Blinking away grogginess, I felt a lump in both my stomach and head, as if something dropped a pile of rocks in each of them. My head was pounding, but the need to vomit escaped me, which was a pleasant surprise. The morning light was barely visible through my windows. I was suddenly grateful that I invested in sunblocking drapes, as I -
Holy shit. There was an elf in my apartment.
For a moment, I froze, listening. For what, I wasn't sure. Maybe he left, or maybe he stole everything I then left. Fuck, what the hell was I thinking?
I quietly got out of bed, trying to ignore my pulsing head full of rocks. I was still alive, so that was a positive sign. I somehow managed to shut my bedroom door despite my state of mind, as if that would stop anyone from doing god knows what. Hell, that barely stopped Sarge, who had slept at the end of my bed, as usual. Another good sign. Though, if I found out the stranger had hurt Sarge, that would indeed be bad news for him.
Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I washed my face and completed my shortened morning routine, trying to recall the events of last night, and how I concluded that letting this man stay here was the best option.
There was an earthquake? I fell on someone. I fell on Astarion, a pointy-eared red-eyed "elf". I let him stay here, like an absolute idiot. He said he was from a place called Toril, or Faerun? Elves were common where he was from.
What wasn't common were bathrooms. If this was all true, and he was from a different….realm, then how did he get here? And why did I have to be the one to bump into him? Did anyone else feel that earthquake? Did anyone else on my floor fall on an elf?
With a push of his wet nose, Sarge came walking into my bathroom, eyes begging for breakfast. After putting my hair up, I gave him a head scratch. If Sarge wasn't attacking this elf, then maybe he had gone. Or at least, he was harmless. I like to think that Sarge had a great sense of character when it came to strangers.
"Alright, if this guy makes any weird moves, you gotta bite him. Deal?" Sarge just looked at me and made a huffing noise. Seems that deals had to wait until after breakfast.
I put on a t-shirt, joggers, and a hoodie before opening my door slowly, half expecting Astarion to either be gone or waiting to stick me with his knife. I didn't hear anything, so I crept downstairs, my stealthy efforts overwritten by Sarge's pounding down the stairs toward the kitchen.
Astarion was standing near the window, looking down at the city. He seemed preoccupied with thought. For a moment, I wasn't sure what to say. He must have heard me (or Sarge, who patiently sat looking at me in the kitchen), as he turned around, smiling in that creepy and flattering way.
For some reason, I wanted to ignore him. I wanted to continue my life, as if nothing had happened, even if a potential knife murderer was currently looking at me expectantly. I caught a glance at the time - 10 am. Sarge must have been starving -
"Ah, I see you survived the night of sinful consumption. You were quite intoxicated." He folded his arms but was still smiling at me. I wondered if he slept, or if he snooped around, not that there was much to find.
"Yes. It's probably why I let you in. If I was sane, I would have told you off." Sarge mowed down on his kibble while I searched the cabinet for the Advil.
Since I was in high school. I often kept Advil in every place imaginable. I had frequent headaches, for some unknown reason. They sometimes often like migraines, but mostly a pain in my ass. My liver took a beating, between the medicine I took for my cursed brain, and the Fridays I enjoyed with Jesse, Alex, and Harley.
They would not believe me if I told them about Astarion. Part of me wasn't sure I should tell them. I purposefully left my phone in my hoodie pocket. There was no reason to tell them anything yet. Especially not if Astarion wasn't sticking around, which was my goal after I got rid of my throbbing headache.
"I wanted to thank you," Astarion said a little more quietly as I downed two Advils.
I gazed at him, "Did you sleep at all?" He didn't look like it. His eyes looked darker, and he seemed exhausted from thinking. Something about the way he was looking at me, made me believe he had stayed up all night.
He raised his eyebrows. "I don't believe I've as many hours as you have, as I am quite literally, not where I am meant to be."
Oh right. I made a face and walked over to the couch, which was a few feet away from the window, and sat down.
"But anyways. Despite your state, you didn't have to allow me to accompany you. I'm not sure what would have happened to me had I ventured on my own." Astarion sat down opposite of me, in a large reading chair.
I studied him. The way he was thanking me felt like an admittance, as if, he was realizing he was no longer home.
But was this a plot or a joke? How did I know he truly wasn't from here? So far, other than his appearance and way of speaking, I really couldn't be sure.
"How do I know this isn't some joke? You mention these places, and not being human. How can I know that…this is real, I guess?" I felt like such an idiot. Never in my life, have I ever done something as crazy as this.
I invited a stranger into my apartment and now I was asking him if he was lying about every word from his mouth. Any moment, some camera guy was going to pop out, (in which I'd punch them in the face because holy shit) and proclaim this was all some cos-play joke, and -
"I suppose I could try to show you," Astarion said. He closed his eyes and placed his finger on his temple.
"Is this like, x-men shit-" I started, but was immediately paralyzed by something so visceral that I felt like something had welded me to the couch.
What I saw and felt was an indescribable range of emotions and memories. Messy compilations of insane-looking monsters, magic, sword-wielding humans, glowing eyes, large fields of animals, taverns, horns, and so many things I only associated with fantasy novels and Lord of the Rings shit flooded my thoughts and vision.
Amidst all this were Astarion's confusion and fear of being here. I saw a memory of someone with dark hair, speaking Latin, waving something around, and Astarion yelling at him as he fell in a flash for what felt like years. As I fell for what felt like a thousand years.
My back felt like something was tearing into it, slowly while all at once, the blood was being drained from my body. Then, I saw darkness swallow my vision, but leaving me in a cold, abandoned place that robbed me of any sanity I thought I had. My throat burned while I heard someone screaming for someone to stop, begging for an end in that same darkness -
Then, it shattered like a burnt-out bulb. I was back in the apartment, the gloom of the stark gray skies in Seattle blinding me in comparison to wherever the hell I was.
I jolted up.
This was a mistake.
"What the FUCK was that? What did you do to me?" Refraining from picking up the nearest book to throw at him, I glared at Astarion, who opened his eyes, shock partly on his face as he also stood up, his hands out.
"I had no idea that would work. Look, I didn't mean to share that much. It's an ability I have at the moment, though you don't have a tadpole, so I'm not sure -" Astarion explained.
I gawked at him. In the background, Sarge finished his meal and brought me his bowl. I took it absentmindedly and set it down on the coffee table. Sarge lay down next to me, his paws at my feet.
"OK wait, stop. You're…a vampire. And..you've killed people." I said slowly.
Astarion made a face and responded, "For Cazador, before I had a functional mind of my own, yes. I did. But I don't kill people now unless they are a threat to what I have gained. I feed on animals. I've never killed a human that didn't deserve it. I promise."
For some reason, the idea of Astarion killing things didn't surprise or bother me. In his memories, there was a presence of regret, of unwillingness that lingered even after he broke whatever connection we just had. I sensed he was missing something in his life.
God, was I psychic now? What the hell did he do to me?
"So, you're an elf vampire from Toril. And someone named Gale managed to teleport you to another dimension entirely? Is that what I saw?" I inquired, the words feeling unnatural coming out of my mouth.
"I'm not sure, but I believe so. We were trying to escape something, and I think…well, I don't know what to think. And I haven't the faintest clue in this material plain how to get back." Astarion admitted. In his distant gaze, there was fatigue and a moment of longing.
"Is Gale your…partner?"
Astarion choked out a laugh. "Gods, no. Gale is a sorcerer, or at least claims to be one. Frankly, it doesn't surprise me that out of all the 'sorcerers'," he made quotation marks with his hands, "in Toril, I could be traveling with, I manage to end up with the one who 'sorcerers' me right out of the realm to…here." He flailed his arms around him.
"Seattle's not so bad. There's a lot of rain." I eyed the water from last night on the windows. Astarion followed my gaze and seemed to linger on the tall buildings. Then he looked back, studying me.
"I prefer the sun." He commented.
"I thought vampires can't be in the sunlight?" I asked. Now, it was his turn to inform me of the intricacies of his world.
He told me about vampires, and his relation to a 'Cazador', which explained the screaming and feelings of servitude. He talked about Faerun and the races there. He spoke of monsters, potions, magic, and things that made me want to travel back with him. This world sounded full of adventure and mysticism that Seattle and planet Earth naturally lacked. Hell, there were dragons where he came from.
But there were also these Mindflayers, which had infected Astarion with something in his brain. While it wasn't contagious, he had limited time, or it would turn him into a Mindflayer as well. However, based on his relaxed shoulders and nonchalant attitude in general, he didn't seem bothered by this.
I suppose I was deciding to believe him. There was no indication of why he'd lie, given this mutual experience that was forced upon my brain, which was still reeling. The fear that gripped both of us was paralyzing, even if it mostly wasn't my own. It's like something was holding my soul and thoughts but from a place of convenience and entertainment, like a remote control.
Exhaling, I concluded, "So, you were a slave. Basically."
Astarion leaned back in his chair and looked away, "Yes. It was absolute shit. I imagine there's nothing like it here since everyone is a human. Humans can't possess the power to enslave other beings like that." His bitterness made me recoil.
"Well, not now. But it used to be common practice for some. But, no vampires here. No two hundred years of slavery for anyone." I watched him carefully.
"What a pity." Astarion's acidic remark barely made it through gritted teeth. But he softened.
"Well, this has been a delight. Sharing my entire life story with a complete but attractive stranger and her non-speaking dog. A lovely way to start my week."
Frowning, I ignored his comment about my appearance. "Yeah. It's been great. But I'd prefer that you'd leave. I don't want to be your first human meal. Maybe if you go by the elevator you'll teleport back to where you came from." I stood up, making my way to the coffee maker.
Sarge followed me, his paws making tap-tap sounds on the concrete floors.
"And anyways, you can't stay here," I affirmed. But somehow, a part of me disagreed with the words I just said.
"Well, I agree. I'm not much of a companion of sorts. But investigating the place where I came here might shed light on how to return. Maybe," He grinned playfully, "by some accident, you'll end up in Toril and be at my hospitable mercy." I frowned.
"In a world full of more vampires, mind flayers, and monsters, I'm not sure I'd survive as long as you would here. You're at least attractive, so you'd get around easy in Seattle." Immediately embarrassed, I bit my tongue, but he caught my comment and grinned further.
"Hm. If charm and physical seduction are an advantage here, then you're probably right. I have more than enough experience in that." While he was smirking, his voice was tinged with dread. Likely from his desire to avoid doing something he'd done for years, for someone else.
"Well, it is anywhere there are humans. Anyways, I'm going to drink this then you should go." At the smell of coffee, I could practically feel my brain twinge, as if my head had its parasitic tadpole. I suppose it did when it came to coffee. Astarion's nostrils flared and he made a face that danced on disgust and curiosity.
"Fair enough. But first, what is that I'm smelling? It's almost like dirt, but…scented?" He stood up and settled on the coffee pot I was watching.
He walked closer to me, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Sarge sat near me, and looked up at me, tail wagging. I pet his head, trying to stay calm, aware that Astarion had fangs that were now only a few feet from me.
Stopping at the edge of the counter, he looked at the coffee pot and then at me. While I grabbed a coffee mug and creamer, he watched me curiously and occasionally looked at Sarge, who was watching Astarion with equal curiosity. The clinking of the mug bumping the counter and spoon for the creamer filled the silence of his observation.
Outside, it began raining.
"Are you drinking that?" Astarion asked with the wonder of a kid asking about beer, gesturing to the brewing drink. He seemed concerned.
"It's caffeinated," I paused, remembering once again that I was speaking to an elf from another realm, "which means…it contains chemicals that make your brain believe it has more energy than it does. And it tastes good after a hangover." I poured some in even though the coffee brewer wasn't quite finished.
"Hm. Are there other elixirs here that do similar things?" Astarion inquired.
"Um, yeah. There are energy drinks. Which is like juice."
"Are there ones that can make you jump higher, turn invisible, or heal your wounds?"
I chuckled. It was enlightening to talk to someone curious, and who asked questions about the mundaneness of life.
"No. I suppose alcohol can temporarily cure emotional wounds, depending on your perspective. Or make you think you can jump high. Though I suppose you'd want weed for a 'high' mentality." Pouring a generous cup, I suddenly felt the vampire's intense gaze.
Astarion was watching me and the dark liquid I poured, eyebrows furrowed. His nostrils were flaring in and out as if he were deciding whether to like what he was smelling or not. (If he didn't, I wasn't sure I could trust him.)
Sarge nudged me in the leg. I turned to Astarion and asked, "Would you like to try some?"
Astarion raised his eyebrows. "Um…well, I suppose it couldn't hurt. Can't be worse than any blood I've consumed." Right. That. Taking out a second smaller mug, I poured some into the cup and pushed it toward him cautiously. He eyed me humorously.
"What? Afraid I'll bite?" He mused, taking the cup.
I tightened my jaw while I poured the creamer into my cup. "No. Just…you're not like anyone here, is all. You're different."
Astarion raised an eyebrow. "Different as in, a found monster." It wasn't a question for him.
I thought about what I saw, what he chose to share with me. But from what I could tell, it was mostly him suffering followed by freedom, and justified killing. If I was imprisoned, forced to do someone else's will for centuries, I wasn't sure I'd have as much restraint.
In this world, no one is wholly compassionate or merciful. The world be damned if anyone thought so.
Shrugging in response, I replied, "If you're what qualifies as a monster in your world, then it must also be one of great misunderstanding. And if monsters are all like you, then I guess being a monster couldn't be that bad." I offered a smirk, sipping my coffee. The pit in my stomach was dissipating, and the Advil was kicking in. Thank god.
Astarion smiled, genuinely for once. "Well spoken, Blue." He raised his mug in a 'cheers' motion. As he spoke my name, I felt my chest lurch a little. I chalked it up to all the chemicals bouncing around in my body, between the Advil, alcohol, and caffeine.
My new acquaintance lifted the mug and took a sip. Grimacing, he made an 'ack' sound and set quickly the mug down, the contents nearly spilling. I laughed. "I usually put creamer in mine. But some people drink it black, which is how you just drank it."
Blinking profusely as if the coffee just blinded him, he exclaimed, "My GOD. That is quite bitter. I certainly see where the false sense of energy comes from. I am newly disgusted."
Shaking his head, I grabbed his mug and poured a healthy amount of creamer in it, mixed it with the spoon, and then pushed it back. Sarge walked over to Astarion and sat, looking up at him in anticipation.
Astarion looked at Sarge with a raised eyebrow and grabbed the mug. "Enjoying the show er…?" He looked at me expectantly.
"Sarge."
"Enjoying the show, Sarge?" Astarion took another sip with a bracing frown but hummed after swallowing. "Less bitter. I daresay that I can almost see the appeal in drinking this."
"It's great, isn't it?" I responded.
The pale vampire drank the rest, then straightened himself out. He turned the mug in his hands, and questioned, "Where can I place this?"
I gestured to the sink, which was empty. Most of the apartment was quite clean, thank god. I can't imagine the embarrassment if the place was a mess. Keeping my apartment spotless with Sarge was a self-made requirement. I supposed Sarge kept me in check, in that way. Nothing like this Cazador, though.
As he stepped closer to me and the coffee brewer, the vampire elf ("velf"?) placed the mug in the sink delicately. The scent of musky smoke was still on him as he moved closer to me momentarily. As he turned away, I caught a glimpse of bite marks on his neck, like two small scars the size of pinpricks. They were faded, but distinct against his pale skin.
Exhaling, he inquired, "Right. Shall we?" Despite his tone, there was something in his eyes that told me he wasn't entirely sure about what he'd discover.
What if he didn't find what he was looking for? Seattle was a diverse place to get lost in, sure. And I have no doubt plenty of welcoming people would let him crash at their place. But then again, Astarion wasn't from here. Would they think he was another crazed individual roaming the streets, looking to scam people?
If he was, he certainly scammed me into free coffee.
"We? You don't want to investigate on your own?" I was surprised.
He started making his way to the door before turning around, "Well, I could. But in case I do figure out how to return to Faerun, I'd at least like to say goodbye right before I depart. It might be a quick 'poof' and I'm back in Faerun." He had a hopeful glimmer in his eyes, but it was overshadowed with a subtle dread, He continued, "Besides," he added, his hand on the doorknob, "I know you are curious, despite your reserved nature."
He wasn't wrong. What could I stand to lose? I mostly believed him, but if I was going to teleport randomly to some other place, it could only be something like a short vacation. And I haven't had a vacation in a long time.
"Fine. But if I feel another Earthquake, I'm not sticking around to get eaten by a monster." Imagining a bear appearing only to crush me instantly made me shiver. Sarge whined, and I gave him a bacon treat from my pocket, telling him to 'stay'.
Pleased, Astarion replied, "Wonderful. Then let us go to this 'elevator' and see if I can discern how, or what happened that sent me to this rather," he glanced outside, "wet place."
And with a firm doorknob twist, he didn't wait for me to follow as he stepped outside the apartment, confident, as if he'd been living here, and not in a tortuous prison, for centuries.
Quickly slipping on my shoes, I pulled up my hoodie, snatched my keys, and stepped outside in the hall with Astarion, the red-eyed vampire elf that I could maybe, someday, call a 'friend'.
But for now, the investigation of how he got to Seattle of all places was about to begin. I figured the answers would be there, that some magical presence that he could sense was lingering, and he'd return as quickly as he arrived.
I was wrong.