haarlep’s, only when he starts feeling so empty he almost begs, does he remember. Haarlep is an incubus, and they laugh, a delightful, if slightly mocking sound.

“Such a shame, such a shame dear Raphael is not here to save you”, they murmur in Echo’s ear, their clawed hand lightly scratching its way down Echo’s body, reaching for a thigh to splay it aside and run their thumb between his legs, pressing the thin fabric of his pants in until the poor tiefling whines.

“I don’t think- mmmh-” Echo starts, suddenly interrupted when the incubus’ expert hand easily finds the area to focus themself on, rubbing lazy circles through the fabric as it soaks itself in his juices. “- I don’t think he’ll be- plea-ased if you- if I-” It’s getting increasingly challenging to not only talk without interrupting himself with humiliatingly keen noises, but form full sentences in his mind before trying to utter them.

“I can take Raphael’s punishments”, they reassure him with a predatory grin. “Especially if that means I get to enjoy your body before he can.”

He could push them off. He could try, at least, do something else but let his body respond to the little impulses led by Haarlep’s spittle. Arch your back. Grind on his fingers. Beg for more. Whimper their name, worship their mouth, pull them closer, closer~

“I would remind you it’s very impolite to play with your food, but I assume the barest sense of decorum would be lost on an incubus.”

The voice reache’s Echo’s ear while the other is busy with Haarlep’s little praises. He tips his head to the side to find the disapproving glare of Raphael, embers still dancing around his human form, arms crossed over his chest. You’d assume the dread that seizes the tiefling like a cold hand reaching through his body to tug at his guts would manage to choke the moans out of his throat. It doesn’t, and he can only keep his hands to Haarlep’s shoulders like he actually did anything to stop the incubus.

“Raphael, what a nice surprise! You usually don’t rush home so fast”, Haarlep teases, utterly undisturbed, completely ignoring Echo’s squirming and attempts to close his legs.

“Get out”, Raphael sighs, with a little nod towards the door. “My lenience has its limits.” It’s evident there’s an ammount of controlled anger in the Cambion’s voice, though it’s still unclear to Echo who that anger is directed towards. Haarlep pouts, though they do remove their hand from Echo - with a last little press to make him squeak -, not breaking eye contact with Raphael as they lick their fingers clean. They remove themself from the bed, and wink at the still trembling, discarded tiefling before they walk out, dramatically slamming the door behind them.

The sound reverberates in the room, and it takes Echo a little to gather himself enough to sit up, and look in Raphael’s general direction, absolutely refusing to entertain the idea of looking him in the eye.

“I’m sorry-”

“Did they hurt-”

The voices rise and fall in unison, leaving the room in empty silence once again. Echo sighs, hands plastered to his face for a second to try and tone down the burn he feels all over it.

“I... Don’t know how that happened, I feel...” He has a dry laugh. “... Ashamed would be a weak word for it.” Humiliated, horrified, very keen to disappear into the ground. Especially since he still feels that burning stir in his body, desperately yearning for the touch they’ve been denied.

“You were tricked by an incubus”, Raphael replies, with only the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Many mortals have befallen the same fate, and I do not hold you responsible for it... Though I am a tad disappointed you fell for it.”

“Hey, I had no clue anyone but you could summon me!”, Echo replies, suddenly finding the energy to bitch through sheer indignation.

Raphael’s made his way to the bed, leaning on one of the posts, one eyebrow cocked. “Do you think I would be so quick to disrespect the terms we set for our contract, my dear?”, he asks, looking down at the tiefling with the same unaffected manner he usually does. That little word has the same effect it always does.

“I figured you managed to work a loophole into the final document. I came to yell at you, originally.”

“So, what you assumed then, is that I was both dishonest, and so uttely addicted to your presence I could not wait even two days before calling upon your services once more?”, Raphael replies, tilting his head to the side. He tuts in mock disapproval, and the look on his face goes right to Echo’s core.

“You know-”, Echo starts, pointing at the Cambion with little regard to the disparity in power. “- It’s so unfair to be like this when I-” He interrupts himself with a little huff, tail thumping at the bedding before he can focus enough to will it still.

Raphael has a proper laugh, still mockingly insulting enough to make something stir in the poor tiefling. “I enjoy you, but I am still a Devil”, he starts, before leaning in closer. His smell is intoxicating, the earthy, heady aroma deliciously underlined by saccharine notes of cherry. “My very Nature dictates I should take advantage”, he hums, seemingly enjoying putting Echo through metaphorical Hells as well.

“Will you?”, Echo replies, unable to look away from the warm, brown, distressingly human eyes staring down at him, or to disguise the desperation in his tone.

Raphael hums. “Haarlep has gifted you with a need you can only quench through time or release”, he muses, eyes dipping to the tiefling’s mouth with languid obviousness. “... But I do not make a habit of finishing my incubus’ meals myself”, he finishes, standing back straight, and raising a hand ready to snap his fingers.

“Raphael, please-”, Echo blurts out, resenting how pathetic he sounds.

“I look forward to our next meeting”, he says, ignoring his pleas save for donning a very self-satisfied smile, and snaps Echo back to his tent.

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Comments are super appreciated, and you can dm me if you want to be on the taglist if that’s still a thing people do!

[darksunrising]

Bard On Bard Violence (4/?)

Masterlist of the Echoes of Faerûn Series

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Rating / Warnings : Mature audiences.

Fandom, Pairing : Baldur's Gate III, Raphael x Tav (focus), Astarion x Tav (background)

Author’s notes : The contract is about to arrive, and most likely with it, Raphael's first demands...

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Days have passed since Echo’s last seen Raphael, and he’s been careful not to mention him at any point during that time, like words or thought alone would be able to summon him. They’ve set up a more permanent camp around the city, in the meantime, and managed to kill a (fake) clown, get involved in half Rivington’s issues, and not yet tried to pass the very well-guarded gates to the lower city, still debating wether to deceive or fight their way in. Echo’s been rather silent on the subject, the annonced date of Enver Gortash’s “coronation” as archduke of Baldur’s Gate weighing on him every passing day like one more anchor to his ankles as he wades deeper into water.

Really, he shouldn’t even have had the time to think about the Cambion. And yet, he’s found himself fiddling with the pick absent-mindedly, wondering, expecting the contract in his tent any day. He’s been... Distracted, and Astarion has definitely noticed, talking more than usual and leaving him a bit less space. Not that he minds, he enjoys the extra contact, and doesn’t even make the connexion with Raphael until Astarion mentions, offhandedly, how much that wretched Devil is making them wait.

“I assume he’s busy”, Echo says, matching his tone. “Or fucking with us.”

Astarion scoffs. “We have been nothing but obliging to that Devil, nevermind the fact that he came to us- well, you”, he corrects with a handwave, though that did prompt a soft little smile on Echo’s face. There’s something oddly comforting, to hear he’s considering them as a unit, even in that context.

“I assume infernal calligraphy takes a while”, he muses, gently plucking the strings to his bouzouki to tune it. Astarion has a little indignant huff, and presses a kiss to Echo’s temple, right beneath the start of his horns.

“I would like to be fixated on it sooner rather than later. I’m quite sure that fiend will send us a fifty-foot long scroll that will take me hours to check, and the wait is turning my hair grey”, he sighs, dramatically.

“Well, I certainly could not stand to see your hair defaced in such a way”, Echo replies, a little smile floating on his lips as he starts his warmup exercises. He’s been more and more diligent about improving his dexterity in that manner, ever since he’s noticed using a rapier had made him more stiff, and set slight tremors in his hands. He’d gone to Halsin to craft a soothing balm for his aching tendons, and the druid had been nothing but helpful, even nearly completely displacing the back pains he’d been plagued with for a while with just a few presses of his large hands along his spine. Astarion had teased him to the Hells and back with the noises that it took out of him, and ended up asking Halsin for the same treatment five minutes after that.

Living with all their companions, more than a necessity brought by their situation, had become quite pleasant. Echo never really had such a close relationship with... Well, anyone in his life before then, if you discounted his previous patron. He’d find himself discussing visiting Waterdeep with Gale, or starting a World Tour with Karlach, when she said she wanted to see “everything”. Accepting Raphael’s deal, making himself a better asset to protect them all, was the easiest decision in the world.

The sun was already low on the horizon, and nothing of note happened between then and nightfall, besides Gale nearly burning dinner after an interestingly out-of-character salacious joke from Wyll at his expense. Astarion got his own dinner later, sneaking into Echo’s tent like everyone in camp wasn’t well aware of their arrangement, and pouncing on the pretend-asleep tiefling. His arms circle his waist, pulling his back to his chest with a hand pressed to his heart, already feeling the tremors of barely contained laughter as he does.

“I wouldn’t giggle so much if I were you, my darling”, the Vampire whispers to Echo’s ear. “-When I oh so enjoy my desserts sweet...”

Echo angles his head properly as his only response, grinning as he feels Astarion’s feather-light kisses along where his carotid artery pulses. He's managed to never make it feel entirely transactional, especially since their little heart-to-heart back in the Shadow-Cursed lands. Always tender, always careful, never taking an ounce too much. And he stays, helps him clean up, holds him close until he falls asleep. Starts having very undignified rêveries, curled around Echo, trapped with the tiefling's tail wrapped around his waist. 

They probably would have spent such a quiet night, if the tent hadn't been suddenly illuminated by a flash of flame and embers, before Astarion even sank his teeth in his lover's neck. Echo sits up with a groan, to witness a neatly rolled, worryingly thick scroll of paper, still ominously glowing. Raphael's sweet, musky perfume still clings to the paper, making Astarion groan in annoyance as it reaches his nose. 

“Awful sense of timing, that Devil”, he sighs. “We can't ignore that until morning, can we?”

Echo reaches for the scroll. It feels comfortingly warm, still vellum-soft. “I don't think I could catch a wink of sleep as it sits on my nightstand”, he says, popping the wax seal with a claw. 

“Not the sort of long night I was hoping for, but...”, the Vampire teases, settling next to Echo, looking over his shoulder like he's able to read infernal.

It's a long document. About twice the length of the original one, probably Raphael’s way to thank their legal diligence. Echo translates for Astarion, and the process is quite slow. They end up falling asleep halfway through, waking up tangled up with each other, the scroll draped over them, taunting them with their slightly lacking attention span. They do get up to get some breakfast, getting thoroughly teased for the exhausted looks on their faces, very eager for “Well, some people didn’t sleep a lot last night” jokes. Since Echo’s still keeping their dealings with Raphael a little secret, they take the beating quite graciously, and excuse themselves with a “Romantic Escapade” to go back to the contract.

It takes them a while to go through it all, since their beloved Cambion loves his odd turns of phrases, antiquated ways to write, and ridiculously small footnotes. They’ve settled in a tavern’s dark corner, not one of their usual haunts to make certain no one they knew could possibly stumble upon them, regularly waving for the waiter to get more coffee. Surprisingly, worryingly, they can’t find anything to reproach the Devil’s text, or find anything that could be misconstrued as a loophole to fuck Echo over in something more than a literal sense. They spend a moment, silent, staring at the end of the document, the only place where Raphael has written in Common. Sign here.

He has the quill. He has the ink. His hand is shaking, a little, until Astarion takes it in his, gently.

“You don’t have to”, he says, quietly.

“I know”, Echo replies, pressing a kiss to his lover’s knuckles. “Thank you.”

He dips the quill, wipes the excess ink at the rim of the vial, and writes his name, taking his time with it like his fate would only be sealed when it would leave the paper. The instant he does, his lines start to glow, as if etching them into the scroll as it rolls itself back shut and disappears into thin air in a flurry of embers that somehow, feel like a wink. They almost expect a summon to arrive within the second, but the first few tense moments of expectative soon phase out into tenser moments, not knowing what the Devil might be up to. Echo tries to laugh it off, as he often does, as they go back to camp. Torturing himself thinking about it won’t give him sudden insight into Raphael’s no doubt devious plans.

It actually takes hours before anything of note happens, almost enough for it to be entirely stripped from Echo’s mind before he goes to his tent again, and for his heart to stop the moment he notices a red envelope, laid neatly on his chest over a red rose, and a couple of lit black candles. He’s halfway between a surge of anxiety and the dire need to roll his eyes, though he’s hardly the best equipped to criticise the Devil’s sense of drama.

His throat a bit tight, he picks up the envelope, using the tip of his tail, still adorned with his blades, to shred it open. The card inside smells like the contract did, Raphael’s signature scent, unsurprisingly. It calls on Echo for the specific task of entertaining an event for Raphael, to start at eight post-meridiem, Faerûn time. To be transported to the House of Hope, he would only have to pronounce the infernal words written on the back of the card, at his convenience. How generous.

There’s a certain ammount of nerves about the event itself, that prevents him from really being all that affected when he tells Astarion, and calls for a meeting of the members of the party still at camp. It takes him a while to explain, and he thinks he does a decent job at not making it seem like a real stupid mistake to have done, especially to Wyll and Karlach, who still look at him like he’s insane. He’s not a bard for nothing, though, and he does manage making them consider the interesting part of that deal. Wyll offers to help with warlock spells. Karlach offers to help removing Raphael’s head from his body if he “tries it”. Which does make him laugh, if anything.

He dresses with his finest, not stinky-est clothes, has Astarion refresh his haircut, and polishes his jewellery a little, which had become incrusted with dust, mud, and most often, dried blood. He leaves his rapier behind, though he keeps the little daggers on the inside of his boots, just in case. It’s only a party in Hell, what could go wrong?

He decides to go early, just in case Raphael has additional instructions for the party, to get a proper feel for the layout of the House, and to make a good impression. Not that the Devil deserves his best behavior unquestionably, but he’d rather not piss him off outright. Astarion kisses his temple before he goes, and he recites the words to whisk himself away. Flames lick at his body almost sensually, and his breath is taken from his lungs before he can even realise he’s gone, he’s standing in the marble halls of the House of Hope again.

He has to say, he enjoys the heat. Summer’s his favourite season, and the specific sort of warmth the House has, dry, carrying the smell of light incense and dried flowers. He nearly saunters to Raphael’s office, letting his hand trail over carved marble, peeking around corridors and half open doors. It’s not like the House is empty - it’s quite busy, he assumes, preparing the feast, but no one seems to mind him for more than a spared, inquisitive glance. He gives a knock to the office’s door, and slips inside without really waiting for an answer, nudging the door closed after him with his tail.

“You’re quite early, my dear”, Raphael starts, not so much as looking up from the scroll he’s scribbling onto.

“Early is better manners than right on time, in show business”, the tiefling reponds, slinking around to one of the chairs facing the desk to drape himself over it. He notices a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, perched on the devil’s nose as he writes. He’d resent to admit the thoughts that go through his mind when Raphael eventually looks up at him, only managing a bit of a flush to his cheeks. “Is there- Any specific requests as what you’d like me to do?”, he asks, quickly, to distract himself.

“Oh, I do trust you to choose your own pieces”, he replies, waving a hand dismissively. “You will have access to musicians who will heed your commands, so you might take breaks. I hear you are quite experienced in these sort of events, it’s not so different from the ones you would have worked back in Baldur’s Gate...” He pauses, and grins. “... Well, maybe a bit different.”

“Is this a sex party, Raphael?”, Echo asks, trying to sound more annoyed than flustered.

“Please, no proper sex party starts out as a sex party”, the Cambion replies as he puts down his quill. “What this is, is an Avernus party. Things may go awry in several directions, which you should be awre, if not wary, of.”

“No permanent harm”, Echo reminds Raphael, with a little twitch of his eyebrows.

“On my word”, Raphael replies with his usual, untrustworthy smile, a hand laid over his heart. Echo believes him, if only in the sense that he doesn’t think Raphael would let anyone other than him lay a hand on him. If he can trust his own insights about a being whose main purpose is cheat mortals out of their souls. He has a little sigh, pulling out Raphael’s pick from his pocket to start tuning his bouzouki. It might be a long night.

×××

It’s a long night indeed. If Echo thought he’d seen everything from Baldurian parties, he can admit, for once, that he’s been dead wrong. He’s done excellent work, during the whole event, in directing his little band of musicians, all the while dodging propositions left and right, sometimes feeling Raphael’s gaze on him like sunlight through a magnifying lens. He still manages quite well, even after he’s been pushed into a wall by what he assumes has to have been an abyssal incubus, who seemed very eager to make “good use” of him. Not his first rodeo, and he managed to slip away, and finish the night relatively unscathed, spare for the devilish understanding of fun times he’s had to witness.

Once everyone is gone, Raphael finds him a bit exhausted, sitting on the edge of a balcony overlooking the burning wastes of Avernus, massaging the tips of the bruised fingers of his left hand.

“You have done well, little mouse”, Raphael almost purrs, handing the tiefling an intricately carved crystal glass, half filled with a honey-gold liquid. He gives it a little sniff, and it suspiciously doesn’t smell as alcoholic as it should.

“What is that?”, the tiefling asks, eyes narrowed.

“I call it Rapture”, Raphael replies with a glint of pride in his eye. “I make it myself. It’s... Strong, but it will not kill you, I promise.” Said with a very reassuring wink. Echo still takes a sip, at least dying might remove some of the images etched into his mind from that wretched party. It tastes sweet, at first, like raspberry liquor, and then brings a spiced, very pleasant burn on the tongue and into his throat that immediately makes him get another taste.

“Not so bad, now, is it?”, the Devil teases, leaning over the balustrade. There’s something about him, his pupils slightly dilated, a darker tone to his cheeks, a bonelessness to the way he moves... Is he drunk? Tipsy, maybe. The stuff hits quite fast, Echo notices, already feeling a little tingle at the tips of his fingers. Even perched up where he is, Raphael’s still taller than him, in Cambion form.

“Is it what you expected?”, Echo asks, after a little pause.

“Your performance?” The Devil looks down at his mouse, and his hands rests dangerously close to his. His gaze shifts to the everblazing horizon. “... Yes. Exceeded my expectations, slightly”, he adds, with a little insistence on that word.

He sounds almost indignant, like it’s hurtful to admit. Echo’s taken yet another sip of his drink, and leans in a little bit. “You’re not disappointed in your investment, then?”, he asks, though that’s teasing more than a real question. He hopes it sounds teasing, at least.

“How poorly you think of yourself, my dear...”

Echo starts when he feels Raphael’s hand brush a strand of hair away from his face, tucking it back behind his horns like the rest of it. His expression is unreadable, mouth unsmiling, eyebrows twitching once before he retracts his hand to search his pocket.

“I did get to adusting them”, he starts, producing the ornaments he’d offered for Echo’s horns. “If you would allow me...?”

The tiefling nods, turning his face to the side to give better access to the Devil. He’s quite gentle, when he curls the thin bands of gold around the horn, slotting the end into the sharp point of it, curling downward. The gem that dangles from it has been polished, like a single, perfect drop of blood. Echo keeps his eyes straight ahead until Raphael goes for the other side, and he has to keep his gaze on the Devil’s chest - his doublet uncharacteristically half open on his undershirt. Still not much skin to see, but compared to his usual attire, this feels, oddly intimate, especially when Raphael places his index under the tips of Echo’s horns, tipping his face up to look at his good work.

“There...”, he murmurs, almost to himself, eyes going from one side to the other. “Perfect.” The Cambion has a little satisflied smile, which wavers when he notices Echo looking at him. “... What is it?”, he asks, softer than he’d expect.

“I... Want to thank you”, Echo says, putting his now empty glass aside without breaking eye contact.

“And how would you thank me, little mouse?” His voice is low and quiet, and there’s a glint of mischief in his eye.

“I want to see how you taste”, Echo whispers, eyes dropping to Raphael’s lips. It does make him miss the split-second expression on the Cambion’s face, before he schools it back.

“Bold little thing...” He leans in just a little, not quite enough for Echo to reach him. The tiefling leans on a hand to fold a leg up and kneel on the balustrade, pushing himself up to rise to the Cambion’s level, and press his lips to his.

It takes at least that for him to realise what he’s doing, but it’s still not quite enough to make him stop - the alcohol swirling around in his brain being no help in discerning what should and should not be done with a fiendish patron. He darts his tongue out, running it over Raphael’s lower lip. “Come on, open up for me...”, he whispers, softly, a hand grasping at the edge of his doublet for stability. Strangely enough, Raphael obeys, and Echo melts into the kiss, running his tongue over the sharp points of his teeth, and finding out with delight that his tongue, at least in his devilish form, is forked.

Raphael’s being oddly still, until Echo’s other hand settles on his jaw, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. That pulls the slightest sigh from him, and a brief pushback against Echo, almost needy in the way he bites at him, his hand almost grabbing for his jacket to pull him in. He almost immediately breaks the kiss, however, and when Echo looks up at him, he looks just as unaffected as he always does, a wry smirk on his lips.

“Is your curiosity satisfied?”, he asks, with a nearly mocking tone that pushes a needle through Echo’s pride.

“For now”, the tiefling replies, resenting the need, settled low in his gut, to satisfy it some more. Raphael smiles, and curls his fingers in under Echo’s jaw.

“Something to look forward to, for our next meeting, then”, he says, and before Echo can think of any witty reply, he’s snapped his fingers, and Echo’s in his tent once again, the taste of Rapture on his lips in more ways than one.

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Comments are super appreciated, and you can dm me if you want to be on the taglist if that’s still a thing people do!

[darksunrising]

Bard On Bard Violence (3/?)

Masterlist of the Echoes of Faerûn Series

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Rating / Warnings : Mature audiences.

Fandom, Pairing : Baldur's Gate III, Raphael x Tav (focus), Astarion x Tav (background)

Author’s notes : If you're about to make a deal with a Devil, you might as well get a lawyer involved, and a good one.

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Echo starts playing later into the night, Astarion by his side, both in their finest, not bloody-est clothes. It doesn’t take long for Raphael to show up in his usual show of flame and embers, though he does raise an eyebrow at Astarion’s presence.

“My, my, little mouse, I didn’t think I would have shaken you so that you would need emotional support”, he teases, making his way to the pair.

“ Legal support, actually”, Astarion corrects with a toothy grin, his hand still firmly set on Echo’s shoulder as he stands, slipping along his spine to his waist. Raphael’s eyebrows furrow, at that, and Echo raises a hand in an attempt to keep peace.

“If you would allow it”, Echo starts with his usual lyrical little lilt of persuasion. “I would rather have another pair of eyes to look over that contract, since I don’t have that much experience with infernal contracts.”

Raphael has a little laugh. “And you believe bringing your vampire little boyfriend will help in that regard?” It’s playful, not as rude as it should sound, considering what he’s saying.

“I used to be a magistrate, believe it or not”, Astarion says, refusing to part with that confident smile. “Echo can read infernal, and I can read legalese ”, he says, with a twirl of his free hand.

Raphael’s expression moves to an unreadable one, stroking his chin for a second before he snaps them away without warning as he did the first time they met. The warmth of the House of Hope hits them like a truck after the chilly night air, and Astarion strengthens his grip on Echo, arm moving to hook around his waist to pull him close against him. Just for show, or to intimidate them, Raphael’s shed his human appearance for his devilish one, skin deep carmine, iris burning bright gold on dark sclera. 

“Welcome back”, he lilts, hands and arms open as he stretches his wings, showing off their ridiculous span before he folds them neatly behind him. “If you’ll follow me to my office, we will be more comfortable there.”

Their steps echo in the halls, all marble and intricately woven tapestries - he has taste, if anything, not to make the place look like a den of evil like you’d expect from a Devil with ambitions such as his. Even the heat is quite pleasant, like basking in the sun after a week of spring rain. It’s quite a large house, too, some doors open on cozy drawing rooms, many closed. Echo can see Astarion’s eyes quickly move from a feature to another, lingering on every lock. He’s memorizing every corner of this place as they walk through it, and the thought that his vampire is already planning a heist in the house of a seemingly very powerful cambion brings the ghost of a smile to his lips.

Raphael’s office is as elegantly decorated as the rest of the House, though more intimate, velvet and chiselled wood, and a burning fire in the hearth, which, if unneeded, certainly does bring a certain atmosphere. The cambion walks around his desk - mahogany, of course, massive, and gestures to the chairs on the other side for the two visitors to sit. Astarion reluctantly lets go of Echo to sit, legs elegantly crossed, while Echo struggles not to sit as he usually does, one leg folded up, or turn it over to straddle it. He figures that’s not really proper to go negotiate a contract on his soul - or part of it, at least.

“Now”, Raphael starts, clapping his hands together. “Here is a little draft I’ve started working on, if you’d like to take a look.” He snaps his fingers again, and a scroll appears out of thin air, unrolling to reveal a neat infernal script, red so deep it almost looks black. He hasn’t bothered writing in Common, of course.

“Do take your time, dear, I have all the time in the world”, Raphael drawls, eyes lidded like a contented cat.

Echo reaches for the scroll. The paper feels like vellum - might be, actually, though he doesn’t want to think about what sort of veal could give out a sheet so long. Silky soft, warm, he can feel the writing on the other side where the quill’s scratched the paper in. He leans in towards astarion, translating as he goes. Not only is this infernal script, but actual infernal. It’s been a while he’s had any practice, but he can make sense of it, if a bit slowly. He does look up at Raphael from time to time, who’s either seemingly deeply focused on his correspondence, or meeting his gaze with a malicious glint in his eyes.

The contract is rather long, and Astarion keeps marvelling at Raphael’s craftiness in his turn of phrases, in the legal sense, of course. It is quite helpful to have the ex-magistrate around, little glasses perched on his nose, to point out subtleties that would have eluded Echo, word-crafty as he is. That’s all the danger in Raphael, millenia of experience in how to best tighten the noose around a human soul in verbose legal jargon, all with the fluidity and lyricism to conceal any nefarious intent.

“I do hope you’ve brought more paper”, Echo says, lips curled up in a smile. “I have some corrections indeed.”

Raphael grins, leaning in towards him.

“Do tell.”

× × ×

“I have to say, I am not fond of ‘when desire and need strikes’ as a denomination for when you can summon my client's services”, Astarion pipes up, clearly enjoying himself quite a lot, the way he puts emphasis on his words. 

The devil leans back in his chair, opening his hands. “Considering your client would have free reign to use the power I provide him whenever his desire strikes, I think that is a fair equivalence”, he replies. He's probably used to having that sort of lazy argument work on his other clientèle. The mischievous glint in his eye confirms he's expecting more from the duo, however. 

“In theory, removed from all context, of course. You know as well as I do that you summoning me has not the same implication as me summoning the Hunger of Hadar with your blessing ”, Echo retorts with half a laugh, to which Raphael brings a hand to his heart in mock offense. 

“Yes, I do think we ought to clarify, how often, and how long you should be able to summon my darl- client's services”, Astarion adds, correcting himself as if the mistake hadn't been intentional. 

“Fine.” Raphael leans back in, like he's conceded a great deal to the pair. “Do tell me your requirements.”

Echo taps his lower lip with the end of the elegant glass quill Raphael's provided for him, gladly noticing the near imperceptible glance the Devil takes at it. “First, I would want a minimum delay of two weeks between summons”, he starts, fully aware that this number is entirely out of the range of what Raphael might accept. He's right in that he immediately interjects like he's been slapped. 

“ Two weeks ?”, he exclaims, feigning shock and horror. “You must be joking. I will give you two days.”

“Unacceptable”, Astarion replies. “My client will need recuperating time between descents into the Hells that two days simply could not fulfill. Ten days.”

“Outrageous. Four days.”

“A week.”

“Five, and I will throw in Balduran holidays.”

Astarion takes a look at Echo, and they both turn back to the Devil. “Done.” Raphael takes some notes, scrawled in a tiny, neat script on a sheet of paper he’s produced from his desk.

“Now, about the length of my client’s sojourns in your House...”

× × ×

The back and forth lasts a little, Astarion and Raphael battling for who will look most like an outraged peacock at the other’s offers, Echo sitting back with a hardly suppressed smile, arms crossed over his chest. Since time is far from linear in the House of Hope, they’d agree Echo could be summoned for a maximum of twelve hours in the House, passing as only one hour in Faerûn. 

Of course, that would also mean his body would only feel that time passing as a single hour. He and Astarion had calculated, with much harship, and much protest from Raphael - not much more competent than either of them concerning algebra - that should he use his summoning right as often as he’d be allowed, Echo would feel 48 by the time he reached 46, which was not acceptable especially to Astarion, who resented to give up more time with him than absolutely necessary, on his already tragically short lifespan. That specific comment, said by the elf with such legal casualness, still managed to take Echo in an emotional chokehold he needed a few minutes to fully rid himself of.

“About the other thing”, Astarion says after a little pause, clearing his throat.

“The other thing?”, Raphael asks, taking an air of innocence that’s almost hilarious to see on his devilish features.

“Sex”, Echo says, very matter-of-factly, arms still crossed over his chest.

“Go on.” Raphael has a little encouraging gesture of the hand. He will make him spell out everything, of course.

“I need a safeword”, Echo starts, the words coming naturally as most do, the hundredth time they come out of your mouth.

“Don’t you trust me to stop if you ask?” Raphael’s expression betrays an inkling of genuineness, beyond that predatory, sharp smile.

“I will not teach you that begging to stop has its appeal...”, Echo says, noticing the hint of a smirk on Astarion’s face, out the corner of his eye. “... on both sides. I need a safeword to differentiate play and actually needing a break.

Raphael’s wings bristle, a little, though he has a little nod, taking notes again. “Fair enough. Do you have one in mind?”

“ Iceberg .” Easy to pronounce, easy to say loudly. Thematically appropriate. Raphael’s smile twitches, and he writes it down.

The rest comes easy. It’s only a checklist of boundaries, and he’s very intimate with those. Nothing unsanitary save for bloodplay. Nothing in public, nothing that would cause permanent death, dismemberment, injury, annoying little conditions like pregnancy, or scarring. That last point, Raphael protested.

“If I am to be your patron, I should bear some mark on you for the length of our agreement. It is common practice, for Warlocks and their Patrons”, Raphael explains, like it bears no arguing.

“Like Mizora’s little gift to our dear friend Wyll, you mean?”, Astarion jibes, mimicking horns sprouting from his head.

“That specific gift was a punishment, rather”, Raphael corrects, raising a finger. “That sending stone he uses as an eye would be a more apt example, for instance.”

“I am not letting you replace one of my body parts, Raphael”, Echo sighs, tapping his fingers over his arm.

“Nor would I want to!”, the Devil replies, opening his hands in good faith surrender. “I only want to be allowed one mark.”

Echo and Astarion share a look. “Did you have anything in mind?”, Echo asks, somewhat suspiciously. Raphael claps his hands together, and stands up.

“Glad you asked, dear.” He strides to a console on the side of the room, and gets a box made of dark, lustered wood, mounted on small feet, intricately carved and gilded. He sets the box on the desk, in front of Echo, and invites him to open it as he sits back in his chair.

With a last quizzical look to the ever impassible cambion, Echo lifts the top of the box to examine its contents. Laid on a deep red velvet cushion, are two matching golden cones, made of intricate, sharp filigree, two tear-shaped rubies dangling from the pointy ends. Astarion’s leaning in with an appreciative little hum - he’s always had an eye for the finer things in life, and they definitely are that.

“I did notice you enjoy to adorn your horns”, Raphael says. “These would have to be fitted, of course, but I figured these would be discreet enough for your liking, and obvious enough for mine.” He looks very sure of himself, which is infuriating mostly because it’s warranted, considering the way Echo looks at the pieces of jewellery. These look like they’ve taken great craftsmanship, and time . Makes him wonder, how long Raphael’s been planning this deal? How long since he’s been sure enough Echo would consider it? To be so utterly familiar with the bard’s tastes?

“It works”, Echo says, as flatly as he can, gently closing the box’s lid. The tone doesn’t matter to Raphael, the Devil’s seen what he needed.

“Good”, he near-purrs, making Astarion’s ears twitch in annoyance at the sound. Nails clicking as he taps them over the wood of the desk.

“I think we have covered most of everything”, the elf interrupts, drawing Echo’s gaze back to him. “Anything else you can think of, darling?”

The tiefling thinks, a little, quill rested on his lip again. Once he notices that little dip in his gaze again, he leans back in his chair again. “I think we’re good.” Raphael’s expression shifts, near-imperceptibly, not long enough for Echo to really read into it. The excitement of the whole situation, negotiating a deal with a Devil , cools down until he starts to feel that little dread again, the natural one any sane person should feel when dealing with a Fiend.

“The amended contract will come to you as soon as possible”, Raphael says as he stands up, Echo and Astarion following suit. “In the meantime... Sleep well.” He raises his hand, and in a snap, the pair are yanked back into the cold night air, only the faint scent of cherries and cedarwood hanging to their clothes proving they were ever gone.

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Comments are super appreciated, and you can dm me if you want to be on the taglist if that’s still a thing people do!

[darksunrising]

Bard On Bard Violence (2/?)

Masterlist of the Echoes of Faerûn Series

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Rating / Warnings : Mature audiences.

Fandom, Pairing : Baldur's Gate III, Raphael x Tav (focus), Astarion x Tav (background)

Author’s notes : Little transition chapter that really should have been part of chapter one! Echo gets help from the one person he's sure wouldn't judge him from pursuing a Devil's help...

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Echo climbs down from the windmill still somewhat shaken, one-handed since he’s realised he doesn’t have any pockets in that outfit - which, in itself, is reason to be shaken. Fingers curled up tight against the now cooled little piece of metal, making his way through camp mechanically to go back to his tent. A familiar voice, insistent, manages to drag him out of his daze, and he turns to meet a carmine gaze, glimmering under a quizzical, perfectly arched brow.

“Darling, is something the matter?”, Astarion asks, seeming more curious than truly worried. “You look... Dreadful, really.” He’s never bothered to mince words, and it would have brought a smile to Echo’s lips, were he still not that flustered. The vampire’s hand finds his, only two fingers hooking into Echo’s, who completes the gesture. He’s come to enjoy this, having that bit of casual contact between them, unacknowledged, uninvasive.

“I... Had a very strange five minutes”, he says, trying to find some way to make it make sense.

Astarion tips his head to the side, just a little. “Is it because we reached the city?”, he asks, gently. “Are you still worried about running into-”

“No-”, he interrupts, shaking his head. “Gods, I wasn’t even thinking-” His free hand comes to his face, rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose to prevent a surely coming headache. Astarion waits, patiently, for him to elaborate. He doesn’t do that often, which is a testament to how absolutely rattled Echo has to look.

“Raphael came to see me”, he says, after a few steadying breaths.

“Just now?”

“Just now.”

“That nasty little Devil, didn’t even come down to say hello. I’m apalled.” It’s just a bit theatrical, enough to have the corners of Echo’s mouth curl into a tiny smile. “... What did he want?”

Echo sighs, and gives a little look around. Shadowheart and Lae’zel are chatting - or fighting again, he’s given up trying to differentiate the two. Halsin, Jaheira and Gale are going aroud the campfire, arguing about the receipe for whatever they’ll be eating tonight. Karlach’s having a very loud laughing fit over something Wyll said. “I’d rather this stayed private for now-” Astarion immediately pulls the kicked puppy look. “- from the others, Gods, let’s just find someplace private, yes?”

Astarion’s smile turns wry again, and he slips his hand into Echo’s properly, to lead him out of the camp. “Let’s.”

×××

Echo doesn’t lie, doesn’t hide anything from Astarion. It’s not in his nature, and he really does need his help, or at least, his opinion. He stays silent a moment, dreadfully uncharacteristic of him.

“I... Don’t think it’s a bad deal”, he finally says, looking back at Echo. “Obviously needs to be thoroughly negotiated, we aren’t going to be that sort of Devil clients, but... I think this could be quite advantageous.”

It’s not that this answer surprises him, though... “He might want to sleep with me, part of what he considers entertainment.”

“Well, I assume since you’re considering that deal, you’re not entirely repulsed by the idea”, Astarion retorts, teasing.

“That’s neither here nor there. I mean, I have eyes, but-” He sighs, hand squeezing Astarion’s lightly. “I’m not about to put us into jeopardy just for a few spells.”

He does notice a flicker of reassurance, pass through Astarion’s eyes. It’s not like they’ve ever had that deep of a conversation over their degree of exclusivity - or if that sort of payment in kind was to be considered cheating. It’s not been needed so far, but the question bears asking.

The elf gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind Echo’s horn. “Oh, darling, never worry about that- about us. You know me, and better yet, I know you. I trust you.” His free hand goes to Echo’s chin, and he plants a light kiss on his lips. He pauses a little, still relaxed with that gentle loving smile he’s started allowing him to see more often. That doesn’t last, and his expression turns a bit more wry, fingers trailing down Echo’s neck before he retracts his hand altogether. “However...” Astarion pauses, making Echo raise an eyebrow. The vampire grins in that specific way that means he’s found the means to raise some chaos.

“I was a magistrate. I could help you... Negotiate”, he says, like he’s savoring a delicacy. He looks so excited, it makes Echo huff out a little laugh.

“Do you think Raphael would enjoy me lawyering up?”

Astarion has a bright, slightly devious laugh, grabbing Echo’s waist to pull him flush against him. The tiefling giggles, throwing his arms over his lover’s shoulders. “Oh, he would definitely resent it. Hence, why we should absolutely do it.”

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Comments are super appreciated, and you can dm me if you want to be on the taglist if that’s still a thing people do!

[darksunrising]

Bard On Bard Violence (1/?)

Masterlist of the Echoes of Faerûn Series

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Rating / Warnings : Mature audiences.

Fandom, Pairing : Baldur's Gate III, Raphael x Tav (focus), Astarion x Tav (background)

Author’s notes : I really like the "sex contract" trope. However, I really like to be an annoyance even more, so I just wanted an excuse to write my Bard Echo negotiating such a contract with Raphael, with the help of his ex-magistrate current-boyfriend. It will contain The Sexy Scenes later, so minors begone.

For reference, Echo is a tiefling bard, and a trans man.

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

Perched up at the top of a broken-down windmill, Echo has been trying for a while to settle the anxiety knotted in his gut since they’ve left the now Un-Shadowed lands. After so long constantly on the lookout for the smallest shift in every shadow, considering every mannerism, every turn of phrase to slink by the Absolute’s cult, that first moment of peace, of quiet, feels like impending doom.

In some way, it had been easier to keep focused on the all-around imminent threat of death, to not think about anything else. To not keep count of how many times he’s had to bring back his companions from the brink of death, or beyond. How he’s felt the cold embrace of death twice himself now, and every time, he’s left something behind. An ache that just won’t leave, a scar that just won’t heal, a memory that just won’t come back.

He shivers under the evening wind breezing through the fine linen of his nightshirt, eyes glazed over towards the setting sun, blazing the sky in reds and oranges. His hands are clasped tight together, massaging the tremors out of the tendons, the crushed, aching nerves at the tip of his fingers. He knows trembling hands are a death sentence, for a bard. And yet, he’d still suffer the bruising bite of his rapier’s hilt, still play twice as hard if needed to keep their foes chained down, frightened, weakened. To keep people he loves alive, just a bit longer.

Echo doesn’t immediately register the gentle smell of cherries and amber, but he does notice the heat, even if it’s too late. "My, my, little mouse...", a low, silky voice slips into Echo's ear. "So unlike you to be caught off your guard."

Echo jumps, flipping himself around, back pressed to the wooden beam he'd been leaning on. "Fuck, Raphael, how long-", he starts, and forces his mouth shut to take a deep, steadying breath, through the nose. 

"Not long. You looked so... Pensive, I resented to interrupt", the cambion replies. As most often when he visits in Faerûn, he is donning his human disguise, warm brown eyes glimmering with amusement as he looks down at the poor surprised tiefling.

"Of course you did", he replies, between his teeth. He does manage to regain some composure, some dignity. Not all, mind you, he's still in sleepwear, far from the embroidered, polished, buttoned to the neck sort of clothing he usually favors to meet with the likes of Raphael. "Did you just mean to give me a heart attack, or is there an actual purpose for your visit?"

"Oh, baring claws, are we?", the Devil retorts, letting the red skin and sharp nails slip through as he curls his fingers in, just for that little mocking gesture.

"You know how I do enjoy an extended metaphor." The same sarcasm is offered to the fiend in response, Echo's arms crossing over his chest in a vague, half-unconscious effort to look more imposing. It's mostly lost on his smaller frame, at least half a foot shorter than the other man (horns included). Raphael hums, his eternal infuriating little smile dancing on his lips. He takes lazy steps towards Echo, up into his personal space.

"I did want to see how you were faring, after all that... Unpleasantness, at Moonrise Towers." His hand comes up to Echo's face, who doesn't budge an inch. He's fishing for a reaction, and he'd rather not give him that pleasure. Raphael's thumb brushes over the scar that now adorns the side of his chin, biting down from his lip in a thin, pale line.

"We made it out fine", Echo says, voice coming out a bit too flat for his usual lyricism.

"So I see." His hand drops from Echo's face, with an almost gentle little scrape of his nails over the underside of his jaw. He chooses to believe the little shiver that runs down his spine is only due to the cold, and peels himself from the balustrade Raphael now leans against, eyes turned to the blazing horizon.

"I came to make you an offer", the Devil says, after a moment of silence Echo refuses to fill.

"My soul is not for sale", Echo replies, almost instantly, and Raphael makes a little gesture as if to swat away a fly, eyebrows scrunching up in annoyance.

"Yes, yes, so you've said." He leans on an elbow, the dying sunlight bringing a fire to his iris that's not entirely unlike his actual eye color. "This is not what I am after... Yet", he adds, playfully cocking his head to the side.

Echo rolls his eyes. In theory, he knows better than to listen to a fiend's offers. They've rather lucked out with Astarion's 'deal' to bring Yurgir back to the House of Hope, but he doesn't trust Raphael to not be the sort of Devil to plan for the long term. Get their trust, get them to like him, even, and come out on top with one of their souls in his clawed hands.

And yet.

"I'm listening."

Raphael's face splits in a delighted grin, and he clasps his hands together. "I knew you had some sense in you. Now-" He removes himself from the balustrade, imposing his full height on Echo once again. "I have the suspicion that being so thoroughly surrounded by powerful warriors and casters, you might find yourself..." He searches for his words, for effect. Echo indulges him, as he always does. "... At a disadvantage."

Echo is almost sure those words, as most coming out of the Devil's mouth, are practiced, though he can't really fault him for that. There's something... Enjoyable, about the way he performs his role to the perfection, all while seeming so utterly harmless. Trustworthy, even. That's where the danger lies, he supposes. He doesn't say anything, not wanting to interrupt his monologue with more than an encouraging eyebrow raise. Raphael has a little satisfied hum in response.

"I could give you access to some of a Warlock's knowledge to better protect yourself, and more importantly, your little companions", he continues. A little sting, right to Echo's heart, though his face remains impassible. It's not hard to know that would be the string to pull to convince him. He knows his talents have their uses, he does, but as soon as they're in actual combat, he can't help but feel... Useless. Hanging out at the edges, healing those he can, trying to buy some time, frighten their adversaries, but in the end, nothing to match Gale's fireballs or Karlach's axe.

"Supposing I were interested", he starts, eyebrows knitting together as Raphael's smile immediately shows teeth again, "Supposing. What would you want in exchange, if not my soul?"

Raphael's eyes narrow, and Echo swears he can see his pupils dilate. "Your particular set of skills, of course, what else could you offer that I could not get elsewhere?" He pauses a second, just to let the implication dawn on Echo, and interrupts just as he's about to open his mouth. "Still living mortals are such a... Delicacy, to have in the Hells, and I need a performer when I entertain. You do have experience with such arrangements, don't you?"

Echo's heart skips a beat, and a second, aching like Raphael had reached through his ribcage to grasp it in his hand. His face falls with it, only a second, more than enough for Raphael to know his hook is dug deep into Echo's skin.

"Maybe it's not the sort of experience I want to reiterate", he says, voice carefully controlled not to shake.

Raphael leans in, just a little, eyes dark, piercing through him like he's made of paper. "I could give you so much more than they ever did. Real power, real security. Something tangible."

"And all of that for the price of my company and my music, is it?" He does try to sound as sarcastic as possible, though his voice trembles a bit, infuriatingly. Raphael takes an invading step towards Echo, finally managing to make him give up ground, and step back to the balustrade. It presses into his back as he flattens himself against it, hand graspig for a secure hold into the wood.

"Your company”, Raphael starts, slow, measuring his effect. “And anything I could ask of you if it suits my desire."

Echo knows he's not helpless. He could scream, and have eight very capable people ready to tear the Devil to shreds. He could run. He could tell him to go fuck himself.

"I won't become your on-call whore for a few spells." He tries to sound as dry as he can, though it comes out a bit slurred. Raphael's smile doesn't drop one bit, hand curling underneath Echo's chin to tip his face up. The heat of his skin makes Echo shiver, his face taking a nice purple hue across his cheeks.

"Oh, you can pretend you are above this, but you can't fool me, little mouse", he purrs, shifting to a proper grip on the tiefling's jaw that draws an unfortunate whimper from him. "I have seen how you look at me, I can hear the way your heart beats for me."

The heady aroma of Raphael's perfume makes it that much harder to focus, and Echo's eyes keep dropping to the Devil's lips despite his best attempts to hold his gaze. And Raphael notices, of course he does, his smile digging lines into his skin as it reaches his eyes. His hand withdraws, the tips of his fingers gently brushing across his jaw as it does.

"I will let you think on it", he says, and produces a small piece of metal between his fingers. "Use this to play, and I will know to come for you", he says, infuriatingly confident that Echo will call for him, as he places the pick in the tiefling's hand. His fiendish appearance flickers over his face, before he raises a hand, and snaps himself away in an elegant swirl of smoke and embers. Echo remains, frozen, with all proof of the encounter the small, chiselled pick, near warm enough to burn in the palm of his hand.

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Comments are super appreciated, and you can dm me if you want to be on the taglist if that's still a thing people do!

[darksunrising]

Echoes of Faerûn Masterlist

The adventures of Echo, a Tiefling Bard, after getting quite too literal brainworms.

[ Honey, don't feed it. ] In planning, focused on the relationship Echo forms with Astarion.

Bard on Bard Violence - Echo x Raphael (focus), Echo x Astarion (background), Echo x Haarlep (situational).

After the events of Moonrise Towers, and once they've actually reached the outsirts of Baldur's Gate, Echo is starting to feel like his status as a bard makes him a bit short of useless in combat. Fortunately, a certain Devil has taken some interest in him, and seems more than willing to offer power, in exchange for... favors. Fortunately, Echo's dating a former magistrate, who's more than willing to help him negotiate.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 (upcoming...)

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia Hiatus, an update!

Hi everyone !

So, as you may have noticed, I haven’t updated in a while. That’s due to a lot of stuff, including quarantine, depression, focusing on my thesis, and also realising some stuff in terms of Gender that makes me want to rethink Eris’ character. I also have to say I’ve re-read my writing, and I’m not all that satisfied neither by the plot, nor by the quality of the writing, especially since i’ve been interacting a lot more with native english speakers since then.

Anyway, I am planning on not following the story, but rebooting it. The same characters will still be there, and the plot will be very similiar, but hopefully, better and more refined. I’m working on the plot and character arcs, because I do want this to actually be good, and something I can be proud of!

I also am going to change this blog’s URL from wannabebloodsucker to darksunrising, and I will make a little post just for that.That’s more of my own preference, because I think the current URL is sort of goofy now, lmao.

Thank you so much for your patience, and actual updates are coming!

Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy @lost-girl-inc @lowkeyofsassguard @carly-0-5

[darksunrising]

Hii I'm reading your story and I absolutely love it❤ I'm sorry that you are having a writing block but let me tell you that whenever you'll return to write what will come out of it will be wonderful, may you please add me to the tag list? I would really like to be notified when the next chapters come out, thank you💕

Hey there ! Sorry for the long wait, things are a bit hectic at the moment! I'll add you to the tag list, i'm actually working on a post explaining stuff about the hiatus - I did one on AO3, but forgot to update here too. I'll add you to the tag list, and i'm glad you liked that story <3

[darksunrising]

Hey! You haven’t updated in a long time:( How are u doing? Hope u are alright

Hey, thank you for asking! I'm currently very caught up in school work, and haven't really found the time to write! Plus, quarantine sort of pulled me in a writer's block.

I will probably start again this summer, the plotline is done, so I actually know where it's going!

Thank you for staying around and being patient, Sola Gratia will be back! ♥️

[darksunrising]

Can I be tagged for Sola Gratia when it comes out of hiatus? ❤

Sure, I added you to the taglist <3

[darksunrising]

Update on current events

Hi everyone, sorry for the long radio silence ! My whole country is in quarantine, which means that my school work takes a lot of my time, and given a billion things that happened on me very hard, I haven’t been able to write so much.

Sola Gratia is on temporary hiatus, until I can get back to it.

The plotline is completely planned out though, so you will live to see it finished ! Sorry about the lack of updates, i’m trying my best to get back to it as soon as possible !

Thank you a lot for your support, and all the new followers, it always makes me smile ! See you all soon, and in the meantime, have a nice quarantine !

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (17/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : Heavy horror themes, body horror, violence, non consensual blood sucking.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 17/? (2314 words)

Author’s notes : Eris is back, for better or worse...

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“Professor ? Would you have a minute ?”

I snapped my head up, suddenly realizing I had been staring into the void for the better part of an hour. Popping out of the office's doorframe, Stephan Helder's familiar, disheveled head of dark blond hair of made me force a little smile. I passed my hands over my face, and invited him to come in. It was already late, but I knew he preferred to work in the school library than at home, which was understandable.

He stepped in, carefully closing the door behind me, as if doing it too loud would startle me. He put down his heavy-looking bag on the floor, and took a seat across from my desk, nervously bouncing his leg. I'd learned to know it wasn't from actual anxiety, but more of small quirk of his. It tended to unnerve me, but I did my best not to be concerned by it.

“So, what can I help you with ? Everything going fine in your classes ?”, I asked.

“Oh, yes, sure, everything's great. I mean, I'm not really here for me.”

He took a pause, staring at me. “Well, what is it then ?”, I pressed, puzzled.

“I-I was worried about you, professor, actually”, he began, avoiding my gaze by looking intensely at the leather-bound version of the Odyssey, at the end of my desk.

“Worried about me ?”, I only repeated, hoping to have a bit more information.

“Well, you haven't been responding to my e-mails in some while, and, no offense, but you look sort of tired.”

That kid would be the end of me. I leaned back into my seat. He was a bit annoying at times, but his boldness was at the very least amusing. I smiled at him, hoping it would put him a bit more at ease, as I could see he was already regretting his last sentence.

“I am tired, actually, but you'll see this when you'll try and get a doctorate”, I joked.

That seemed to make him have a couple of laughs, but he still had that crease between his thick eyebrows.

“I know you met my mother”, he told me.

Ah. He looked almost apologetic. Children seem to often have to find excuses for their parents, as they're often more conscious of the feelings of others, while adults mostly aren't. I knew that look, as I had found myself presenting it a lot.

“I have met Mary Van Helsing, yes.”

He shifted on the edge of his seat. “She told you about professor Balaur, didn't she ?”

Gods, more lies. What the hell was I supposed to tell this kid ?

“She did, although I'm... not sure what to think of it”, I prudently told him.

“I'm sorry”, he almost cut me off. “I'm- I'm the one who told her about him, I was worried and I didn't think she'd actually come to you. I know she can be... Well. You know.”

I wasn't even angry at him. I could have been, easily, especially given how on edge I was. I couldn't imagine what it would have been like. As children, we believe in monsters, hiding in the closet, or under your bed, lurking in the shadows. But at the very least, you had your parents reassure you, tell you they aren't real. That they can't hurt you. I wondered if his parents told him about all they did. Mary Van Helsing didn't seem like the sort to go soft, but I hadn't met his dad. With luck, he was a regular guy, and took care of not traumatizing his kid into anxiety disorders and paranoia. Although, on that particular count, he had been right. I wished he'd kept his worries to himself. Then again... That was an odd coincidence that he should show up exactly the semester after I met Vlad. I think he believed it was just that, a coincidence, but I was starting to suspect foul play there. Mary Van Helsing didn't seem like one to leave things to fate.

“Don't worry about that”, I tried to reassure him as best I could. “I work with medieval historians all the time, it takes a lot to scare me.”

He had a little laugh, sounding less nervous ans shaky than before.

“You should know”, he added, a bit hesitant. “My mother has her flaws, but she is rarely wrong. Professor Balaur is often around you... I can only tell you to be careful.”

I smiled, and promised him I would be. Gods, if he knew. He had a few more questions, about my class and the use of some cartography software that I knew for a fact was nightmarish to use. He then took his leave, while I remained seated in my office, without really having a reason to.

I say “my” office, even though I supposedly share it with two other doctorate students. They were rarely there, and if it was only a coincidence that we never crossed paths, they didn't seem to mind that I used half their shelves for my own stuff, and even their desks. More often than not, then, even here, I was alone. Now that I thought of it, my life since I finished my master's degree had been more nocturnal than ever. If you asked anyone who would be more likely to be a vampire between Vlad and I, I'd be the surer choice.

Realizing that I wouldn't be able to get any more work done tonight, I decided to take my leave for the day. It was close to midnight, and the last tramways ran little after that hour, so if I wanted to avoid two hours of walking, I should probably find a way to get that last one. I gathered my stuff, and slipped my laptop into my bag. Once again, at that sort of hour, no one remained on campus. The empty corridors seemed too long, too narrow, repeating my steps after me, just to spook me. You know, that feeling when you start thinking “what if someone followed me”, and the more you try to brush it off and make light of it, the more you want to walk faster, and dread looking back ?

At this point, I was practically running, when I forced myself to get a grip. I breathed in, deeply, and stopped. Standing in the middle of the main hall, only lit by pale moonlight, I controlled my breathing until my legs stopped shaking. Slowly, but deliberately, I turned back, my heart sinking into my stomach. Obviously, there was nothing to be seen.

A bit reassured, if not completely serene, I continued towards the exit, and stepped out into the cold night air. If the silence of the inside was eerie, outside, the multitude of noises the night produced were worse. A rustle of leaves, a gust of wind, howling and whistling in the crooks of the buildings. I sighed. Everything was fine. Creepy atmosphere never killed anyone, as far as I was aware of. Still, I walked as fast as I could, not wanting to linger for more than absolutely necessary.

Eris...

The voice made me stop dead in my tracks. It echoed in my mind, soft, and deep, but somewhat... Metallic. Scraping. Like rusty gears coated in honey. I wondered for a second if it might have been Vlad, playing a very questionable prank on me. He didn't seem like one to particularly enjoy practical jokes, except the occasional dramatic entrance. I elected to ignore it, and started walking again.

Eris.

This time, the voice was insisting, more firm. It still seemed to come from deep withing myself, which was... unnerving, as it left no idea as where to look for it. I stopped once again. Bracing myself, I turned, looking back. Nothing, no one.

Right behind you.

I swiftly turned around, not freezing for whatever miracle, only to gaze onto the empty campus once more. That was, until I turned back, and noticed a silhouette, over in the distance. It was tall, long. It almost looked like it... Shifted, undulated in the wind. Like something you see through great heat. It was dark, so much that I couldn't actually distinguish any particular features, except two bright dots of light, where its face would be. I didn't dare move, or blink. I was sure if I moved a muscle, or looked anywhere else, it might disappear, or move closer, like a sick game of 'Red light, Green light'.

Eris.

The voice was even more grating, dark, so low that I could feel it vibrate in my bones. I had the gun. In a pocket I quickly sewed in the lining of my coat. I knew where it was, the movement I'd have to do to take it. Yet, I was unable to move. No matter how hard I tried, no matter the tears starting to stream down my face.

I think fear doesn't begin to describe what feeling was settling all over my body, from the pit of my stomach. It stretched over my every limb, like a fungus, spreading to every cell, encasing every bone in a mycellium of primal dread. The only sound I could hear was that of my own raspy, trembling breathing, coming out choked, and leaving me craving for air. I heard the faint sound of Leah's ringtone, in my pocket. It turned off.

It didn't move, yet was closer. It wasn't a thing. It didn't feel human, it didn't feel neither here nor elsewhere. A persistence of vision, engraved into my iris. For a moment, I wanted to believe I only fell asleep at my desk, and the whole thing was just a nightmarish delirium. Leah's ringtone broke the silence again, and turned off. Again.

It was feet from me now. I could make out the vague outline of a suit, that hung weirdly on the body. The body... If you could call it that. It could have looked like a human, if you only glanced at it, from afar. I didn't have that sort of luck, however, and was very privy to its deformities. The sleeve stopped at mid-forearm. A long, thin forearm, hairless, skin white as parchment, so dry it looked like it would crumble to ash if I touched it. The hands were swollen, too long, too... they almost looked like someone gave a vague instruction as to what a hand looked like, and it grew them from that description. My eyes fell on his chest. The shirt was too small, the buttons struggling to keep it in place, even though the thing was sickly slender. What terrified me was the darkness behind the holes, stretched out between the buttons. Not as if its skin was dark in itself, but an utter and complete void.

A hand stretched out, and still, I could do nothing but silently cry as a fingernail dragged across my cheek. Even though the movement was disturbingly light, and slow, I could feel the nail dig into my skin, and blood blend into my tears.

I see why he chose you...

Its mouth did not move. To be fair, it was more of a slightly agape slit than a mouth. The details of its face were fuzzy, shifting, like something... Crawled under its skin. I felt the other hand press onto my back, tearing through my clothes like paper, and into my skin. I couldn't even scream. The hand near my face sunk into my hair, and pulled my head aside, revealing my neck. The slit opened, ripping the skin at the edges as it became larger, revealing dozens of needle-like teeth, gleaming in the absolute darkness of the mouth. The jaw unhinged itself as it opened wider, and lowered into my neck, excruciatingly slowly. I wondered if it enjoyed seeing me sobbing in terror as much as it would enjoy killing me.

I had no doubt I would die, there and then. I started to feel the little points setting against my skin, on my neck, shoulder, my chest. They sank in with no resistance.

What a waste...

I don't know if you have ever had blood sucked out of you, but I wouldn't recommend it. It's not like bleeding out, after a cut. No. You feel your veins forcefully pulse from inside your body, the blood forced to turn back as it was supposed to run the other way. It feels like maggots, running inside your body by the hundred, and the worst part is the sound. That slurping, wet sound of tongue and teeth and the gurgling of-

Everything was dark.

I found myself standing in darkness like I'd never seen before. I had been in caves, lights all out, and still nothing compared to this. I could see myself, but no shadows set anywhere on my body. It was cloaked in some sort of robe, that felt more like a shapeless, thick smoke. I felt some solid ground, though I couldn't have told what it felt like, even barefooted.

“Is anyone here ?”

My voice seemed to carry nowhere. No one answered. Was I already dead ? Was it what death was like ? Unending darkness and silence ? Nothing to feel, to touch, to hear ? The sudden presence that manifested behind me almost made me jump. It might always have been there, now that I thought of it. I didn't need to ask if I was dying. I felt at peace with it, somehow. A low humming filled the silence. Not ominous. Almost like a lullaby. I closed my eyes, not that it made any sensible difference. A small tingle ran over my limbs, and as it went up, I lost sensation to them entirely, until nothing remained, but the humming. Soft, until my mind, like an eye, finally closed.

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Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy @lost-girl-inc

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (16/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : Graphic depictions of violence (death, gore, body horror). Reader discretion is advised.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 16/? (3111 words)

Author’s notes : Leah’s pov. 

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Once I got used to the way Carmilla drove her truck like a bumper car, and made my peace with my imminent death, I realized she actually never was anything close to hitting anything. She just had that crazy energy that called for concern, somehow. When I was able to shrug it off, though, I was actually pretty fun. She kept a hand on the wheel, not seeming to pay much attention to the road at all, and asked me a lot of questions.

You'd think that would be the other way around, but she somehow seemed interested In knowing things about me. She wondered about my hobbies, my research subject, my favorite sound, or if I'd rather have licorice for teeth, or fruit-by-the-foot for arms. We ended up disagreeing on that matter, but to be fair, I figured licorice wasn't that bad for someone who feeds exclusively on blood.

She parked in my street, and I guided her toward a tall, 15-something stories high building I called home. It was old, but not enough as to be aesthetically pleasing like Eris', or even have an old-fashioned charm. Nah, mine was from some forgotten architect's mind from the seventies, who modeled the whole block out of the most boring version of brutalism possible. Like, I had nothing against brutalism per se, Le Corbusier buildings usually slap, but this one... Wasn't it. When I first started to live there, I did the math of how many people could live in such a huge place, and the quick realization that it was well over a three-digit number gave me vertigo for days. As of now, it seemed perfectly normal, and I knew most of the people living there on a first-name basis. Carmilla was looking over the stark lines of concrete, dividing the façade in hive-like rectangles.

“Well, that's... Uninspired”, she commented, which made me laugh.

“You're nowhere near ready for the inside, then”, I replied, fumbling for my keys.

I buzzed us in, the strong, metallic noise of the door making her cringe. I myself took some time to get used to it. The floor was covered in some cheap imitation of marble, and the walls by some faded, yellowed wallpaper no one had bothered changing or cleaning in years. The roof, as was the trend back when it was built, was a dirty white rough plaster, that too never cleaned, as parging was obviously nearly impossible to wash. I called for the lift, giggling at Carmilla's cringe. As the red LEDs showed the lift's slow descent toward the ground floor, I knocked on the wooden frame a few times.

“What's that for ?”, the vampire asked, curious.

“Oh, it's superstition, so that the lift doesn't break down”, I replied, the absurdity of the ritual hitting me as I put it into words.

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“Never said it did !”

As the small screen indicated it reached our floor, with a small, rusty bell sound, I opened the door. It was the kind of elevator that had no doors of its own, but every floor had a swing door, opening onto the shaft. That always seemed like an incredibly hazardous system, especially considering the number of children I spotted running down the corridors every damn day. And no, there was obviously no security close to the doors, meaning anyone could just throw themselves down the elevator shaft at any given time. Miraculously, there had been no incidents since I moved there, except the one instance of a 60-something year-old man breaking his hip. The lift didn't go all the way to match the level, because of God knows what kind of mechanical failure, and he missed the step. Thankfully, the walls are kind of thin here, and his scream quickly alerted a neighbor, who called an ambulance immediately.

Still, there were always stories, the usual type you find in any buildings, really. One lady, scorned by her lover, supposedly threw herself down in despair, her cries still haunting the halls in moonless nights. On the thirteenth floor, the elevator would seem there, but as you'd open the door, you would only see the pitch black darkness of the shaft, and be pushed in. As I myself lived on that particular floor, I never had any instance of dying by supernatural forces in six years of residence. Not yet, at least.

While the lift went up, the familiar slight squeaking noise was the only disturbance to the silence. I propped myself against the wall opposite the door, and she had her elbow pressed against the same wall, nonchalantly leaning over me. I tried looking as casual as possible, but I could somehow feel like she delighted in the effect she had on me. I wondered if it was perfume, but she smelled strange. Not bad, mind you, but something unusual. I could have described it saying it was spicy, yet sweet, like cinnamon and honey in a lemon black tea, but it felt more like a landscape. The more I focused on that perfume, the more everything seemed to fade away, placing images in my mind. Dark, orange dunes, undulating under a deep blue sky, ripples of golden grains softly running across their quiet surface. Tall ridges of red stone, carved by the winds and ancient, long gone rives into maze-like patterns, so narrow the bright moon couldn't fit entirely in the gorges.

The elevator bell suddenly brought me back to reality, and though still a bit shaken, I didn't mention anything. I led her into the long corridor, bathed in an orange, flickering haze by the wall lights. I opened my door with the usual struggle, and as usual, proved the victor, pushing it in. Whoever put it on its hinges obviously did a marvelous job, as it was a bit tilted, and drew a circular black mark where it dragged every time I opened it. Seeing as she didn't get in, I quickly invited her in, closing the door behind her with a kick.

I regretted not putting a bit more order into the flat, even if I had no way of knowing I'd get a visitor. I mean, Eris did come over regularly, but we knew each other long enough that she didn't pay any mind to the mess, knowing where to step to not squeeze out a cable or something like that. It wasn't dirty, I just figured furniture was too expensive and not useful enough as to be something I'd waste money on. Most of my books were stacked in piles along the wall, which was arguably better than standing up anyways, concerning the warping of pages. My couch, tables, chairs were also the results of many DIY weekend with Eris, using pallets we found scavenging around big supermarkets, and a lot of time sanding, varnishing, and painting. Same for the cushions and the like, that we made ourselves too, buying a whole roll of cheap upholstery white fabric, and a metric ton of stuffing. In all, I think we did 90% of the whole house furnishing ourselves. It gave the place a singular look, very colorful, and a bit alien, with all the cables snaking across the walls, and the plants hanging all over from the ceiling or about anywhere. We also made up some overly complicated automatic watering system, that was more or less efficient, and only used whenever I felt like cleaning up the mess.

The point was, it was a weird-ass apartment, and I wondered if Carmilla would like it. She looked around, and I chose not to read into her expression. She went up to a suspended spider-plant, in a pot hoisted up by a hemp net.

“Did you make this yourself ?”, she asked.

“Yeah, the net and the pot, actually”, I replied, anxiously waiting for her appreciation.

She smiled, and gave it a little push, leaving the plant to softly swing around.

“I love it.”

I sighed with relief, which made her laugh. A bit embarrassed, I went to look for my tech stuff, and set it on the bar, booting up the computer. As it took its time, I went over the coffee machine, asking Carmilla if she'd like a cup. She only raised an eyebrow. Ah, fuck me. She said a polite “No, thank you”, yet sounded like she was lightly making fun of me.

The sound of the whirring machine covered the one, a bit more faint, of my long, high-pitched squeal of embarrassment. I always felt like the mere feeling of the hot cup into my hands was enough to start up a working mood. I set the VPN running, for a start.

“So, what exactly should I be looking for ?”, I asked Carmilla.

“I think the records of the latest murders would be a good start, if you can access those”, she proposed, moving over behind me, eyes on the screen.

“If I can access those”, I scoffed, and started typing away.

I did get caught fast last time, but I thought my only obstacle was breaking in, not being anonymous. That time, I wouldn't make that mistake. Their servers were very well protected, but then again, nothing is truly unbreakable. Those especially powerful often get cocky, and being cocky often allows for mistakes. Mistakes I did a great job exploiting, if I do say so myself. Breaking into the archive of MINA's wasn't that hard. I, of course, focused much of my energy being certain I could not be identified. Being inside such a huge building, with tons of different IPs and internet traffic, hiding was not that hard. I came to be pretty disappointed, however, when I could find no trace of any of the documents. Some uninteresting incidents, very easily disputed in terms of paranormal activity, a lot of recordings, all labeled with an identification number, all starting with the letters MAG, which puzzled me somewhat. I didn't think it over much, and reviewed the rest of the files. None matched those that Carmilla looked for. I groaned in frustration.

“I don't think they digitized those files yet, for some reason”, I told her.

“Probably because the case isn't closed yet”, she observed, and took a pause, thinking. “Which means there probably will be more to come...”

“What do you mean ?”

“Could you access the local police radios ?”, she asked, her confidence back on.

Nothing easier. Tapping onto those was fast, and if you knew where to look, pretty efficient. The only problems were the important traffic, which made it complicated to find only the information that actually interested you. Trying to follow murders, while having no idea where to look or when to expect it was a bit complicated.

I set up another post for my accomplice, and we got to listening, me going through the coffee pot, her changing her way of sitting every time I looked up at her. At some point, she was entirely upside down, her legs thrown over the back of the couch. After a while, something finally caught my attention. I quickly called Carmilla over, and she joined me, sharing my headphones.

“... complaint at 231 Cloverfield lane, nearby personnel please respond.”

“Officer Price responding, am in the area, i'll check it out. Do you have specifics ?”

“Affirmative, officer Price. Got a missing person's report for one Edward Leeds, resident at 231 Cloverfield lane, appartment B, break--”

“Go ahead.”

“Got a complaint for a smell of rot coming from Leeds' apartment just now. Possible Major Crime, use code zero.”

“Copy that, am en route. Over and out.”

I looked over at Carmilla. That sounded a lot like something that could interest us. She had the same feeling, and we quickly made our way out. I typed the address into my phone as we took the elevator down. It was a bit less than a ten minutes away, which meant less than five in Carmilla's manner of driving. We were then quickly on the scene, and found the police car sitting in front of the building. I advised Carmilla to park a little ways away, as her car wasn't exactly blending in. We found a spot in a parallel street, and hurried over to the place.

“How are we supposed to get in ?”, I asked my partner in crime.

“I have my idea”, she told me, and undid her braid to tie her hair back up into a tight bun. “Just follow my lead, and we'll be fine.”

Intrigued, I climbed the stairs along with her, and I opened the door, as to be able to invite her in. As soon as pulled on the handle, however, I was overcome with a putrid smell, so thick it started to choke me. I covered my mouth with my sleeve, and reluctantly stepped in, inviting Carmilla to follow me. The door to apartment B was cracked open, which explained why the smell was so strong. Even Carmilla seemed a bit disturbed, which was saying something.

I once again was the first to step in, allowing her to follow. She then took the lead, as we were soon spotted by who I assumed was officer Price. She just had called for backup, and looked pale as a ghost.

“This is a crime scene, you need to step out of the flat”, she urged us, sounding nauseous, but trying her best to be firm.

“Officer Price, we are private investigators for MINA. I'm sure you understand the reason of our presence here”, Carmilla told her, taking a silky, sweet tone.

The officer seemed surprised, and opened her mouth to answer, only an instant, and closed it, as if she forgot what she was going to say.

“We'll need to take a look, please go get some fresh air”, she told her.

The woman seemed confused, but nodded, and left. I looked over to Carmilla. She winked at me, and crossed the living room. If she had seemed bothered by the smell, she barely winced anymore. I felt like I was about to puke, even with the double shield of my sleeve and my hands, but still followed her. Morbid curiosity, maybe. I knew I would regret it. We went towards an open door, leading into a dark room.

The blinds were partly closed, only leaving a thin stream of pale sunlight through. Dust swirled and sparkled in it, and I got lost in the golden dance a second, not really wanting to look anywhere else. My eyes took a moment to get used to the dark. The apartment was ancient, the kind you see on historical TV shows about the 19th century or something. Wooden floors, high ceilings. I started by those, expecting they would be untouched by whatever horror was burning itself into my nose and lungs. That's why I was all the more horrified to see the dark stains on the white moldings, dripping onto the chandelier, where, like garlands, intestines were hanging. Bile surged up my throat, and I almost threw up on the floor. Taking a second, eyes closed, I swallowed, hard. I hadn't paid much attention to the noise, and I only now noticed the buzzing of flies.

I gathered myself, and opened my eyes back. Carmilla was leaning over the bed, hands crossed behind her back. Carefully, apprehensively, I let my eyes follow up to what she was observing. You could definitely tell it had been a human man, at some point. Mostly naked, though strips of fabric clung to the skin, blistered and red, weirdly swollen, like someone tried to stuff him without really knowing what they were doing. Deep gashes ran across the torso, splitting it open, the broken ribs sticking out or sunken in. Most of the organs were unidentifiable lumps of meat, coated in a viscous, yellowed liquid, soaking the sheets and the skin in a sick, brownish sheen.

The part that disturbed me most, somehow, in the atrocious mess, was the left arm. Don't get me wrong, the skin was as red and swollen as the rest of it, but didn't seem to have suffered the same rabid violence as the rest of the body. I got closer, my interest and curiosity momentarily overcoming my disgust. It seemed Carmilla had the same reflexion. No wound seemed to have reached that part, which was odd given the left had been... gnawed, like a dog's chew toy. Only distinctive sign was a single puncture, right where you'd take a blood sample at the doctor's office.

Now that I thought about it, there was surprisingly little blood around the body. A few splatters, here and there, but nothing of consequence. The sheets, that I thought drenched in it, were only imbibed in the juices a corpse produces in decay, and the rot set the dark coloring. If that poor man was killed for blood, and if it had been transfused rather than drank directly from the source, that still didn't explain the carnage.

“This is not him”, Carmilla whispered, almost to herself.

“What do you mean ?”

“This”, she stated, a bit  of anger in her voice, “Is not the Elder's work. This... Undignified slaughter, this macabre display of gore is definitely not his signature move.”

“You think a human did this ?”, I squeaked.

“No. I think he already has created himself Hunters”, she told me, as if I was supposed to know what that meant. Seeing my puzzled look, she kept going. “Newborns, that get him the blood he needs to grow stronger, to survive. Who can't control their impulses.”

Her tone was so disdainful, it almost made me feel inadequate too. She advised we should leave, and I heartily agreed, not too keen on staying in the rancid place. As we left the flat, we started hearing distant sirens. As we passed by Officer Price, Carmilla told her we were never there, to which she nodded, and looked past us like we disappeared. We made our way back to the car, and as soon as it was in sight, I felt nauseous again, and Carmilla barely had the time to pull up my hair as I emptied my stomach onto a street bin. Feeling dizzy, my arms shaking as they held onto the edges of the trashcan, I was only a bit relieved by her hand, softly stroking my back.

“I need to shower for a week, now”, I croaked after spitting out the last of the bile out of my mouth.

She laughed and opened the passenger door for me.

“I'd be honored to help you with that as well.”

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Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy @lost-girl-inc

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia - Masterlist

Accessible via a  page on top of this blog, this is the rebloggable version !

AO3 link

Act I : Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13

Act II : Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 (coming 23/02) - Chapter 17 (coming 26/02)

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia update !

Hey everyone !

First things first, thank you to all the new followers ! Hope you enjoy the series :)

Also, I’m working on chapters sixteen and seventeen, which both have heavy horror themes, gore for 16, and mostly psychological for 17, but I’d feel better warning you about that (there will also be warnings on the episodes themselves).

Anyways, the chapters will most likely be posted this sunday, and next wednesday ! I’ll try to keep that schedule from now on.

Also, if you’re new and want to be in the taglist not to miss a chapter, don’t hesitate to ask in the replies !

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (15/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : No particular warning.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 15/? (2998 words)

Author’s notes : This chapter is under Leah’s point of view ! There will be a few of them from time to time, as I’d like to explore her vision of the events too, but don’t worry, Drac and Eris will be back soon ;)

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I woke up in a cold sweat. Like right after a nightmare, although I couldn't remember anything from my sleep. Hair splayed over her pillow, Eris was still fast asleep. She looked so peaceful, her chest rising softly with every breath. Seeing her so calm almost allowed me to put my mind at ease with the whole situation. She was very far from being an idiot, or careless. If she didn't seem concerned with the man, maybe I could, or should, trust her judgement. She was rarely wrong in her instincts about people. Especially in that situation, I could hardly see her blindly give her trust to someone so dangerous.

Holding back a loud sigh, I checked my phone. It was barely 6am. The dark outside was still bathing the room in a blue haze, the imminent sunrise only betrayed by a faint blush over the horizon.

Knowing there was no way I'd fall asleep again, I jumped down from the bed, leaving Eris to finish her night. As always after a rough sleep, I was dying of thirst. Trying to make as little noise as I could, not to wake my friend or attract any fiend, I slipped out of the room, and made my way back to the living room.

There, an opening in the wall I already had noticed gave onto a dining room, and I figured I would be able to find the kitchen from there. As I crossed the door, I was surprised to see a modern, fully equipped one. I mean, for someone who didn't cook, that was almost suspicious. Shrugging it off for now, I found a glass in a cupboard, and went to the sink to get my nice, refreshing-

“Thought I heard something.”

I jumped, and dropped the glass, which shattered at the bottom of the sink. Quickly turning over, I noticed the tall silhouette leaning on the frame of the door. Letting out a long sigh, I waited a few moments to let my heartbeat to go back to normal. Of course she stayed. Her long, silvery hair was tied in a loose braid, softly swaying in her back. She traded her Renaissance outfit for something more, well, modern, so to speak.

“I didn't think I could scare you like this, please accept my apologies.”

Her tone was sincere, but a twinkle in her eyes, and the smirk settling on her lips told me otherwise. I discreetly glanced around for a weapon of some sort, if it came to that.

“Oh, don't worry, I've already eaten, I'm not here for that”, she laughed.

“Do tell, please. The suspense is killing me.”

That's right, dumbass, be sarcastic with the murder machine, see if that works out. She stepped towards me, and set her elbows on the island, leaning in.

“Let's say you got me curious”, she mused, smiling, her eyes narrowing like a content cat. “Not a lot of people would have dared threaten Drac like that. Fewer have done so and lived to tell the tale, actually.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “Lucky me.”

“Or, more likely, he's not the man he once was”, she retorted, wincing.

More than disdain, a twitch in her eyebrows betrayed worry.

“I am worried”, she told me, as if she'd read my mind. “If we are facing the threat I believe we are, we should need Dracula The Impaler, not Vlad The Tired Grandpa”, she sighed.

Nothing about Vlad screamed “grandpa” to me, but then again, I wasn't that savvy on vampiric standards of fitness.

“Why are you telling me this ?”, I asked, starting to feel a bit curious too.

“Because”, she began, standing back up, “I need your help. I've gathered that you broke into MINA's servers once before, is that correct ?”

Ah, that. I confirmed, nodding.

“Well, every murder I used to attribute to Vlad in the region is immediately classified, and brought to them. If I should hope to find their trail, I need access to those files, or at least, a crime scene.”

She sounded frustrated. Being what she was, I could understand why she'd be a bit reluctant to go find her informations in a vampire hunter den.

“So you need me to find that information, then”, I suggested, crossing my arms over my chest.

She confirmed. I didn't give any answer, and turned to the sink, decidedly picking up the shards of glass, placing them on the counter. I suddenly felt Carmilla's presence close behind me.

“No, let me, you'll cut yourself-”, she softly told me.

Obviously, my finger slipped on the sharp edge, which easily sliced through the skin. Red started pearling at the cut, and I could only let a small “fuck” escape my lips. I froze for a second, maybe waiting for Carmilla's reaction as I felt her breath on the nape or my neck. I barely felt her hands grazing over my shoulders, one taking the glass from me, the other one wrapping around my hand, and bringing it up. Completely stunned, I didn't react as her tongue slowly ran up my finger, catching the drop of blood before it could run further down. She took her time, and as soon as she passed along the wound, a jolt of electricity ran through my body. For a second, I felt my knees give out, but she had me secured, her arm firmly around my waist. As suddenly as she started, she released my hand, and I was surprised to find only a fine white line where my finger was open before. I turned back towards her, and must have looked as confused as I felt, as she started grinning. Her smile revealed two sets of fangs, poking from underneath her upper lip, slowly retracting. For a second, I could have sworn her icy blue eyes were entirely red, but in a blink, they were back to normal.

“Vampire saliva has enhanced healing properties”, she explained. “Otherwise, we'd bleed people out every time we'd like a drink.”

“I just assumed you did”, I replied, feeling out the barely noticeable scar. She had a crystalline laughter.

“Can you imagine ? Humanity would already be extinct, if that were the case. Turns out you don't need much of our help on that.”

“How much blood do you need to be sated, then ?”, I asked, my curiosity taking the lead over my apprehension of the answer.

I couldn't believe I was actually asking those questions. Before she miraculously healed my cut, I still could have believed this was some very advanced role-play situation. There she was, leaning back on the island, lips slightly parted, a low, purring sound faintly coming from deep inside her throat. Those perfectly shaped lips, a perfect golden pink, darker than her skin, tainted on the corner by a drop of red. Her tongue darted out to clean it. I wondered if the feeling would be the same if I kissed her... Fuck, focus ! Focus !

“Let's make a deal, shall we ? You help me with my problem, and I'll tell you everything you wanna know about vampires. Sounds like a fair bargain, doesn't it ?”

I pretended to consider it a second. She played along, even though I knew I usually did a terrible job at hiding my excitement. Don't get me wrong, I was still mostly terrified, but how often do you get to do a study on actual immortal beings ? Were they actually immortal ? Could they eat anything other than blood ? Now that I thought about it, I never saw Vlad eat or drink something, ever. Huh, that should have been a red flag. I held out my hand, and she shook it in a falsely formal way. That had us laughing after a second. God, she had such a pretty laugh.

“Well, you sure changed your mind fast.”

Eris stepped into the room, and sat up on the counter. Her tousled hair was cascading onto her shoulders, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. I suddenly was very aware of the way Carmilla's thumbs slowly brushed over my hands as she held them. I could feel my face go red. Ah, a taste of my own medicine.

“Leah was telling me how she'd help with my investigation”, Carmilla told my friend.

“Really ?”, she sounded genuinely surprised. “How ?”

“I'm hacking into MINA again”, I told her. “I know what to expect now, and Carmilla says it's the best way to get an edge on the bad guy.”

“The Elder”, Carmilla precised, a dark shade over her bright eyes.

Eris nodded softly, her face suddenly drained of all colors. She fidgeted with the belt cord of her pajama pants, doing and undoing the knots at the end. I couldn't believe those assholes at MINA actually showed her pictures. Couldn't imagine what that must have been like... Not pretty, I assumed. I shuddered at the thought that I might have to deal with those in the very near future.

“I'll go find Vlad, we still need to find a way to ensure safety to you both”, Carmilla told us.

She let go of my hands, giving them a squeeze before she left, the click of her heels  fading in the halls. Still perched on the counter, Eris was intently looking at me, and she opened her mouth as to say something.

“Don't ! I'm warning you !”, I interrupted her.

She laughed. “Come on, I'm allowed to point out the irony.”

“There is nothing there to point at.”

“Sure, right. You look thirstier than her, honey.”

I let out a long groan, but couldn't help but smile. I mean, yeah, sure, Carmilla was the most mesmerizing, beautiful woman I had ever seen in my entire life, but did that have to mean I had any feelings for her ? No. I mean, one can appreciate beauty without necessarily falling in love. Iwas fine. I didn't have the time to further defend myself, however, as Carmilla soon came back, in the middle of an agitated conversation with Vlad, in something I assumed had to be a very accented Romanian. I had heard Eris speak it often enough, but hers had to be much more academic than theirs.

“Is everything okay ?”, Eris asked.

“Fine. I was telling Carmilla how the best solution would be that you both stayed here, where it's safe”, Vlad replied, insisting on the last word.

He somehow looked tired, his complexion almost chalky, eyebrows furrowed in a worried expression.

“And I was telling Vlad we can't let the Elder know we're onto him”, Carmilla insisted.

Vlad cursed under his breath, but Eris interrupted.

“Vlad, I can't stay here”, she told him in a soft, but firm tone. “I have classes, I can't just ditch my students like that. I have a cat that's probably tearing my flat apart because I didn't feed him last night, I can't go on a holiday unprompted !”

“Do you understand the gravity of the situation ? I won't have you end up the main attraction of a Penny Dreadful !”

“First of all, no one talks like that. Second, you gave me a vampire-killing gun for that exact purpose.” She hopped down from the counter, and took a look at me. “I don't know about Leah, but you are taking me back to my place as soon as I'm dressed.”

She took his hand in both hers. They looked so tiny next to his. “I'll be fine”, she almost only mouthed, looking at him, and smiling. He took a moment, then his shoulders dropped in defeat, and he sighed. “Fine”. Who wouldn't have melted at her face, and her little smile ? God, she had him wrapped around her little finger, didn't she ?

She proposed we both got dressed, and I realized I was still only wearing a flannel shirt, mercifully dropping past my mid-thigh. Eris placed a little kiss on Vlad's hand, and I followed her out. She almost gave the impression that she floated more than she walked, a dreamy smile plastered on her lips. As soon as we stepped into her room, I closed the door behind us.

“Alright, something happened”, I accused her. “What happened ?”

She took an innocent expression, but the pink on her cheeks fooled exactly no one. I pressed her, to which she still denied knowing whatever I was referring to. I leapt to her, making the both of us fall onto the bed. I pinned her down, and he pretended to struggle, which had the both of us laughing like schoolgirls. She finally took a deep breath.

“We kissed”, she admitted, avoiding my gaze.

“That's it ? One kiss ? Are you twelve ?!”

I was absolutely outraged. I mean, she had made me used to way better in terms of sentimental gossip. To say the least, she didn't have the most stable, or calm relationships, and I always loved to hear the sordid details. And now, she was blushing like a little girl because of a kiss. I mean, you would have thought a crush on an actual vampire called for a little bit more action, damn. She reached over her head for a pillow, and bashed me over the head with it.

“Oh, shut up !”, she protested. “It's been a long time, alright ?”

“Come on, you broke up with Sonja like two months ago”, I sighed.

“Three and a half”, she clarified, sitting back up.

Ah, leave it to me to bring up an ex and ruin the mood. They dated what, three years, before they started to “drift apart”. I always thought they were great together, and I felt like their break-up made me cry more than the two of them combined. They actually had to comfort me. They tried remaining friends for a while. That's when she started her burn-out, and decided to fuck off to Romania for a week. I never was one to question her process, so me and Sonja stayed out of it and only helped her plan the trip. Turns out, maybe we should have sent her the weather predictions for that week, huh ? As she was already gone, Sonja found a contract in the south of the country, only to come back in the beginning of summer. I figured that might leave Eris the time to heal. And I thought, as she still seemed pretty down after she came back, that the handsome mysterious stranger could help with that. Had I known he tried murdering her a week prior, I would probably have reconsidered.

We both got dressed, changing the subject to her next classes. She barely prepared them, given all that had been on her mind of late. She already had the dreaded meeting with Stephan Helder-Van-Helsing and Laurent, and the latter had agreed to tutor him on his master's degree, enrolling Eris as a secondary tutor. The kid was eager, and she was sure to get an email from him every couple of days, asking for her advice on his research, or sometimes, sending her articles he thought she'd like. She pretended to be annoyed, but I knew she found it somewhat endearing.

As soon as she was ready, she insisted on leaving fast, leaving me alone with Carmilla. I suspected this was some sort of revenge for my plotting at the faire, as she stepped out with a mischievous smile, and a wink. I gave her the finger, and she blew me a kiss. As I closed the front door, Carmilla came into the hall, holding a soviet Union looking industrial computer, and handed it to me. The bitch had to weigh ten pounds.

“Let's not lose any more time. We should get to work.”

“I can't work on this, Carmilla”, I told her with an apologetic smile. “I need my tools. I mean, they caught me once because I was careless. If they even notice someone is trying to hack them again, I'll be their number one suspect.”

She looked disappointed. “Well, what do you need ?”

“I have everything at home. Plus, it's always better to hide in a crowd, the city will be better.”

She nodded along, and clapped her hands together. “Let's go, then.”

“Vlad took the car, didn't he ?”, I enquired as we went outside.

She shook a set of keys between her fingers. “I went for a snack last night, and brought back mine”, she told me, and pointed at a blue pick-up.

It was parked sideways, and the tires had left deep marks in the white gravel. An old Chevrolet pickup, the paint chipping away to show a little rust, but overall, pretty well maintained.

“That's not what I expected”, I told her as I settled on the leather seats.

“Listen, Vlad likes his cars expensive and shiny, I like mine reliable.” she gave a affectionate slap on the dashboard. “I've had her for more than fifty years, and she's never let me down.”

Her comment made me wonder how old she actually was. I mean, Vlad was a few centuries old, and they seemed to know each other pretty well. She probably turned younger than him, as she didn't look more than thirty-five or so. She slipped on a pair of driving leather gloves, and started the car. The engine roared nicely, and I barely had the time to put in my seat-belt before she rushed off into the road. Instinctively grabbing the handle on the roof, I protested.

“Hey, only one of us is invulnerable in here !”

She assured me she never had an accident, which I seriously doubted. I was coming to regret Vlad's smooth driving, compared to speed maniac cackling next to me. She turned on the cassette player, catching the middle of Mr. Blue Sky. She started singing along, and I joined her, laughing as the sun finished to burn up the sky.

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Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy @lost-girl-inc