It's not like Nasch hadn't known there'd be assassins at the party. There always are.
(And maybe it's foolish to walk around without guards, but Nasch can't bring himself to be the center of the attention.)
It makes sense, honestly— he'd rebel against this regime, too.
If he was king yet.
But he's not. He's a prince, almost as powerless as commoners; just as resentful of the concept of the leaders of the country being those chosen by the Astral gods.
Why would you voluntarily offer yourself up to them even more?
If anything, this causes more people to practice black magic; causes more people to seek out the Barian gods.
People like his godforsaken cousin.
Literally godforsaken, because apparently Vector had to force the gods to obey him rather than the other way around.
Quite the opposite of Nasch; chosen by both Shark Drake and Abyss Splash, both constantly insisting he is their respective faction's human representative.
(The only god Nasch willingly talks to is Silent Honor. A neutral party. As neutral as it can be when it's sided with the Barian gods, much like Shark Drake.)
And with all that, the existence of Barian assassins doesn't surprise him in the slightest.
The existence of assassins being competent and going for him specifically, on the other hand, is a surprise.
Nasch doesn't react fast enough when Kaito slumps against the wall, incapacitated way too easily for his and Galaxy-Eyes' standards.
"Hey, Nasch~" An uncomfortably familiar voice close to his ear, a knife pressed to his throat. "Missed me?"
"Not even in hell," Nasch hisses. "Vector."
The knife's definitely cursed.
"You're not talkative today. Not surprised that I'm back?"
"You were quite busy in the last seven years."
"I was, wasn't I?" Vector laughs, shifting the knife slightly while slowly pulling Nasch backwards. "Are you gonna cooperate? I wouldn't wanna kill you yet~"
"What are your terms?"
"We're discussing them in your room. Don't get wrong ideas, by the way. The entire place blows up if you try anything funny."
Of course, that could be a bluff. Knowing Vector, it likely is a bluff, even. But risking everyone's safety for that is something Nasch can't bear to do, so.
"Fine. But get that knife away from me. People will notice."
"Your people aren't up for fun, ever."
Nasch reminds himself to calm down because if he's gonna die, he might as well die with his dignity intact; but even after Vector removes the knife, the adrenaline rush is still present and he follows Vector up to his room.
Almost immediately, both Nasch and Vector reach for the key to lock it.
"Playing the hero again, huh?" Vector giggles. "It's gonna get you killed."
Nasch doesn't doubt it. He won't go down without a fight though.
"It's been forever," Vector crosses his arms behind his head. "Since I last came here. But you still haven't gotten rid of these embarrassing bedsheets."
Admittedly, Nasch is glad only a selection of people know about the shark-themed bedsheets.
Nasch scowls. "Not like you can talk."
"What do you mean?"
"What the hell are those thigh highs."
"Functional."
If that's your definition of 'functional', sure. Nasch doesn't doubt for a second that Vector has a knife in there, too.
"Get to the point. It's been seven years and I highly doubt you're here to talk."
"What if I am?" Vector lies down on Nasch's bed, tapping the space next to him twice.
Nasch doesn't move.
"Oh, yeah. I think my allies are on the way to Merag right now. I wonder what would happen if I sent a signal right now~"
Nasch walks to sit down on the bed, doing so awkwardly so he can still reach for the hidden knives.
"You're still so weak." With little further ado, Vector pushes him down, and this is where Nasch expects his life to end; because his body would be unable to deal with a cursed stab wound and luckily Vector's knife is on the table, but—
"Oi, it's boring like this." Vector straddles him, smirking. "Why aren't you fighting back?"
"You wanted to discuss your terms."
"Hasty, aren't you? I'm almost offended, after all this. There's nothing left of that crush, is there?"
"The only thing about you that's still the same is your face." Nasch clenches his teeth.
"Isn't that enough?" Vector leans in, pushing Nasch into the pillow while uniting their lips.
There's a part of Nasch that has wanted this, the Nasch from seven years ago with the embarrassing crush on his kind, clumsy cousin; yet here they are, with Vector being nothing like what he used to be, but the same attraction to the same face is still there and—
Nasch reciprocates, letting his hands wander over Vector's body in search for weapons he should get a hold of.
Vector pulls his hair, and for a bit there Nasch loses his concentration and he's sure his breaths in-between are unsteady; and he can hear, feel Vector's damned chuckling against his lips.
"You won't find anything." Vector starts working with his tongue against Nasch's lips.
"What do you—" Nasch tries to speak, but Vector uses the opportunity to push his tongue in, just to immediately slip back out, wipe his mouth and press down with both fingers on Nasch's throat.
Enough to breathe, not enough to swallow.
"Got you."
Nasch is painfully aware of the pill that is about to slowly dissolve on his tongue, the pill that's clearly poisonous and he can't spit out, the—
"So, Nasch." Vector increases the pressure. "You're gonna be our bargaining chip."
And at this point Nasch is waging his life on chance, because he reaches into that stupid thigh high of Vector's and grasps a thin knife, shoving it in and headbutting Vector before spitting the pill out.
(Vector's pained scream is satisfying to hear.)
It takes him a bit to catch his breath, but then he reverses their positions, pulling the knife out of Vector's thigh and putting it at Vector's throat. "Am I, now? I'd rather do it the other way around."
And Vector smiles.