On the ninth day of Thiefmas, our pale rogue stole for...Miss Fortune
Day nine of 12 Days of Thiefmas / BG3 12 Days of Solstice prompt event: Tav (Miss Fortune)/Family
Summary: Astarion pulls out old tricks to new ends to charm a jeweler; Miss Fortune gets themselves disinvited from a dress shopping outing when they can't keep their disparaging thoughts to themselves; and Astarion gets ambitious, stealing an extra gift for his lover.
Characters: Astarion, Karlach, Miss Fortune, Figaro Pennygood Word Count: 2.2k (oops again)
(<< Intro) (Day 1) (Day 2) (Day 3) (Day 4) (Day 5) (Day 6) (Day 7) (Day 8)
Read on AO3 if you prefer!
Gift One (continued from Day 5)
Astarion tried to shove down the wriggle of disgust he felt as his body assumed a position all too familiar to him from two hundred years of seduction: one elegant hand splayed out in the jeweler's direction on the counter while his chest leaned in and his charming smile beamed at her, eyes batting.
I'm not seducing her; I'm merely charming her enough to ensure I walk out with those darling earrings, Astarion reminded himself, his muscles loosening as the memories of past tavern lurking receded again.
"And whatever could I help you with?" the shopkeeper asked sweetly, still beaming from her interaction with Lae'zel.
"I'm here for those silver and sapphire star earrings, Miss…?"
"Oh! Uhh, Cromwell!" she offered helpfully with a blush. It was good to know Astarion hadn't lost his charms, but also repugnant to behold the glimmer of desire glittering bright as the jewels all around her. He was not some trophy to be ogled, not merely a pretty—
Focus, Astarion. Eyes on the star-shaped prize. Think of the way your darling Sasha will gasp almost inaudibly when they open the box, as they often do when they're delighted. Or the press of their hand over their mouth that threatens to shroud their delightful smile from your view yet fails entirely because their dimples pop and their eyes blaze. Think of the sweet, tender kiss they'll plant on your lips that you still can't quite believe you deserve, their warm hands on your shoulders, the heat seeping through your clothing. They way they'll whisper "I love you" into your ear like they're divulging a secret just for you…
"Miss Cromwell! How very lovely to make your acquaintance. As I said, I'm here for those earrings right there. I'm—" the lie was ready to leap off his tongue, but the jeweler jumped in first.
"Don't tell me! You must be the new porter for the Durinbolds, right?"
"Why yes, I'm—"
"Flynn! I remember, trust me! You wrote ahead to say you'd be by in the afternoon to fetch these for Lady Durinbold ahead of the big Portyr Solstice ball. So nice to meet you, Flynn."
Astarion was relieved she didn't try to shake his cold hand. In her excitement her fingers instead drummed out a frenetic rhythm on her side of the counter. His smile grew wider and he raked a hand through his hair to tousle it further before leaning in closer and shooting her a smoldering glance.
"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Cromwell. I'm sure we'll be seeing quite a lot of each other from here on out, hmm? But Lady Durinbold is ever so eager to see how these sapphire beauties pair with her gown so if you could package them up nicely I'd be forever grateful to be on my way with haste."
With alarming speed, the woman ducked under the counter, resurfacing with a grunt holding a small black box. With one last glint in the sunlight the earrings disappeared into the box, Miss Cromwell's hand resting over the lid.
"There is the matter of payment," she said carefully.
Astarion was too deep in to distract her and snatch them, he realized. She'd stripped him of a need to offer up his prepared lie but in doing so had pinned him to the spot, stuffed snugly into the role of this Flynn fellow. Ugh, Astarion did not look like a Flynn! More importantly, would it count as stealing if Astarion paid for these? He was beginning to think he didn't care; this jeweler was rather lovely, and she'd taken Lae'zel's intensity in stride. If anyone deserved to receive compensation for her efforts it was her.
Good gods, Sasha's turning me soft. The horror…
But wait, it still counted! He was still snatching these bejeweled beauties right out from under the nose of Lady Durinbold, after all. She would need to find a new set of dangles for the ball.
"Of course! Be a dear and remind me what the total is?" He asked, setting his coin pouch on the counter and making a show of rifling through.
"150 gold."
Worth it. Though if Sasha asks, I paid nothing for these and haven't the faintest idea what they would have cost if I had.
"Here you are, and thank you ever so much! I'm sure Lady Durinbold will be pleased as punch."
With a chipper, heartfelt goodbye, the jeweler waved Astarion off and he slipped out quickly, eager to rejoin with Lae'zel if only to shake off the feeling of the owner's eyes roving all over him.
Gifts Two and Three
Figaro "Facemaker" Pennygood had hovered over to Astarion, Miss Fortune, and Karlach several times while the trio looked for a dress for Karlach to wear to their Winter Solstice party. Wyll seemed to finally be getting the hints that Karlach was weak in the knees for him, and she was hoping to make his heart do its own little dance when she made her entrance in a few days.
Astarion was all too happy to help, not least because he intended to steal something small from the Facemaker's workroom for Sasha as a show of support for their plans to open their own tailor shop later. But then his darling insisted on joining, complicating matters. They despised Figaro, so what reason did they have to come along besides seizing an opportunity to take petty potshots?
And indeed, Sasha was pursing their lips and running their mouth so much they were inadvertently making Karlach feel bad for every dress she showed an interest in. Much as Astarion loved his partner, they had to go before Karlach's quivering lip grew into either a room-wrecking rage or a river of tears.
"My love. My wonderful, considerate, fashion-forward turtle dove. My sunbeam, my—" Astarion began through gritted teeth.
"Get the hells out!" Karlach finished for him, much less charitable and far more irritated. "You're givin' everything I pick out the stink eye, Soldier, and it's making me feel bad."
Miss Fortune winced, rubbing their neck where Astarion usually bit them. But when their eyes drifted back to the most recent dress under consideration, their features once again contorted, wholly unable to keep their face from revealing their disdain for Figaro's handiwork.
"See?" Karlach pushed.
"That one's…fine…I guess. Ugh, all right, point taken. I'll uh…go see if Haverford is visiting his dye shop today. Meet ya downstairs?"
Astarion and Karlach both watched them go, but it wasn't until Karlach tapped him on the shoulder with a cheeky cluck of her tongue that the vampire realized he'd lost himself to watching their rear as it retreated.
"Mh—what?"
"Aw nothin', Fangs. They do have a cute ass, can't blame ya for staring. But you get to look at that ass anytime, and right now you're on a mission. Lock in, Soldier!"
Right. There had to be something at least moderately flattering for someone of Karlach's imposing stature that didn't resemble a shapeless burlap sack. With Sasha's sour puss no longer a detractor, Astarion got to work for real, swishing from display to display thumbing through the more attractive dresses to find something that would work.
There was the problem of fabric for all of them, however. With her incinerating body heat, the typical winter fabrics such as velvet and wool were out; poor Karlach would be miserable. Ah, yes! Even someone as refined as Figaro would have a sale rack to clear out whatever didn't sell during the scorching summer months. Astarion held up his pointer finger and cleared his throat in a bid to get the good-natured dwarf to return when he could.
"Are we finding everything all right? How can I help you, my friends?" Figaro checked in again, hands clasped together in front of his stomach.
A memory flitted in unbidden of the first time Astarion had stepped foot in this shop to find Figaro paralyzed by poison and in the midst of being murdered by Bhaalists. His blood had smelled delectable, even with the paralytic coursing through it…Astarion shook his head to clear it; he'd fed just this morning, and this was neither the time nor place to think of draining the dwarf.
"My fiery friend runs hot, so I'm afraid much of your winter line will be too heavy for her. I don't suppose you could point us in the direction of your remaining summer stock?" Astarion said, head tilting slightly to the side as a playful smile spread across his face.
Figaro looked between the two of them with the fondness afforded only to those one owed their life to. "I'm afraid I've moved them all into my workroom to make space for winter gowns. But! Buuuut, don't despair, old Figaro makes good on his debts. And I promised you fine folks that you'd have your pick from my shop. Why don't we mosey on back and have a look through the summer wardrobe, yes?"
"Let's hop!" Karlach crowed with a leap into the air, the floorboards groaning when she landed.
Rifling through Figaro's leftover summer stock—neatly organized by color in a mahogany wardrobe near the back of his workshop—showed more promise. In little time at all, Astarion had plucked three solid options from the rack that met Karlach's approval and the Facemaker had escorted her to the fitting room to try them on.
This was Astarion's chance. Several workstations lined the edges of the room, but an apprentice's trinket wouldn't do for Sasha; which desk was Figaro's? The tidy one with all the ledgers squeezed between two amethyst book-ends, more like. Upon closer inspection, Astarion noticed something that made his fingers twitch expectantly. Tucked into the back corner of the desk collecting dust and nearly teetering off the edge was a small music box with Dwarven runes inscribed on top.
More mornings than not lately, Astarion heard Sasha faintly humming Dwarven folk songs to themselves while getting ready for the day. The vampire didn't dare point it out to them lest he trigger some insecurity and lose the privilege of hearing their peaceful song-making. But he suspected it had to do with the closest person Sasha ever had to caring family: Randek, would that he were still alive so Astarion could shake his hand for caring for his darling back when no one else did.
But Astarion was their family now; Sasha had made passing comments to that effect several times recently, each time making his eyes water and his chest grow tight with unnameable emotions. And he wanted Sasha to have something that would remind them of that. Without thinking, Astarion nabbed the music box and tucked it into the enchanted bag of holding Sasha had gifted him for storing blood; hopefully the music box wouldn't break any precious vials.
"What do you think, Fangs?!" Karlach laughed, swooping into the workroom so swiftly it made Astarion flinch.
Thankfully, the vampire managed to avoid looking guilty, instead turning at a reasonable speed to take in the sight of his statuesque friend in what was admittedly a lovely summer dress. She turned every which way in a shimmering golden floor-length gown in silk chiffon that had a halter neckline and a keyhole cut-out down the center of her chest that made it appear as if a sunrise were trying to burst through between the pillowy mountains of her breasts.
"Give us a twirl, darling, let's see," Astarion crooned, stepping closer. "Simply divine! It plays to all your strengths, my fiery friend. See how it makes your broad shoulders look proud and strong while tastefully highlighting your scrumptious twins? And that leg slit—Tch!—if the Blade of Frontiers doesn't give you every slot on his dance card that night he's an even bigger idiot than I previously thought."
Karlach's usual orange glow was beginning to turn blue in her version of blushing, her eyes drifting down to the carpet right in front of Astarion's shoes. "Aw, shucks, Fangs. Thanks. I like it too."
"There is one tiny improvement I'd suggest. It could do a better job hugging your athletic waist. There's no time for alterations, but why don't you go ask Figaro to show you his selection of belts? I trust you to pick something complementary."
Did he trust her taste, truly? Well…halfway. But he needed her to distract Figaro long enough to nab what he truly came here for, and that was as good an excuse as any. Turning back to the Facemaker's desk, he saw it: a collection of thimbles, golden and gleaming. Each of them had a different symbol stamped into the flat tops, but one stood out immediately from the rest: a phoenix thimble for Astarion's phoenix, his lover who had risen from the ashes of their former life to become the magnificent bastard he hoped to spend a long time with. And together, they'd build a better life than either of them could have dreamed of before all the madness of their adventure.
It was no effort at all to pluck the thimble from its resting spot and tuck it away before rejoining Karlach out front with an innocent smile gracing his face.
Divider by @/madamesocs
