chapter two also on Ao3 ! Full chapter is below the cut ♡
She could tell that the door to the practice room wasn't fully closed. When the door was flush with its frame, even with music playing at a decent volume, she could usually feel more than she could hear. As Sikah moved to discreetly close the door, she caught a glimpse of the dancer inside.
Weeks had passed since Karach's first and only visit to the studio, and Sikah couldn't help but wonder if she had put the woman off. She'd often been told that she was not the most inviting or approachable and that she had the aura of a classic stereotypical ballerina: cold, brutal, and bitchy.
Granted, Sikah hadn't spent as much time at the studio as she would have liked. After the week of museum renovations had given her a respite, her work had become more demanding with the introduction of the new exhibit. Visitors were more frequent and numerous, and her boss had asked her to take occasional weekend shifts to manage the new part-time staff.
That weekend, Sikah decided to stop by the studio for a few hours to decompress after a particularly grueling shift. Her body was already tired, but she needed to blow off some steam before she felt too exhausted. She pulled into the parking lot and grabbed her bag from the back seat of her car, waved routinely to Jenevelle as she walked through the front door, and ducked into the staff room to change. Sikah was surprised by the presence of music as she walked down the hallway to the regularly empty practice rooms. It was different from the elegant, classical music that typically played in the studio; a low, steady bass pulsed from behind the door, and Sikah could feel it sending vibrations through her feet.
She could tell that the door to the practice room wasn't fully closed. When the door was flush with its frame, even with music playing at a decent volume, she could usually feel more than she could hear. As Sikah moved to discreetly close the door, she caught a glimpse of the dancer inside.
Street-style hip-hop was something Sikah considered to be on the other side of the dance world, and Karlach was moving in a way she'd never been captivated by before. Despite her powerful, abrupt footwork, the agonizing screech of sneaker soles against the laminate flooring was absent. Every flex and roll of her body was calculated and sharp, and though she was practicing a choreographed routine, she was executing it in a way that seemed organic. Karlach was enticing, and Sikah was admittedly intrigued.
Karlach’s concentration broke as the track faded. She glanced toward the door and grinned as she spotted her audience, wiping the sweat from her brow.
"Hey, you! Enjoying the show?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I could hear your music from down the hall. I came to close the door." Sikah folded her arms across her chest and did her best to ignore the blush that was teasing her cheeks.
Karlach chuckled as she grabbed a bottle of water from her bag. She downed half of it before sitting on the floor. "But you didn't. So that's different, isn't it?"
The ballerina was silent.
"Ah! Come on, I'm just messing with you! I don't mind an audience, it usually gives me more incentive to give it my all." She finished her bottle and threw it in the trash.
"Did you need the room for something, or are you just here to tell me that I should keep my shit quiet?"
"No, it's fine. Just make sure the door is closed all the way if you're going to have the bass on," Sikah said, leaning against the now-open door frame.
"And?" Karlach looked at her expectantly, feeling that she had more to say.
"If you need a box fan, there are some in the staff room. Just ask Jenevelle. Oh, and we close at seven." She pushed herself away from the frame and turned to go into her office.
"Duly noted," she nodded and watched as Sikah turned her back.
"Hang on, not that urgent, but I was wondering if you'd take a look at something I'm working on? I know it's random, but Jenevelle mentioned you're choreographing a lot for the studio and I'm stuck."
Sikah turned around and was once again standing at the entrance of the room.
"I don't know anything about hip-hop."
"Nah, sure you do! I mean, you're a ballerina, aren't you? That means you already know the half of it," Karlach stood up and in the blink of an eye pulled the shorter woman out of the doorway and into the middle of the room.
"Look here," she pointed to her sneakered feet. They were in second position. "Second position, yeah?"
She moved again, this time doing a wide semi-pirouette into third position, followed by a more jazzy ball change and quarter turn.
"The fundamentals are the same, just with sickled and flexed feet, a little more upper body movement, less jumping, and some contemporary elements thrown in."
Sikah raised her eyebrows at that. It felt like a stretch at first, but the more she looked, the more she found herself agreeing with her.
Karlach gave a triumphant grin as she watched the pieces fall into place in the other woman's mind. She wasn't the most eloquent of speakers when it came to ballet terminology, but she could talk her way through it.
"All right," Sikah conceded, moving over and sitting against the wall. "What's giving you trouble?"
"I think it's much easier to show than to tell."
Before starting her routine again, Karlach turned down the volume of the music. She spoke to Sikah as she danced, explaining how certain moves were simple derivatives of ballet.
The ballerina watched the other woman's dance with sharp eyes. Years of classical training had given Sikah an almost reflexive eye for detail. Karlach's movements were sharp and focused, fluid and strong, she was powerful. She held eye contact with Sikah throughout her performance, smiling when she caught an impressed look.
Sikah was able to see where Karlach was getting stuck. It wasn't obvious in her confident movements, but she knew the stubborn, dissatisfied frown of a dancer all too well. While her moves themselves were flawlessly executed, it was clear that Karlach had trouble with her flow. Fluidity was still needed, even in a genre focused on bold and fast movements.
"You need to work on your transitional movement. The individual moves and combinations are crisp, but there is a lack of malleability. Everything will feel and look more natural if you add softer, looser elements, especially between your pops and kicks. You're quite stiff in some parts, so you would benefit from loosening up in general." Sikah instructed after Karlach's demonstration was over.
"My so-called expertise goes no further than that. You'll have to find someone more familiar with your style if you want to improve individual elements."
"No, no, this is great!” Karlach bounced on the balls of her feet, "I never thought of it that way. Only problem is, I don't know how to, um, add fluidity or whatever. I'm not exactly the most... bendy."
"It's not about being bendy, it's about letting the movement and energy flow through your limbs. I think that you're so focused on trying to stay sharp that you're cutting off your energy." Sikah moved from leaning against the mirrored wall to stand behind Karlach.
Tall, strong, almost militant, her stance was taught even in a resting position. She circled the taller woman, her eyes sweeping over every defined muscle, every pearl of sweat, the rise and fall of her chest... Gods, she needed to get a grip.
Karlach's breath caught in her throat. Thank the gods she was a good foot taller than Sikah. Otherwise, the rosy blush that burned at the tips of her ears would have been embarrassing to explain. Her heart raced as she watched the woman circle her like a lion in pursuit of its prey. With her piercing eyes and powerful gaze, Karlach was afraid that if she so much as flinched, Sikah would be able to descry her.
She noticed the way the ballerina looked at her, the way she watched her dance; it was as if she were looking right into Karlach's very soul. Still, her expression was always occupied by a slight pout on her lips, though sometimes it twisted into a subtle grin. Karlach wanted to hear the thoughts that were in her head.
Sikah reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Relax your shoulders and unlock your knees, that's the first step," she waited for her to follow her instructions and hummed in approval as she watched the muscles relax.
"Good. Now, I have a couple of exercises that I usually go through with my classes if you'd like to give them a try. They're mostly ballet-type stuff, but I have a feeling they'd be beneficial anyway."
"Y-yeah, that would be great! I mean, I do all this hip-hop stuff, but you always gotta start with the basics, you know? Believe it or not, I used to dabble in ballet myself. Wasn't too bad at it either," Karlach feigned overzealous confidence.
“Oh yeah?” Her lips curled into a sly simper, “This should be easy for you then.”
Sikah pulled her phone from the pocket of her sweater before she shrugged it off and tossed it out of the way. She pulled up a song with a tempo that was fast and similar to the tempo of Karlach's routine. She tapped out the rhythm on her thigh, positioning herself slightly in front of the other and looking at Karlach in the mirror.
"Follow my movements as best you can, okay? It doesn't have to be perfect, but try to keep up."
Karlach could do it - or so she thought. At first, it was effortless. Sikah started in the second position, knees bent and hips swaying, rocking back and forth between the balls of her feet. She moved with effortless ease and elegance. Karlach tried to mimic her posture, reminding herself to relax and let the energy of her movements flow through her. It felt strange. Sure, Karlach had been raised on ballet, taking classes throughout her formative years and into high school, but she'd retired from ballet when she was in college, and it had been several years since her last class. She had nearly forgotten how it felt. Getting back to where it all started was nice, and dare she say nostalgic. She found herself smiling as she shadowed Sikah, feeling like a little kid in class again, learning everything for the first time. Although they moved in silence, Karlach would bet that Sikah was an amazing teacher, she was doing a damn good job at it now. Every once in a while, the smaller of the two would look over her shoulder to get a closer look at Karlach than the mirrors could provide, studying her angles and posture to make sure she wasn't getting lost. However, when she was caught, Sikah always turned around rather quickly. Karlach found it quite charming.
They continued silently, Sikah leading and Karlach following. From where she stood behind her, Karlach was able to study the speckled skin that peeked through the open back of Sikah's leotard. She could tell that the woman's muscles, though not as defined as her own, were incredibly toned by the way her arms moved and her shoulders flexed. Karlach synchronized her breathing with Sikah's, allowing herself to relax and enter what was, to her best guess, a state of zen.
A knock snapped them both out of their trance. Jenevelle stood in the doorway with her bag slung over her shoulder and a stack of binders in her arms.
“Sorry to interrupt, but it’s twenty past and I’d like to go home,” she dangled the studio keys from her finger. “You’re welcome to stay longer, Sikah, but I don’t want to be the one to have to hear Trielle complain about the electricity bill again.”
Sikah rolled her eyes at the mention of her stepmother’s particularness and glanced at the clock on the wall. She’d completely lost track of time.
“Go on ahead Jen, thanks for waiting. I’ll lock up and let Trielle know ahead of time that we stayed past close.”
“Thank you,” Jenevelle smiled as she observed the state of the room and its occupants– eyes doing a once-over of Karlach– before she walked away.
“You close up shop all by yourself?” Karlach asked as she began to gather her things.
“Usually it's a two-person job, me and Jen, but if her attitude speaks its usual volumes, I’d say she did most of the closing herself tonight. I most likely just have to shut lights off and lock the doors,” Sikah answered as she grabbed her sweats from the floor and pulled them on. She noticed Karlach standing idly by the door, “You don’t have to stay.”
“I mean, it’s the least I can do since you helped me out,” She paused as Sikah’s stomach growled loudly, holding back a laugh. “How about this: you let me buy you dinner and we call it even.”
Sikah blushed as her stomach voiced its hunger. “It’s almost eight, nothing good besides shitty fast food is going to be open,” she noted.
“Who said I was going to be treating you to a posh steak dinner? What if fast food is all I’m budgeted for?” Karlach chuckled as she followed behind the ballerina. That certainly wasn’t far from the truth. “Come on, it’ll be fun! There’s a good pho place over by my apartment that doesn’t close till late and doesn’t break the bank either, so don’t feel guilty about owing me.”
“I feel like you aren’t going to take no for an answer, will you?” Sikah sighed as she locked the studio’s front doors behind them.
“Nope!” she beamed. “I mean, clearly I’m not an asshole, and if you genuinely don’t want to, I won’t push. It's just been a minute since I’ve had someone to grab food with, you know? You get tired of eating take-out alone on your couch after the 40th time… besides, I gotta thank you for your help today.”
“You don’t have to, but I do appreciate it. I haven’t had pho in a while, so this place of yours better not disappoint.”
Karlach grinned, pumping her fist in the air. She texted Sikah the address and jumped in her car, music thumping along with the beat of her heart as she pulled out of the parking lot.
welcome to my most recent passion project, an extremely self-indulgent modern AU for Roguefire (tav x Karlach). This idea came to me when I was discussing a modern AU with one of my friends. I've always felt that in a modern AU, rather than an assassin, a rogue could be somebody who participates in nimble-footed sports. But enough of my yapping! I hope you enjoy reading this dancer/ballerina AU as much as I've enjoyed writing it ♡
can also be found on my Ao3 :)
✩︶︶ ｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶ ₊ ˚ ✩
𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂:
Sikah was accustomed to dancing alone and she quite liked it that way. That is, until a rather intriguing newcomer strode into the studio and piqued her interest.
You can also read chapter one on Ao3 ! Full chapter is below the cut ♡
Since she could remember, Sikah’s life had always revolved around dance. When her mother was alive, she ran a small, yet successfully competitive dance studio. Elturel, as it was called, was her mother’s pride and joy— besides her daughters of course. Sikah would accompany her mom to the studio when she taught. She would watch in wonder-filled awe as her mother elegantly choreographed routines in their living room, and she remembered waiting in the stage wings next to her father and sister with a bouquet at competitions. As she grew up, Sikah herself began to dance under the guidance of her mother, and she loved every second of it. When she was dancing she felt strong, empowered, and alive.
Rain drummed rhythmically against the windowpanes of the empty, two-bedroom apartment. Sikah remembered her roommate mentioning some sort of plan with a coworker after their workday ended, which left her alone to her own devices. She had the week off due to renovations in one of the museum’s exhibits, so she had more free time than she’d known to care for. Deciding she had nothing better to do, Sikah grabbed her car keys and an umbrella, then made her way downtown.
The dance studio’s parking lot was barren on the dreary, mid-week afternoon. Classes weren’t to start until later that evening, but Sikah doubted many students would show up due to the weather. As she approached the large glass doors, she noticed only one person inside behind the front desk. Not wanting to cause a disturbance, Sikah pulled the studio keys out of her pocket and unlocked the front door, waving to Jenevelle as she left her umbrella by the doorframe. She made her way to the small practice room at the back of the studio. The room had become some semblance of an office for her; along the back wall, several costume books, class rosters, and old CDs lay strewn across the floor. In typical studio fashion, one of the walls was lined with large, floor-length mirrors; the remaining three half paned in oak wood with ballet bars of varying heights lining them. The hardware of the studio was a bit dated, especially in the lesser occupied spaces, with old stereos fitted for cassettes and CDs embedded in the room’s far corner. Sikah had since replaced and rewired the speakers to modernize the sound, but she held onto the old command center to play her mother’s cassettes.
After removing her sneakers and wrapping her feet, she sat in the middle of the floor to pull on a pair of compression socks before she withdrew her worn practice shoes from her bag. Sikah tightened the laces and stood, moving up and down on her toes to alleviate extra pressure.
A low rumble of thunder prompted her to go and fish a tape from the drawer beneath the audio hub and feed it into the player. Sikah idly tapped her foot as she waited for the soothing, pre-music static to tickle the speakers. Once it began, she started to perform an old routine, one that she couldn’t allow herself to forget.
Since she could remember, Sikah’s life had always revolved around dance. When her mother was alive, she ran a small, yet successfully competitive dance studio. Elturel, as it was called, was her mother’s pride and joy— besides her daughters of course. Sikah would accompany her mom to the studio when she taught. She would watch in wonder-filled awe as her mother elegantly choreographed routines in their living room, and she remembered waiting in the stage wings next to her father and sister with a bouquet at competitions. As she grew up, Sikah herself began to dance under the guidance of her mother, and she loved every second of it. When she was dancing she felt strong, empowered, and alive. Sikah loved spending hours upon hours rigorously practicing routines till her muscles ached and she could no longer stand. She remembered the exhilarating feeling and the rush of adrenaline that surged through her heart when her company won their first competition.
Her sister followed soon after with natural talent and grace that turned heads. Fotiah was incredible in every way. Despite not being able to hear the music herself, her sister was able to bring songs to life with motion and emotion that brought even the toughest men to tears. She quickly became the star pupil of Elturel, dancing in companies composed of dancers much older than she. She was cast as the lead in productions, and she was even recruited by other studios for a place in their ranks. However, Fotiah always refused. You could not pay her to dance for she did not dance for others, she danced for herself.
After their mother passed, the sisters struggled to keep the studio open. Their father had tried convincing the girls to sell the studio, claiming the memories it stood on were too much to bear. Sikah knew there was more to it than that. To sell the studio was to put their mother fully to rest, to end that chapter of their lives and begin writing anew. Without the studio to remind their father of his late wife, he could swallow the pain and move on. The girls were adamant in keeping the studio, but their father was stubborn.
He remarried, and in the end, Fotiah urged Sikah to let matters rest. If they didn’t compromise with their father, they would lose the studio completely. Elturel was signed into new ownership, despite Sikah’s protests, to their father’s second wife.
Trielle was… fine. She was nice, she didn’t overstep and pretend to be someone that she wasn’t, and she didn’t pretend to be their mother. She did, however, bring change to the studio, expanding to multiple locations and franchising their competitions, seeking high-paying sponsors and luxurious venues to perform elaborate productions. As the studio continued to grow in both size and popularity, so did watchful eyes. More prospective students meant more instructors were needed, and thus Sikah put a pause on her endeavors to assist with instruction. However, Fotiah, ever the star, the poster girl of Meropi’s Elturel, taught few classes and maintained the practice of her craft. Sikah was responsible for choreographing and executing routines for both competitions and performances, which oftentimes made dancing feel more like a responsibility and a chore rather than the respite it once was.
Thus, Sikah found herself valuing otiose days like this. Days she had to herself when she could ignore her responsibilities and fall back on old joys. When she danced, she escaped to another realm. One with no pain, no annoyances, no obligations. She hoped that was where her mother was now, dancing alone on a cloud in the sky without a care in the world. She hoped her mother would occasionally look down, smile upon her, and be proud of the work she’d done.
As she allowed herself to get lost in thought, Sikah was soon interrupted by the heavy sound of a shoe bag hitting the hallway’s hardwood floor. Gods, she needed to remember that even when the studio seemed desolate, to still close the door. Sikah paused her routine and turned to the noise.
A tall, muscular woman stood awkwardly in the doorway. Despite it being cold and rainy outside, she donned no jacket but wore a muscle tank and a baggy pair of sweats. Her coarse, black, pixie-cut hair was pushed away from her face with a headband; showing off her complexion littered with sun-kissed freckles.
“Shit, my bad! I must have the wrong room. I mean not the wrong room, I’m supposed to be next door. The lady up front told me that the back rooms were up for grabs for solo practice and I heard the music and got curious, plus the door was open. I kinda started watching and then I couldn’t stop and I guess I dropped my stuff, sorry about that.” She sheepishly bent down to pick up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder with a smile. “Lady at the front also told me you had the key to unlock the room across the hall. You looked really into your routine and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“It’s fine,” Sikah walked over to the audio player and paused the track, grabbing her carabiner of keys from where they lay beside it. She twirled them around her finger as she brushed past the woman in the doorway and strode across the hall, motioning for her to follow.
“I haven’t seen you at the studio before, and by the looks of it you aren’t here for classes,” Sikah pondered aloud as she unlocked the door. “New in town or something?”
“Erm, kinda? I grew up in the area and moved back a few months ago,” the mystery woman answered as she followed the other into the now unlocked room.
“If you know the Ravengards, Wyll’s the one who recommended I check this place out for a practice space; said he and his girlfriend dance here.”
“Yeah, I know Wyll. I’m surprised he didn’t text me to let me know he had a friend coming to check out the place, he’s usually good about that.” Sikah took a mental note to text her sister’s boyfriend about this later.
“Ah, well I wasn’t planning on coming by today, but I was passing on my way home from the doctor’s and I figured why not? I can come back if now isn't prime time; didn’t know the owner was gonna be here or I would have at least made myself decent.” She absentmindedly shifted her weight between the balls of her feet.
“The name’s Karlach, by the way. Probably should have introduced myself first.”
The shorter woman, who Karlach assumed was the owner of the studio, shrugged, seemingly unbothered by her lack of manners.
“Owner? No, I’m not. Well, not fully. My step-mum owns the studio, my sister and I keep it afloat. You probably know Fotiah, if you know Wyll.” Sikah spoke freely as she walked around the room to move clutter out of the way.
“And you are?” She asked expectantly.
“Sikah,” she answered as she pushed a box backward into the corner with her foot. “Let me show you how to work the sound system. These two rooms aren’t as up-to-date as the rest of the studio, but you can still plug in your phone for aux.”
Karlach zoned out as Sikah explained the practice room’s equipment and amenities; focusing only on how the woman moved, how she carried herself, and how she stood. She was as beautiful as she danced; with piercing gray-blue eyes and speckled cheeks, her ash blonde hair twisted up in a bun.
“… and if you need anything, just knock on my door okay? I’ll keep my music low,” she came back to reality just as Sikah finished her speech.
“Any questions?”
“Can I have your number?” Karlach spoke before she could think, immediately wishing to bite off her tongue. “You know, for future reference. Just in case I uhh… have trouble with the aux and you’re not here!”
Nice save Karlach.
“Sure?” Sikah raised a slightly suspicious brow.
She took Karlach’s phone in her hands and filled in her contact.
“Anything else?”
“Nope! All good!” Karlach beamed, “Thanks a bunch, Sikah, I appreciate it. I knew Wyll would send me to the right place. Don’t practice too hard in there, alright? I bet you need to be in top form for your performances.”
“Yeah, something like that, thanks,” Sikah feigned a small smile.
can also be found on my Ao3 :)
-- full work below the break --
Sikah was, to put it lightly, pissed. Her body ached and her wounds stung as the party stumbled back to camp. The battle they'd just fought was completely avoidable if Karlach had simply let Sikah talk to the damn cambions before smashing their skulls in. Her impulses were usually rather beneficial, but when dealing with Mammon and his court of Dukes, Sikah felt that she had the upper hand; and she wanted to use it.
She ignored the party as Shadowheart began recon by the fire, healing cuts and bruises. Instead, the rogue went to hide away in her tent. Sikah had a stash of healing potions stored in her chests, and the bitter taste of the medicine would match her mood.
Karlach watched as Sikah slunk to her tent. She knew that her partner was cross with her after the events of that day’s adventure, but the barbarian was determined to prove herself. After Shadowheart cast a quick healing word over her injuries, Karlach marched over and ripped the flaps of Sikah’s tent open.
"I don't think you have any right being angry with me after your own reckless behavior, Sikah."
"Ever heard of knocking?" the smaller woman scoffed as she unlaced her wrist guards.
Great, now they were playing the blame game. Sikah didn’t lose the blame game.
"Oh? My reckless behavior? Enlighten me, Karlach, what was the reckless behavior I exhibited today? Knowing the cambions in Mammon's lair, knowing Mammon himself? Trying to talk to them before causing a scene? I used to fucking work for them, I could have easily lied our way in there!"
Karlach shook her head. "Maybe you've forgotten that we were in the Hells and anything to do with Mammon is never going to be a simple task."
"The devil had me under his thumb for years, Karlach, I know that shit isn't simple," Sikah threw her leather armor to the ground, the scarring across the upper left of her body more apparent without it. "I never said bashing was out of the question, I thought we all had a mutual agreement to try and snake our way in before doing anything brash. Gale and Shadowheart aren't as accustomed to the Hells or strong as we are, they would have gotten killed much faster than us." She crossed her arms as her tail flicked angrily. "I know how you feel about the Hells, but you have to remember that you aren't the only one who's suffered there."
"That's precisely my point. I was keeping everyone else safe, including you. But you can't stand not having control over the situation, so you just… hyper-focus on whatever you think is best and don’t listen to anyone else." Karlach angrily threw her hands up in the air.
"Karlach, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I'm not a frail maiden in need of protection. I can hold my own. Mammon and his cohort are a different breed of devils, and you aren't the only tiefling who's been damned to the Hells. I was trying to use my advantage to get us through without fighting… at least not fighting out the gate. What part of that do you not get ?"
"The part where you assume I don't understand the situation. I know how they manipulate and control. They'll never trust a tiefling, regardless of what you think you know about them. You were never going to get the upper hand without a fight. Why do you think I chose to go in alone?"
"I..." Sikah bit her tongue. Perhaps Karlach was right. None of those devils had ever, or would ever trust a tiefling, all they ever did was exploit them. Even when Sikah worked under Mammon’s Duke, Focalor, he easily agreed with Zotian and sold her off to Mephistopheles without batting an eye.
"I wish you didn't think you always have to go in alone. I wish you would have left some of them for me to kill. We have a team, we have allies, we have each other." The shorter tiefling looked up into Karlach's fiery eyes. "I know you want to protect me, but I'm not a helpless damsel in distress."
The barbarian's face softened as she reached out a hand and gently touched Sikah's cheek.
"If you only saw what I've seen in Avernus, you would know why I can't let someone I care about get hurt."
Sikah leaned into Karlach's touch and sighed.
"I do see what's in Avernus. I've seen it, and I know you've seen far worse, but for that same reason, I don't want you getting hurt. I know you're not as quick to buckle under axe blows as me, but... I'd never forgive myself if something happened and Zariel found you. If she took you away from me."
Karlach pulled the other tiefling into a tight hug. She hadn't expected Sikah to be as outwardly concerned for her as she was, but maybe that was her fault. As far as the barbarian knew, the rogue had always been rather independent. Karlach gently rubbed the rogue’s back with one hand. "You don't have to worry about what happens to me. But you should be concerned with yourself. Remember this: Avernus will tear you down to the bone if you give it the chance."
"I do worry about you," Sikah wrapped her arms around her lover's strong waist. "I fear that your recklessness is because of your hourglass of time." As her head lay upon the woman's chest she listened to the mechanical sounds of the engine that took the place of her heart. "What's the point in protecting me if you aren't there to be with me? If you aren't alive by my side? I don't want to live a life without you."
Karlach was taken aback by the sudden vulnerability of Sikah’s inquiries. She rarely openly asked for reassurance. If Karlach had a heart, she was sure it would have skipped a beat. A feeling of profound warmth blossomed within her chest as she held the other tiefling a little tighter.
"I know my time is limited, Sikah; but as long as we have each other, that's all that matters to me. I would be willing to die a thousand times over if I had the chance to save you. My future is in you ."
"Then live with me." Sikah looked up at Karlach, a look of stubborn determination on her face. "I know you despise the thought, but Dammon could be right... If after all this tadpole shit is over and through, we go back to Avernus, together. We buy you more time, buy us more time. Hells, who knows, we might find something to repair your engine for good."
If the party's brief trip to Avernus that day had anything to show, Sikah thought it was decent proof that the infernal smithy’s proposition wasn't all that farfetched.
The possibility was enough to make Karlach's mind wander. The mere thought of continuing her existence in Avernus for even a minute more than she was destined had always terrified her, but the idea of having Sikah by her side made that terrifying thought seem not so terrible after all.
"Is that what you want? For us to go back there, together?"
"More than anything," Sikah stood on her toes and pecked Karlach's lips. "I know I've got nothing on your ten-year stint, but two years in an infernal prison gave me a decent preview. It's shit, I know, but with good company and motivation, maybe it wouldn't be so bad?"
Karlach returned the kiss, a wide smile spreading across her face. It was tempting, the possibility of more time with Sikah; and if the two of them worked together, maybe they could figure something out.
"You know, you're not half bad at swaying me with your words. But don't think that this will be easy. I may have made a lot of progress, but I still hate that damn place."
"And I’m not asking you to love it, just… tolerate it. Who knows, maybe one day we'll be able to return to Faerûn for good. Live the rest of our days together in a nice house, just the two of us, maybe a cat or two" Sikah dragged her finger over Karlach's glowing chest.
Karlach laughed softly as Sikah’s touch sent ripples through her. As she spoke of a peaceful and safe life for the two of them, the barbarian couldn't help but get caught up in the idea.
"Do you really want that? A quiet, mundane life for us? What would you do if we weren't fighting for our survival?"
"Hmm, I dunno," Sikah pondered for a bit, tracing her fingers around the metal of the valves in Karlach's shoulders. "Maybe I'd open a jewelry shop, make a bit of gold the honest way for once," she chuckled, "I'd spend lots of time with you of course; lay in a nice, plush bed every night in your arms."
A soft groan rose in Karlach's chest as Sikah's touch made her engine pulse and burn with desire. The image of the two of them together, with Sikah's arms wrapped around her, was more than the barbarian could bear.
"That would be so damn nice, Sikah. We could make anything an adventure. Just the two of us together. That's all I want."
The barbarian took a deep breath, steeling herself.
"We're getting distracted."
"And that's a problem, how?" The rogue deviously smirked at Karlach. "It's late, half the camp is asleep by now, I doubt they'd notice if you spent the night in my tent..."
Something snapped inside of the barbarian as she contemplated Sikah's suggestion. Her words were suggestive, and the implications of them were clear.
No one would notice if she stayed with the tiefling, and… Karlach had to clear her throat to try to get rid of the sudden lump of lust that had developed in the back of it.
"We have an early morning, you know that."
Sikah raised a brow and laughed, a genuine, toothy grin on her face.
"The Karlach Cliffgate having a responsible bedtime? Who are you and what have you done with my lover?" She patted the barbarian's cheek. "The night is still young, Gale's just now put out the fire..."
"Shut it, you." The barbarian's cheeks flushed as she was teased. Sikah was right, the fire had freshly gone out, leaving the pair in the dim candlelight of the rogue’s tent. Her partner’s words easily cut right through the layer of self-control that was barely holding itself together. Karlach bit her lip to keep herself from smiling too much.
"Stop."
"Change into your camp clothes and come back? We don't have to do anything too... rigorous. I just don't want to be apart from you, after today." Sikah bashfully admitted.
"Stay?"
And there it was: the moment when the last shred of resistance melted away. Any semblance of self-control was gone, and Karlch was left wanting nothing more than to be next to the other.
"... You really want me to?"
"I do," Sikah nodded, her hand caressing the woman's arm before reaching for her hand. "I want you to stay with me, for as long as you'd let me; and I’m not just talking about tonight." She intertwined their fingers, hoping that Karlach would get the message.
The barbarian understood the message perfectly. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Mmhm," the shorter woman nodded, "always."
"Promise me something." Karlach brought their linked hands up to her lips and kissed Sikah’s knuckles.
"Yes?" The rogue looked up at her expectantly.
"Promise me that... if we go to Avernus together... if something goes wrong... that you'll come looking for me, no matter what?" She leaned down to rest her forehead against the other’s.
"I promise," Sikah squeezed her hand tight, her heart straining at the thought. "I'll always find you, even if I have to go to the deepest pit of the Hells, even if it takes all the years of my life. I'll find you. In every lifetime and in every universe." She swallowed the nervousness in her throat.
"I love you, Karlach. The past months we've spent together have been the best of my life. You've helped me see the world in a different light, helped me heal wounds I didn't know I had." She smiled shyly. "Tadpoles be damned, but I'm glad these parasites led me to you."
With those words, Karlach's chest began to burn with joy— not unlike the fire of her engine, but it somehow felt different. She was moved in a way that she hadn't been before, and for a moment, Karlach felt that any worries or responsibilities could wait until tomorrow. All that mattered to her now was the tiefling in her grip. The barbarian kissed the thief’s forehead and pulled her close to her chest.
"I love you too," she whispered, "more than you could ever imagine."
"And we'll be okay, as long as we have each other."
“Always.” Karlach smiled as she held the other tiefling in her grasp. With Sikah in her arms and her engine beating steadily in her chest, she felt truly alive. And for the first time in a long time, she felt hopeful. As long as they were together, they could take on hell itself.
decided to post a little preview of the modern AU fic that I'm writing for my girls :) this scene is a look into their second interaction, so they're just acquaintances but there are early blooms of pining
a quick rundown of the AU: dancers AU, Sikah does ballet and Karlach does hip-hop (for now). They are both humans in this AU since it's in a modern setting, so if that isn't your speed, go ahead and skip past this one! this AU has been brewing for months and I already have a few chapters down :D
It's quickly evolving into my passion project so any and all feedback and comments are most welcome!
Weeks had passed since Karach's first and only visit to the studio, and Sikah couldn't help but wonder if she had put the woman off. She'd often been told that she was not the most inviting or approachable and that she had the aura of a classic stereotypical ballerina: cold, brutal, and bitchy.
Granted, Sikah hadn't spent as much time at the studio as she would have liked. After the week of renovations had given her a respite, her work had become more demanding with the introduction of the new exhibit. Visitors were more frequent and numerous, and her boss had asked her to take occasional weekend shifts to manage the new part-time staff.
That weekend, Sikah decided to stop by the studio for a few hours to decompress after a particularly grueling shift. Her body was already tired, but she needed to blow off some steam before she felt too exhausted. She pulled into the parking lot and grabbed her bag from the back seat of her car, waved routinely to Jenevelle as she walked through the front door, and ducked into the staff room to change. Sikah was surprised by the presence of music as she walked down the hallway to the regularly empty practice rooms. It was different from the elegant, classical music that typically played in the studio; a low, steady bass pulsed from behind the door, and Sikah could feel it sending vibrations through her feet.
She could tell that the door to the practice room wasn't fully closed. The sounds were muffled but still discernible. When the door was flush with its frame, even with music playing at a decent volume, she could usually feel more than she could hear. As Sikah moved to discreetly close the door, she caught a glimpse of the dancer inside. It was Karlach.
Street-style hip-hop was something Sikah considered to be on the other side of the dance world, and Karlach was moving in a way she'd never been captivated by before. Despite her powerful, abrupt footwork, the agonizing screech of sneaker soles against laminate flooring was absent. Every flex and roll of her body was calculated and sharp, and though she was practicing a choreographed routine, she was clearly in control of executing it. Karlach was enticing, and Sikah was admittedly intrigued. Her concentration broke as the track faded. She glanced toward the door and grinned as she spotted her audience, wiping the sweat from her brow.
"Hey, you! Enjoying the show?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I could hear your music from down the hall. I came to close the door." Sikah folded her arms across her chest and did her best to ignore the blush that was teasing her cheeks.
Karlach chuckled as she grabbed a bottle of water from her bag. She downed half of it before sitting on the floor. "But you didn't. So that's different, isn't it?"
The ballerina was silent.
"Ah! Come on, I'm just messing with you! I don't mind an audience, it usually gives me more incentive to give it my all." She finished her bottle and threw it in the trash.
"Did you need the room for something, or are you just here to tell me that I should keep my shit quiet?"
"No, it's fine. Just make sure the door is closed all the way if you're going to have the bass on," Sikah said, leaning against the now-open door frame.
"And?" Karlach looked at her expectantly, feeling that she had more to say.
"If you need a box fan, there are some in the staff room. Just ask Jenevelle. Oh, and we close at seven." She pushed herself away from the frame and turned to go into her office.
"Duly noted," she nodded and watched as Sikah turned her back.
"Hang on, not that urgent, but I was wondering if you'd take a look at something I'm working on? I know it's random, but Jenevelle mentioned you're choreographing a lot for the studio and I'm stuck."
Sikah turned around and was once again standing in the entrance of the room.
"I don't know anything about hip-hop."
"Nah, sure you do! I mean, you're a ballerina, aren't you? That means you already know the half of it," Karlach stood up and in the blink of an eye pulled the shorter woman out of the doorway and into the middle of the room.
"Look here," she pointed to her sneakered feet. They were in second position. "Second position, yeah?"
She moved again, this time doing a wide semi-pirouette into third position, followed by a more jazzy ball change and quarter turn.
"The fundamentals are the same, just with sickled and flexed feet, a little more upper body movement, less jumping, and some contemporary elements thrown in."
Sikah raised her eyebrows at that. It felt like a stretch at first, but the more she looked, the more she found herself agreeing with her.
Karlach gave a triumphant grin as she watched the pieces fall into place in the mind of the other woman. She wasn't the most eloquent of speakers when it came to ballet terminology, but she could talk her way through it.
"All right," Sikah conceded, moving over and sitting against the wall. "What's giving you trouble?"
"I think it's much easier to show than to tell."
Before starting her routine again, Karlach turned down the volume of the music. She spoke to Sikah as she danced, explaining how certain moves were simple derivatives of ballet.
The ballerina watched the other woman's dance with sharp eyes. Years of classical training had given Sikah an almost reflexive eye for detail. Karlach's movements were sharp and focused, fluid and strong, she was powerful. She held eye contact with Sikah throughout her performance, smiling when she caught an impressed look.
Sikah was able to see where Karlach was getting stuck. It wasn't obvious in her confident movements, but she knew the stubborn, dissatisfied frown of a dancer all too well. While her moves themselves were flawlessly executed, it was clear that Karlach had trouble with her flow. There was still a need for fluidity, even in a genre focused on bold and fast movements.
"You need to work on your transitional movement. The individual moves and combinations are crisp, but there is a lack of malleability. Everything will feel and look more natural if you add softer, looser elements, especially between your pops and kicks. You're quite stiff in some parts, so you would benefit from loosening up in general." Sikah instructed after Karlach's demonstration was over.
"My so-called expertise goes no further than that. You'll have to find someone more familiar with your style if you want to improve individual elements."
"No, no, this is great! Karlach jumped to her feet, "I never thought of it that way. Only problem is, I don't know how to, um, add fluidity or whatever. I'm not exactly the most... bendy."
"It's not about being bendy, it's about letting the movement and energy flow through your limbs. I think that you're so focused on trying to stay sharp that you're cutting off your energy." Sikah moved from where she leaned against the mirrored wall to stand behind Karlach.
Tall, strong, almost militant, her stance was taught even in a resting position. She circled the taller woman, her eyes sweeping over every defined muscle, every pearl of sweat, the rise and fall of her chest... Gods, she needed to get a grip.
Karlach's breath caught in her throat. Thank the gods she was a good foot taller than Sikah. Otherwise, the rosy blush that burned at the tips of her ears would have been embarrassing to explain. Her heart raced as she watched the woman circle her like a lion in pursuit of its prey. With her piercing eyes and powerful gaze, Karlach was afraid that if she so much as flinched, Sikah would be able to descry her.
She noticed the way the ballerina looked at her, the way she watched her dance; it was as if she were looking right into Karlach's very soul. Still, her expression was always occupied by a slight pout on her lips, though sometimes it twisted into a subtle grin. Karlach wanted to hear the thoughts that were in her head.
Sikah reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Relax your shoulders and unlock your knees, that's the first step," she waited for her to follow her instructions and hummed in approval as she watched the muscles relax.
"Good. Now, I have a couple of exercises that I usually go through with my classes if you'd like to give them a try. They're mostly ballet-type stuff, but I have a feeling they'd be beneficial anyway."
"Y-yeah, that would be great! I mean, I do all this hip-hop stuff, but you always gotta start with the basics, you know? Believe it or not, I used to dabble in ballet myself. Wasn't too bad at it either," Karlach feigned overzealous confidence.
“Oh yeah?” Her lips curled into a sly simper, “This should be easy for you then.”
Sikah pulled her phone from the pocket of her sweater before she shrugged it off and tossed it out of the way. She pulled up a song with a tempo that was fast and similar to the tempo of Karlach's routine. She tapped out the rhythm on her thigh, positioning herself slightly in front of the other and looking at Karlach in the mirror.
"Follow my movements as best you can, okay? It doesn't have to be perfect, but try to keep up."
Karlach could do it - or so she thought. At first, it was effortless. Sikah started in the second position, knees bent and hips swaying, rocking back and forth between the balls of her feet. She moved with effortless ease and elegance. Karlach tried to mimic her posture, reminding herself to relax and let the energy of her movements flow through her. It felt strange. Sure, Karlach had been raised on ballet, taking classes throughout her formative years and into high school, but she'd retired from ballet when she was in college, and it had been several years since her last class. She had nearly forgotten how it felt. Getting back to where it all started was nice, dare she say nostalgic. She found herself smiling as she shadowed Sikah, feeling like a little kid in class again, learning everything for the first time. Although they moved in silence, Karlach would bet that Sikah was an amazing teacher, she was doing a damn good job at it now. Every once in a while, the smaller of the two would look over her shoulder to get a closer look at Karlach than the mirrors could provide, studying her angles and posture to make sure she wasn't getting lost. However, when she was caught, Sikah always turned around rather quickly. Karlach found it quite charming.
They continued silently, Sikah leading and Karlach following. From where she stood behind her, Karlach was able to study the speckled skin that peeked through the open back of Sikah's leotard. She could tell that the woman's muscles, though not as defined as her own, were incredibly toned by the way her arms moved and her shoulders flexed. Karlach synchronized her breathing with Sikah's, allowing herself to relax and enter what was, to her best guess, a state of zen.
When Wyll had mentioned hunting down one of Zariel’s soldiers, Sikah had expected more of a challenge. She’d dealt with a handful of devils in her years and they were no easy feat. One could imagine the rogue’s confusion when the party stumbled across Karlach, the so-called “Advocatus Diaboli”, who was no devil, but a fellow tiefling. Perhaps Sikah had misunderstood Wyll’s words, for if she knew the task at hand was to hunt one of her own, she would not have agreed.
The woman seemed to pose no obvious threat and, from what Sikah had seen through their brief psychic connection, was rather similar to herself. Devils were no easy employer, with the tendency to craft fastidious agreements; and although her devilish dealings were nowhere near the hells Karlach had endured, she knew how unpleasant it was to do a devil’s bidding.
“Remind me again why we’re helping the woman Wyll insists on hunting down?” Gale whispered to Sikah as they followed behind their party, now accompanied by the barbarian.
“Karlach is as much a devil as I am,” Sikah responded shortly. “and I know all too well what it’s like to be seen as one, to be judged by the company you keep. She’s a victim of the Blood War the same as the refugees from Elturel, and I don’t plan on letting any of my kin down. Besides, we could use the muscle.”
The muscle was indeed needed whilst fighting the faux paladins of Tyr. Both Gale and Shadowheart’s spell-casting did minute damage as the opponents continuously cast a field of silence around them. Sikah’s arrows could only do so much against the opponents’ heavy armor and despite her dexterity, getting up close and personal for dagger attacks resulted in more detriment to her and less to the enemy.
As she was knocked to the ground by the helm of a longsword, Karlach stepped in front of her before the paladin could bring the blade to meet her skull. The collision with the barbarian’s axe sent the opponent’s weapon clattering to the ground, allowing time for her to cleave the man’s head off his shoulders in one fell swoop.
The taller tiefling looked over her shoulder, “Doing alright down there, soldier?”
Sikah looked up and nodded, trying her best not to stare.
Karlach was hot. In both the objective and subjective sense. Embers licked the ends of her hair and danced across her shoulders. Tattoos of infernal scrawl wrapped around her limbs, which only tempted Sikah to stare at her muscles more as she attempted to read them. Metallic valves were embedded in her scarred skin that emitted steam in sync with her breathing, the leather of her clothing straining as her chest rose and fell. Her thighs were practically ripping the haphazardly altered seams of her pants that were held together by the mercy of belts and buckles. The infernal engine in place of her heart flickered like candlelight, causing the beads of sweat that trailed down her deep, red skin to glisten as they mixed with the blood and viscera of her foes.
“I’d help you up but I don’t want you to burn yourself,” Karlach chuckled as she noticed the smaller tiefling’s fixated stare. “You sure you’re alright? Those bastards didn’t hit you too hard, did they?”
“No, I’m fine, just needed a minute,” Sikah finally stood up and brushed herself off. “Thank you, by the way.”
Karlach couldn’t remember the last time someone had thanked her. Hells, she couldn’t even recall the last time anyone had willingly helped her without being ordered to. War didn’t fuel much generosity, especially a war in Avernus.
“Don’t sweat it. I’m the one who asked for your help, and I’d be quite the arsehole to let them kill you.” She reached up to wipe sweat from her brow. “It's been a while since anyone has shown any sorta kindness toward ol’ Karlach, and it feels good to be bashing baddies with someone again. It gets lonely doing all the dirty work by yourself.”
“There’ll be plenty more baddies to bash where we’re headed if you care to join us,” Sikah glanced over her shoulder to where Shadowheart was healing Gale’s bleeding wounds. “We could use the extra muscle.”
“Fuck yes! Kicking ass, getting the tadpole out of my head, and good company? You sure know how to drive a hard bargain, I’m in!”
As they began their trek back to camp, Sikah couldn’t help but watch Karlach as she walked. The rouge hadn’t been piqued like this, in regards to someone rather than something, since her previous companion years ago. She couldn’t help but want to learn more about the infernal soldier, to listen to stories of her battles and the tales of her scars, to know the origins of her engine, and to solve the mysteries behind her fiery eyes. Maybe Sikah was being selfish by inviting the other tiefling to join their ranks, but she couldn’t extinguish the blaze of curiosity that burned within.
Born out of both boredom and desperation, Sikah’s hobby of repurposing jewelry started when she was a callow runaway. She found thrills in pickpocketing haughty nobles as they walked with noses high down the uneven cobble of the Lower City. With their forgotten scraps of gold and silver, the young rogue would craft new treasures, polishing what could be salvaged and selling what scrap was beyond help. Such escapades were quick to evolve into a habit, and from habit to hobby. Sikah would spend days reimagining discarded jewels and metals into something original, peddling on the streets her handmade bijouterie for extra coin. Even as her adventures took her to places far from Baldur’s Gate’s streets, she continued practicing her craft. It became a nostalgic respite for the tiefling, bringing her back to reality when her mind would wander in the night.
With heavy pockets, Sikah took refuge in her tent at camp. It was strange to travel with a party again; she had grown accustomed to wandering alone, scavenging food scraps from city stalls, and sleeping on forest floors with one eye open. The first few nights of traveling with her newfound companions she spent recluse in her bedroll, watching and listening as the ragtag group of Nautaloid escapees conversed. She heard them whisper about her, question her isolation, wonder if she would stay around. Sometimes Sikah herself would ponder the same. Still, every night Gale would knock on the closed flap of her tent and offer a warm meal with a smile, reminding her that she was always welcome to drink with the party by the fire. Eventually, Sikah found herself giving in, and like a cat coaxed from its burrow, she slowly began to fraternize with those she traveled with.
“Well, well, look who finally decided to emerge from the shadows,” Astarion smirked while raising his chalice of presumed wine to his lips.
Sikah pursed her lips while crossing her arms over her chest. From where she stood over the makeshift seats by the fire, she could easily kick the elf’s indulgence out of his hand and onto the floor, but she resisted the urge.
“Don’t mind him,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes before gesturing to the empty seat between her and Karlach. “Come, have a seat. I’ll pour you a glass of wine.”
“I don’t drink around strangers, but thank you,” the tiefling declined her offer while cautiously sitting between the two women.
“I’d hardly say we’re strangers, with the tadpoles connecting our consciousnesses and all,” Gale piped in from where he stood, tending to the pot over the flame, “but suit yourself.”
Despite traveling with the lot for months, Sikah still felt estranged from those fighting beside her. Her companions seemed to trust her enough to lead them through such a crucial journey, yet they hardly knew anything about her; did they know anything about each other? They all seemed to have some semblance of mutual trust, whether it be out of goodheartedness, convenience, or desperation. Sikah had allowed herself to trust before, but doing so reaped no reward. She couldn’t allow herself to be deftly tempted again. Perhaps it was the tadpole wheedling her into susceptibility, but, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of yearning.
“You know what, Shadowheart? Pour me a glass, will you?” She moved to sit more comfortably in her seat, coiling her tail around her crossed legs.
Sikah met Karlach’s smiling gaze out of the corner of her eye as she gladly caught an empty cup Wyll tossed her way. Maybe opening up wasn’t a bad idea after all.
There were still nights spent alone in her tent, heating tarnished metal with her Asmodeus flame, resculpting abandoned cabochons into new designs. She found herself incorporating elements of her companions' personalities and prose in the pieces she forged, drawing inspiration from their encounters. Perhaps one day, when the battle was won and the tadpoles were but a fleeting worry of the past, Sikah would have the courage to gift the accessories to those who inspired them. But for now, such vulnerable ornaments remained hidden amongst other valuables in her hoard.
rework/expansion of the ending scene of Let Me Silence the Storm.
Evening rain tapped its fingertips against the windows of the inn, creating a soothing melody. Bodies, rocking against one another in tandem tempo, the bedposts whining under pressure. Hushed whispers, gasps, and moans joined in the chorus, wistfully drowned by the rain. After the ensemble crescendoed to climax, the air settled into blissful silence. Sikah lay on her chest, back exposed to the air, arms hugged underneath one of the plush, feather pillows the inn provided. Her hair was down and out of its usual ponytail, cascading just past her shoulders. It had to be a horrible mess of tangles by now, for it hadn’t seen a brush in gods knows how long, yet her lover’s fingers effortlessly combed through it. Karlach reached out and traced her fingers over Sikah’s complexion, connecting the freckles in constellations across the map of her skin. Amongst the freckles were several scars, ranging from small cuts victim of anxious picking; to deep, discolored scar tissue from tougher quarrels.
“You know, I’ve always liked a woman with a bit of story to her.” Karlach hummed as her nails trailed over scars, smiling as Sikah peeked an eye open and looked at her.
The smaller tiefling raised a brow, “And by that you mean?”
“Your body tells a story that no other can tell. Each scar, dimple, freckle, and groove is unique to you. I could stare at you for hours and still manage to find something new.” Her infernal engine flickered as she shifted to prop herself on her elbow and rest her chin in the palm of her hand. “As you live you get more scars, maybe some more tattoos, all of which give more stories to tell, I think it’s nice.”
Sikah turned to face her lover, a light pout pursed on her lips. “My scars are a harsh reminder of my past, a guilt that I cannot ignore; what I’d give to be so carefree and confident in my battles as you, Karlach.”
“The confidence comes with time, darling, I wasn’t always this fiery,” the hellion kissed the pout off of her lover’s lips, “I’d put you up on a pedestal so that everyone could see how lucky I am to have you as a lover, a partner; but I also want to keep all of you all to myself, for as long as I have left.” Karlach brought her hand up to caress Sikah’s barbed chest, “You’re beautiful. Godsdamn it all, Sikah, you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. Ever since you first stumbled into my life I’ve wanted to ravish you, and now that I have, and I’ll do it again and again until neither of us can feel our bodies.”
The next hours were spent in a lovers’ embrace; hands wandering across skin, muttered adorations, and airy breaths. With their clothes strewn across the floor, Karlach could fully appreciate her partner’s body in the blooming candlelight.
Perhaps it was the nostalgia of being back home, or maybe it was the morbid, looming shadow of her inescapable demise; but walking through the streets of the Lower City made Karlach feel especially sentimental. Their mission was daunting, one that no ordinary or sane person would dare consider, but heroes didn’t tend to rise when life was normal. That’s what Karlach wanted to be, a hero. She knew she was bound to die sooner rather than later, and she wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. The hellion was sure of this. She was; past tense. Now, there was someone in her life who made her truly feel alive, who led her to entertain the idea of living longer than the generous months Dammon’s upgrades could give. Karlach didn’t want to let that go. Ten years alone in the hells must have made her sinfully selfish, but she certainly was no saint.
That “someone” in question soon appeared by her side, falling back from the rest of the group to walk idly beside her.
“What are you thinking about?” Sikah gently brushed her tail against the back of Karlach’s leg.
Karlach didn’t answer, instead, she reached for the other tiefling’s hand and intertwined their fingers, looking at her expectantly. “Tonight, come on an adventure with me, yeah?”
“Lead the way,” she smiled.
Later that evening, Karlach came back from the bathhouse to find Sikah waiting for her in the party’s shared room. She was wearing clothes that differed slightly from her normal camp attire: a light grey blouse fastened by a corset with a darker hue, quilted pants to match, and her usual thigh-high boots.
“Is it too much?” Sikah sheepishly looked up at the other.
“Never, you look lovely, darling,” Karlach stepped toward her and leaned down for a kiss, “but, for where we’re going there won’t be much need for clothing.”
The shorter tiefling blushed and smacked the barbarian’s arm, shooting her a look as their other companions were still awake and listening. Karlach laughed.
“Come on then, you’ll see what I mean soon enough.”
The couple walked hand in hand through the now quiet streets of the Lower City. There were still a handful of people out and about, many couples like themselves whispering in the night, seeking respite from their busy daytime worries. Karlach led Sikah past the houses, shops, pubs, and brothels that lined the cobbled streets, down to the docks and further still. The wooden planks of the boat stalls tapered into the sand as they continued, leaving nothing but stretches of undisturbed beach to kiss the shore.
“So, what d'ya think?” Karlach steadied herself against Sikah’s shoulder as she removed her sandals and tossed them into her bag.
“It’s beautiful,” she mused, gazing out to the horizon.
From where they stood, the faint glow of torchlight in the city danced with the moon and the stars, illuminating the ocean beside them and casting a warm light across their skin.
“My parents used to take me out here,” Karlach began as she set their bedrolls and bags down. “Not at night, of course, but in the summers when it was too hot for the average Baldurian. There were a few other tiefling families that would show, and us kiddos would play in the waves for hours until our fingers were like prunes,” She smiled fondly at the memories. “I always liked feeling the cold water on my skin, the hot sand between my toes, the salty smell of the breeze… I thought about this place a lot when I was first in Avernus. I would have killed to have a day on the beach again, and now I can. Even if it’s a nighttime escapade with the woman I love, I wanted to make sure I saw this place one la–“ Karlach stopped herself, “I wanted to see this place again and share it with you.”
Sikah silently wrapped her arm around Karlach’s waist and rested her head on her shoulder. She smiled as the taller tiefling kissed her hair before returning the gesture, resting her head atop hers. They stood in each other’s embrace as the waves rolled in and out, crashing against the shoreline.
Sikah caught her breath as she sat hidden behind a stack of crates with her hood drawn over her head. She turned the stolen artifact over in the palm of her hand, admiring the shine of its polished gold. This would certainly sell for at least a hundred gold— enough for a small room at an inn, a meal, travel supplies, and maybe fresh clothes too. As an urchin, she wasn’t a stranger to using cold cobblestone as a pillow and the clothes on her back as her covers. But, Sikah couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a bath or washed her shirt, nor the last time she’d slept in a real bed.
She didn’t mind being alone. Hells, without anyone to rely on or provide for, she could keep all the spoils for herself. Albeit, there were times where Sikah did find herself longing for company. Part of her missed the companionship, but more of her missed the ease. When she was with her old band of thieves they split coin, shared food, a roof over their heads, and had a constant web of intel. Now that she was alone, Sikah had no one to rely on but herself.
When the buzz of investigating footsteps faded and the murmurs from watchmen dissipated, her breath settled back into her lungs. Sikah stood from her shadow and headed toward the nearest merchant. As she went to exit the alleyway, she collided with something; instantly, she was knocked off her feet by a devil-red tail and held down against the cobblestone floor by some sort of magic. She stealthily slipped her treasure into her pockets and raised her hands in surrender.
The man standing above her looked down with fiery, glowing green eyes. An intricate tattoo danced across his forehead, down his jaw, and dipped under his chin into three Ms on his neck. Like Sikah, he had horns, flaring out and up towards a center point; an Asmodeus, just as herself.
“The artifact you took, where is it?” The man spoke shortly.
“An artifact? I don’t know what you’re talking about, I was just heading home from work,” Sikah lied, keeping eye contact with the man as she slyly flicked her tail to nudge a dagger loose from her belt. “I have a family to feed, so I would greatly appreciate it if you could release me from whatever magic hold I’m under.”
The other tiefling raised a brow and studied her face, searching for cracks in her alibi. “If I was stupid, I’d believe you. Unfortunately for you, I’m not a fool; but fortunate for us, the richest people tend to be.” He dismissed the spell and extended his hand to Sikah, “Zotian, recruit of Mammon’s finest Infernal Bane.”
“Your attempt at intimidation due to your affiliation is moot,” she eyed his hand, opting to get up herself. “I don’t make deals with devils, nor do I fear them.”
“Oh, I’m no devil, though I’m flattered I seem foul enough,” Zotian smiled. “The coin in your pocket is nothing but a trial planted by the devil Mammon himself. He recruits only the finest tieflings for his thieves— and he’s had an eye on you for quite a while.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere. I travel alone and I work for no one.” Sikah moved to walk past him.
“I can see it, you know, the longing in your eyes. They went ablaze when I mentioned our people. Your previous companions judged you harshly because of the horns on your head, that’s why you now walk alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore, come and find kinship with us, with your kind,” he outstretched his hand again.
She stopped in her tracks and turned around. Sikah didn’t know what came over her at that moment, but she fished the coin from her pocket, placed it in Zotian’s palm, and shook his hand.
Years had since passed.
The foul heat of Avernus doused Sikah’s skin with sweltering sweat. Her precedent sentiments toward the nether realm were perpetually scorched with hot lightning, scarred by the thunderous crack of a whip and the blistering pain of seared flesh. After the death of Zotian, the tiefling never saw herself stepping foot into the hells, willingly at that.
She pulled the hood of her cloak over her horns to obscure her face from the fire-licked light; if anyone, friend or foe, from her previous allegiances, were to spot her, Sikah wasn’t sure what fate would assail. She wondered if any of her previous underlings were still lurking in the shadows, scavenging the now abandoned homes, once owned by aristocratic cambions, charred to rubble by the flames of the blood war. The tattoo that framed her face and embraced her neck itched at the thought. She tightened her grip around the collar of her cloak as she descended into the shadows of the hellish landscape. Her mission was simple: locate Fizban’s stolen encyclopedia of dragon-authored spells, assassinate its captor, and return the book to the eccentric wizard who’d hired her to retrieve it. Luckily, there were whispers about where the book resided, who kept it, and how to find it. Unluckily, the individual who possessed it was one of Mammon’s tendrils, Duke Focalor.
Focalor was alleged to be advising Zariel at an upcoming military conference, leaving his fortress and library of treasures unsupervised. Sikah could easily slip in, sleuth around for the artifact, retrieve it, and then escape back to the mortal realm.
Her return to the mortal realm, however, was anything but easy. A brine pool, a pod, a tadpole; voices in her head that she didn’t remember whispering before. One simple expedition for a book turned into a tentacled epoch.
hello all :) I've decided to stop being a little bitch baby and post some of the things I've been writing for my Tav, Sikah, and Karlach. This is a little drabble surrounding Sikah's fear of thunderstorms. In my mind, this takes place around the early quests of Act 3.
Here's a picture of them because they're cuties! My blorbos ♡
From the balcony of the inn, Sikah sat and watched as dark gray clouds, heavy with rain, slowly crept their way up the horizon and toward the city. She could hear the low rumble of thunder as they drew nearer and could smell the raindrops in the breeze. Her stomach ached.
Thunderstorms weren’t an abnormality along the Sword Coast. The proximity to the raging sea and the area’s pseudo-island climate brewed a perfect storm. When it rained in Baldur’s Gate it rained hard. Light showers were a rarity, only spitting in spring; for the refining seasons, there was little snow, no showers, and no sprinkles, only drenching downpours.
When Sikah was young she loved the rain— loved splashing in puddles, counting the seconds between thunder claps, watching lightning race across the sky. Her mother would tell her it was the gods and goddesses practicing their archery, each hot flash of pure energy an ethereal arrow.
Lightning was just that, pure energy in a blistering flash. She reached up and carefully brushed her fingertips across her permanently disfigured skin as the memories resurfaced. Sikah could still feel the sweltering pain on her face and see the blinding bolt of light emitting from a whip which cracked like thunder.
She gasped as something, no, someone, tapped her shoulder.
“Shit baby, I didn't mean to scare you.” Karlach took a step back, “You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine…” Sikah lied as she stood up and brushed dust from her pants. “Need something?”
“I was just checking in on ya, you’d been out here on the balcony for a while,” the taller tiefling leaned her back against the railing as she took a deep breath of coastal storm air. “Smells like rain.”
“Mmhm,” she hummed another passive lie, eyes still fixated on the darkening horizon.
“For a rogue you’re a shit liar sometimes,” the barbarian observed, “What’s on your mind?”
“It’s nothing,” Sikah winced as the skies opened up, darkening the cobblestone with heavy drops of precipitation, “let’s go inside.”
Karlach wasn’t buying it. Something was up with Sikah and she was damn determined to figure out what. She pondered for a moment, cogs turning in her head while she reviewed the past hour. The evening had been rather normal, she thought. The party had stumbled into the tavern bruised and bloody from a day’s worth of adventuring. Firstly, herself and Sikah promptly made their way up to the inn to wash up before having dinner with the group, after which they retired to their shared room. From then on, Sikah had been out on the balcony watching the storm clouds. Even now, laying in bed with the balcony doors shut, the smaller tiefling kept an eagle eye on the window.
“Did’jya see something suspicious out there? I can go pester Astarion to take care of it, he’s probably hungry.” Karlach attempted to draw her lover’s attention away from the window and onto her.
“No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine, really,” Sikah gave her a reassuring half-smile.
The taller woman raised a brow, “Darling, I love you, but you’re really bad at lying to me— which I appreciate, don’t get me wrong, but you can talk to me.”
Sikah was silent, eyes fixated on Karlach’s fingertips as the larger woman moved to pull her into her chest. “I’m afraid of thunderstorms, of lightning, all of it,” her voice came out in a whisper. “It’s stupid. I can face goblins, devils, shapeshifters, cultists, and shadow cursed lands all without an ounce of fear, but a thunderstorm? I feel pathetic.”
“Hey now, I don’t date pathetic people, if I wanted to do that I’d go find Volo or some shit,” Karlach joked in an attempt to lower her lover’s guard. “Everyone has things they’re afraid of, baby. Usually for a good reason too.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Sikah rolled her eyes as a tiny smile dared to escape her lips. She tensed as a clasp of thunder shook the building, pressing herself into Karlach’s warm embrace. “Shit.”
“Hey, you’re alright, I’ve got you,” the barbarian cupped the woman’s cheek and ran her thumb over its textured flesh. She wanted to ask Sikah to tell the story of her scars, to uncover the mysteries that hid behind tarnished skin and bask in her bravery. Yet, Karlach’s mind was absent as she continued to pet Sikah’s cheek, softly humming as her eyes shamelessly wandered across the map of her speckled skin. “You’re beautiful, you know.” She eyed Sikah’s lips, her thumb teasing to inch closer. The smaller tiefling reached up to guide Karlach’s hand away, placing it on her chest before she draped her arms around the hellion’s neck.
As rain continued to cascade down the inn’s window, the tieflings kept warm under the lush duvet of their bed. The next hours were spent in a lovers’ embrace; hands wandering across skin, muttered adorations, and airy breaths. With their clothes strewn across the floor, Karlach was able to fully appreciate her partner’s body in the blossoming candlelight. Sikah lay on her chest, back exposed to the air, arms hugged underneath one of the plush, feather pillows the inn provided. Her hair was down and out of its usual ponytail, cascading just barely past her shoulders. It had to be a horrible mess of tangles by now, for it hadn’t seen a brush in gods knows how long, yet her lover’s fingers effortlessly combed through it. Karlach reached out and traced her fingers over Sikah’s complexion, connecting the freckles in constellations across the map of her skin. Amongst the freckles were several scars, ranging from small cuts victim of anxious picking; to deep, discolored scar tissue from tougher quarrels.
“You know, I’ve always liked a woman with a bit of story to her.” Karlach hummed as her nails trailed over scars, smiling as Sikah peeked an eye open and looked at her.
The smaller tiefling raised a brow, “and by that you mean?”
“Your body tells a story that no other can tell. Each scar, every dimple, freckle, and divett is completely unique to you. I could stare at you for hours and still manage to find something new.” Her infernal engine flickered as she shifted to prop herself on her elbow and rest her chin in the palm of her hand. “As you live you get more scars, maybe some more tattoos, all which give more stories to tell, I think it’s nice. I’ve never really cared for the flawless skin of elves, too smooth, reminds me of a naked cat.”
“I’m going to tell Astarion you called him a naked cat,” Sikah chuckled, too comfortable to budge from her current position.
“Good, tell him, I think it’d be hilarious!” Karlach laughed. “He can stay being a pretty boy, I like my rogues tougher ‘round the edges.”
The rogue bit her lip and pondered on her next words, tracing the raised skin on the back of Karlach’s strong hand when it rested over hers. “I haven’t told you how I got the scar on my face, have I?” Sikah shyly looked up at the stronger woman.
“Nope,” Karlach shook her head. “If it makes you feel better, I thought it was a birthmark or something at first; but a battle scar is much more sexy.”
She rolled her eyes, “Hush and listen, it's story time.” She moved to rest on her back, inviting the larger woman to lie beside her. Karlach’s head came to rest on the smaller woman’s chest, listening to the heartbeat she yearned for. “I told you about my time in Avernus,” Sikah began, “my two-year stint in prison, but never how I got out and what I did once I had…”
hello all :) I've decided to stop being a little bitch baby and post some of the things I've been writing for my Tav, Sikah, and Karlach. This is a little drabble surrounding Sikah's fear of thunderstorms. In my mind, this takes place around the early quests of Act 3.
Here's a picture of them because they're cuties! My blorbos ♡
From the balcony of the inn, Sikah sat and watched as dark gray clouds, heavy with rain, slowly crept their way up the horizon and toward the city. She could hear the low rumble of thunder as they drew nearer and could smell the raindrops in the breeze. Her stomach ached.
Thunderstorms weren’t an abnormality along the Sword Coast. The proximity to the raging sea and the area’s pseudo-island climate brewed a perfect storm. When it rained in Baldur’s Gate it rained hard. Light showers were a rarity, only spitting in spring; for the remaining seasons, there was little snow, no showers, and no sprinkles, only drenching downpours.
When Sikah was young she loved the rain— loved splashing in puddles, counting the seconds between thunder claps, watching lightning race across the sky. Her mother would tell her it was the gods and goddesses practicing their archery, each hot flash of pure energy an ethereal arrow.
Lightning was just that, pure energy in a blistering flash. She reached up and carefully brushed her fingertips across her permanently disfigured skin as the memories resurfaced. Sikah could still feel the sweltering pain on her face and see the blinding bolt of light emitting from a whip which cracked like thunder.
She gasped as something, no, someone, tapped her shoulder.
“Shit baby, I didn't mean to scare you.” Karlach took a step back, “You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine…” Sikah lied as she stood up and brushed dust from her pants. “Need something?”
“I was just checking in on ya, you’d been out here on the balcony for a while,” the taller tiefling leaned her back against the railing as she took a deep breath of coastal storm air. “Smells like rain.”
“Mmhm,” she hummed another passive lie, eyes still fixated on the darkening horizon.
“For a rogue you’re a shit liar sometimes,” the barbarian observed, “What’s on your mind?”
“It’s nothing,” Sikah winced as the skies opened up, darkening the cobblestone with heavy drops of precipitation, “let’s go inside.”
Karlach wasn’t buying it. Something was up with Sikah and she was damn determined to figure out what. She pondered for a moment, cogs turning in her head while she reviewed the past hour. The evening had been rather normal, she thought. The party had stumbled into the tavern bruised and bloody from a day’s worth of adventuring. Firstly, herself and Sikah promptly made their way up to the inn to wash up before having dinner with the group, after which they retired to their shared room. From then on, Sikah had been out on the balcony watching the storm clouds. Even now, laying in bed with the balcony doors shut, the smaller tiefling kept an eagle eye on the window.
“Did’jya see something suspicious out there? I can go pester Astarion to take care of it, he’s probably hungry.” Karlach attempted to draw her lover’s attention away from the window and onto her.
“No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine, really,” Sikah gave her a reassuring half-smile.
The taller woman raised a brow, “Darling, I love you, but you’re really bad at lying to me— which I appreciate, don’t get me wrong, but you can talk to me.”
Sikah was silent, eyes fixated on Karlach’s fingertips as the larger woman moved to pull her into her chest. “I’m afraid of thunderstorms, of lightning, all of it,” her voice came out in a whisper. “It’s stupid. I can face goblins, devils, shapeshifters, cultists, and shadow cursed lands all without an ounce of fear, but a thunderstorm? I feel pathetic.”
“Hey now, I don’t date pathetic people, if I wanted to do that I’d go find Volo or some shit,” Karlach joked in an attempt to lower her lover’s guard. “Everyone has things they’re afraid of, baby. Usually for a good reason too.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Sikah rolled her eyes as a tiny smile dared to escape her lips. She tensed as a clasp of thunder shook the building, pressing herself into Karlach’s warm embrace. “Shit.”
“Hey, you’re alright, I’ve got you,” the barbarian cupped the woman’s cheek and ran her thumb over its textured flesh. She wanted to ask Sikah to tell the story of her scars, to uncover the mysteries that hid behind tarnished skin and bask in her bravery. Yet, Karlach’s mind was absent as she continued to pet Sikah’s cheek, softly humming as her eyes shamelessly wandered across the map of her speckled skin. “You’re beautiful, you know.” She eyed Sikah’s lips, her thumb teasing to inch closer. The smaller tiefling reached up to guide Karlach’s hand away, placing it on her chest before she draped her arms around the hellion’s neck.
As rain continued to cascade down the inn’s window, the tieflings kept warm under the lush duvet of their bed. The next hours were spent in a lovers’ embrace; hands wandering across skin, muttered adorations, and airy breaths. With their clothes strewn across the floor, Karlach was able to fully appreciate her partner’s body in the blossoming candlelight. Sikah lay on her chest, back exposed to the air, arms hugged underneath one of the plush, feather pillows the inn provided. Her hair was down and out of its usual ponytail, cascading just barely past her shoulders. It had to be a horrible mess of tangles by now, for it hadn’t seen a brush in gods knows how long, yet her lover’s fingers effortlessly combed through it. Karlach reached out and traced her fingers over Sikah’s complexion, connecting the freckles in constellations across the map of her skin. Amongst the freckles were several scars, ranging from small cuts victim of anxious picking; to deep, discolored scar tissue from tougher quarrels.
“You know, I’ve always liked a woman with a bit of story to her.” Karlach hummed as her nails trailed over scars, smiling as Sikah peeked an eye open and looked at her.
The smaller tiefling raised a brow, “and by that you mean?”
“Your body tells a story that no other can tell. Each scar, every dimple, freckle, and divett is completely unique to you. I could stare at you for hours and still manage to find something new.” Her infernal engine flickered as she shifted to prop herself on her elbow and rest her chin in the palm of her hand. “As you live you get more scars, maybe some more tattoos, all which give more stories to tell, I think it’s nice. I’ve never really cared for the flawless skin of elves, too smooth, reminds me of a naked cat.”
“I’m going to tell Astarion you called him a naked cat,” Sikah chuckled, too comfortable to budge from her current position.
“Good, tell him, I think it’d be hilarious!” Karlach laughed. “He can stay being a pretty boy, I like my rogues tougher ‘round the edges.”
The rogue bit her lip and pondered on her next words, tracing the raised skin on the back of Karlach’s strong hand when it rested over hers. “I haven’t told you how I got the scar on my face, have I?” Sikah shyly looked up at the stronger woman.
“Nope,” Karlach shook her head. “If it makes you feel better, I thought it was a birthmark or something at first; but a battle scar is much more sexy.”
She rolled her eyes, “Hush and listen, it's story time.” She moved to rest on her back, inviting the larger woman to lie beside her. Karlach’s head came to rest on the smaller woman’s chest, listening to the heartbeat she yearned for. “I told you about my time in Avernus,” Sikah began, “my two-year stint in prison, but never how I got out and what I did once I had…”
