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“Your friend, he’s a vampire no? Or one of their spawn at least.” Araj Oblurdra said. She didn’t bother disguising the cursory once over she gave Astarion, standing with her arms folded before her small workshop deep within the twisting corridors of Moonrise towers. Astarion’s brows drew down at the dispassionately clinical look on the blood merchant’s face, but there was nothing but airy flippancy in his voice when he said, “Don’t worry, we’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”
Thursday felt her eyebrows rise when Araj replied with a quick, cold smirk and countered, “Oh, I’d prefer if you did.”
From the rear of the group, Thursday caught Shadowheart’s dry, speculative, “Oh?” and Lae’zel’s impatient, “Hush.”
Araj barely paused. “I assume he belongs to you?” She said archly, turning away from Astarion with something like contempt and once again addressing her question to Thursday.
The tiefling woman still seemed mostly at ease, even in the stronghold of the Absolute. Everything about Thursday was soft, nondescript, from the dark, curly cloud of her hair to the loose, comfortable robes she wore, so it had come as something of a surprise to the soft-spoken monk when she’d first realized that the odd collection of strays she’d taken up with had come to view her as their de-facto leader. But despite her quiet ways Thursday was hardly shy, so she had learned to take it in stride, even if most people didn’t assume her authority extended quite as far as Araj apparently did.
Her head tilted as she considered the drow woman’s words. “That’s quite the assumption.” she said mildly.
Araj smiled faintly, humming low in her throat as though Thursday had just told her what she needed to know in spite of herself. “Well, I hope you don’t mind sharing him for just a minute.” She said.
Thursday blinked, nonplussed as Araj turned from her to Astarion.
“Do you have a name, spawn?” She drawled.
“Astarion,” He said immediately, as though he hadn’t quite meant to answer but it had spilled out of him without thought. “But hold on-“
“Good.” Araj continued, “Now Astarion, I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl.”
Astarion’s incredulous voice echoed strangely in the cavernous hallway. “I’m sorry, you want to be bitten?” He said tightly. Something about Araj was unsettling him, Thursday thought. She frowned faintly.
The expression on the blood merchant’s face was one of longing, bordering on obsession. “To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death. Yes, I want it,” she said breathlessly. Crimson eyes lined with crimson paint glittered in the torchlight. “I’ll even compensate you. A potion of legendary power that forever increases the strength of the one who consumes it. It’s not for sale, but it’s yours if you bite me.”
“I will have to… decline.” Astarion said, retreating a step. Thursday’s mismatched eyes moved slowly from him to Araj and back. She had never seen him this openly nervous—not in the goblin stronghold, not in the hag’s lair, not even when he’d believed she was seconds away from impaling him on a wooden stake all those nights ago in camp.
Araj scoffed, “Excuse me?” She said sharply, “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and you’re squandering it.” But Astarion seemed to have found his footing at last. “I gave you my answer,” he said, more forcefully. Thursday smiled quietly and felt something within her settle. Oddly, Astarion now seemed to be looking to her, something almost guilty in the roundness of his eyes. Thursday met his gaze, lifting one shoulder in a bemused shrug. He looked away.
“Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?” Araj said, turning impatiently to her once more. But Thursday, whose attention had drifted to the odd alchemical apparatus on the tables behind the blood merchant, only realized belatedly that she was expected to answer. Blinking, she focused on Araj once more.
“You chase death as though you fear it might elude you,“ Thursday noted solemnly, even as Shadowheart stifled a giggle at the incongruity of the off-handed observation. Thursday studiously ignored her. “The future will come in its own time, Araj Oblurdra,” The monk ended helpfully.
To her left, Lae’zel grunted with something that resembled approval. Lae’zel liked some of the ascetic monk’s more fatalist leanings. Astarion on the other hand made a noise of disgust, even as the tension seemed to leach out of him all at once. “Did they give out prizes in monk school for who could spout the most cryptic nonsense?” He drawled, turning on his heel to follow Thursday as she started to lead the other three deeper into the stronghold, leaving the blood merchant staring after them, fuming.
Dark shadows clung to the high rafters and empty places of the tower and for several seconds the group walked in silence. Then Thursday spoke once more.
“Not for cryptic nonsense, per-say.” She said slowly, almost consideringly.
Astarion threw a hand over his face with despairing groan. “Oh gods, they did give out prizes, didn’t they.”
And Thursday’s rare, quiet laughter was a golden thing, warm even in the darkness.