Cazador. My old— [ He pauses, swallows again. ] My master. [ His head rolls against the wall to face Nikolai once more. ] I've been very disobedient, you see. Broke every one of his precious rules. And now... [ His gaze grows distant. ] He's punishing me. He must be. Either he's found a way to do it from a distance, or... [ He closes his eyes again, takes a shuddering breath. ] Or he's here now, in the city.
[ Pure dread coils in Astarion's stomach at the thought. Back in their own world, Cazador's creativity in his torments had been constrained somewhat by his dependence on his spawn and their duties. He could not risk killing them, nor doing anything that might permanently hinder their ability to lure back prey. But here, where death is merely a means of reconstituting the body, there will be no such limit. And with all the rules Astarion has broken, all the ire he's earned—
Cazador will make the past 200 years look gentle in comparison.
No. Reality is never like the stories at all.
Astarion refocuses on his new acquaintance, who is now inquiring how else he might help. Early into his enslavement, Astarion had had fantasies of such a person finding him: kind, brave, classically handsome. Silly, storybook notions of rescue and redemption that had gotten him through the unrelenting darkness of those first few decades. Of course, he's long since recognized those fancies for what they were: stupid at best and delusional at worst. Not least because anyone liable to put a stake through his master's heart would be just as happy to put one through his.
Right now, though, Astarion can't bring himself to care. He knows what he needs to regain his strength. And if the man kills him for it... well, a temporary respite from existence doesn't sound like the worst thing that could happen to him at the moment. Far, far from it. ]
If you must know, [ Astarion sighs, looking away, ] I'll need something rather richer than that. [ He motions to a row of refrigerated shelves near where he'd originally been standing when the psychic assault had began. ] There should be a whole rack of it over there. Labeled "Rh Positive," I believe.
[ It won't be too difficult to find the product Astarion is referring to. Walking over, one can indeed find several rows of soft, capped bags bearing that same label or something close to it. Of course, that's not all the label says...
AB RED BLOOD CELLS 500ML CP2D WHOLE BLOOD
When Nikolai turns back to Astarion, he'll find that he's staring back, expression somewhere between resigned and defiant. ]
Another gift of my master's, I'm afraid, [ he says wearily, eyeing Nikolai like he's daring him to punish him for it. ] The need for regular, ah... let's call them transfusions. But don't worry. [ His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. ] I can be civilized about it.
no subject
[ Pure dread coils in Astarion's stomach at the thought. Back in their own world, Cazador's creativity in his torments had been constrained somewhat by his dependence on his spawn and their duties. He could not risk killing them, nor doing anything that might permanently hinder their ability to lure back prey. But here, where death is merely a means of reconstituting the body, there will be no such limit. And with all the rules Astarion has broken, all the ire he's earned—
Cazador will make the past 200 years look gentle in comparison.
No. Reality is never like the stories at all.
Astarion refocuses on his new acquaintance, who is now inquiring how else he might help. Early into his enslavement, Astarion had had fantasies of such a person finding him: kind, brave, classically handsome. Silly, storybook notions of rescue and redemption that had gotten him through the unrelenting darkness of those first few decades. Of course, he's long since recognized those fancies for what they were: stupid at best and delusional at worst. Not least because anyone liable to put a stake through his master's heart would be just as happy to put one through his.
Right now, though, Astarion can't bring himself to care. He knows what he needs to regain his strength. And if the man kills him for it... well, a temporary respite from existence doesn't sound like the worst thing that could happen to him at the moment. Far, far from it. ]
If you must know, [ Astarion sighs, looking away, ] I'll need something rather richer than that. [ He motions to a row of refrigerated shelves near where he'd originally been standing when the psychic assault had began. ] There should be a whole rack of it over there. Labeled "Rh Positive," I believe.
[ It won't be too difficult to find the product Astarion is referring to. Walking over, one can indeed find several rows of soft, capped bags bearing that same label or something close to it. Of course, that's not all the label says...
AB
RED BLOOD CELLS
500ML CP2D WHOLE BLOOD
When Nikolai turns back to Astarion, he'll find that he's staring back, expression somewhere between resigned and defiant. ]
Another gift of my master's, I'm afraid, [ he says wearily, eyeing Nikolai like he's daring him to punish him for it. ] The need for regular, ah... let's call them transfusions. But don't worry. [ His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. ] I can be civilized about it.