Chapter Text
The Underdark was no less unfamiliar to them, than any other place their colourful group of ragtag adventurers had visited so far. If anything, the dark shadows, and dangerous air made them feel more settled than the bright fresh atmosphere of the mountain pass had. Something about the constant threat of a potential foe behind every corner they came across was oddly familiar to Hush; almost soothing even.
They lingered at the edge of camp – which they had established not far from the Myconid Colony, in a clearing surrounded by high walls made of dark purple rock and densely grown overlarge glowing mushrooms – sitting with their legs drawn up tightly to their chest, arms hugging their knees tightly, while they looked off into the distant darkness, unseeing. The others where only just settling down for bed, still hustling and bustling around while they set up their respective tents and bedrolls for their first night in the new hideout. Hush had excused themselves quickly after dinner, feeling unsettled, yet weirdly sated after their chaotic, blood-drenched escape from the crèche. Their skin was itchy where the blood of a dozen or so githyanki had dried into flaky crusts all over their arms, face, and neck. While their nausea had subsided, replaced by a warm humming sensation somewhere deep in their chest where a heart should have been, the ever present headache was … well present as ever. Their mind kept replaying images of green and yellow skin breaking beneath their claws as they ripped through some of the younger githyanki – still children despite the environment that had made them warriors far too soon – and how easily they had broken apart beneath their attacks. There was dead skin of dead child soldiers stuck beneath their nails. The more they thought about those bits of flesh and gore they had brought with them, the more they had to subdue the urge of scraping them off with their teeth and lick clean their claws until nothing remained.
How would a githyanki taste? Surely nothing like dwarf (tough and fragrant, best in a stew that had simmered for hours, to make the meat fall off the thick bones) or human (so soft, so mild, perfect when paired with a strong sauce and good wine ) or tiefling even (sharp, smokey, with a certain edge that makes cooking it more of a challenge). Would they be able to taste the youth and inexperience of the younger ones, and the years upon years of merciless training and hard-won battles on the older warriors? How many githyanki had they been carrying with them, beneath their claws and on their skin...
“Enjoying the change of scenery, are you?”, a familiar voice ripped Hush unceremoniously from their wretched musings.
They flinched violently, jumped up into a crouching position - despite the creaking pain in their overstrained limbs - and reached for the daggers at their belt, before they fully registered just who had approached them. Annoyed at being caught so off guard they resumed their earlier position without acknowledging the snickering elf.
“Please, darling. There is no need for that. I was simply trying to make small talk”, Astarion playfully held up his hands in mock surrender as he settled down next to them.
Too close, they thought. The vampire spawn may not emit the same torturous hum of life and heat as the other, not undead, members of their troupe did (it set their claws on edge, made their skull feel too small for all the needle-sharp teeth housed inside) but his snowwhite skin and silver hair had their fingers aching with the urge to paint them in red. Conscious of the violence lurking impatiently beneath their skin, they hugged their knees more closely and clenched their fists tighter - a pathetic attempt to subdue the terrible twitches wracking the vicious limbs - and bit their lip harshly to keep themselves from mauling one of their allies (again).
Sinews like strings on a beloved teacher's lute, played by blood-wet claws, eyes empty, gouged out by the beautifully pointed tip of her own horn...
“Apologies” they eventually managed to press out, strained and rough, and too quiet. But he heard them just fine.
Those long elven ears must hear better than small stumpy human ones. How pretty they would look on a necklace, with his fangs and eyes, maybe some of his finger bones too? His hands so elegant and dexterous, must hide exquisite treasure beneath all that skin, sinew, and flesh...
“All good, my dear. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. If anything, I should be thanking you for not gouging out my eyes or doing any other number of gruesome things to this handsome face of mine”, he joked easily.
Despite themselves, Hush couldn’t help but snort at how well he already knew them. It takes a monster, to know one. Still, it was nice that he felt comfortable enough to joke about their viciousness so casually, and didn’t shy away like Karlach, Gale, and Wyll had ever since Alfira.
Pretty dusk-coloured skin speckled with gore, peeled from poppy-red meat, stripped off bones (still wet and such a pretty pink too - like lolth’s candles), empty sockets where her black-and-gold eyes had been – oh, how deliciously they had burst between their teeth…
The two of them sat quietly next to one another for a while, both looking into the unchanging darkness of the Underdark, speckled with eerily glowing orange and purple spots of light.
“It's beautiful down here”, Hush eventually forced themselves to say. Unwilling but embarrassed at how they always left someone else with the responsibility of keeping conversations alive.
“It is”, Astarion softly agreed, then he turned his body fully towards them, a mischievious smirk on his too-pale lips, “so dangerous in its beauty... Yet even the Underdark pales when compared to you.”.
“…” perplexed, they stared at the elf, head slightly cocked to one side, “what are you doing?”
“Gods!”, he exclaimed, though he was laughing - if slightly derisively - as he continued, “Are you usually this dense, or is this another side effect from whatever has scrambled up your brains?”
Hush didn’t dignify that with an answer, instead they shrugged noncommittedly and turned back towards the dark expanse in front of them.
“Aw! Come now, darling! No need to be offended. I was just joking around. Surely your feelings cannot be hurt this easily”, he very nearly purred, while inching closer until they were sat shoulder to shoulder.
Then Astarion nudged them playfully, “I was just surprised. After all someone like you should be well used to flirtation and banter”
Once again, they simply shrugged, but still inclined their head towards him, silently urging him to keep talking. As vapid as his simpering was, he drowned out the thoughts.
“Ah, I see you want me to do some more wooing, don’t you, sweet thing?”
“Sweet Thing” - Pain. So much pain. Their insides without. Cold, tepid air touching them inside. Like a thousand pin prick needles. Their spine raw, aching, chafed on rough stone, wet with blood. “How beautifully you sing for me!”
They shifted when their joints twinged with all too familiar pain and curled into the cool body pressed against them. Not dead, not alive. Too desperate and scared to harm. Safe.
“Go on.”, they said quietly.
Please call me something else. Anything but “Sweet Thing”! Please. It hurts too much.
“More? Hmm, let me see”, he made a big show of stroking his chin, tilting his head this way and that, before exaggeratedly snapping his fingers, jostling them slightly when he bumped into their side, “I’ve got one. How about this?”, then he leaned in closer to their ear, “With you I feel practically alive, yet I crave only for a little death with you.”
Hush laughed softly at his antics and let their head rest heavily on his shoulder. His shirt was soft, softer than they had expected. Something deep down inside of them (something forgotten long before their cranium and brain had been damaged beyond repair) recoginsed that kind of softness. The softness only a well-worn, much-loved garment acquired. Hush hummed contently at the pleasant sensation against their scarred, mangled face-skin.
“Really? Has that line ever worked for you?”, they asked through barely concealed mirth.
“So hard to please!”, he huffed, but they could here the broad smile on his lips and feel how his trapezius muscle was relaxed against their throbbing temple. He switched back to playfully and extravagantly "hmm"-ing and "haw"-ing before he kept going, “But I just cannot help myself, when faced with a delectable treat such as yourself. Tell me, is there anything else about you, as delicious as your blood?”. His cold breath ghosted through their short hair, grimy with sweat and blood as it was.
Once again, Hush couldn’t help but chuckle at the silly line, now thoroughly invested in this odd game they were playing, “Aren’t you being too bold, right now? If I had more sense, I would slap you with my shoe”
He barked out a peal of laughter, loud and honest and so unlike the over-practiced seductive chuckle he usually graced them with, “Ah! But see, you have such little decorum! Feral, untamed creature that you are.”
His words should probably offend them or hurt even a little bit. But, more than all the fake compliments and saccharine endearments, they sounded … fond? Oddly lacking any true bite or malice.
“Insulting your conquests? I thought you were an expert sweet talker?”, Hush softly bumped their temple, and with it the hard base of their horn, into the underside of his jaw, careful to keep the touch gentle.
Astarion only laughed again, and let out a playfully ostentatious sigh, “But darling, I meant no offense. But I see, someone as dignified and virtuous as you, needs some more enticing”, then he carefully lifted a hand to their jaw, guiding their head away from his shoulder as he turned, once again, to face them directly.
Hush, calmed by their easy banter and simple touch, complacently followed along, leaning into the cool palm. Despite being slightly disgruntled at having to abandon the surprisingly comfortable resting spot, and carry their own fractured skull’s weight themselves again, they delighted in the soothing cold of his skin. It seemed to subdue some of the constant throbbing behind their eyes, as is spread from their cheek. And when he softly stroked their scarred cheek with a cool dexterous thumb, they all but melted.
Calloused fingers on chubby cheeks. The warmth of home-made stew. A long-forgotten lullaby sang oh so softly to them in an untrained voice, heavily accented and rough, but full of gentleness. Peace. When had they last known such a touch?
"What if said three words, everyone's favourite?", Astarion asked quietly, his cold breath ghosted over their face, caressed their closed eyelids, stirred their lashes, as he leaned in ever so close until he touched their forehead with his. Hush could smell the expensive perfumes and oils on his skin, as well as a faint smell beneath the initial cloud of flowers and mild spices; something stale and sharp hiding just below the pleasant surface.
He lifted a second ice cold, perfectly manicured hand up to their other ashen cheek, now fully cupping their face.
"I love you"
Hush stopped breathing.
“I love you”
They couldn’t remember a moment since the Nautiloid where they had been this still. Their entire body had suddenly stopped. No twitching or shaking or thrashing or pacing. No breathing.
“Three words. Everyone’s favourite. I love you ”
Three words they could’t remember ever hearing.
Rough hands, gentle hands, clawed hands, hands covered in gold and gemstones, hands wrapped around an ornamental dagger, clumsy hands digging into their intestines, hands grasping onto their spine...
Three words on a silver tongue
Red hot blood on tiny ash-grey hands. Hot tears burning on chubby cheeks. A familiar voice gently praising, giddily encouraging...
Words that evoked the same bitterness as old chalk markings of am abandoned childrens' game in a ransacked village
“Sweet Thing.” – “Precious Pet.” – “My Favourite”
They recoiled from those clever, pale hands that now felt like hot irons on their face. Astarion was saying something yet they couldn’t hear him over the thunderous pounding between their ears
Has anyone ever loved me?
They grimaced, unseeing and unhearing. Still fighting for every breath and against the overwhelming nausea, that had returned with terrible vengeance.
"You would be lying" they replied, barely managing to croak out the words. Then they shakily stood up on numb, aching legs, with cheeks burning as if doused with acid.
As they staggered away from the vampire, their body finally began moving again; their hands were trembling, lips twitching, jaw grinding, bones shaking. Their very being was aching, itching, buzzing – they felt oddly comforted by it. The stillness had been bad. It had hurt more than anything they remembered; like their very skin had become acid and fire, alighting every inch of their body with pain that ate into their flesh until it reached bone and then burrowed even deeper.
They did not feel like joking around anymore. All the simple fun gone in an instant. A heavy oppressive feeling now weighed on their shoulders and squeezed their lungs
Rip out his fangs, use them to carve up that beautiful, undead skin - make it split like overripe fruit, make his corpse even prettier, reveal rotten flesh, uncover centuries old bones, grind them up. Make him dust . No need for sunlight...
They barely realized that they had somehow made their way to their own tent and clumsily collapsed onto their bed roll, where Scratch was already comfortably settled for the night. Hush didn't acknowledge him, blind and dead to their surroundings. Their ruined joints and jagged bones protested, but they paid them no heed either, too numb to recognise the pain as their own. Their hands were once again clenched so tightly, they could smell the blood welling up – joining stale githyanki blood beneath their vicious claws – where their nails had dug into their palms. But they didn’t feel that either. They couldn’t feel anything anymore. They could hear how their oversharp teeth clenched and grinded inside a skull that did not quite fit them all, but they could not feel the pain from where their tongue and cheeks had been horribly gnawed on, only the coppery taste of blood let them know they had bitten into their own flesh. All Hush felt was a tingling numbness that had swallowed them whole-
Every bone in their body was rattling with tension; the unnaturally pronounced ridges on their spine were pushing and shifting uncomfortably against the inside of the dry skin on their back, as if their own vertebrae were trying to escape through their own meat out into the chilly air. Their entire skeleton seemed to protest a too small, too tight, too soft body (an ill-fitting vessel that couldn’t contain ... - what?). As they shakily curled up into a pathetically trembling ball of pain and misery, feeling like a corpse puppet whose strings had long since been severed, who now barely held together (a mess of overstretched sinews and malformed bones clumsily wrapped up in too little flesh).
Hush felt the overwhelming urge to tear off their own skin (it felt unbearably false. All wrong the way it stretched and pulled when they moved), to separate the decaying shell from fowl, rancid meat, to pick their own misshapen skeleton clean, so it could finally bleach in the sun and sink into the dark earth, wet where it had soaked up rancid blood. To dissolve into mush, to feed the earth, and sate the worms and maggots. Oh, to finally become nutrient rich fertiliser for a red world (a dead world).
Maybe then they wouldn't feel like their entire being was ripping at the seams , like all parts that made them up weren’t miscellaneous scraps amateurishly cobbled together – like a makeshift automaton that should have been taken apart for scraps a long time ago...
Hush barely realized they were scratching at their skin, leaving dozens of thin shallow cuts on ash-grey skin, when an odd wet sensation on their neck ripped them from their dark thoughts. Startled they reached their hands towards the familiar touch, feeling soft fur and sturdy body of Scratch. Wonderful, lovable Scratch, who despite everything, didn’t smell how rotten they were. Instead of recoiling from their wretched body, he did his very best to get as close to Hush as possible. He snuffled and whined piteously as he nudged them into sitting up, then bullied his way into their lap like an oversized puppy, all the while never giving up his ministrations of prodding and licking at their neck, jaw, and cheeks. His warmth and weight grounded them, brought their mind back into a body that creaked and ached painfully but didn’t feel like bursting apart anymore.
Carefully Hush wrapped their uncooperative arms around the dog, mindful not to nick him with their claws when they began scratching at his back and sides. He began wiggling and pressing closer into them, at which they buried their face in scratch's neck and softly nuzzled him back.
"Oh Scratch, you really shouldn’t be this close to me", they whispered miserably into the dog’s fluffy neck, "I'll likely end up hurting you too. Don’t you know, I am dangerous?"
Tears began forming in their eyes and they carefully tightened their hold on him, "I don’t want to hurt you too", they said, "it'll only prove that being around me spells doom."
Scratch quieted slightly but made no attempts of leaving the small pile the two of them had found themselves in. Rather, he stayed until Hush slowly sank back onto their bedroll. As they fell into disquiet slumber, the white dog readjusted himself on top of them and didn’t leave until come morning.