Camaraderie
All things considered, Orochimaru has had far worse nights’ sleep.
Maybe it was something in the bite, or it's just the blood loss, but he can’t recall a time he’d slept so soundly.
All of the others hover around him as he wakes up, expressions ranging from worried to disgusted.
And then there’s Astarion, whose eyes dart around as he wears a sheepish expression, like a child caught reading under the covers long after bedtime.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice cracking a bit as he says it. “How are you feeling?”
Ah. last night’s events must have gotten around camp already.
He must have been deeper asleep than he thought.
He takes stock of his condition- aside from the throbbing in his neck, he feels remarkably alright.
“Not bad. A bit dizzy- and crowded, so do you mind?”
The others back off to allow Orochimaru space to stand and straighten himself out.
“So, a vampire, eh? That explains the color I suppose,” Shadowheart says, side-eyeing Astarion. Astarion holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture in return, taking a step away from her.
"Hey now- look, he's perfectly fine. No harm done!"
"He's right," Orochimaru says, waving everyone away to get some breathing room. "Everything is fine- if it weren't then I promise you our friend wouldn't still be standing there."
"I'll admit," Wyll says, sounding disappointed in himself, "I'm embarrassed I didn't figure it out earlier. You aren't exactly subtle about it."
"That's neither here nor there." Orochimaru snaps, tossing his hair out of his face. "Like it or not, we need all the allies we can get. I know none of you are fond of vampires, but we don't have the luxury of being picky about the company we keep.”
An uncomfortable silence, then a reluctant series of nods spread through the group.
"As long as he doesn't develop an appetite for Githyanki," Lae'zel snarls, turning on her heels and stalking away.
"There- see, we're all friends again, no need for torches and pitchforks."
“I suppose we’re all monsters in the making,” Shadowheart sighs. “Is this really all that different? Though, maybe we ought to make you wear a bell to discourage any more nighttime prowling.”
Astarion ignores the bell part with a pointed scowl.
“Quite right- please don’t worry- last night was a lapse in judgement on my part, there won’t be any sleep-time surprises again, on my honor.”
“Funny. I didn’t think vampires had honor.”
“Most don’t- I hope you understand that I am not most.”
Astarion is smiling, but it’s yet another one of those smiles thrown on as a mask- the others may not catch on, but Orochimaru has felt that same sort of smile on his own face far too many times to miss it.
He claps his hands together, laughing to disguise his nerves.
“...Well, since that’s all cleared up, we have plenty of other business to be getting on with.”
Wyll is the only one to smile.
“True enough- here, we got you newcomers some clothes so you’ll fit in a little better. Come here and see what fits.”
No harm done then, it seems. Aside from their other companions giving them the side-eye. Orochimaru considers that about as good an outcome as he could have hoped for, considering what he’s gathered about how vampires are seen by others.
Now that it’s over with, they dress and make their preparations for the day, doing their best to ignore the looming threat swimming around in each of their skulls.
He glances over his shoulder while trying to figure out how best to get his hair up out of his face and keep it that way.
Once again Astarion has that faraway look, like he’s staring at something a long way off even though he’s trying to pretend to read.
If Orochimaru asked about it, he would not get an answer and he knows that.
However, he remembers, as he chokes down a cup of black coffee that’s far too strong, that he has another way that he could get the answer he wants.
The parasite in his brain stirs, reaching out toward Astarion’s; the other tadpole lets him in, allowing him to pry into the memories that have the man so distracted.
He’s looking through unfamiliar eyes now, sprinting through unfamiliar streets, panic bubbling up inside him.
Concentrating harder, the image comes into sharp focus- a crisp memory, still as fresh as if it had just happened.
“Fuck- I’m really going to get it this time-”
His legs burn with the effort of running full-tilt across the cobblestones, with only the faint light of the half moon overhead to illuminate the way forward.
He doesn’t see the figure strolling down the street until it’s too late to avoid a full-on collision.
“Hells-”
He bounces off the man and falls backwards, sending his books spilling out into the snow.
He scrambles to pick them up before they can be damaged.
“It’s a little late for a child like you to be wandering around, isn’t it?”
Astarion looks down at his shoes, face growing hot from embarrassment.
“I guess so…”
“Straighten up, boy. And speak clearly- have some respect for yourself, will you?”
Astarion obeys the command without thinking, as if he didn’t get a choice in the matter.
Though the man is scolding him, he smiles down at him, regarding him like a stray pet.
He’s not a particularly tall man, but he gives the impression that he towers over him. Slicked back dark hair stands out starkly against his skin, as white as the snow falling around them. His finery and the ornate rings adorning his fingers lets him know that he’s some sort of nobility.
And that he’s fucked up very, very badly.
“Sorry-”
The man, oddly enough, doesn’t seem to care about that so much as the other question on his mind.
“Where are you coming from, little one?”
The boy points in the direction he came from.
“The library,” he says. “I didn’t know it’d gotten so late.”
The man towering over him raises an eyebrow.
“Now, what is there at a library to amuse a boy your age at this time of night?”
Astarion’s hackles raise, indignant at the assumption he was goofing off.
“It wasn’t for fun- I’ve got an exam coming up and I wanted to make sure I was ready. It never hurts to study up, right?”
He peers up expectantly, wondering if he’ll be scolded again.
This man doesn’t continue scolding him, however. Rather, he seems quite amused.
“I wouldn’t think a child would care so much about their studies. How old are you, boy?”
“Hm? Why?”
“Curiosity. Is that so unusual?”
“It’s unusual for someone like you to wonder about someone like me, yes.”
“Did nobody ever teach you how to properly speak to your elders? Indulge me, will you?”
The man almost seems playful. Strange. It makes something inside him squirm uncomfortably, but he tries to ignore it.
“...I’m fifteen.”
“And where do you live? It’s dangerous out on the streets alone at night, you know.”
“The orphanage on the far side of town. The one the Ilmater temple runs.”
The man nods along, and there’s a flash of something in those red eyes of his that he doesn’t like. But once again, he ignores the discomfort that gnaws at the back of his mind.
“I suppose you’ll be in trouble with your caretakers for turning up so late.”
“Oh, the worst they’ll do to me is send me to bed hungry. I’m used to that.”
“Is that so? Maybe you’d do better to keep away til morning- it might give them time to miss you.”
Putting his hands on his hips, Astarion frowns.
“And go where, exactly? If I’m going to be hungry, I’d rather do it in my own bed.”
“Oh, dear boy- do you see that palace up ahead?”
“Hm?”
“That palace is mine. I wouldn’t mind hosting you for a night, if you don’t feel like facing your parents.”
“They’re not my-”
Astarion doesn’t finish the sentence, trailing off as a sadness he can’t quite place overtakes him.
"Well, out with it then- what were you studying so ardently you forgot about the time?"
"...Who wants to know?"
The man laughs, and there’s something…off about it. Eerie.
“Cazador Szarr, boy.”
Szarr. That name sounds like it should be familiar. One of those important noble families with piles of gold to their name. That explains the gaudy ring with the ornate sigil on it.
“Tell me, then- what are you studying up for?”
Once again, Astarion stares down at his shoes. Cazador uses the head of his ornate staff to lift his chin up, forcing their eyes to meet once more. Astarion pushes it away with an irritated little huff, but the man allows that small gesture of defiance.
“If I get lucky I’ll be a magistrate- everyone keeps telling me I’ve got no chance. But I don’t believe them.”
Whatever Cazador is about to say in response, he never gets the chance to say it.
"Ilmater's grace, Astarion! Where in the hells have you been?!"
One of the caretakers from the orphanage grabs him and pulls him into a crushing hug, hands trembling and voice heavy with relief.
"I've been looking for you for hours! What happened?!"
"I was just studying," he mumbles. "I lost track of time-"
The woman catches sight of Cazador, and she squeezes Astarion all the tighter, pulling him as far away from the man as she can manage.
Like she’s afraid of him.
Cazador's expression is impossible for him to read.
"Alright then," he says, a tight, forced smile spreading across his face as he whirls around to leave. "I best be off- goodnight, little magistrate."
“Stop that!” Astarion hisses, through gritted teeth.
Ah, so his intrusion didn’t go unnoticed. Orochimaru will have to be more careful next time.
“Apologies. Curiosity got the better of me.”
Astarion gets in closer than Orochimaru would like, glaring at him with a mixture of anger, revulsion, and fear.
“If I may be so bold as to offer you some advice,” he says, in a sickly sweet tone that’s just a bit too friendly, “you best learn to let sleeping dogs lie, lest you get bitten.”
Maybe it was unkind to intrude like that. Or at least, to do it so obviously.
But as he had said, his curiosity is absolutely insatiable. So, despite the warning, he continues his questioning.
“Cazador. Who is he?”
“Why are you so insistent on digging up my past?!” Astarion snaps.
Then, his angry expression melts away, replaced by an overwhelming, terrible sadness. Despite not wanting to in the least, he answers.
“...Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord in Baldur's Gate. He turned me, two hundred years ago. I became his spawn. He became my tormentor.”
His voice is as bitter as absinthe as he speaks, handsome features contorted by an anguish nowhere near forgotten.
“Were you really that young when he did it?”
“Ha! No- Cazador is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. I think the people running the orphanage where I was raised knew what he was, so I was kept well away from him after that...incident. He bid his time. He waited. By the time he…got me, I was nearly forty. I think. It’s hard to remember, really.”
“I see.”
Astarion shakes his head, waving it off pretending that it doesn’t matter.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. I’ve been conveniently lost to him now. He won’t control me again. Ever.”
He raises his hands with a little flourish.
“Standing in the sun, wading through a river, walking right into people’s homes without an invitation- I can do it all now. I’m free- if he knew he would be furious! ”
There’s an adorable giddiness in his voice as he says it. Orochimaru has to wonder how many other things he’s missed out on in the past two centuries.
“I’d honestly given up thinking that I’d ever be free. Those tentacled bastards did me a favor, it would seem.”
Orochimaru nods along, finally deciding that pulling his hair back into a tight knot at the back of his head, while far from glamorous, will do just fine to keep it out of the way for the time being.
It would appear this man’s sorry tale gets more interesting by the day. Maybe he’ll have to share his own sometime.
After all, fair is fair.
“You seem pissed off.”
Lae’zel doesn’t speak or acknowledge Kisame as he approaches, too intent on putting on her armor and inspecting her weapons.
She hasn’t eaten anything, and she’s been on her own muttering to herself for the past half hour. That’s never a promising sign. But she doesn’t seem keen on sharing whatever’s on her mind with anyone.
He isn’t too put off by that- after all, after spending years with Itachi, he’s very used to being rebuffed when trying to offer a listening ear.
“You might feel better if you say it out loud,” he presses.
Surprisingly enough, after an irritated sigh, the woman does answer him.
(That’s farther than he usually gets with Itachi, so that’s new.)
“We are wasting time on this false promise of the druid Halsin.” Lae’zel snarls. “My people are the only ones who possess a true cure to our infection.”
She’s so sure of herself- and it certainly seems like everything else is turning out to be a dead end. They have no guarantee that Halsin will be able to save them. And even so-
“Do you think we’ll make it in time?” Kisame asks.
Lae’zel bows her head in contemplation, fiddling with the handle of her sword.
“I do not know. In truth, the symptoms should have started already. We should already be changing, but I do not feel any different…”
“Me neither. Maybe that’s a good thing?”
Glaring at the ground, Lae’zel flinches as she contemplates the situation.
“I do not know. I do not wish to find out.”
Despite her abrupt, curt tone, he can tell she isn’t merely angry.
He can see it in her yellow, cat-like eyes. In the way they dart around rapidly, and the way every single muscle in her lithe body is tense.
Fear.
Of course, it’s natural that she would be afraid in this situation- he would be more surprised if she weren’t.
“You’re keeping a remarkably level head, considering everything,” he remarks, as they strap on the rest of their gear.
“Because I know my people will purify us. I have no intention of becoming a ghaik. I will not become a burden to my queen.”
“Queen?”
“Vlaakith. Our ruler of a thousand years. The undying sovereign of the Githyanki people.”
She says the name with so much reverence, as though she were closer to a god than a ruler.
“A thousand years, eh? That’s a long time.”
“And she will rule for a thousand more.”
"I'd say any ruler who's held their seat for a millennium earned their spot."
Lae'zel smiles, and nods approvingly at him.
“I am glad that at least one person in this camp is capable. Most istik do not care for the culture of my people.”
“Seems like yours and mine have some things in common. Maybe we can compare notes sometime.”
Lae’zel seems excited about the prospect. Or, as excited as she can look while still seeming perpetually grumpy.
He gets the impression she hasn’t gotten much chance to talk about things she likes a lot. That must be a lonely way to live.
“Perhaps once we are purified, I will tell you more of my people.”
Kisame laughs, hauling his pack over his shoulder as they ready to head out.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Yo, you ready to get the hell outta here?”
“One moment-”
Hidan and Wyll recoil in unison, a shiver running through each of them from the top of their heads to the soles of their feet. Flashes of each other’s lives play out in their minds’ eyes, regardless of how they feel about sharing.
Wyll shudders, rubbing his temples and trying to get his mind dback to himself.
“Ah- there it is. Our parasites seem to have made fast friends, haven’t they?”
“Guess so.”
Hidan cocks his head, trying to suss out why Wyll looks so uncomfortable.
Their minds collide again, and he’s back in that strange place, chasing a one-horned woman through fire and smoke so thick that he can barely breathe, through a landscape reeking of sulfur.
The woman curses his name and shouts other things he can’t understand, before the connection snaps like a string pulled too tightly.
“Shit- you saw her-”
Curiosity gets Hidan to try to pry a little further.
"Who was she?"
"Karlach," Wyll says, disdain coloring the name pitch black. "A devil that I'd tracked through the hells to the mind flayer ship."
He sighs, putting his hands on his hips and staring at the ground.
"I hate to think what she must be up to now. The people she might be hurting."
Normally Hidan would absolutely despise this annoying sort of do-gooder type, but something about Wyll’s earnestness wins him over.
“That bad, huh? If it matters so much to ya, maybe we should see if we can find her, then- I bet we can take the bitch out before we start sprouting tentacles.”
“It’s rotten work- although I can’t say I wouldn’t welcome any helping hand I can get. Hells know that they're rare these days."
“Great. So if she was gonna be anywhere, where do you think she’d be?”
A grimace. His one eye darts around uncomfortably.
“Hard to say. If she was given a tadpole like us, maybe she’s already turned. Or maybe hers is unusual like ours.”
Hidan laughs, clapping Wyll on the shoulder.
“Guess it won’t matter too much if we kill her, eh?”
Wyll smiles at him, looking relieved.
“I’m glad to have found a friend in the middle of all this mess. Alright then, we’ll keep an eye out for her. Maybe she’s even nearby.”
“Sounds great- you’re not a bad fucker to know, ya know?”
Still not a fan of Hidan’s excessive profanity, Wyll nonetheless returns the clap on the shoulder.
“You aren’t bad to know, yourself. I’m glad of all the people the mind flayers snatched, one of them was you. Whoever your god Jashin is, he chose well.”
“Ah, shut yer yap before you make me fuckin’ blush,” Hidan grumbles, waving him off and trying not to let on how much his flattery got to him.
At least Wyll is better company than Kakuzu.
Or. Easier to get along with, anyway.