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Choo Choo (Train Top Chase- The Briefcase)
(cw: threats, knife violence)
When Hero heard that Villain was planning to steal something in transit on the railroad, they assumed that they would find him rummaging through one of the sixty plus freight cars lined up on the tracks. They did not expect to find an immaculately dressed Villain surrounded by similarly dressed people dining in a singular passenger car at the end of the train.
The caboose of the train was…out of place, to say the least. Polished cherry wood lined the top of it, sealed and waxed to an impressive level of shine. There was no rust to be found, which was impressive for a train exposed to the elements for days on end. Chestnut paneling and gilded accents completed the outside, which was notably absent of any identifying number markers. The craftsmanship of the exterior was a stark contrast to the amateur graffiti that marked the previous car that the caboose was coupled to.
Hero observed the carriage car through a convenient skylight as the train started to move. The interior was similarly well-crafted with white tiered ceilings that gave way to wide windows, separated into panes only in conjunction with the white-clothed dining tables and corresponding upholstered booth seats. The silver cutlery gleamed in the light that filtered through lace curtains. Hero would not have been surprised to see a chandelier strung from the roof, made of crystals or something similarly stunning. It looked fit to hold a wedding, complete with a dozen guests all dressed in black tie apparel. Villain himself wore a black suit, dress shoes polished and brown hair gelled down. His face was even freshly shaven. A picture perfect gentleman—the opposite of his true nature.
There appeared to be some type of business taking place—as opposed to this being just a randomly-conspicuous social gathering or a confusingly-disguised heist. A singular black briefcase sat inconspicuously at the feet of a black-haired man. Hero would have thought nothing of it, but it seemed to be the only bag in the room, not to mention that every pair of eyes seemed to be ogling it at every sly opportunity. Deciding that there was no way this was legitimate business if Villain was present, Hero resolved to keep the briefcase out of all of their hands.
Several conversations were taking place around the tables—none of which could Hero hear over the rumbling of the tracks—but Hero was only focused on one specific group.
Villain stood in front of a booth that sat one woman in a pencil-straight maroon dress and one man in a suit with a corresponding maroon tie. Hero watched the fake laughs and twirling forks until Villain leaned in close to make his excuses to his company before he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small carton.
Hero crawled to the back of the roof, careful not to alert the people sipping champagne inside that an uninvited guest was about to crash their party. When he exited the back door of the train to stand on the small platform there, cigarette in hand, Hero pounced.
Villain did not even have a chance to flick open his lighter before Hero was on him, swinging down from the overhang to kick him square in the chest. He was pushed back into the railing, giving Hero enough space to land on the platform and get a hand wrapped over the door handle. Determining this was not the safest place for a fight, Hero swung open the door and rushed inside before Villain had a chance to recover.
They took advantage of the startled and stunned people inside the car and made a beeline for the man with the case. About halfway there, Hero bumped into a woman with braids who consequently spilled her bubbly drink down the front of her expensive-looking pink dress. Hero mouthed their apologies before snatching the case from the floor across the aisle, much to the chagrin of the black-haired man who tried to grab for their arm. Light on their feet, Hero deftly avoided his grip and slid open the door on the other side, which was harder to do than they thought thanks to the weird air pressure between the cars.
A chorus of offended shouts got swallowed by the gap as Hero fought to close the door behind them. From there, Hero would scale the ladder on the back of the container car and make the leap to the truck they had called to pull up alongside the train. At least, that’s what they thought they would do before they reached the top one-handed and raced to the edge of the roof.
When they looked down, they saw there was no truck, and more importantly, there was no road. Here, the tracks were paralleled only by a river. Huh, they must have seriously misjudged the speed of the train.
A quick glance back to the ladder revealed a brown-haired head just about to graze the top.
Well, time for plan B.
There were no tunnels on this route—they checked—so at least Hero didn’t have to worry about being taken out Indiana Jones style as they ran across the box car towards the front of the locomotive. Blessedly, the first chain of freight cars were all the same height and the train had yet to hit a curve. It was easier than expected to step between them.
They kept moving forward, crossing one car after another. Their steps landed on tops from faded orange to blue to grey to brown. After about the tenth container, something changed.
The next car had no roof, instead filled to the top with some type of granules. Deciding that pile looked a little too much like quicksand, Hero elected to chance balancing along the edge of the hopper car for fear of silo-style suffocation. Hero slowed to ensure their steps were true—which was probably a bad move in hindsight—and finally leapt the rest of the way to the thankfully-covered train car waiting ahead.
Just when they were getting back into a rhythm and gaining speed and confidence, Hero reached the tanker section.
The tanker cars stretched out as far as their eyes could see, all black cylinders, sporting rails only in the middle and much wider gaps between them than the previous box cars had. Jumping down onto the first one, Hero ran and grabbed the bar, vaulting over the valve access and heading towards the next. Praying to every god they could think of and making several promises they didn’t plan on keeping, Hero made the leap between the first tanker car and the second. It was an extremely weird feeling, jumping forward on something that was already moving forward with wind resistance pushing you back. Hero had no time to dwell on it though.
They risked another glance back, confirming their fear that Villain was still in pursuit.
How Villain could keep up a train-top chase dressed in those clothes was anyone’s guess. Hero certainly would’ve ripped a seam by now in such a well-tailored dress pants.
And those shoes.
There was no way a normal pair of dress shoes was getting any traction on top of a tanker car. They must have custom rubber soles or something even grippier. Probably some new material that hadn’t even hit the market yet.
Rich fucker could definitely afford it.
Unfortunately for Hero, they were rather poor and did not have access to state-of-the-art footware, and it took only one misstep to almost go plummeting towards the couplings. Said misstep occurred around the fifth leap.
They caught themselves enough to stumble forward a few more steps onto the cylinder, but were unable to keep their balance with the briefcase throwing them off. They dropped onto their stomach, grappling for a handhold anywhere. They began to slip off the side, fingerless glove not finding enough traction on the side of the smooth metal tank. They couldn’t reach the cap or the ladder to stop their fall with their one free hand, so they used the last of their precious split second to push away from the car and hope it was enough to keep from being crushed beneath the train wheels.
They hit the ground with a series of crunches they hoped were only the gravel around the tracks shifting under their weight. Groaning, they thanked themselves for their choice of attire—covered completely from head to toe—because otherwise they would likely be pulling pebbles out of their skin for weeks. As soon as they were sure they weren’t about to lose life or limb to the roaring train, they looked up just in time to see Villain roll and land—admittedly more gracefully than them—a few dozen feet ahead.
Attempting to pick themselves up, Hero gritted their teeth. Their tuck-and-roll had turned into more of a sprawl-and-tumble. That was definitely going to hurt tomorrow.
That was, assuming they made it to tomorrow, which they realized with a wince was quite a presumption. Villain stalked towards them, seemingly unbothered by the whole falling/jumping-off-a-train thing.
His hair was still slicked back perfectly, but his tie was slightly askew—the only visible sign of the chase Hero could find. It didn’t even look like he was breathing hard—which was ridiculous. Hero’s breaths were heavy enough to blow down a brick house, and they considered themselves to be in pretty good shape.
Putting aside Villain’s infuriating fitness level for later, Hero finally managed to get their feet underneath them and wasted no time turning and running in the opposite direction, briefcase roughed up but still in hand. Either they were miraculously uninjured, or adrenaline was really a hell of a drug. Regardless, they scrambled back up the loose-gravel pile and followed the rails back the way they came, hoping to make it back to the section with the road, which was seeming further and further away the longer they thought about it.
How long had they stayed atop the train?
They really, desperately did not want to look back behind them. Although they couldn’t hear him over the roaring in their ears, Hero knew instinctively that Villain was hot on their tail. Problem was, the road was no where in sight, and there was nowhere else to go. Unless Hero wanted to chance class III rapids with no floatation device—plus, who knew if the case was waterproof—the only things around were wide open grass plains and steep hills peppered with hard-to-scale pine trees. Not to mention the bugs and bears and who knew what else that probably littered the countryside. Hero couldn’t run forever, and for all they knew, Villain could.
This led them to the unfortunate realization that this mission was probably not going to end in success. Maybe they should have thought this through a little more.
That realization was appropriately accompanied by the feeling of something crashing into them from behind. Tumbling onto the tracks for a second time that day, Hero yelped as one of their elbows hit the rail harshly.
Great, another bruise. Or worse.
Rolling quickly onto their back, ready to spring back upright, Hero spotted the culprit lying across the tracks.
A stick.
He threw a stick at them.
Hero cursed themselves for being bested by a glorified twig of all things.
“Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy a good long chase, but surely you must be getting tired by now,” came a voice from behind them that should have been breathless, and Hero cursed that it wasn’t.
They were quickly back on their feet. Their legs were on fire, their elbow throbbed, their skin prickled, and their throat and lungs burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.
Nope. Not tired at all.
Hero’s lead had dwindled greatly in the time it had taken them to get back up. They knew with painful certainty that they could no longer out run Villain on a straight-away.
Okay, on to plan C.
Hero gathered the last of their energy and dashed off the tracks and down the hill, making a beeline for the river. In front of them, the water churned to the point of opaqueness. Perfect.
Hero spotted a boulder on the water’s edge and promptly threw themselves on top of it. Grateful for their knee pads, they clambered up to the highest point. From there, they held the briefcase out over the water and shouted an order for the villain to stop.
Villain halted in the tall grass a dozen feet away, which Hero almost counted as a victory before they spotted the perturbing smirk on his face.
“That’s cute,” he called back, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning back casually.
Adrenaline reserves exhausted, Hero fought to maintain a neutral expression as their knees turned to jelly and they remained greedy for oxygen.
It would be really unfortunate if they fell into the river right now.
“So what’s your plan? Toss your only bargaining chip in the river and hope for the best?” Villain inquired with an air of curiosity, as if this show was amusing to him.
“It’s simple. You leave, and this case lives for you to steal another day,” Hero spoke in what they hoped was a calm and assured voice. They added a pat against the side of the leather casing for good measure.
“I believe the only thief here is you.”
Hero thought Villain ended that correction with a chuckle, but it was honestly hard to hear with the raging river in the immediate background.
“Do you even know what’s in there?” He asked.
Hero, in fact, did not.
“Of course I do. How else would I know you wouldn’t want to risk losing it in a river,” Hero blustered with all the courage they could muster.
“It would be an inconvenience at best. You think I don’t have contingency plans? A tracker, perhaps?” Villain was much better at achieving a tone of nonchalance than Hero.
Hero had no idea if he was bluffing. They didn’t even know if they were bluffing.
Would a tracker even matter if the case got caught under the current? Would they really risk throwing this mysterious bag into the rapids? For all they knew, it could explode. Or poison all the local wildlife. Or something equally catastrophic.
Hero once again found themselves envious of Villain’s calm demeanor. He should have at least been sweating through his starch-white dress shirt by now.
Villain did have a point. Plan C was no where near foolproof.
Hero sized him up.
It’d be hard to hide a weapon in a suit that tight, but then again if it’s truly custom there could be all kinds of hidden pockets-
Who were they kidding, his weapon of choice earlier was a stick.
So no weapon, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t dangerous. If at all possible, Hero would still like to avoid a fight.
“Do you have a counter offer?”
“Yes. Give me the case, and they won’t have to clean your blood off the train pistons,” he replied evenly.
Hero blanched at the visceral image triggered by his statement. They tried to reassure themselves that they were armed, albeit with a measly switchblade and utility knife, and their opponent was most likely not. Plus, in true Obi Wan fashion, they had the literal high ground.
“Like Hell I’m just handing this over,” Hero scoffed as loudly as they could, “You wouldn’t hesitate to tie me to the tracks regardless. You watch too many cartoons, by the way. There are plenty of ways to kill me that don’t involve traumatizing some poor train conductor.”
Hero punctuated their response with an exaggerated eye roll. Unfortunately, what their eyes landed back on was not the smooth stone they expected to see beneath them. Instead, they found themselves staring right at the diamond back of a snake sunning itself on the rock.
They threw their arms up in surprise, which sent a jolt through their hand from their injured elbow. Furthering the series of unfortunate events, this caused Hero to lose their grip on the case. The mystery container went plummeting into the white water, but Hero had more pressing concerns at the moment. They had stumbled back from the legless reptile and subsequently lost their footing. They flailed, about to meet the same fate as the contentious case.
Before they could, however, they were yanked back by the hood of their jacket, and they collided with the hard rock instead of the turbulent water. They were pulled the rest of the way down into the softer grass and, temporarily blinded by the relief of not drowning, they didn’t resist.
“You assume,” came a voice that was unmistakably filtered through gritted teeth, “that I would let you die.”
Realizing they were far from safe after that near-death experience, Hero pushed away from the hands that saved them. It did them no good as they were manhandled to their feet, but they continued to struggle anyway.
“What? Still think you can outrun me? Go ahead. Try.”
He threw them back to the ground, challenge written all over his face as he peered down at them. Hero felt their ankle fold beneath them and swore.
They couldn’t, they knew they couldn’t, but they couldn’t just give up.
Out of options, Hero reached for the switchblade that was clipped to their waistband.
Their hands found nothing but cloth.
Panicked, they looked up towards Villain. They were horrified to find their blade flicked open in his hand.
“Looking for this?” He asked lightly, pausing to study the tip with faux curiosity, “What were you going to do with it? A light jab, perhaps?” Quick as the snake that brought them to this position, Villain pushed the blade into their ribs and pulled it right back out.
Hero choked in disbelief. He didn’t cut deep, but the wound was dangerously close to their lungs.
“A slash? Or two?”
Villain caught Hero once on their upper arm and once on the opposite lower arm with shallow cuts as they attempted to block.
“Maybe something a little more substantial. The kidneys?”
Hero crabbed walked back as best they could, which wasn’t good enough. Villain descended atop them, intent clear in the movement of the blade.
“Shit, dude! What the fuck was in there?!”
Villain stopped and held the knife still. It was pointed at their abdomen, pushing lightly into the cloth of their jacket. He was kneeling beside them, one hand on their shoulder to keep them from moving back.
“So you’re a liar and a thief?” He asked rhetorically. Hero was frozen with terror and exhaustion, hands pushing into their side where the metal had entered. Villain leaned in closer, and Hero heard a whimper leave their own lips involuntarily.
“Maybe you’ll find out when you get it for me,” He nearly whispered.
Hero blinked.
They pulled back slightly as hands grabbed onto their arms. Villain’s expression darkened.
“We’re getting up. Unless you need another reminder?” He questioned, brandishing the knife and holding it lightly to the inside of hero’s thigh. Hero shook their head frantically and allowed themselves to be pulled up onto their feet.
Swallowing the pain from their ankle and the grip on their forearm that crossed over the gash in the fabric of their sleeve, they steeled.
They were going to need so many painkillers later.
…
There was going to be a later, right?
Hero held their gaze on the view of the landscape around them. Where the water hit the rocks and sprayed upwards, they spotted a small rainbow projected onto the vapor.
Hand on the back of their neck, Villain led them away. As Hero limped along, they felt a bit like a misbehaving kitten that had been caught by its mom and dragged back to the litter by its scruff. Embarrassed, injured, and utterly defeated.
Honk Honk (part 2)
Choo Choo (Train Top Chase- The Briefcase)
(cw: threats, knife violence)
When Hero heard that Villain was planning to steal something in transit on the railroad, they assumed that they would find him rummaging through one of the sixty plus freight cars lined up on the tracks. They did not expect to find an immaculately dressed Villain surrounded by similarly dressed people dining in a singular passenger car at the end of the train.
The caboose of the train was…out of place, to say the least. Polished cherry wood lined the top of it, sealed and waxed to an impressive level of shine. There was no rust to be found, which was impressive for a train exposed to the elements for days on end. Chestnut paneling and gilded accents completed the outside, which was notably absent of any identifying number markers. The craftsmanship of the exterior was a stark contrast to the amateur graffiti that marked the previous car that the caboose was coupled to.
Hero observed the carriage car through a convenient skylight as the train started to move. The interior was similarly well-crafted with white tiered ceilings that gave way to wide windows, separated into panes only in conjunction with the white-clothed dining tables and corresponding upholstered booth seats. The silver cutlery gleamed in the light that filtered through lace curtains. Hero would not have been surprised to see a chandelier strung from the roof, made of crystals or something similarly stunning. It looked fit to hold a wedding, complete with a dozen guests all dressed in black tie apparel. Villain himself wore a black suit, dress shoes polished and brown hair gelled down. His face was even freshly shaven. A picture perfect gentleman—the opposite of his true nature.
There appeared to be some type of business taking place—as opposed to this being just a randomly-conspicuous social gathering or a confusingly-disguised heist. A singular black briefcase sat inconspicuously at the feet of a black-haired man. Hero would have thought nothing of it, but it seemed to be the only bag in the room, not to mention that every pair of eyes seemed to be ogling it at every sly opportunity. Deciding that there was no way this was legitimate business if Villain was present, Hero resolved to keep the briefcase out of all of their hands.
Several conversations were taking place around the tables—none of which could Hero hear over the rumbling of the tracks—but Hero was only focused on one specific group.
Villain stood in front of a booth that sat one woman in a pencil-straight maroon dress and one man in a suit with a corresponding maroon tie. Hero watched the fake laughs and twirling forks until Villain leaned in close to make his excuses to his company before he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small carton.
Hero crawled to the back of the roof, careful not to alert the people sipping champagne inside that an uninvited guest was about to crash their party. When he exited the back door of the train to stand on the small platform there, cigarette in hand, Hero pounced.
Villain did not even have a chance to flick open his lighter before Hero was on him, swinging down from the overhang to kick him square in the chest. He was pushed back into the railing, giving Hero enough space to land on the platform and get a hand wrapped over the door handle. Determining this was not the safest place for a fight, Hero swung open the door and rushed inside before Villain had a chance to recover.
They took advantage of the startled and stunned people inside the car and made a beeline for the man with the case. About halfway there, Hero bumped into a woman with braids who consequently spilled her bubbly drink down the front of her expensive-looking pink dress. Hero mouthed their apologies before snatching the case from the floor across the aisle, much to the chagrin of the black-haired man who tried to grab for their arm. Light on their feet, Hero deftly avoided his grip and slid open the door on the other side, which was harder to do than they thought thanks to the weird air pressure between the cars.
A chorus of offended shouts got swallowed by the gap as Hero fought to close the door behind them. From there, Hero would scale the ladder on the back of the container car and make the leap to the truck they had called to pull up alongside the train. At least, that’s what they thought they would do before they reached the top one-handed and raced to the edge of the roof.
When they looked down, they saw there was no truck, and more importantly, there was no road. Here, the tracks were paralleled only by a river. Huh, they must have seriously misjudged the speed of the train.
A quick glance back to the ladder revealed a brown-haired head just about to graze the top.
Well, time for plan B.
There were no tunnels on this route—they checked—so at least Hero didn’t have to worry about being taken out Indiana Jones style as they ran across the box car towards the front of the locomotive. Blessedly, the first chain of freight cars were all the same height and the train had yet to hit a curve. It was easier than expected to step between them.
They kept moving forward, crossing one car after another. Their steps landed on tops from faded orange to blue to grey to brown. After about the tenth container, something changed.
The next car had no roof, instead filled to the top with some type of granules. Deciding that pile looked a little too much like quicksand, Hero elected to chance balancing along the edge of the hopper car for fear of silo-style suffocation. Hero slowed to ensure their steps were true—which was probably a bad move in hindsight—and finally leapt the rest of the way to the thankfully-covered train car waiting ahead.
Just when they were getting back into a rhythm and gaining speed and confidence, Hero reached the tanker section.
The tanker cars stretched out as far as their eyes could see, all black cylinders, sporting rails only in the middle and much wider gaps between them than the previous box cars had. Jumping down onto the first one, Hero ran and grabbed the bar, vaulting over the valve access and heading towards the next. Praying to every god they could think of and making several promises they didn’t plan on keeping, Hero made the leap between the first tanker car and the second. It was an extremely weird feeling, jumping forward on something that was already moving forward with wind resistance pushing you back. Hero had no time to dwell on it though.
They risked another glance back, confirming their fear that Villain was still in pursuit.
How Villain could keep up a train-top chase dressed in those clothes was anyone’s guess. Hero certainly would’ve ripped a seam by now in such a well-tailored dress pants.
And those shoes.
There was no way a normal pair of dress shoes was getting any traction on top of a tanker car. They must have custom rubber soles or something even grippier. Probably some new material that hadn’t even hit the market yet.
Rich fucker could definitely afford it.
Unfortunately for Hero, they were rather poor and did not have access to state-of-the-art footware, and it took only one misstep to almost go plummeting towards the couplings. Said misstep occurred around the fifth leap.
They caught themselves enough to stumble forward a few more steps onto the cylinder, but were unable to keep their balance with the briefcase throwing them off. They dropped onto their stomach, grappling for a handhold anywhere. They began to slip off the side, fingerless glove not finding enough traction on the side of the smooth metal tank. They couldn’t reach the cap or the ladder to stop their fall with their one free hand, so they used the last of their precious split second to push away from the car and hope it was enough to keep from being crushed beneath the train wheels.
They hit the ground with a series of crunches they hoped were only the gravel around the tracks shifting under their weight. Groaning, they thanked themselves for their choice of attire—covered completely from head to toe—because otherwise they would likely be pulling pebbles out of their skin for weeks. As soon as they were sure they weren’t about to lose life or limb to the roaring train, they looked up just in time to see Villain roll and land—admittedly more gracefully than them—a few dozen feet ahead.
Attempting to pick themselves up, Hero gritted their teeth. Their tuck-and-roll had turned into more of a sprawl-and-tumble. That was definitely going to hurt tomorrow.
That was, assuming they made it to tomorrow, which they realized with a wince was quite a presumption. Villain stalked towards them, seemingly unbothered by the whole falling/jumping-off-a-train thing.
His hair was still slicked back perfectly, but his tie was slightly askew—the only visible sign of the chase Hero could find. It didn’t even look like he was breathing hard—which was ridiculous. Hero’s breaths were heavy enough to blow down a brick house, and they considered themselves to be in pretty good shape.
Putting aside Villain’s infuriating fitness level for later, Hero finally managed to get their feet underneath them and wasted no time turning and running in the opposite direction, briefcase roughed up but still in hand. Either they were miraculously uninjured, or adrenaline was really a hell of a drug. Regardless, they scrambled back up the loose-gravel pile and followed the rails back the way they came, hoping to make it back to the section with the road, which was seeming further and further away the longer they thought about it.
How long had they stayed atop the train?
They really, desperately did not want to look back behind them. Although they couldn’t hear him over the roaring in their ears, Hero knew instinctively that Villain was hot on their tail. Problem was, the road was no where in sight, and there was nowhere else to go. Unless Hero wanted to chance class III rapids with no floatation device—plus, who knew if the case was waterproof—the only things around were wide open grass plains and steep hills peppered with hard-to-scale pine trees. Not to mention the bugs and bears and who knew what else that probably littered the countryside. Hero couldn’t run forever, and for all they knew, Villain could.
This led them to the unfortunate realization that this mission was probably not going to end in success. Maybe they should have thought this through a little more.
That realization was appropriately accompanied by the feeling of something crashing into them from behind. Tumbling onto the tracks for a second time that day, Hero yelped as one of their elbows hit the rail harshly.
Great, another bruise. Or worse.
Rolling quickly onto their back, ready to spring back upright, Hero spotted the culprit lying across the tracks.
A stick.
He threw a stick at them.
Hero cursed themselves for being bested by a glorified twig of all things.
“Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy a good long chase, but surely you must be getting tired by now,” came a voice from behind them that should have been breathless, and Hero cursed that it wasn’t.
They were quickly back on their feet. Their legs were on fire, their elbow throbbed, their skin prickled, and their throat and lungs burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.
Nope. Not tired at all.
Hero’s lead had dwindled greatly in the time it had taken them to get back up. They knew with painful certainty that they could no longer out run Villain on a straight-away.
Okay, on to plan C.
Hero gathered the last of their energy and dashed off the tracks and down the hill, making a beeline for the river. In front of them, the water churned to the point of opaqueness. Perfect.
Hero spotted a boulder on the water’s edge and promptly threw themselves on top of it. Grateful for their knee pads, they clambered up to the highest point. From there, they held the briefcase out over the water and shouted an order for the villain to stop.
Villain halted in the tall grass a dozen feet away, which Hero almost counted as a victory before they spotted the perturbing smirk on his face.
“That’s cute,” he called back, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning back casually.
Adrenaline reserves exhausted, Hero fought to maintain a neutral expression as their knees turned to jelly and they remained greedy for oxygen.
It would be really unfortunate if they fell into the river right now.
“So what’s your plan? Toss your only bargaining chip in the river and hope for the best?” Villain inquired with an air of curiosity, as if this show was amusing to him.
“It’s simple. You leave, and this case lives for you to steal another day,” Hero spoke in what they hoped was a calm and assured voice. They added a pat against the side of the leather casing for good measure.
“I believe the only thief here is you.”
Hero thought Villain ended that correction with a chuckle, but it was honestly hard to hear with the raging river in the immediate background.
“Do you even know what’s in there?” He asked.
Hero, in fact, did not.
“Of course I do. How else would I know you wouldn’t want to risk losing it in a river,” Hero blustered with all the courage they could muster.
“It would be an inconvenience at best. You think I don’t have contingency plans? A tracker, perhaps?” Villain was much better at achieving a tone of nonchalance than Hero.
Hero had no idea if he was bluffing. They didn’t even know if they were bluffing.
Would a tracker even matter if the case got caught under the current? Would they really risk throwing this mysterious bag into the rapids? For all they knew, it could explode. Or poison all the local wildlife. Or something equally catastrophic.
Hero once again found themselves envious of Villain’s calm demeanor. He should have at least been sweating through his starch-white dress shirt by now.
Villain did have a point. Plan C was no where near foolproof.
Hero sized him up.
It’d be hard to hide a weapon in a suit that tight, but then again if it’s truly custom there could be all kinds of hidden pockets-
Who were they kidding, his weapon of choice earlier was a stick.
So no weapon, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t dangerous. If at all possible, Hero would still like to avoid a fight.
“Do you have a counter offer?”
“Yes. Give me the case, and they won’t have to clean your blood off the train pistons,” he replied evenly.
Hero blanched at the visceral image triggered by his statement. They tried to reassure themselves that they were armed, albeit with a measly switchblade and utility knife, and their opponent was most likely not. Plus, in true Obi Wan fashion, they had the literal high ground.
“Like Hell I’m just handing this over,” Hero scoffed as loudly as they could, “You wouldn’t hesitate to tie me to the tracks regardless. You watch too many cartoons, by the way. There are plenty of ways to kill me that don’t involve traumatizing some poor train conductor.”
Hero punctuated their response with an exaggerated eye roll. Unfortunately, what their eyes landed back on was not the smooth stone they expected to see beneath them. Instead, they found themselves staring right at the diamond back of a snake sunning itself on the rock.
They threw their arms up in surprise, which sent a jolt through their hand from their injured elbow. Furthering the series of unfortunate events, this caused Hero to lose their grip on the case. The mystery container went plummeting into the white water, but Hero had more pressing concerns at the moment. They had stumbled back from the legless reptile and subsequently lost their footing. They flailed, about to meet the same fate as the contentious case.
Before they could, however, they were yanked back by the hood of their jacket, and they collided with the hard rock instead of the turbulent water. They were pulled the rest of the way down into the softer grass and, temporarily blinded by the relief of not drowning, they didn’t resist.
“You assume,” came a voice that was unmistakably filtered through gritted teeth, “that I would let you die.”
Realizing they were far from safe after that near-death experience, Hero pushed away from the hands that saved them. It did them no good as they were manhandled to their feet, but they continued to struggle anyway.
“What? Still think you can outrun me? Go ahead. Try.”
He threw them back to the ground, challenge written all over his face as he peered down at them. Hero felt their ankle fold beneath them and swore.
They couldn’t, they knew they couldn’t, but they couldn’t just give up.
Out of options, Hero reached for the switchblade that was clipped to their waistband.
Their hands found nothing but cloth.
Panicked, they looked up towards Villain. They were horrified to find their blade flicked open in his hand.
“Looking for this?” He asked lightly, pausing to study the tip with faux curiosity, “What were you going to do with it? A light jab, perhaps?” Quick as the snake that brought them to this position, Villain pushed the blade into their ribs and pulled it right back out.
Hero choked in disbelief. He didn’t cut deep, but the wound was dangerously close to their lungs.
“A slash? Or two?”
Villain caught Hero once on their upper arm and once on the opposite lower arm with shallow cuts as they attempted to block.
“Maybe something a little more substantial. The kidneys?”
Hero crabbed walked back as best they could, which wasn’t good enough. Villain descended atop them, intent clear in the movement of the blade.
“Shit, dude! What the fuck was in there?!”
Villain stopped and held the knife still. It was pointed at their abdomen, pushing lightly into the cloth of their jacket. He was kneeling beside them, one hand on their shoulder to keep them from moving back.
“So you’re a liar and a thief?” He asked rhetorically. Hero was frozen with terror and exhaustion, hands pushing into their side where the metal had entered. Villain leaned in closer, and Hero heard a whimper leave their own lips involuntarily.
“Maybe you’ll find out when you get it for me,” He nearly whispered.
Hero blinked.
They pulled back slightly as hands grabbed onto their arms. Villain’s expression darkened.
“We’re getting up. Unless you need another reminder?” He questioned, brandishing the knife and holding it lightly to the inside of hero’s thigh. Hero shook their head frantically and allowed themselves to be pulled up onto their feet.
Swallowing the pain from their ankle and the grip on their forearm that crossed over the gash in the fabric of their sleeve, they steeled.
They were going to need so many painkillers later.
…
There was going to be a later, right?
Hero held their gaze on the view of the landscape around them. Where the water hit the rocks and sprayed upwards, they spotted a small rainbow projected onto the vapor.
Hand on the back of their neck, Villain led them away. As Hero limped along, they felt a bit like a misbehaving kitten that had been caught by its mom and dragged back to the litter by its scruff. Embarrassed, injured, and utterly defeated.
Honk Honk (part 2)
See, this damn fic idea keeps circling in my head, so I’m putting it here because I need to do something with it until I have time to write the full thing.
It’s basically Tav and Astarion working through both of their sexual trauma, Tav’s pisspoor ability to ask for help, and Astarion’s tendencies to hid behind a mask of drama, wit, sass, and humor to cover his fears wrapped in a neat little adventure to get our sad vampire boy into the sun both physically and emotionally.
//TW//: Sexual Assault, Abuse, Slight Gore, Connon-Typical Violence. Both Astarion and Ginger (Tav) have sexually abusive and violent back stories that are relevant to their emotional connection and the plot. They are referenced multiple times. If you can’t handle that, this isn’t for you.
Relavant Context: Non-Ascended Astarion, romanced, almost had the 5-some with Halsin and the drow twins but backed out for Astarion’s sake despite him saying he was down, chose the “let’s find a way for you to see the sun again” ending, pretty much All companions got their best ending (read: emotionally healthiest ending I could get them) (still kinda want a better ending for Karlach, but what can you do 🤷🏽♀️, next fic and play through with the new patch, I guess). I saved the grove and got Halsin and Jahira, not Minthara. Friends with the Myconid Colony by completing all their missions and killing Glut.
Time: A little over a year after the end of the game. I think the game happens during early/mid summer (Astarion mentions that there’s a difference between a warm summer’s day and the full power of the fucking sun if you drop the Temple of Lathander on the party and you say you though the tadpole would protect him), so it’s the beginning of fall. The days are getting shorter, and it’s getting colder.
Where: Beginning in BG, a chapter in the Underdark, half a chapter on the road, but mostly takes place in a different, home brew city I made for my actual D&D game called Whitry.
Power level: Roughly equivalent to level 15 for D&D nerds. Astarion is full Arcane Trickster Rogue and Tav is full Hunter Ranger. I min-max enough in real life D&D, this particular BG3 play through was about the story.
Tav: Ginger; Urchin Tiefling Hunter Ranger (28 during the game, 29 during the fic). She’s primarily a ranged fighter but is still damn good up close, heavy on the foraging and taking anything not nailed down. A little neurotic, probably has ADHD, prefers animals to humanoids 90% of the time, is about long-term self-preservation first and foremost, and loves hugs and cuddles. (Voice 6, V C for those curious.)
*see below; Alt Text is available* (It is cannon that she’s the spitting image of her mother except she has her dad’s eye and hair color exactly. Her mom has black hair and gray eyes. Her dad is pale like Dammon and his horns are longer.) (It is also D&D cannon that tieflings have a lifespan of roughly 180 years on average, maturing at the same age as humans. So being 28/29 is a bit more equivalent to a 24 year old human.)
WARNING: LONG BACKSTORY THAT IS RELEVANT TO THE PLOT BUT IS STILL VERY LONG
Backstory: more or less an orphan because her parents were enslaved by Zariel in Elterel but sent her off to live in Baldur’s Gate when she was ~11 to escape. It was a good idea because she escaped Zariel, but she ended up poor and on the streets of the Outer City. She foraged and hunted in the wilderness to feed herself and learned herbalism to make home remedies because she couldn’t afford a doctor (Explains the in-game potion making skills that I abused to hell and back (literally had a stash of 65 health potions at one point) and why cure wounds, good berry, speak with animals, and hunters mark are her most used spells). She did nearly anything for a coin to survive…
//TW//: Mentions of Teen SA and AGAIN Slight Gore, Canon-typical violence
Early on in the winter before her 16th birthday (late spring - think early/mid May), she wasn’t making much money from foraging. Hunting and selling furs wasn’t keeping her afloat anymore, and she got desperate* enough to turn to sex work despite her age.
*I don’t have have a problem with sex work. The issue is her age. She is aware that the people pursuing her are pedos and are likely very dangerous, hence calling the choice desperate.
It, unfortunately, paid well enough to help her rent a small shack of her own closer to the Upper City. The novelty of being a tiefling that looked fairly elven besides the obvious deviations (horns, tail, fangs, and ridges under her skin) brought a lot of interest from richer people. For the better part of the next year and a half, she financed her life this way - unhappily and disgusted with herself but otherwise comfortable.
That is until one of her richer clients, a knight named Ser Karreed Tange (human man, late 30s/early 40s, tan-ish, cropped blond hair, blue eyes - think the fake Paladin of Tyr hunting Karlach in Act 1 but older) became obsessed with her. It got to the point where he threatened her other clients to scare them off so he could schedule more of her time. He even got himself restationed to the keep nearest to her neighbor to see her more frequently. He was also a fan of more violent kinks that she did not enjoy, but couldn’t say no to as she needed the money (as was the case with many of her clients, but his were particularly demeaning and added greatly to her self-loathing about the whole experience).
When she rejected his offer to marry her (she’s still a few weeks shy of 17 at this point) and effectively keep her as a personal sex slave, he attacked her and r*ped her. Further, he cut her face to ‘ruin her beauty’ (that’s how she got the deep scar over her right eye; the smaller one on the left side of her chin she got from trying to fight back before the assault.).
She tried to report him to his captain, but none of them believed the kind knight they worked with would do such a thing, so nothing happened to him. She tried for the better part of a year to move on. She stopped seeing clients all together as many had stopped coming due to her injuries. She returned to hunting, moved back to her old place in the far east of BG, shaved her head, got her tattoo (the one that looks like smoke and goes around her left eye and wraps around the left side of her head and neck), and kept a low profile.
This worked until the next winter when Ser Tange was being dispatched east to Wakeen’s Rest. The staging ground for the march east was in her neighborhood, and he made himself known by sending a fucked up gift to her house. After having the panic attack from hell, she followed him from a bar and killed him, hiding his body in the woods she had been foraging in for half a decade, and she was never caught. She took everything on him she could sell or use including his heavy crossbow which became her favorite kind of weapon (The crossbow that banes people became her top weapon for most of the play through). A close friend, Rory (half elven trans man around her age, maybe a half year older, relevant later in the story) was her alibi and helped hide and eventually fence his armor and more conspicuous equipment.
She lived life as a bit of a vigilante for hire (hence her comfort with killing and looting people’s bodies) until the game starts, killing any known abusers in her community for a small fee. It took her a long time to be comfortable with sex again, but she is pansexual and most comfortable as closed polyamorous* or monogamous.
*closed poly meaning a defined group of people with no open dating outside of the defined group. (Halsin, for example, wouldn’t fit because he’s open to anyone that strikes his fancy; he’s open polyamorous.)
Their Dynamic: Ginger and Astarion haven’t really had sex since grave yard (The almost 5-some happened after that). Ginger has, beyond just being a morally sound person, an issue with feeling like she’s even potentially forcing someone to be intimate with her, so she doesn’t initiate with Astarion for his comfort. Astarion hasn’t really initiated anything because he has a hard time combining actual love and intimacy with sex. They are a very affectionate couple still, as both of them are heavily touch starved, especially in the context of non-sexual intimacy. They both want to have sex but are waiting for the other to say something about it because they don’t want to make the other uncomfortable. They are very openly in love with each other, but also mutually pining.
THE ACTUAL STORY EXPLANATION STARTS HERE:
This is my idea, please don’t take it. I want to share because I don’t have time to write it all right now, but I will on Ao3 eventually.
Basically, it’s been a year since the destruction of the Elder Brain, and Astarion and Ginger have made some progress on their mission but no permanent solutions. The best they have when the fic begins is a potion Ginger makes from the oil of a specific mushroom from the Underdark that grows from dead drow, duegar, and deep gnomes when the Myconids take over their bodies. Obviously not easy to get as those are sentient being. Thankfully due to the good relationship, they kindly gave them some spores to propagate a small patch. It’s still not enough to make sun walking an everyday occasion, though. The potion works for about 24 hours and needs to be applied to any part of his body that sees the sun, hair included, which he hates. It smells nice - woodsy pine and jasmine - but he doesn’t like feeling that greasy. The massages are great, though.
They have a lead on a witch that’s a friend of Gale’s. She rarely visits Waterdeep or Baldur’s Gate, but she’ll be in BG for a few days to visit her parents’ graves (personal reasons that will get mentioned later). Laurelle (Lore - ELLE) Jin (half siren/half half-elven (high elf) transmutation wizard and a touch of druid for reasons. She looks low key Jamaican mixed with Korean in the sketch I did of her, hence the name) is a potion maker and enchanter that used to be Tara’s hook up for items to feed Gale. Given how powerful she is and her half-century “friend”ship (read: situationship) with a hybrid werewolf-vampire, she seems like their best hope to finding a solution.
They meet Laurelle not long after she gets into town, and she immediately likes Ginger as a fellow potion maker (I have an adorable nerd-out over her vampire-grade SPF 9001 interaction that Astarion has to interrupt with a, “ahem, sorry to interrupt this deeply fascinating conversation, but we have a task to complete, my love” scene idea).
They inform her of the item they would like her to enchant, AND SHE CAN MAKE IT! (Into a nice ring, too!) But there are a few issues:
1. She needs moonstone, adamantine, and some of Ginger’s Underdark mushrooms to make the ring.
2. And the bigger issue, Astarion needs to be a full vampire, not a spawn, to use the item as the magic would overwhelm having the opposite effect - sunlight would incinerate him even faster, and he even would develop a sensitivity to moonlight - if he’s not strong enough. This obviously has its own subset of issues:
He needs Cazador’s blood to complete the transformation. His body has just been decaying in his abandoned Palace for a year+, so he’s all dried out. Also, it’s fucking Cazador’s palace.
The vampire transformation will corrupt his mind and make him more evil, paranoid, and power hungry (literally a D&D thing; the transformation changes the creature’s alignment). Laurelle mentions that Astarion would have already undergone some personality changes when he became a spawn, but that it wasn’t strong enough to totally override his actual personality yet. (Literally the only reason we could talk him down in the game is because the real person was still in there)
Post completing the transformation, he’s going to be hungry as all fuck, and will need to drain a full person, maybe two or three given how powerful Cazador was. A snack on Ginger to hold him over until he can hunt isn’t likely won’t cut it. He’ll be ravenous and probably won’t be able to stop once he starts. On top of it, animal blood won’t satisfy him enough despite filling his stomach.
The first issue is easily fixed with a day trip to the Underdark, so that’s not all that concerning.
The second and all it’s sub-issues are where the plot kicks in.
The first sub-issue is actually already solved, as Ginger had taken a potion bottle of Cazador’s blood the night after Astarion killed him. She had left him in their rooms at the inn to decompress in a hot herbal bath and secretly took Halsin, Gale, and Shadowheart back to the Palace and taken some with their help. This revelation earns her a look from Astarion that is clearly the beginning of him spiraling internally, but he stays uncharacteristically quiet as Ginger continues to strategize with Laurelle to circumvent the remaining issues.
There already exists an item that protects someone from mental corruption (read: alignment changes) during transformations like this. The Netherese magic that protected them from the tadpoles is basically it. Ginger questions if it would have protected Astarion during the Ascension. The answer is no, because the magic wasn’t focused on protecting him; it was encapsulating the tadpole (Laurelle is horrified when Ginger and Astarion explain the full details of both the Ascension pact and the tadpoles). However, Laurelle knows where to get the item, and it also lead into the solution she has for the last issue.
In her home town of Whitry, there is a shifty merchant who trades in stolen and fake artifacts. Many are made in his secret sweatshops where he forces the more monstrous races (orcs, bugbears, ogres etc.) to work for next to nothing is shitty conditions. One of the few real items he owns is on display in his home, and he’s having an end of summer gala - to which she has an open invite to - in a little less than 2 weeks. Laurelle suggests kidnapping him right after the gala and stealing the artifact then to cover their own tracks, since he’s otherwise rather reclusive when he’s not selling or posturing to the public pretending to be an adventurer.
As for the potential two extra bodies that Astarion will need, there are two criminals in Whitry that Laurelle’s “friend”, Daniel (human open hand Monk/thief Rogue Bounty Hunter werewolf/vampire hybrid; he’s Asian in appearance; bulky Seo Changbin or Bang Chan from Stray Kidz but just a little taller, has a deep as voice like Song Mingi from ATEEZ, face like Dori Sakurada) had been hunting down for a little while, and he wouldn’t mind a hand capturing and dealing with them.
One is luring people from bars, and they’re never seen again. The other serial r*pist and murderer with a thing for fem-presenting tieflings that’s recently started emerging in the last few weeks.
The mention of the first’s MO leaves a familiar, sour taste in Astarion’s mouth. The mention of the second, for reasons Astarion is unaware of (he knows about her sex work days, doesn’t know about her age at the time or the knight. He thinks she stopped because she got hurt hunting. She hates talking about it, and he doesn’t make her.), causes Ginger to internally freak the fuck out.
I will stop to note that both of them have damn good poker faces, so Laurelle isn’t really aware of the two of them having internal breakdowns, but Ginger and Astarion know each other well enough to know when The Mask™️ slips on.
With a clear enough plan, Ginger and Astarion plan to set off to the Underdark right away, portal back to BG to resupply for the day-and-a-half trip south, set out, and then meet Laurelle in Whitry in a few days.
This is chapter 1.
During the trip to the Underdark, while in the Sêlunite Temple looking for the shard of the shattered moonstone, Astarion asks Ginger why she took the blood and why she never told him. His tone is accusatory.
Because she’s never been all that good at explaining herself (not really a skill you need when you raised yourself from the age of 11 and you’ve been pretty much alone for the last 2 decades), she says “I was scared that I would lose you, so I just wanted all options present.”
Astarion immediately imagines the worst even if he knows it’s irrational. He spirals thinking if she would use the blood to make him subservient to her so he couldn’t leave her. He tries to bury that idea, but the next idea springs to mind: does she think he’s weak? Was not as strong as the other companions? Did she not trust his ability to fight the Elder Brain? Another train of thought: does she pity him? Is that why she’s stayed? Does she feel sorry for making him cower from the sun? Has all her ‘love’ been a show to keep him on the line until she can “fix” him? Is he a project to her? Is that why she hasn’t slept with him in a year? He tells himself he would deserve that considering how he had pursued her under false pretenses initially, how he had only laid with her once out of true love in the graveyard. Had she done that out of pity as well?
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks darkly, abandoning the search.
Ginger doesn’t get the question, “Exactly what I said. I didn’t want to lose you.” She didn’t understand that he meant for her to explain how she feared losing him. She didn’t realized he wasn’t making her same leaps in logic.
She didn’t say it was because she feared he would resent her for convincing him to give up that power and leave her. She didn’t say it was because she rightly feared than none of her companions were strong enough to fight the Elder Brain. She didn’t say she feared that his siblings would get power hungry first, get Cazador’s blood, and try to control him, so she drained him of enough blood for Astarion to complete the transformation, had Halsin incinerate the body, Shadowheart consecrate the ashes so he could never be resurrected, and had Gale magically hide them away forever so no one could find them to try. She didn’t say that she was going to bring it up during the exact conversation where he thanked her for not letting him ascend because she felt horrible for doing all of that and not telling him let alone getting his input. She didn’t say it when he took her to the grave yard to see his head stone. She didn’t say it because she’d finally been made love to for the first time and she was scared he would hate her for making all of those decisions for him.
Astarion starts ranting, questioning her down the whole spiral of his thoughts. He’s accusatory because he’s hurt and sacred himself.
Normally level-headed, Ginger feels backed into a corner. He’s honestly the first person she’s ever loved romantically. Beyond that, he’s also one of her first truly close friends, Karlach and Shadowheart being her closest friends outside of him (wine girlies for life). So instead of seeing his hurt, she gets defensive and angry as well, taking particular offense to being compared to Cazador when he asks about her cooking up a potion to make herself his master.
“Where the fuck did you get all of that from? When did I ever say anything remotely close to any of that?”
“What else is ‘all options present’ supposed mean then?” he snaps. He gets even angrier as she has not only not abandoned the moonstone search but has now also started collecting mushrooms growing on rotting burlap sacs to her alchemy pouch, instead of facing him.
“Gods above and below, damn it all! Will you stop being a pack rat that will do anything for a coin for five fucking seconds and look at me!” He snaps louder, fully yelling at her, voice a booming echo across the stone work.
The sudden command and unintentionally jab at her past pissed her off, and she wheeled on him, “First of all, fuck you-”
He’s in her face but hasn’t touched her. She hadn’t even hear him approach, damned rogue.
Something about the distant brasier light, barely embers, hits just wrong enough, and Ginger is back to that night. The anger turns to panic. The urge fight makes her body tense, coiling like a spring. She cool darkness of the temple suddenly feels oppressive. She can barely breathe. It takes every fiber of her being to recognize that Astarion isn’t Karreed and that she doesn’t need to lash out.
Astarion sees the change, literally watching her entire body go from the lithe, practiced grace of a skilled hunter to stone-still. Everything from the animated way she speaks with her hands to the casual sway of her tail - though it had been sharper when she was angry - comes to a dead halt. Her arms pull to her side. The only movement is the obvious urge to reach for her rapier that she’s fighting.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t know that she’s not actually afraid of him. He doesn’t know that the panic he sees in her eyes isn’t because she thinks he would actually hurt her. The spiral in his mind clouds him from seeing her try to reconcile her reality with something else.
All sees is more evidence that Cazador’s blood was going to be used to control him somehow. Only now he doesn’t think it’s because she was potentially evil and vindictive like Cazador. He thinks it’s because she scared of being hurt by him. That he’d hurt her, maybe not even on purpose, or maybe he’d lose his mind and become power hungry like Cazador again, and she’d have to kill him. That’s how she thinks she’d lose him. She loves him so much she’d rather control him than kill him. She probably wouldn’t even use the potion to control him unless she absolutely had to. It’d probably only be after she exhausted every other avenue. She knows how much he values his freedom. She wouldn’t unless there was no other option.
He softens immediately, “My love, my angel…” he reaches out to embrace her, not knowing how to apologize for giving her the idea that he would harm her.
Ginger, still steeped in panic with anger simmering just underneath it, is too consumed by her inner turmoil to notice the change in demeanor and flinches away. The tiniest voices of reason in her mind and heart chastise her immediately for it, screaming at her that he’d never, but she not of present enough mind to say more than, “Please don’t touch me, Astarion.”
Astarion’s world goes cold, bone achingly cold. He had spent a year alone in a crypt, and this was colder. Never once since they had decided to pursue something real together had they denied each other affection.
Further, Astarion couldn’t remember the last time Ginger had used his name plainly. He couldn’t remember the last time he used hers. If either had, it was followed up with some sort of pet name. Their favorites had been the more ironic ones. She called him her star despite his sunlight affliction, and he called her his angle despite her infernal heritage.
Now, he is being hit with the loss of both at once, and he’s sure he’d rather take the full blast of a cone of cold head on than feel like this.
All he can do is acquises, “Alright…”
She won’t even look him in the eye. She’s gone almost totally internal; all the walls he thought had broken down in his presence reveal themselves to be fully in tact. After few moments like this, the hard determined exterior that he had encountered for most of his first days with her had returned.
In a forced, quiet tone, she speaks, “Let’s just finish getting what we came for,” then turns away, returning to her gathering.
Ginger spends the rest of the chapter quiet and specifically not ‘being a pack rat’ despite Astarion clearly seeing her eyes clock chasm creepers and timmask spores she’d recently learned to weaponize into laughing bombs. If he didn’t know he lacked the harvesting skills she had, he’d have made an attempt, but blowing them up doesn’t feel like a great idea, so he sticks with collecting the chasm creepers, sneaking them into her pouch.
When they run through the forge to find some spare adamantine, she only speaks once to warn him a grate she stopped on didn’t feel stable anymore. And during the boat ride back to the Myconids, she only occasionally mumbles to herself as she organizes their packs while he steers.
Astarion spent the remaining trip dumbfounded by her. He scared her, he thought, and yet she was still loving to him. He’d made a half-assed comment about something and her behavior changed immediately, though he didn’t really care about her pack rat tendencies, and he hopes his stealthy gathering on her behalf corrected that misconception. He actually finds them rather endearing and useful (plenty of his gear was financed by them). She still organized his pack for him just the way he liked, adding more of the potions and tinctures she made with impressive speed - especially on a boat - as she went. Hells, she’s still actively pursuing the materials for his daylight ring.
All of it makes him feel particularly undeserving of her, and little does he know, she feels the exact same way about him.
They take the ascent to the surface through the entrance the hide out in Wakeen’s Rest. Killing the traders and leaving the cavern in tact had been useful after all. Gale’s portals (my way of explaining the waypoints) were fun and all, but Ginger likes walking. It gives her time to think. It is unfortunately mid afternoon when they resurface, so they camp out in the storage house above the hide out until dark.
That’s Chapter 2.
They spend the next 7-10 chapters painstaking slowly resolving this misunderstanding, getting better at communication, and completing their mission with a satisfying second and third dose of revenge on a former abuser. Also, they make new friends, find a nice place to settle down, and find jobs that don’t require them to risk their lives 24/7 (but there is an adventure to be had sometimes). I also intend to leave an ambiguous thread open for them to find a way to pursue a form of non-vampiric immortality for Ginger on the side with Laurelle’s help. Also, potential for Dhampire Babies!?
Tentative name: For Her Star
The sequel about finding immortality for her being: For His Angel
low key very obsessed with sex-adverse Astarion. like he's The Thirst Companion. The fucking Only Fangs joke. All the smut fan content. And then it does a total 180 and he's like "actually my sexual identity was weaponized against me and i was forced to use it to lead hundreds of people to their deaths". It's just such a compelling and interesting twist on his character. I love it.