Her tongue felt like carpet the next morning. She could taste the rank, swamp-ass gas left by the wine. Her stomach felt like it was swaying from side to side, & she wasn't even moving. Why the hell had past Belle thought this would be a good idea? If she could, she'd go back in time & wring the silly bitch's neck.
Someone was poking timidly at her shoulder.
"Ugh" she communicated to them.
"Belle? Gus said you'd need this" Wyll. Why was he shouting? She wanted to snarl at him & rip his tongue clear out his head. But Wyll was too nice a person to be subjected to morning Belle, let alone hungover morning Belle. No, she couldn't do that to him.
She flopped one arm over her eyes, which felt like cotton wool stuffed sandpaper, & flopped the other arm out, hand open, to receive whatever it was Gus had entrusted Wyll with giving her. It was another cup of whatever the hell her father had concocted. Smelled a bit like minted fairy floss.
"Hang on" Wyll told her as she upended most of the contents on her face instead of into her mouth. He took back the cup, lifted her head, & let her sip from what was left. It left a chalky coating in her mouth & on her teeth.
With her head pounding, she rolled off the bedroll, moaning & groaning, so that Wyll could roll it back up for her while the potion had time to work.
"I'm surprised you're still alive. Three bottles of wine in under fifteen minutes. You could drink a sailor under the table."
"Don't ….. talk….." She whispered, reaching out a hand & splaying it against Wyll's face, grimacing at having to talk herself. The quality of the wine she'd imbibed was as bad as one she'd drank as a teenager, a cheap & nasty brew that you could only abide because it was sweet going down.
She didn't see him glance at her & nod. She was aware when he got up & left. Now, if she could only sit here & nurse her head for the rest of her life, she'd be fine.
"Hair of the dog, darling" Astarion commented gaily as he wandered by her, awake & chirpy as ever at this ungodly hour of the day. She couldn't even muster the massive amount of energy needed to throw a dagger at him. If she had a dagger. She must find one, for future situations just like this.
"She doesn't need that, Astarion." She heard Gus answer him, his tone warning him it was wrong to suggest it.
"It's a proven method of curing a hangover." She heard him retort.
"So's a bullet, but you wouldn't suggest that."
"Well, I might. Depends on whom I'm suggesting it for."
"Would you suggest it for Belle?"
Silence filled the cave. She heard him sigh softly before replying.
"…no. No, I suppose not."
"Perhaps think about what you're saying & whom you're saying it about before opening your mouth next time."
Oh good lord, she remembered that tone from when she'd been a teenager. If her head wasn't wanting to separate from her body right then, she might have lifted it to give Astarion sympathy. Hearing someone else on the receiving end was, however … hilarious.
They headed out shortly after, Gale thrusting a stack of fried bacon at her, & she noshed on it as they wound their way around to Waukeens' Rest. Her brain had exited the building once the potion had kicked in (Gus needed to sell this shit back home; he'd make a killing) leaving her gloriously thought free most of the morning. No gods stopping by to shoot the shit, no one narking at her. It was almost peaceful bar the nausea that kept coming & going.
The mid-morning rest was a welcome one; the sun seemed to be gradually getting hotter as the days wore on. She found a nice, flattish rock, sat down with her head hanging down, telling herself the headache was definitely not trying to creep back in.
She was bumped to the side slightly as someone came & sat beside her.
"So. You told me last night you'd tell me today what you know of my scars."
Crap, had she? Her head gave a throb as she tried to recall any bit of conversation where she'd said that.
"Did I?" she asked him thickly, wondering now if she wouldn't throw up, after all.
"You did. You wanted to compare them to your own, actually."
Oh fuck, she hadn't, had she? Her stomach lurched with the thought.
"Mine aren't written in infernal."
No, hers were old surgery scars, right back from the first two years of her relationship.
"You said that. And that you couldn't read them; but you knew what they were about."
She couldn't believe (well, she could, if she stopped to think about it), she'd told him. Well, at least this cut Raphael out of manipulating him, she supposed.
"I didn't senja'si you, did I?"
"You did. What wonderful information you must have access to." He'd gone all contemplative on her. She imagined a marching band going by, cheering 'here comes the manipulation'.
"Will you be fine with the short & sweet version? Cause I think I'm not far from hurling."
"Short and sweet is fine. For now."
"It's a binding ritual. Part of a contract between your master & Mephistopheles. He's going to sacrifice you & others so he can become the first Vampire Ascendant. Excuse me." She dashed off into the bushes, where she tried to puke as quietly as she could.