Astarion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
good_taste) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
spiderparlour2023-04-13 06:16 pm
good_taste) wrote in spiderparlour2023-04-13 06:16 pm
Men of Taste
The throbbing headache behind Astarion's left eye is terrifying, as is everything else. He can't move, trapped in a horribly warm, slimy pod. The whole place is shaking, roaring, chunks of the walls are falling away, there's black and red and smoke and brimstone--of course! They're going on a jaunt through the Hells. Why not! It wasn't as if tonight could get any worse.
Thralls battle shrieking imps while he tries to free himself, to reach for his dagger, something. He's not going to go from one devil's playing to some other's snack.
He's almost got an arm free, when everything lurches toward a direction he can't even name, and suddenly a scintillating, rainbow light blasts through the cracks in the walls. What in--?
Another lurch, a blast, and the outside is obscured by thick smoke that smells like burning fish of all things.
And there's the stomach-churning feeling of falling. Oh f--
--
Astarion comes to with a gasp, and a few coughs, possibly because his body can't quite believe he still has lungs at all. He's been thrown clear of the pod, thank the gods. But he can't lie here feeling sorry for himself, he can feel heat on his face, the fire he saw must be--
He opens his eyes to blue sky.
He's up in a flash, panicked, but... He's not burning. He's standing in sunlight, and it feels... good.
He looks down at his hands, at the shadows cast by them on the rubble. He hadn't even remembered what sunlight felt like. It feels warm. Powerful. Real.
Something has to ruin the moment, of course. Movement behind him, within the wreck. He climbs up and out of the deep scar left by the crash, finding a vantage point to watch from.
Oh. Those two. The mindflayer thralls. Why they're now killing the little scuttling, slimy brain-beasts is beyond him, but he can't overpower them both. And he still needs to know what happened to him. He needs a plan.
And by the time they've finished off the creatures, he's got one. "Hey! Over here!"
It's not the best plan, but he's made do with worse.
Thralls battle shrieking imps while he tries to free himself, to reach for his dagger, something. He's not going to go from one devil's playing to some other's snack.
He's almost got an arm free, when everything lurches toward a direction he can't even name, and suddenly a scintillating, rainbow light blasts through the cracks in the walls. What in--?
Another lurch, a blast, and the outside is obscured by thick smoke that smells like burning fish of all things.
And there's the stomach-churning feeling of falling. Oh f--
--
Astarion comes to with a gasp, and a few coughs, possibly because his body can't quite believe he still has lungs at all. He's been thrown clear of the pod, thank the gods. But he can't lie here feeling sorry for himself, he can feel heat on his face, the fire he saw must be--
He opens his eyes to blue sky.
He's up in a flash, panicked, but... He's not burning. He's standing in sunlight, and it feels... good.
He looks down at his hands, at the shadows cast by them on the rubble. He hadn't even remembered what sunlight felt like. It feels warm. Powerful. Real.
Something has to ruin the moment, of course. Movement behind him, within the wreck. He climbs up and out of the deep scar left by the crash, finding a vantage point to watch from.
Oh. Those two. The mindflayer thralls. Why they're now killing the little scuttling, slimy brain-beasts is beyond him, but he can't overpower them both. And he still needs to know what happened to him. He needs a plan.
And by the time they've finished off the creatures, he's got one. "Hey! Over here!"
It's not the best plan, but he's made do with worse.
no subject
"How did I know who you were talking about?" he wonders out loud -- and then he stumbles and trips over his own two feet.
no subject
"Easy there, we'll be able to eat and rest soon," comes a silky response, a sympathetic smile on his face. Poor thing must be exhausted from the ordeal.
Indeed it is odd that they both know exactly who Astarion is talking about, but Binghe is also very used to strange phenomena - especially the kind that messes with the head.
(He is, momentarily, reminded of Xin Mo, shattered and scattered heavens knows only where with only a singular shard still clinging to the hilt stuffed in his qiankun bag. It will likely be enough to track down the rest of the sword but will he be able to muster enough power to open the way between worlds to get them...? Does he even want to...? It's a rather nice feeling not having the sword screaming in his brain.
Ah, but how will he be able to find that kind shizun if he doesn't...?)
"Here," he remarks, stopping outside a rather mid-tier tailors. Much of it looks far more appropriate as travel attire, though there are a handful of luxury items and silks on display.
He picks the shop not only because it sells decent quality pragmatic attire, but also because it will be far easier to keep an eye on Shen Luguang in its small interior.
"Besides, if we're traveling, we're not looking to be the height of fashion, unless we all want to be swarmed by thieves and vagabonds...?"
no subject
Still, the moment of recognition should probably be addressed. He's still not sure where he is in relation to the Sword Coast. "You know about him? Well--it's Elminster, I shouldn't be surprised. He gets everywhere, like an ogre's sneeze." Every few years people were talking about him, saving the realm again. So unspeakably heroic.
Clothes are a welcome distraction, inspecting the offerings with a critical eye. He is blissfully unburdened by any sense of the Dos and Don'ts of local fashion. Much as blending in would help, confidence is what makes an outfit work best.
"It might give us something to do," he considers a garment he likes the look of. And the feel--this place does know its silks. "Though I'll admit, I'm not the most seasoned traveler. I hadn't left the city in centuries."
no subject
It was already clear from their reactions that they hadn't experienced the same thing he had, but that didn't necessarily mean much. His chief concern was to see if he could make it happen again.
no subject
The spider demon sees Luo Binghe standing in his shop and freezes.
There is a reason he is down to six legs. There is also a reason that's the extent of his misfortune, because while he was stupid enough to challenge a heavenly demon, he was also smart enough to quit while he was ahead, yielded, and gave Luo Binghe the magical treasure that would save whatever wife the demon emperor had fixated on for the week from some bizarre ailment.
If the emperor was standing in his shop, smiling at him like that, he knew better than to open his mouth and give away whatever game Luo Binghe was playing.
"A thousand pardons m'lords. This one will attend to you once you've made your selections."
He potters around the place, legs clicking nervously as they go through what were supposed to be displays only. They must be in a rush, and cannot wait a day or two for anything more bespoke.
Luo Binghe, in the meantime, is carefully picking his new attire. Selecting things in shades of dark gray and blue. His black, red, and silver robes are too distinctive, even if they're fashionable among loyalists. Anything to throw eyes off of him.
He stays annoyingly close to the other two, never quite out of earshot or their line of sight.
But this lord can be kind too. He spots a jeweled silver earcuffs that would look exquisite on Astarion. And a silk fan with a sage-green tassel and white jade crane ornament that would complement Shen Luguang's scholarly air.
He passes the gifts discretely to the clerk who goes to box them up. He may be staying late, but it's been a slow day, and it looks like these three have money to burn. He's not going to complain about the overtime if it comes with a fat, juicy commission.
no subject
Well, a spider would explain the silks.
He's allowed to eat bugs. Maybe he could--?
Ugh, no. That one can talk.
Fine, he'll just go back to assembling a look that will go well with his skin, and what he thinks the color of his eyes probably is.
no subject
The pale man's eyes widen at the sight of the spider, another name tumbling from him--Luō Sī, a great demon that dwells in the hungry dark below the world, spinning webs of treachery and malice. A creature worshiped as a dark goddess.
The list ends with another odd figure. Shǒuàn Zhǔ, blood-drenched demon lord of a land untouched by sunlight. There's the slightest tinge of desire that clings to the name.
The connection fades before his mind can tell you why.
no subject
Then he smiles mysteriously and turns to see what mischief Liu Feiyu's gotten up to.