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Something's different, after Lora and Astarion sneak out of camp to do... whatever they did. Karlach probably doesn't want to know. Honestly, she thinks it's got more to do with the fact that his old bastard of a master is dead. Finally being able to take a proper breath for the first time in two hundred years... or the dead-guy equivalent, anyway. Must be a hell of a feeling. Invigorating.
Sure, Astarion still has times when you reach out to touch him and he gets that face, the one that says he'd flinch but he's too well-trained. And sometimes he gets that haunted look in his eyes, the one that makes Karlach think of blood and fire and something getting shoved into her chest; she's only been able to see the edges of his nightmares, but she guesses for him they're probably torture and sex he doesn't want to have and being so. damn. hungry all the time. (Like being lonely, like wanting to be touched so much it aches, and suddenly being awash in a wealth of it. Wyll must've spent most of the journey since her engine got fixed up hugging her - and that's after they spent what felt like three days in her tent. For Astarion, she guesses that it's blood and not getting staked. Sudden scary kindness, all the same.)
But he doesn't snap anymore - not unless he thinks you're doing something really stupid. She offered him a fist and he actually bumped it the other day, while Wyll cackled in surprise (and then coughed when he realised he was doing it). Miracles never cease.
Astarion and Lora have always been, well, weirdly soppy, once you got past the sniping. They'll tell jokes about blowing up hags, disagree on everything, call each other idiots with fancy words while laughing at each other's annoyed faces... and then you'll find them by the campfire, Astarion sewing some frilly thing with his ankle absentmindedly wrapped round Lora's. They hold hands, when they're at the back of the group and think they're being sneaky about it and can pretend it’s just their shoulders bumping; Wyll gave her the eyebrow-nudge the first time he noticed it, and it's been hard not to see ever since. And if you're looking for one of them, it's usually best to knock on Lora's tent so they've at least got time to spring apart and pretend they weren't cuddling.
But something's new. Something obnoxious and... kind of hilarious, if Karlach's being honest.
Lora eats stew in the Elfsong while trying to keep a straight face, but Karlach spots Astarion smirking into his wine glass in that way he gets when he's being a little shit. On impulse, she checks under the table and... she recognises that fancy gold-embellished shoe. And the fact it's sneaking up Lora's shin. Sure enough, there's a far less fancy boot hooked round Astarion's knee.
Karlach snorts when she comes back up. "Footsie? Really?"
Lora seems like she might be blushing, if it was dark enough to show up; Astarion just looks innocent, but his eyes are gleeful, crinkling at the corners.
Gale sighs, "Do you mind?"
He just gets an even louder, more dramatic sigh in response from Astarion, who says, "All perfectly innocent, I assure you. I hadn't even managed to get above the knee." He mutters into his wine, "Spoilsport." Swallowing, he adds, "And no-one's saying anything to Karlach, considering she's had her tail on Wyll's arse for the past half-hour."
Wyll jumps.
Karlach says, "Snitch."
"Coming from you, darling? Really?" But he's smiling into his cup.
Karlach guesses she shouldn't be surprised when she's popping off to the river for a quick dip, and halfway into the woods, finds Fangs and their mighty leader snogging furiously. Except Lora's paused to laugh and go, "Really? Really?" Probably referring to his hands on Lora's arse, unabashedly getting a good grip. (Karlach can't especially blame him. That's a whole lot of woman.)
Astarion's voice is cheerfully haughty. "What, I can't appreciate art?"
"You're ridiculous."
He rubs his nose against hers. "And you're beautiful." Karlach waits for the punchline or the sting in the tail, but it doesn’t come. His voice is soft and silly, like he’s just been hit round the head with something heavy. Fuck. Is that what Fangs in love sounds like? Sure seems like it. At least he’s put his hands somewhere less enthusiastic.
"Sweet-talker." Lora's voice is low, that soppy teasing way that lovers get with each other.
"...Yes, so I've been told. Except this time I get to mean it.”
Yeah, much as a formerly-pent-up part of her would really like to see this, Karlach also isn't paid enough for this shit. Even if she's not a merc anymore. She stares up at the trees and whistles a tune, pointedly.
Lora actually jumps.
Astarion turns his head and says, “Karlach? I thought that might be you.”
Karlach rolls her eyes. “Just looking for a bath. Not… this. Cute, though.”
Astarion gives a tiny half-grimace, and Karlach realises it’s the closest he gets to embarrassment. “Yes, well. I’d thought I was decent at finding a secluded spot.” He raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, I bet you are. But there’s a whole camp trying to do the same.”
Lora tugs at his hand. “Come on. Let Karlach spend some quality time with the river.”
Astarion throws a jaunty wave Karlach's way as he saunters off. “Later, darling."
So yeah. That's... either not been a thing before, or they're being way more obvious about it. Which gives everyone full licence to tease, in Karlach's opinion. Especially later, when Astarion won't lace up his stupid frilly shirt, and he has like... wow, are those three lovebites on his neck? Pretty impressive ones. Even Wyll and Gale are staring.
Shadowheart says, "I thought you were meant to be the vampire here."
Lora suddenly pokes the rabbit on the fire with a lot more force; Astarion takes his nose out of his book to give Shadowheart a sharp look, but his mouth's twitching when he gets back to it.
Karlach's even less surprised, somehow, when she goes to answer a call of nature and finds him pinned against a tree with his legs around Lora's waist, mouthing at her neck like he's about to try for another snack.
Karlach says, "Nice," cause it is, and cause it'll annoy them enough to let them know she's there.
Lora freezes; Astarion seems totally unsurprised. And makes no move to get himself on the ground, just opens an eye and says cheerfully over Lora's shoulder, "Why hello, Karlach. I always had you down more as the 'getting stuck in' type than liking to watch." And then the bastard winks. Astarion's always acted like a massive perv. A massive perv and happy? He might be even more of a pain.
Karlach says, "I wasn't watching. Some of us poor fuckers are trying to find a place to piss. You don't own the woods, you know."
Lora puts her face in Astarion's neck like she wants to die a little, but somehow still doesn't drop him. It's kind of impressive.
"I'm gonna find a good hedge. And take a different path back." Karlach gives them a nod. "Soldier. Fangs."
Lora mumbles, still muffled by smug vampire neck, "Thanks, Karlach."
Astarion, being Astarion and tactful as a very pointy brick, cackles so hard it follows Karlach out into the woods.
Not that whatever they have going on isn't hot; neither of them's exactly ugly. But she's not actually trying to know about that much of it. Especially not the big stuff, the real stuff.
Sometimes you don’t manage to dodge the real stuff fast enough.
She hears one night, as she's heading back to camp, "You've gone somewhere else." Lora. Sounding worried.
"Don't be ridiculous, darling. There's nowhere I'd rather be than - all right. No, I can't do it. Don't - We don't have to stop."
"Sure we do. My thigh's killing me, anyway. Oof. Move over." That fidgety sound you get when someone’s shifting bedrolls and a vampire’s stupid-huge pile of cushions around, now Lora’s finally got him to sleep on more than a damn board. (Karlach doesn’t care if he says it helps his back. She’s got enough problems of her own to know that’s a load of shit.)
His voice is fainter. "My sweet, I..."
"Astarion, what's my name?"
Karlach’s trying to head fast to her own tent. Really, she is. But hers is next to his and it’s… hard, when you’re worried for a friend.
"I…" A pause, and he swallows through such a dry throat you can hear it click. "Lora? What - For a moment I thought you were someone else."
"There you are."
"I'm so sorry, I..."
“Why?” Lora asks – gently, but she’s never good at being bullshitted.
“Because it shouldn’t be like this.”
Karlach heads over to her own tent, sits and tries not to listen; strokes a hand over Clive’s fuzzy head. Wyll’s still sleeping in there, bedroll carefully a ways from hers but close enough to hold her hand – she can hear him. She’ll head in given a sec, as subtly as a seven-foot flaming tiefling can.
Astarion says, unsteadily, “He’s dead. They’re all… they’re all dead, or down there in the dark. I’m free. I’m with you. I want to be with you, not… every ghost I’ve ever lain down for. You deserve better.”
Teddy bear fuzz. She can touch fuzz now, and Wyll, without the singeing. She’s here. She’s here, and there are owls and trees and Wyll making those little snoozy breaths behind her and no flames other than a damn campfire. Fuck. She knows Astarion would bite her if she even suggested it, but sometimes she really wishes he had a Clive. Something. She’s seen that ratty old blanket he insists on carrying round and tucking ashamedly into his tent; maybe that’s something similar for him.
Lora says easily, “You’ve got that one wrong.”
Astarion mumbles, fancy cut-glass syllables muffled by a bedroll, “Why didn’t you pick someone easy?” He laughs bitterly. “Well, I’ve always been extremely easy. Isn’t that just the problem. Why didn’t you pick someone normal? Someone boring, with a cottage and a dog and – someone who could fuck you without losing himself.”
Lora says, “Because that’s not my type. I want you. The fucking is secondary.”
He snaps, “It’s never secondary. It’s all there is. It’s all people want me for.”
“Hm. I want you for your sewing, and the way you grin with all your fangs, and your shit taste in books.”
“It’s better than yours.” Astarion sniffs – the haughty kind. Better than the kind he was verging on before.
“I want you for the way you hold me when I’m afraid, and you get so damn angry when someone hurts me.”
“That’s just common sense. You’re our leader.”
“Hmm. Tactical cuddling’s a new one. …I want you for your gold thread and your sunrises and your little presents you sneak me when you think I’m not looking, and the way you pretend to hate puns but you laugh at them. All the tiny things in life you hoard like treasure. I’ve been free all my life, but I’ve never enjoyed it as hard as you.” There’s a pause, and a shuffle of fabric and bodies. “…I like the way you hold my hand, too.”
“Thank you,” Astarion says, very quietly.
Karlach manages to sneak into her tent without setting Wyll on fire. And she gives him, and Clive, a quick squeeze.
Karlach manages three days before she gets done by a bunch of sneaky-bastard nettles in the woods, and hobbles back to camp. She keeps setting the fucking dock leaves on fire.
“Lora!” she whines, because Shadowheart’s deep in scary intense prayer – she’s switched it to a moon goddess now, sure, but she still looks like she’d stab you in the kneecaps if you interrupted.
“Karlach!” Lora says brightly, even if it’s all muffled, from her tent.
There’s a very posh sigh from the same tent.
Oh. Well. Right. Karlach tries, “You decent in there?”
Astarion drawls, “I was trying very hard to get her indecent, actually.”
Lora groans, “Ignore him.”
“Oh yes, please do. As usual. It’s not as if a man can find any privacy in his lover’s tent.”
Karlach says, “It’s a tent, mate. Privacy and tents aren’t a thing in the same sentence. You can keep it in your trousers ‘til we hit an inn tomorrow, right?”
Astarion mumbles something that sounds like it’s into a pillow. Karlach makes out something about “two hundred years” and “freedom.”
She says, “Yeah, yeah, I get that, but my arse is stinging something fierce.”
Astarion sits bolt upright so obviously the tent moves. “Wait, wait, I’ve changed my mind! Now this I have to see.” The tent flaps swiftly get undone by hands that are obviously way too good with knots, and then he crawls out into the camp, still shirtless and wild-haired, shit-eating cat’s grin all over his face. “What happened, darling?”
A dark brown foot follows him out, and gently prods at the side of his thigh ‘til he moves over.
“Nettles happened,” Karlach says, miserably.
Lora says, “Ouch. Let me see what I can do.” She stands and heads over to Karlach.
Astarion, still outside the tent but now sitting cross-legged, squints at Karlach’s leathers; he’s about knee-height, after all. Not that he ever gets much taller, when he's standing next to Karlach. “Are those brambles? Here I thought they’d all just burn away.” He looks up at her, and the smile in his eyes is less sharp-edged, now. “Do you want to keep them? They really do add something. Like the studding.”
Yeah, the brambles were what she was trying to avoid when she landed in the nettles. “I want to forget all this ever happened,” Karlach moans.
Which is how she ends up sitting on a few borrowed foofy plum cushions outside Lora’s tent in her pants – look, it’s a camp and modesty is a distant memory – while Lora heals her thighs and the side of her glutes (and her shoulders, and that bit under her chin from when she tripped), and Astarion sits with her trous in his lap, picking out bramble after bramble with some fancy little tweezers he’d got stashed away.
“Is that better?” Lora says, checking her over.
“It really, really is. Thank fuck. Thank you, soldier.”
Lora beams at her, all sweet and pretty, the way that makes you get how Astarion fell for her – he does have a weakness for sunshine.
Astarion neatly folds Karlach’s battered leather trousers and hands them back to her without a word, even a snide one.
“Thanks, Fangs.”
All right, so they make her a little sick. But they seem like they’re getting better at subtlety, lately. And times like this, she’s glad that her friends are a weird little couple. Seems like they're good for each other.
Astarion claps her on the shoulder – a rare thing, for him – and gives her a broad grin full of fang. “Marvellous. Always glad to help a friend in need. Now, would you mind being elsewhere, so we can ravage each other?”
No, Karlach takes it all back. She’s gonna feed them both to a beholder.