What even is a vampire, really?
A Baldur's Gate 3 fic - Astarion, Tav - one shot - 248 words
Typically, a nat 20 perception grants a profound truth. However, tonight it merely grants you the privilege of being yelled at.
You ask, "Astarion, weird question... Are you a vampire?
With a hand on his chest, he protests, "Ugh! What a ridiculous, low-brow question, and entirely pedestrian might I add!"
He's animated, amused. He waves his hands down his body, "I mean, honestly, darling. You see a damn fine High Elf who’s only crime is being a touch pasty with a flair for the dramatic and you jump straight to vampire!" He gasps like he's been slapped, "Good Gods, how predictable! Elves can be many things, mind you. Some of us just appreciate a good moisturizer and a shady canopy. I'm sorry we can't all be glistening sun-kissed Wood Elves, that must be very distressing to your bigotry."
He runs a hand over his hair, the sharpness of his eyes never moves off of you, "Next you'll be asking if I sleep in a coffin, or try slipping garlic into my food perhaps. This is profiling, and I'm hurt. Deeply. I may never recover from this blow to my self-esteem."
You recall earlier in the evening, a streak of white flashed through the trees, only coming to a stop once it happened upon a boar.
"I literally watched you bite and kill a boar."
He crosses his arms, you can see the process of crafting an argument play across his face, "You are being incredibly racist right now."
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