This was not how he envisioned his night.
The night usually meant bustling taverns, mingling and mixing of drunks and those trying to take advantage of them for coin. Raucous laughter, whistling and catcalling, some enjoying the cover darkness provided more than others.
And, occasionally, a greater danger would be lurking in the shadows. A vampire spawn, a hunter looking for the gullible, the weak or the innocents. Not for his own benefit, mind, or rather not directly. If it were up to Astarion, he would rather be anywhere else doing anything else. After almost 200 years the dance really did get tediously repetitive, verging on boring.
Go in, crank the charm up to a hundred, select a target from those willing to hang on his every word, ensnare, seduce, and deposit them on Cazador's doorstep to be dealt with. He tried not to think too much about it. Thinking about it took him to dark, dangerous places, the depths of which he would rather not sink to. He has been doing this for so long that after a while his victims faces all blended together. He could barely remember any, but several. In the early years, he occasionally felt something akin to remorse. Cazador made sure to beat any such feelings out of him. Lock him up and torture him until he could feel nothing or the urges that compelled him to obey.
So, if it was up to Astarion, he wouldn't have started chatting up the drow. Drows generally looked down on males and could be unpredictable. But the pickings were slim tonight and he had to get at least one soul to Cazador. He didn't want to think of what would be waiting for him if he returned empty-handed. How unfortunate for him that his target conveniently forgot that her male companion was about to come to the tavern. Even more unfortunate, that he and his friends turned up to escort her home just as Astarion was about to seal the deal. And to add insult to the injury, he was now politely being asked to accompany them behind the tavern, a dagger oh so suggestively pressed to his back.
He was beaten quite mercilessly. And really, it was quite uncalled for. He noted with bitterness that the female drow seemed to enjoy the show. Perhaps this was one of the reasons for her coming to the tavern in the first place. To see your lover put on such a display of power, isn't it just so romantic?
Astarion would not die from the injuries, but he could not force his body to move. He was quite sure that he had a cracked rib or two. And he needed to move. The sun would rise soon. He needed to seek shelter or be burned to a crisp. Whatever pain he felt now, that would be far more excruciating.
Astarion breathed out sharply and winced, his body not healing as quickly as it should have. Perhaps it was better this way. He always fought for survival, always told himself that he would get out of this one way or another. But, after near two centuries passed, he wasn't so sure anymore. Perhaps it was better to die here in the back alley and not give Cazador the satisfaction of eventually ending his life. Astarion closed his eyes, propped himself up a little higher against the wall and waited for the inevitable first rays.
"Here."
His eyes shot open, and he scowled at the child crouched near him, offering him a potion. From the looks of it, it was the potion of superior healing. This had to be a hallucination or some kind of trick. Because there was no way that a child dressed like a noble would be in a back alley behind the Flophouse at this time at night offering him salvation in the form of an expensive, potent potion.
With a growl, he swatted her hand away.
"Leave me alone," he hissed through clenched teeth.
"Oh, come on, don't be like that," the girl set the potion down by his leg and moved away. He was vaguely aware that she was treating him like a wounded animal. Her movements were deliberately slow, as if she was trying to appear as harmless as possible.
"You are going to bleed out, if you just sit there," she said gently. "It's good stuff, I promise."
The child had a point. And no matter how much he wanted to sit here and wallow in self-pity, he did not actually want to die in a dirty back alley after being attacked by some idiots.
With a grunt, Astarion took the bottle and drank. After all, what was the harm? Even if it was poison and the child was someone sent by Cazador to play a cruel trick on him, he would be dead in a few hours anyway.
As he swallowed the last of the potion, the dizziness subsided. He wasn't losing as much blood, the worst of the wounds having partially healed, the lesser ones disappearing.
"See? Told ya! I will give you another one, but this one is going to cost you," she produced another potion from a beautiful silk and brocade bag that was attached to her belt. He could hear the clinking of more in there. The bag must have been enchanted to carry so much weight.
"Oh, so only the first one is free, hm? How about I just rip your pretty throat out and take the rest for myself?" He lashed out, catching her arm and squeezing hard. He wasn't really going to murder her, but a little intimidation could go a long way when bargaining.
"You could, but imagine all the unnecessary fuss, the horrid noise I would make before you kill me, the screaming, the crowd calling for Firsts. You know the drill," she grinned, seemingly not as scared by the notion as she should have been.
Astarion glared. It seemed he was having an off day if even a child was not intimidated by a clearly bigger and stronger foe. Or perhaps there was just something wrong with this one. He hardly ever dealt with children, so he was not an expert on what was normal or otherwise.
"Fine," he let go and sat back against the wall. "State your terms."
"I've seen you around here before. And as you come here anyway sometimes, I would like for you to chat to me from time to time."
"Chat?" He spat the word as if it left a sour taste in his mouth. "I do not chat."
What was exactly the vibe he was giving tonight? A soft, cuddly teddy-bear? First those drows didn't seem even in the slightest intimidated and now the child mistook him for some kind of adventurer full of stories? How annoying.
Yet again, potions could come in handy. And there could be other useful things in that bag of hers.
"If I were to agree, and I am not saying that I do agree," he put his hand up to stop her from talking, "I will want more than just one measly potion. And your terms are too vague. Three conversations and we are done."
"Ten. And no less than that. And I give you a potion each time we chat and this ring."
Astarion looked at the strange child, sizing her up. He could never figure out ages when it came to children, probably because he hated children in general and this one seemed particularly irksome, but the half-elf seemed to be about nine, ten? She was dressed better than most would be in this part of the city. Her clothes were embroidered with silver and gold herons, lifting their wings as if in flight and her boots seemed to be made of the best leather. Her blonde hair was in an intricate up-do, with blue velvet ribbons matching her eye-colour holding the construction tightly in place. There were rings that hummed with magic on two of her fingers, and the amulet around her neck did not seem ordinary either. So, this begged the question, who let this child frolic about the less-reputable part of town without an escort or any visible means of protection in the middle of the night?
She seemed confident, pushy and aggravating, but not frightened in the least. So, either she was completely mad or more powerful than she appeared. Maybe both.
Perhaps this arrangement wasn't so bad. At least she didn't seem boring, sniffling and disgusting like other children. And it was a deviation from his routine, which probably wasn't so bad either.
"Fine. Hand them over. And I hope you don't expect me to hang around this tavern every night for your benefit."
She nodded and put two potions on the ground together with a ring. Astarion examined it briefly, before slipping the band on his finger.
"It improves your jumps. It's quite cool actually, especially if you have to leg it out of somewhere."
"You sound as if you are speaking from experience."
She didn't reply to that, but seeing the supplies she had on her, especially of the medicinal type, the girl probably got up to all sorts of mischief.
"Call me Tav. What is your name?"
"Astarion. And by the way, this counts as one conversation." He drank another potion and hid the last one behind a barrel, feeling well enough to get up, his chances of surviving rising by the minute. Perhaps he even had it in him to quickly find someone to bring back to Cazador.
"See ya round," the child gave him a mock bow and walked away, Astarion's red eyes following her until she rounded a corner and was out of his sight.
"What an oddity," he frowned, crossing his arms. With any luck, this would be the last time he would see her.