Celebration
“And Halsin has taken our little, uh- guest back to the grove?”
“For the time being, at least. Just to try to keep her from running until we get things sorted out.”
Astarion jerks his head in the direction of the giant, open tub where the goblins are gleefully partaking, a knowing grin on his face.
“There we go, darling. Shall we give them a drink that burns going down?”
Orochimaru nods, glee coursing through him as he breaks the wax seal on the wyvern toxin, a faint, sickly sweet smell filling his nose as he pops the cork.
“Do you think our drow friend will be willing to talk to us once we’re done here?”
“Oh, I have ways of loosening uncooperative tongues,” Orochimaru sighs, with a sly grin. “But let’s cross that bridge when we get there.”
“Is that so? Now that, I’ll have to see.”
“If you’ve got the stomach for it.”
Deftly, when the goblins are too busy cheering each other on and their future victory to pay any attention, Orochimaru dumps the entire vial of toxin into the astringent-smelling tub of…something.
The deed is done, and the empty vial stashed in his pocket, before anyone has noticed he’s done something.
He gives it a stir with the makeshift ladle in the tub, and the greenish color dissipates, so the entire thing looks untainted.
He grabs a mug from the rotting wooden table beside it, and scoops out some of it, holding it aloft and shouting to get the goblins’ attention.
“Gather around, everyone!” he declares, and they obey, chattering and eager as they go to fill their own mugs and glasses. “It’s a big day, isn’t it? We should celebrate.”
A round of cheers and raised glasses.
“Let’s 'ave a toast, then!” one of the goblins hollers. “Come on!”
Orochimaru holds his mug of tainted alcohol aloft.
“To victory,” he says, with a smile. “And to our enemies not knowing what hit them by the time we’re through.”
Another round of raucous cheers, and the goblins start to chug their drinks. Orochimaru makes a show of doing the same, but really only takes a small mouthful, letting the rest spill onto the ground behind him.
(as fantastic as his poison tolerance is, he doesn’t feel like pushing his luck with this strange substance.)
While the goblins unwittingly toast their own demise, he and Astarion weave their way through the crowd to leave before the show starts.
Sure enough, as they pass through the gates, they hear the groans of pain and screams as the toxin does its wicked work, growing ever louder as they leave the camp behind.
“Will the others follow us back, you think?”
“Once they’re finished robbing the place blind, I would assume.”
“Ah, of course. Adventuring doesn’t come cheap, after all. And greasing palms is easier than hoping everyone we come across has their own little stowaways.”
They see the others hauling ass out of the camp, and know it’s time to take their leave.
Whether any of the goblins survive, they don’t particularly care. It’s time to get back to the grove.
“By the gods- I’d begun to think maybe the goblins got to you-”
Orochimaru shakes his head.
“No need to worry about them- they won’t be causing us trouble anymore.”
Zevlor looks beyond relieved, sighing and bowing his head in gratitude.
(He looks so exhausted. Orochimaru wonders if the man has slept since they arrived here.)
“You have no idea what this means for us,” he says, the exhaustion in his face relieved by his sincere smile. “Before, we were facing certain death on the road. But now- well. Now, we have a chance. Thank you.”
He pulls out a roughly stitched-together sack and pushes it into Orochimaru’s hands before he can ask what it is.
“I took up a collection- it’s not nearly enough, but it’s all we have.”
It feels…a little mean, taking this from people who already have so little.
On the other hand, they’re also going to need money if they’re going to keep going. And they did just do these people a massive favor.
He decides that taking it would be the best. They’re going to need it later.
“Thank you,” he says, hoping he sounds sincere enough.
“And thank you, again. Perhaps we needn’t speak of farewells just yet- would you care to join us tonight? We feel a bit of a celebration is in order, after everything.”
“I’ve always been curious about what sort of party tieflings throw,” Astarion giggles. “We won’t miss it, don’t worry.”
“Good. My people will be glad to be able to at least try to thank you properly.”
The party is lively, with plenty of alcohol and food roasting on the fire, and people singing and dancing about without a care in the world.
Their dire circumstances are forgotten for the moment as the tieflings enjoy their evening, toasting their merry band of misfits for a job well done.
It’s a familiar sort of scene- Orochimaru has taken part in more celebrations like this than he could possibly ever count- crowds trying to drown their sorrows, as though they didn't have mountains more of them to overcome in the morning.
He eats a bit, but finds himself without much appetite, so ends up giving most of it to Scratch, who scarfs the food down eagerly as he wanders off to find company.
It doesn’t take him very long to find, of course.
Astarion is sitting on a crate on his own, drinking wine straight from the bottle and watching the festivities with his nose wrinkled in mild disgust.
(Orochimaru wonders if vampires can get drunk at all, or if the wine is simply a habit.)
“Not interested in mingling?”
“Hm? No, this sort of party isn’t really my speed.”
“I’ve never exactly seen myself as a hero,” Astarion remarks, swirling the wine in the bottle around. “But all this- the praise, saving lives- now that I'm here..."
He takes a hearty swig, managing to get half the bottle down in a single swallow.
Then, he scowls.
“I hate it.” he grumbles. “It’s awful.”
It’s so out of the blue that Orochimaru finds himself snickering.
“Was it really that bad?” he asks. “All those dead goblins, and none of it was enjoyable?”
“True. That was pretty entertaining. Still, I’d hoped for something more in return for my troubles than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine.”
If it’s that bad, Orochimaru has to wonder why he keeps drinking it. He grabs the bottle from Astarion’s hand and takes a swig of it for himself.
It’s a nice, rich red wine- dry, sharp, and pleasant on the way down. Certainly nothing close to vinegar.
“See?” Astarion whines, taking the bottle back. “Awful.”
He finishes the wine off anyway, and somehow materializes a new one straight away.
“I just want to have a little fun. Is that so much to ask?”
“Mmhmm. And what would your idea of a little fun be?”
Astarion rolls his eyes.
“By the gods-” he sighs, as though he’d never had to explain something so stupid in his life. “- Sex, my dear. A night of passion. Unless you’re going to break my heart again.”
He says that with such an adorable pout.
Such a liaison would be ill advised, certainly. In the back of his mind, Orochimaru knows that the two of them would be terrible for each other, if they let each other get much closer- and this is an open invitation for exactly that.
(Not to mention the possibility of getting drained dry if he happens to get hungry during the act.)
And yet-
It’s a beautiful night. Alcohol abounds, the food is lovely, the music is lively, and the stars shine so very brightly overhead.
He’s had nights like this in his past- many times, as a matter of fact. Another battle won, another group of innocents saved (give or take a few unfortunate casualties). Happy nights where alcohol flowed freely and people snuck off into the dark, desperate for some private time together.
The sort of night that makes one long for intimacy. The sort of night he would loathe to spend alone.
(It’s been a long time since he’s been close to anyone. Maybe he can pretend- just for the night.)
“Alright, then. Once I get bored of our charming company, we can find somewhere a bit more…private.”
The unbearably smug, self-satisfied look on Astarion’s face almost immediately has Orochimaru regretting this. Like a cat who’s snatched a tasty bit of meat right off its master’s plate, and is now staring them down, daring them to do something about it.
“Darling, I promise you won’t regret it,” he purrs, lifting the wine bottle to those pale lips of his once again. “See you there, lover.”
Astarion wanders off after that, maybe to find something to eat.
Orochimaru grabs a bottle of wine for himself and decides to find a place to drink by himself for a while.
(As fun as a good party can be, he finds himself exhausted by too many people around far too quickly.)
He perches on a fallen tree and takes his time savoring the sweet white wine he swiped, hoping if he has enough of it it’ll pickle the worm in his head.
He doesn’t notice he has company until he hears a small giggle.
Turning his head, a single orange eye watching him.
“What are you doing over here?” he asks.
“Same as you, I imagine,” Mol says, with a shrug and a sly little smile. She takes a bite out of a bright red apple, staring out at the partygoers with a mix of disdain and confusion.
“You came through for us,” she says, sounding puzzled about the entire affair. “That’s more than the other adults I know.”
Orochimaru can’t help but smile back at her.
He remembers being young like that. Ambitious. Hungry to prove himself, just like her.
“Glad to be of help.”
“If you make it to Baldur’s Gate, make sure you come find me- we’re family now. I always take care of family.”
What a sweet gesture- he feels a bit sad that she’ll be gone come the morning.
He hopes he’ll get to see her again before too long. He dearly looks forward to what shenanigans she’ll get up to once she reaches that mythical Baldur’s Gate everyone seems so keen on reaching.
(A spunky girl like her will go far, if the world doesn’t crush her spirit.)
Mol wanders off to no doubt get up to some sort of mischief. That leaves him alone again.
Watching the party go on from his perch, he watches one of the tieflings (Rolan, he thinks his name is) conjures up creatures from bright light and shimmering dust to the delight of his companions, looking smugly self-satisfied the entire time.
It’s all very cute. One could almost forget that they are all still facing a darkly uncertain future as soon as the sun rises.
He’ll finish off this bottle, then maybe wander off to find Astarion in the dark, curious about what the night would have in store for him.
If being torn away from everything familiar has any upside, the beer here is absolutely fantastic.
Kisame figures Lae'zel must feel the same as he approaches her, hoping to strike up some friendly banter (as one does after this sort of thing).
"Having a good night?" he asks.
Lae'zel squints at him, pondering him a bit before he speaks.
"I have seen the kith'raki tear a screaming neogi's legs from its belly to fashion into blades. I have seen dragon riders scorch entire planes with fire. And yet-"
She cocks her head from one side to the other, taking him in with fascination.
"They could not match your metal today. It was almost enough to drive me to madness."
Kisame smiles, surprised by the words that sound dangerously close to a compliment.
“You weren’t bad yourself,” he says, to which she gives him a glare like she’s insulted he might have expected anything less. “We’re lucky to have you around.”
“I do not think you understand what I’m saying here.”
Lae’zel takes a step closer.
“I have seen your strength. Your ferocity. I smell their blood on you still. I smell your sweat."
She grabs him and pulls him in so close that his forehead almost collides with hers. Her yellow eyes burn with an intensity that almost scorches a hole right through him.
“I want to taste it.”
Kisame takes a step back, feeling his face grow red-hot at the blunt proposition.
He’s never once had anyone be that forward with him.
“I’m uh- really flattered, but-”
He glances over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Itachi out of the corner of his eye.
“-I know.”
Lae’zel doesn’t so much as flinch.
“I’ve seen the scars of your teeth in his neck, and I can smell him on your clothes. He is yours is he not?”
Kisame clears his throat.
Githyanki are a far more…forward people than he’s used to.
“I guess you could call it something like that,” he admits, nodding along.
“I will admit, I was surprised you bonded to somebody so…fragile.”
“You know, it was kind of a surprise to me, too. But he’s not as fragile as you’d think.”
Lae’zel does not retort to that.
“I will not get between whatever you share with him. But I desire to taste you for myself.”
Kisame’s eyes dart around, wondering if it’s possible to feel more uncomfortable than he does right at this very moment.
In all honesty, the idea is fantastic. They get along well enough, and he has to admit to himself that watching her fight has gotten him just as hot under the collar as she seems to be.
But still… he keeps thinking about his partner, and
He’s searching for a polite way to say “thanks but no thanks” when Itachi’s thoughts brush up against his own- he never even knew he was listening.
Go ahead.
Huh?
Kisame looks over, making brief eye contact with his partner from across the roaring fire.
Go ahead and have fun.
Kisame’s brain trips over itself, confused.
You sure about that?
I am. I know we haven’t…done it in awhile. I’m sure you’re eager.
That much is certainly true.
Even before everything got turned upside-down, Itachi had been far too tired and in far too much pain to even think about that sort of thing, and Kisame wouldn’t dream of asking.
Still…
…It’s really alright? He asks again.
I’m not jealous or anything. I can entertain myself for one night.
I mean, if you’re sure…
Of course I'm sure.
Itachi's tone is weirdly inscrutable, even for him. But he gets up and walks off somewhere else after that.
Well.
He's been more than a little pent up for the last little bit. And if Itachi is really okay with it, he can't see the harm...
(Maybe it's the alcohol talking, but she looks absolutely delicious in the firelight.)
“Alright,” he says, still the farthest thing from sure he’s ever been. “Let’s see where this goes.”
Lae’zel nods, taking him by the collar.
“Come,” she commands. “I lead. You follow.”