[open] my little misbegotten, you're quite a stubborn bud

[vampires_pawn]

WHO: Astarion and YOU! (plus closed starters for Molly, Vanessa, and potentially others)
WHAT: Astarion reaps an angry witch's vengeance in the form of several weeks of psychic torture, culminating in a final confrontation. Plus some other catch-all threads!
WHERE: Around the city
WHEN: November
WARNINGS: Physical and psychological torture, references to past abuse, hallucinations, panic, suicidal ideation.

i. we will plant brambles in your bed (greenhouse)

[ Astarion knows, theoretically, that anyone could show up in this place; more often than not, it’s not a comforting thought. At least, he tells himself, it’s not very likely that anyone he actually knows will end up here. The city pulls in only a handful of new captives each month, from such diverse lands and realms that the chance of Astarion seeing anyone else from the Sword Coast, much less someone from Baldur’s Gate must be vanishingly small.

(That it might be one incomparably dreadful vampire lord in particular is even more infinitesimal.)

That’s not to say he doesn’t keep an eye out, if not necessarily for anyone he knows, then at least for someone useful. And as it turns out, when Astarion does finally catch a glimpse of someone familiar, it’s someone who fulfills both categories—someone he’d met only briefly, aboard the same illithid ship that had freed him from his master’s control. ]

Shadowheart?

[ He stares incredulously at the figure standing a ways away outside the greenhouse. It’s the same dour face, the same foreboding armor and even more foreboding mace on her back, facing the glass door with a distant expression. She doesn’t seem to have heard Astarion, not judging by the way she slips into the building without any acknowledgment of him at all. Either that or he’d made an even worse first impression on her all those weeks ago than he’d thought.

Regardless, he’s not going to just let her disappear into this city without a trace. He chases after her, towards the greenhouse entrance. ]

Shadowheart! Slow down for gods’ sake!

[ The last time he’d seen Shadowheart, they’d both survived an impossible fall after having illithid worms shoved into their skulls. She’d told him they needed to find a healer—and then he’d woken up here. Had she found one, he wonders? Or had she at least learned what the little maggots even are? He steps into the greenhouse just as he sees the cleric disappearing past the thorned foliage down the leftward path, just a few meters ahead of him. By all rights, unless she’d broken into a dead sprint or cast a hasty invisibility spell, she should be right there when he turns the corner. But as he steps among the curling vines, there’s no figure there waiting for him—nor any sign of anyone having been there at all. ]

Shadowh—ow!

[ He remembers, belatedly, the kind of plants that inhabit this part of the greenhouse. An opportunistic vine snags a wrist, thorns digging in and drawing blood. Astarion wrenches his arm away, eyes still casting around as he searches for the wayward cleric. ]

ii. you won’t know what will hit you next (around the city, cw: panic, allusions to sex trafficking)

[ He doesn’t see Shadowheart again after that. Which is just as well, because he very quickly comes to find that he has plenty of reason not to trust his senses.

The visions start small. So small, they’re easy to dismiss. A flash of familiarity as he passes someone on the street, that evaporates just as quickly upon a second glance. A whisper that makes him turn his head, only to find no one there. Sometimes, he thinks he hears his name. Sometimes, he thinks he hears laughter. He can never quite pinpoint the source, but then, this city has already shown its penchant for little tricks. He does his best to ignore the mysterious signs, loath to give this place the satisfaction of unnerving him.

Yet, as the month wears on, the visions become more frequent—and more intense. He begins to recognize those flashes of faces—faces from taverns, alleyways, brothels. The faces of those he lured to Cazador, faces that leer or glare or sob, and then are gone the second Astarion looks again. During these times, one might notice Astarion staring at them wide-eyed, as if he’s seen a ghost. Worse still are those times he thinks he sees Cazador himself. Those times, he looks as if he’s seen something far, far worse.

And still, the sightings escalate. Eventually, they are no longer mere flashes of faces—they are full-bodied apparitions.

A former victim stands on the street corner, eyes locked with his in an accusing stare. A gaggle of bloodied children follow him for several blocks, apparently unseen by anyone else. One morning, he wakes to a corpse in bed beside him, weeping.

He avoids sleep where he can help it after that.

Sometimes, the figures are silent. Sometimes, they confront him. They don’t seem to be able to actually touch him, thank the gods, but they can get in his space, scream and threaten and accuse. When it all gets to be too much, one might even catch sight of Astarion screaming back. ]

And if you hadn’t been such a fucking fool, maybe you’d still be alive! [ His teeth are bared, but his eyes are pained, anguished. ] At least you got your pleasure in the end, didn’t you?

[ Of course, when the visions take the shape of Cazador, it’s another matter entirely. At those times, one might see Astarion freeze in place, eyes fixed with inutterable dread on the approach of some invisible figure. Sometimes, he maintains enough control of himself to run, and afterwards one might find him hiding in the shadowiest corner or closet he can find, eyes wide, breathing hard.

At other times, his legs fail him. His knees hit the ground and he kneels there, trembling, before his master. ]

iii. just close your eyes and count to ten (around the city, cw: torture)

[ The pain follows the same pattern: starting small and easy to ignore, and rapidly escalating in severity. At first, it’s just an occasional headache or the slightest irritation prickling at the scars on his back—annoying, but nothing Astarion hasn’t dealt with before.

It’s about the time the visions worsen that the pain does, too. The scars begin to ache in a way they haven’t done in decades, and the headaches build until they’re nauseating, and then until they’re blinding. Astarion begins to hide from the sunlight he so loves, trying to avoid setting them off. It doesn’t help. One can find him in dark rooms and corners, a tight grimace of pain on his face, fingers rubbing circles against his temples.

At other times, it’s not his head that hurts, but his cold, dead heart. Most of the time, it’s simply an ache, not dissimilar to the one in his skull. Later in the month, though, it’s something far more dire: the feeling of a fist curling around his heart and squeezing. Astarion hasn’t needed to breathe in centuries, but now he coughs and gasps, clutching at his chest as smooth, slender fingers crush the un-life from his heart.

Sometimes, the pain lasts for just a few seconds. Sometimes, it lasts for far longer. The worse it becomes along with the visions, the more time Astarion spends locked in his room, as if he can hide from whatever force has decided to make him its plaything. Maybe it doesn’t help—maybe the pain is just as bad and maybe the visions just as terrifying, but at least here, there’s no one to see it. No one to take advantage of it. Still, sometimes it can’t be helped. He has to leave sometimes, even if just to restock on blood, and it’s then that he seems to suffer worst of all.

He’s in a smaller store when it happens for the first time. He’s searching the aisles, trying to move quickly and purposefully to finish this errand, eyes darting and alert for any signs of his spectral tormentors. His vigilance doesn’t save him. One moment, he is in the City, with its buildings of glass and steel and its strange, buzzing white lights—

And the next, he feels his face press against cold, rough stone as a knee digs hard into the small of his back. There’s an all-too-familiar weight pressing against him, an all-too-familiar whisper in his ear. ’Hold still now, boy. You only make it worse for yourself when you struggle.’

There is no time to brace, no time to cry out. The blade presses down, cold at first and then erupting into agonizing heat as Cazador drives it into his flesh. His master sighs, in ecstasy or contempt, Astarion can’t tell, and Astarion chokes back the screams in his throat, wishing that the bastard would just tell him not to scream, he wouldn’t scream if Cazador just told him not to, and then he wouldn’t have to start over, again and again and again.

Astarion can feel every slow, excruciating whorl, every jagged angle and flourish. He is already on his stomach, immobilized by Cazador’s command. It makes no sense that he can still feel another body, a million realms away in an impossible city, collapsing to the floor, that he can feel it writhing against cold tile even as he lies obedient and still under Cazador’s blade, his master carving poetry into his back.

And yet, all the same: back in the city, his body still moves, driven by some long ingrained instinct to survive. To flee. To hide. Drags itself blindly across the floor until it finds a corner and cannot drag itself any further, then curls up as tightly as it can so as to remain unseen. There it stays as Astarion’s mind remains trapped within the memory, eyes screwed shut tight, one hand pressing hard into his mouth to stifle his own screams. Screaming only ever made it worse. ]

iv. the gardener's coming to collect (closed to Vanessa, cw: suicidal ideation)

[ It goes on for weeks: the pain. The visions. The nightmares. Astarion wishes he could believe that it was just another of the city's tricks. He wishes he could believe that it would stop. But he knows better. He knows what this is.

When Cazador finally appears to give him his orders, he can't even find it in himself to be surprised.

It happens after he's woken from another nightmare, another night spent starving and mad and still inside a stone coffin. He'd rolled out of bed. Stepped into the common room. And there his master was, waiting for him.

"Oh, Astarion," his master tuts. "You really thought you'd gotten away, didn't you? Such an ungrateful child..."

Astarion says nothing. All the terror, all the pain of the past several weeks and now, all he can feel is cold, bleak resignation. His master goes on.

"These past few weeks have disabused you of that notion, have they not?" Cazador glides closer. A spectral hand is laid on Astarion's shoulder and it takes everything in him not to flinch. "Never forget: you are mine. Even here, even now." Astarion can hear the smile in his master's voice. "But I am nothing if not merciful. Even to a wretch like you."

The hand lifts from his shoulder and resettles atop his head. Suddenly, Astarion is no longer in his room. He is moving swiftly through city streets, guided by an unseen hand, one that leads him to an sprawling labyrinth of a building, and then down, down, through long dark corridors flanked by dead machines. And then, just as suddenly, he is back in his room, his master still standing over him.

"You will meet me there and seek penance for your transgression. Show me contrition, and I may forgive you yet." His master leans in, his next words no more than a hiss in Astarion's ear. "Do not keep me waiting."

And then Astarion is alone in his room once more.

Despite his master's final warning, Astarion finds that, for several minutes, he can't move all. He simply stands and stares into the darkness, feeling the freedom he's only just tasted slipping away from him, feels the heavy black cage of the past two centuries bearing down on him once more. For one mad moment, he thinks of escape. He doesn't need a weapon; this city has plenty of high spires and towers, and a vampire spawn like him needs nothing but a high enough fall to end his undeath.

But he knows just as surely as anyone else here: it won't last. And more surely than that: whatever punishment Cazador has in store for him, he can make it so, so much worse if Astarion defies him now. He is already making it worse for himself, standing here waiting. He cannot think. He cannot mourn. All he can do is obey.

And do he does. He makes his way out of his room and onto the streets, following the vision from before and feeling... nothing. Nothing at all. His feet seem to move of their own accord and he falls back into the same thoughtless obedience he's known for centuries.

How foolish of him, to think that he'd ever escaped. ]

Comments

ii.

[thefreak]

( Eddie hasn't left his apartment that often lately. What point is there? Steve isn't answering his door, and Eddie isn't sure he trusts the city enough to explore places that haven't been wholly deemed safe. Besides, what's to stop the previously safe places from suddenly becoming overthrown by malignant ghosts?

So, Eddie stays put most of the time. Except at night, when the nightmares get so godawful they make Eddie's skin crawl. When it gets too suffocating in his bedroom, he has no choice but to wander the streets and hope for the best.

He rarely comes across someone else. Most people are sane and stay safe in their beds, but Eddie has never pretended to be a wholly sane individual.

When he comes across Astarion, though...it's like the whole world gets pulled in tighter, like when the movies use a fish eye lens to distort his surroundings and make him feel off-kilter. He's seen this before. When Chrissy stood there motionless, her eyes glazed over so that only the whites were visible. While this isn't identical, he remembers Max mentioning that she sometimes saw things that weren't there before the curse started taking hold. )

No... ( he mutters to himself, taking a step back, and then another, stumbling until he falls onto his ass. ) No, no, no, no, no. It can't be, it fucking can't be.

( He thought he escaped it when he showed up in this place, but if Astarion can be cursed by Vecna...then can't anyone? )

[vampires_pawn]

[ If there is one comfort to be taken in all the ghastly visions Astarion has had over the past weeks, it's that no one else can see them.

Perhaps it is also a burden in its own ways, too; he's sure he's made himself look like a lunatic recently, getting into shouting matches with people no one else can see. But at least, he tells himself, it means that they aren't really there; they can't touch him, can't harm him, can't take any physical revenge for the fate he'd lured them into. They are hallucinations; frightening, disturbing, but still only figments. Harmless.

So when that inevitable night comes, when Astarion finds himself walking the city streets, driven from his bed by nightmares, and he comes face-to-face with his master—somewhere, beneath the instinctive panic and terror, he clings to that hope: that this is just another specter. A figment that cannot touch or punish or hurt. Even as the figure draws closer bearing that all-too-familiar smile and even as Astarion himself stands there, paralyzed by dread, he doesn't abandon that hope. That this is all in his head. That it will pass, as all the others have done.

And then, there's another voice, muttered and terrified, and out of the corner of his eye, Astarion sees him: someone else, fallen to the ground, staring in horror at... at him? At Cazador? Astarion knows he shouldn't turn away from his master, but he does all the same—what else doe he have to lose?—and stares, wide-eyed and confused at the boy.

Can... can he see Cazador, too? ]

[thefreak]

( If there is one thing Eddie regrets, it's that he didn't try to do more to help Chrissy. Not that there was anything he could do, but if he could do it all again, he would have tried to intervene. He wouldn't have run from her.

If Astarion isn't at the final stages yet, they have time. Twenty-four hours, if he remembers correctly.

So, for as terrified as he is of the possibility that Vecna has managed to find his way to this place, that he might attack Eddie or, shit, Steve next, Eddie knows he must steel himself. With Steve staying in his apartment and (to Eddie's knowledge, anyway) avoiding everyone, that mostly leaves Eddie as the one with the Vecna slaying knowledge. Even if Steve passed his knowledge down to Will, there is no way in hell he's going to drag that kid into this; he's suffered enough already.

He draws in a deep breath and picks himself up again, approaching Astarion cautiously. )

It's gonna be okay. ( Eddie's voice sounds painfully thin, and he cringes at his own sign of weakness. ) I can help, we just...we need to figure out your favorite song.

( Shit, how long can they fend this guy off for? And how are they gonna figure out where his new base of operations is if the Creel house doesn't exist in this city? )

[vampires_pawn]

[ The boy is delirious, babbling something about favorite songs even as he cringes in terror. Could Cazador do that? Unspool someone's mind without even laying a finger on them? A phantom heartbeat pounds in Astarion's chest as he stands there, frozen with fear and confusion. It doesn't matter. He should kneel. Bow. Prostrate himself and beg his master for forgiveness. But the strangeness of the boy's reaction disorients him, renders the familiar unrecognizable. When Astarion's mind finally catches up with what he's seeing, his first instinct isn't to beg—it's to run.

And so he bolts. He half-expects to hear his master's voice like a whip-crack behind him, freezing him in his tracks with a simple command, but it never comes. So he keeps running, turning a corner to break line of sight and then following his instincts down the shadowiest alleys he can find, looking for somewhere to hide. In the end, he finds the remains of what might've once been a small alley-side shopfront, now thoroughly dark and abandoned. Astarion presses himself to a wall there, not even daring to breathe, listening for his master's slow, deliberate gait behind him.

It never comes. Gradually, Astarion lets himself slowly slide down the wall to sit on the ground, hissing out a breath through his teeth. It wasn't real, he tells himself. Cazador would never have let him run—

—not unless he's playing a very different game from the one he was before. ]

[thefreak]

( Eddie knows a thing or two about running. He'll insist it's all he's good at, even though evidence shows to the contrary -- that when the going gets tough, he's not afraid to put everything on the line for the greater good.

When Astarion runs, Eddie isn't sure what to make of that reaction. On the one hand, he's grateful that he hasn't had to witness yet another person succumb to the bone-crunching fate that he's seen twice. Without the music, though, if Eddie doesn't track Astarion down, will it just get worse until it does happen?

Maybe Vecna is trying to punch a gate into this world. Perhaps the bats chewing him to death allowed him to latch onto Eddie, but why not use Eddie's mind instead of this stranger? It's not like Eddie lacks guilt he could feed off of.

Too many questions that need answering. So, while Eddie would have normally left Astarion alone, he needs to get to the bottom of this. He runs in the direction where Astarion bolted, but by the time he gets there, Astarion has already found his hiding place. He frowns, looking around to try and find a trace of him, but is only met with darkness. )

Hello? Where'd you run off to?

[vampires_pawn]

[ Astarion has just finished catching the breath he doesn't strictly need when he hears a voice calling out from the main road—not Cazador's voice, but the voice of the boy from before. Astarion peers out from his hiding place, watching him for a moment. Despite the boy's earlier terror and inane line of questioning, he doesn't seem mad at this moment—just troubled and determined.

Astarion's vision of Cazador couldn't have been real. So why is it that the boy had reacted as if he had seen something, too? There's part of Astarion that wants to just slip away and leave the boy to his fruitless searching. But there's another, greater part of him that needs to know: what had terrified the boy so much? And was it anything like what Astarion himself had seen? ]

Over here, [ Astarion calls softly, stepping out into view in the alley. ] And quiet down. You'll wake the whole godsdamned city shouting like that.

[ Honestly, he wasn't being that loud. But as much as Astarion tells himself what he'd seen hadn't been real, he's still loath to attract any more attention than is strictly necessary. ]

[thefreak]

( Under normal circumstances, Eddie would be able to brush all of this off and move on with the bravado of a kid who still believes himself untouchable. But considering all that Eddie has been through, it's understandable why he might be shaken up by Astarion's ordeal. He wants to believe it's not Vecna so badly.

A look of relief crosses his face when he hears Astarion's voice, and quickly scurries over to his hiding place. ) Sorry, sorry. I'm just...this whole thing has me a little freaked out. Are you...are you okay?

( He wants to get to the bottom of this, if for no other reason than to find reassurance that this is something completely unrelated to the shit he thought he left behind in Hawkins. )

[vampires_pawn]

I'm fine, [ Astarion says on instinct, and it's true, isn't it? He has no new wounds or scars, hasn't been dragged back into miserable servitude—what more proof could he need that the vision of Cazador hadn't been real? He tells himself this and yet still, his voice is terse when he speaks to the boy. He cannot let his guard down, not until he knows for sure. ]

What did you see back there? [ he demands. ] Tell me exactly.

[thefreak]

( Eddie knows this song and dance all too well: say one thing but really mean another, and hope the other person doesn't notice just how much he's really suffering. He's always been an excellent actor, and he understands all too well how that could be a survival tactic.

Besides, it wouldn't be all that productive to argue that point. Maybe if Eddie tells Astarion his side of things and why seeing the man frozen in the street had caused terror to claw at his throat, he'll get a clearer picture of what he witnessed. It's all he can hope for at this point. )

You were just...you were frozen there. I'd seen that kind of thing before. This girl I knew back home, she was in my trailer, I couldn't move her, couldn't wake her up, and then... ( He cringes as the memory of a sound -- of cracking bones -- draws out an embarrassing wailing sound, and he claps a hand over his mouth. )

I couldn't let that happen to you, okay? I thought the thing that killed her had gotten to you.

[vampires_pawn]

That's it? Just me "frozen there?" [ The words are sharp and yet, there's a slight easing of tension in Astarion's shoulders, even as he frowns. He may not fully understand what kind of creature the boy is describing, but one thing is clear; it isn't Cazador. ]

Well, while I appreciate the concern, as you can see, I'm very much awake and mobile. [ He motions to himself in a gesture far more flippant than he feels. Privately, he can't help but be a little disconcerted and not just because of what he himself had seen. It's that someone else had seen him in that moment—and that he'd evidently looked so distressed that the immediate assumption had been that he was in some kind of mortal peril. It leaves him feeling horribly exposed for a moment. ]

It was nothing, [ Astarion says brusquely. ] Just another of the city's little tricks. Anyway, even if I were facing some terrible, petrifying monster, I hardly see how knowing my favorite song would help. [ And then, acerbically. ] Or were you just trying to comfort me in my last moments?

[thefreak]

( Eddie looks taken aback by the sudden shift in demeanor. Just moments ago, Astarion looked like he had been consumed by fright, and now...this? He would probably have been hurt if he hadn't recognized it as a likely defense mechanism. He remembers lashing out at his uncle Wayne before the pair had reached a mutual understanding.

He sighs and holds his hands up in what he hopes is a placating manner. Eddie had once been the scared animal, backed into a corner, ready to strike. He doesn't want to see how vicious Astarion could be with reversed roles. )

Fuck this city, ( he remarks, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, looking beyond exhausted now that the initial adrenaline has worn off. ) It's, um. That was how you escape from his dream prison world. With music. But not just any song; it has to be something you have a deep emotional connection with.

[vampires_pawn]

Hmm. Fortunately, it wasn't your monster on the streets tonight. If it were, I think I'd be quite done for.

[ Astarion is sure he doesn't have a favorite song, much less one with which he has a "deep emotional connection." He's not a bard, for Gods' sake. He sighs, and for a moment, his expression mirrors Eddie's: strained exhaustion, after that initial, brief burst of terror. But then his gaze hardens once more and he looks away, affecting annoyance. ]

That's what I get for wandering this place after dark, I suppose, [ he mutters. Then, he looks back at Eddie. ] I'm going back inside, before there are any other surprises. You'd be wise to do the same.

[thefreak]

( Eddie opens his mouth to object -- everyone has to have one song that would save them even if they're not into music -- but before he can, Astarion begins to excuse himself, and Eddie thinks it wiser to let him go. They've both been out of sorts tonight, and Eddie could use some sleep, assuming he can get even a few hours before the start of the new day. )

Yeah, well. You and me both, apparently. ( He sighs as he looks around, almost expecting to see some kind of ghost stalking them at their most vulnerable. ) You're gonna be okay, then? I'm not gonna find you out here tomorrow?

[vampires_pawn]

[ At the question, Astarion's face falls—and then he scowls, the venom returning to his voice. ]

I don't see how that's any of your concern. You think just because of what you saw tonight, you have any say over what I do next?

[ Perhaps that isn't what Eddie meant, but it's what Astarion hears—someone trying to control him, to hold him to account. All the defiance that had dissolved away in the face of his master suddenly comes spilling back out, cruel and angry. He steps forward, fangs bared in a sneer. ]

You're not my keeper—you're just a scared little boy jumping at shadows. You couldn't even save anyone in your own realm and yet you think you'd be any help here?

[ The boy thinks he can help Astarion, but all he's done is made everything worse. By being there to see it. By making it feel real.

Sick with his own bitterness, Astarion begins to turn away, back towards the main road and the towering buildings beyond. But before he does, he gives the boy one last glance. ]

If you do see me again tomorrow night, do us both a favor and leave me the Hells alone. I have enough monsters of my own to worry about without adding yours to the list.

[thefreak]

( Eddie suddenly feels small, like he's been transported back to Hawkins and is under the accusatory stare of Principal Higgins, who's been looking for any excuse to expel him. He shrinks in on himself, every hint of feeling like he had done a good deed by checking in on Astarion diminishing into nothing until all he's left with is a loneliness so thick it threatens to choke him.

Then, all at once, he's overwhelmed by a thought: that he fucking hates this place. That loneliness is replaced by a fit of anger, not at Astarion, though he's the only one here that he can lash out at right now. )

Well, fine, see if I fucking care. Don't come crying to me then if Vecna or some other fucking asshole rears his ugly head, I'm sure you can take care of yourself just fine.

( He's so preoccupied with his own anger that Eddie hasn't even noticed the fangs that Astarion possesses, not that he would have been able to put any pieces of the puzzle that is Astarion together. He flips Astarion the finger, not that the gesture probably means anything to him, but it makes Eddie feel better.

Unable to come up with any better sendoff, he turns heel and stalks back off to his apartment, still stewing by the time he slips in through the door. As he collapses onto his bed, he knows there's no point in trying to sleep, but that doesn't stop him from trying. )