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“Oh no.” Nikaia stopped dead in her tracks. Karlach nearly ran into her from behind. Which would have been bad seeing as anyone the recently Avernus liberated tiefling. Everyone was subject to being burnt to a crisp.
“What’s going on, oh, oh I see.” Karlach stopped and starred too.
Astarion, who had been gripping since they took out the false paladins of Tyr, huffed and sighed. “What is it now?”
“He’s hot,” Nikaia and Karlach said together.
Astarion looked around since it seemed as if they weren’t talking about him. Who was hot? He wanted to see.
A tiefling blacksmith was looking as if he was attempting to do his craft in a lean-to. Astarion gave him a look over, head to toe. He was…all right. Strong cheekbones, horns went more upward than back, and he had to admit those cheekbones were to die for.
“Is that him?” Karlach asked as they continued to admire the tiefling man.
“That’s what they said. Only blacksmith in sight. He might be able to help you.”
Karlach let out a raucous laugh. “I call dibs!” Then she ran up to the man.
“Hey, wait, I have the infernal metal!” Nikaia called, her dark ponytail swishing behind her as she went after Karlach.
“Oh no.” Nikaia stopped dead in her tracks. At the end of the path, there was a man, an elf by the looks of it, with white hair and tattoos around his eyes, a white raven was by his side.
Astarion stopped next to her taking in the scene. Was it the dead body in the middle of the ritual circle that caused her to pause? The weird chanting the man was doing in the middle of a dark cursed forest?
Shadowheart came to stand next to them and took in Astarion studying the scene, Nikaia was a little wide-eyed and the cleric smiled. “He’s attractive. Wonder what nefarious act he’s doing out here and with that body?”
“He is hot,” Nikaia had to admit.
Astarion blinked, looked from Shadowheart to Nikaia, and then back at the stranger. “Him?!” His voice may have broken in incredulity at his Nikaia’s taste. “First you got all moon-eyed with that cleric at the inn - sorry Shadowheart, gag just a little harder - and now this weirdo?”
Nikaia gave him a shy smile and shrugged in reply.
Astarion wanted to groan. This woman and her taste in those she found attractive would never cease to amaze him. In the middle of Sharess’ Caress, she was just about immediately drawn to the two drow prostitutes. Nikaia didn’t even blink when recruiting Minthara. However, the drow prostitutes in front of her did something for her as her gaze had turned soft upon approaching them.
It could be worse, he supposed. It could be another spider carcass.
Nikaia was talking to the male drow while the female drow seemed to salivate looking at her.
Well, the drow had good tastes, he had to admit.
Nikaia was gorgeous and there was just a bit of an air of exoticness, or otherness, to her. Freckles that were bestrewed across her whole body, and he knew that for a fact. He had checked himself. Her dark hair danced between black and the darkest brown he had ever seen. Her eyes, gods, her eyes were an intense green that made him think of the sun shining through leaves to a patch of flora on a forest floor, the gold that encircled her pupils was rich and warm. Lush lips, pleasantly curved back side - and front - and a singing voice he even had to admit was pleasant. Not to mention all that was already on top of her innate kindness (he was growing to accept it), her readiness to help her friends, a stubbornness that got on his nerves at the worst of times, and the ability to pick up strays from dogs to owlbears to aasimars. All of which were loud.
The male drow - Jorn, Sorn, Lorn, whatever his name was - took a step closer to Nikaia with a look of clear seduction on his face. “You could have an exquisite night with me, dear.” His voice was low and husky, no doubt tickling the fancy of many a customer.
Before his lover could reply, Astarion retorted, “You have a type, don’t you? Elven prostitutes. Again.” He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “It’s rather embarrassing, dear.”
The siblings tittered as Nikaia turned to look at him. “Excuse us.”
“Don’t take too long,” the sister cooed. “We’d love to entertain both of you.”
Nikaia’s eyes widened, though it didn’t seem to be shock that caused her to do so. She grabbed Astarion’s arm and pulled away. The rest of their group, who had been hanging back, stared in confusion as they watched her lead him right out the doors behind the twins. Astarion probably could have stopped her from leading him away but he was interested in where this was going.
She led him straight out of the brothel, away from the people loitering around the doors, and to a quiet corner of the balcony walkway that allowed you down to the Chionthar flowing by.
“What. The. Hells.” Each word out of Nikaia’s mouth was sharp. Her green eyes were practically burning as she looked up at him. If it wasn’t for the way her eyebrows were furrowed in anger or her lips set in a thin line he would have told her she looked adorable.
Being in a steady, stable, and healthy relationship was completely new for him, but even he knew he was in the proverbial doghouse with the “missus.” Astarion chose to, wisely, not go with snark in reply.
Or boop her nose to see her even more riled up.
Adopting a nonchalant pose, he met her fiery gaze. “My dear, tell me what is going on.”
“Back there,” and she jabbed a finger past him to the doors that they just went through, “back there with the drow. I have a ‘type’?”
“What? I mean you do.” He crossed his arms and gave her a look as if she had won. “My point still stands. You like them elf and you like them if you can buy them for some coin.”
“Aillesel Seldarie,” she mumbled under her breath. “I honestly don’t know where to begin. Wait, I take that back. If you had been paying attention to the conversation back there I was asking them about Ffion. The woman we were charged with finding? Remember that? They work and sleep in the same place. Perhaps they had heard something or gathered some little tidbits they were willing to share.”
She took a step toward him and poked him in the chest. That actually hurt a bit. “Second, yes I do have a type. Stupid elves with stupid white hair and with the sassiest mouths. If I find you attractive of course I am going to find others that look like you attractive as well, siffi.”
Before he could stop himself Astarion quipped, “Doesn’t explain Dammon.”
“Have you seen the man?”
“I concede.”
Stepping so they were boot to boot she put her hands on the side of his face. As she often did when she wanted him to understand something particularly important she fixed her green eyes on his red. “Don’t you dare insult someone I love like that ever again, even if it is yourself. Those things you did under Cazador I will never judge you for. For me what matters is from the time we met until now.”
Much like a petulant child he put his head back and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. Don’t be nice. It makes me want to be nice.” He spoke the last word as if he was talking about something disgusting. When Astarion put his head back upright he looked at her and she was smiling at him with the intensity of the bright spring day. “You are a horrible influence on me, I want you to know. I was a respectable cad until you came along. Ready to indulge in all Faerûn had to offer in its debauchery and decadence since throwing Cazador’s yolk. You’ve ruined me.”
She got on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I’d apologize but I’m not sorry.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you hired one of those drow. I understand you might have needs and we haven’t been intimate in a while.” He put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer. “I wouldn’t begrudge you a little fun.”
“No.” Simple. Precise. A full sentence with no further elaboration was needed. She grabbed his hand this time, holding firm as if he was her anchor or she was his, and led them back to Sharess’ Caress where their friends waited.