Chapter Text
It’s not that Karlach doesn’t like the fish market, she loves it, in fact. With all the fresh fish and the early sea breeze of the harbor, with fog rolling over the waves as the sun rises high in the sky. The idea of the fish market is alluring and something Karlach wishes she went to more often.
The problem lies in the people. Well, to be more specific, it lies in the shop keeps. Most of ‘em are great, fantastic even, telling her of how they caught the fish they’re selling or how they fought off sea monsters to ensure that this here salmon made it to Baldur’s Gate. It’s all very whimsical and Karlach loves to talk to the fishermen and hear their stories.
But…
“Look, mate, I don’t want any trouble, but I saw you pick up that fish from the ground and throw it back in the pile. I ain’t paying for that when you say it’s fresh.” Karlach points at the set of mackerel piled on the man’s stand.
“Look here,” the fisherman gives her a once over, eyeing her suspiciously, “ devil-kin , this fish is the finest you’ll find on the coast. You want something fresher? Go take a dive off the coast and get 'em yourself.”
Karlach is good at handling insults, she just takes them and lets them roll off her shoulders. She knows how it is. Being a tiefling, she’s used to it. But it still bothers her and she has to temper her breathing to keep from yelling obscenities at this fish merchant.
She should just walk away. She’s already got an assortment of fish and seafood for Astarion. She grabbed some fresh pounds of tuna for him, with some squid and octopus, one of which the merchant swore he got fighting off a kraken. There’s some anchovies packed away too, and some filets of salmon. Honestly, she’s got enough to feed an army. She doesn’t need this mackerel…
“You can’t seriously call this fresh, I can smell the rot from here…” She wrinkles her nose at it.
The merchant rolls his eyes, but Karlach doesn’t back down. There are a few bystanders who have stopped to look at the spectacle. It’s not uncommon for haggling to get out of hand with some of the merchants here, but Karlach isn’t here to barter, she just wants to ensure that what she’s getting Astarion is better than whatever rot that quack of a noble fed him.
“If you don’t like it, go somewhere else,” the merchant growls out, “you hellions should go back to where you came from and stop complaining about our food.”
Fuck this guy. There is a fire brewing in her chest, but Karlach… She knows better. This guy and his rotten fish aren’t worth it. She just shakes her head and turns to leave.
“Tut tut, that’s no way to talk to a war hero, now is it,” comes a very familiar sultry voice.
Karlach stops in her tracks, shoulders tensing.
“War vet? Her? No, you got it wrong misses–”
“Oh, but of course she is. Karlach Cliffgate, Sergeant First Class. Leader of the platoon that evacuated Elturel just days after the bombings. She’s a true hero.”
“Nah, misses, you can’t be serious. Surely we wouldn’t allow—” the merchant gives her a once over and Karlach takes a reflexive step back. It’s not uncommon to be discriminated against as a tiefling, especially with the tensions happening out in the east by Elturel, but it doesn’t stop it from stinging every time she hears it.
The woman—a devil wrapped in the skin of a human—just waves her hand away, as though the man’s words are just an inconvenience.
“Speaking of devils,” Karlach growls out, turning to face the woman. “What are you doing here, Mizora?”
Mizora looks haughty as ever, dressed in animal fur and pearls. Her fiery hair striking against her pale face as she looks down on the shop keep with that fake smile of hers.
“Karlach, is that how you greet your commanding officer?” Mizora feigns hurt, but Karlach can see the gleam in her eyes for what it is. “Since it's been so long, I'll choose to forgive this transgression, given you greet me properly.”
There is a crowd now. A big one, with children and civilians as well as some other merchants. Karlach grips the bag of fish she has and scans the area, searching for an exit.
When there is none, she shrugs her shoulders. As much as she'd like to punch Mizora’s mug in, she knows that won't end well. So, instead, she takes a deep breath and through gritted teeth says, “‘pologies, didn't think I had to salute ex-soldiers. especially not ones who were dishonorably discharged.”
Mizora's eyes narrow and Karlach notices the distinct lack of chatter now. The only sounds now are of the seagulls and the waves. Any other circumstance and Karlach would already be on her, tearing that smug smile off her face for what she’s done. And gods does Karlach want to, she can feel her heart stutter and roar as she makes a conscious effort to maintain her calmness.
“Well,” Mizora deflects with that high pitched tone of hers, “I can see you’re still upset over that little mishap. It never was like you to forgive and forget though, was it?”
Karlach rolls her eyes and shifts herself into a defensive stance. “What do you want? Why are you even here?”
“Hmmph, can’t I visit Baldur Gate’s famed fish market? Perhaps I wanted to indulge myself in the local cuisine,” Mizroa pouts, casting her fingers along the display of fish that Karlach had been arguing over earlier. “You sir, how much did you say it was for these?”
The merchant jumps on the chance of a sale. “Yes, ma’am, this mackerel here is the best you’ll find this side of the coast. I be selling it for cheap, too, twenty percent discount here. Since you’re a vet, I’ll even give you five more off it.”
Karlach rolls her eyes, not surprised at all that the merchant missed how Mizora was discharged from the army. Just like Mizora to be able to charm others into thinking she was some hero despite her actions in the military leaving little doubt of her fiendish cruelty.
“I’m sure it is,” Mizora purrs as she eyes the fish, “I’ll take that one,” she points to the same one Karlach had refused.
The merchant begins to chatter away as he rings her up for the fish and asks her about her time in the army. Karlach has to shake her head at it; people are so willing to overlook Mizora’s infractions as a vet because she’s human—a pretty human, but one look at Karlach with her horns and red skin and it’s disingenuous glares and wary eyes. They don’t care that where Mizora was dishonorably discharged, Karlach was awarded for her bravery.
Typical. But, it doesn’t matter. Not really. It stings, for sure, but Karlach has never cared for public opinion. She cares about far more important things, and one of those things is currently at the apartment with a mythological being that she's helping get home. She needs to get back; she needs to warn Wyll.
The crowd has dispersed by now, bored that nothing came out of the interaction, surely, but Karlach couldn’t care less. She grips her bag of fresh fish, hoping that all she’s gotten will be enough for Astarion, and settles into a brisk pace.
Mizora doesn’t just drop in out of nowhere. She never has, not when she clawed her way into commanding officer and not when she sunk those talons into Wyll.
Karlach doesn’t know why that crooked bitch would be back, but she knows it's not for nothing, and whatever it is, it can’t be any good. Mizora doesn’t work like that. Every little mission she had was for something, petty or not, and Karlach doubts anything has changed since then.
The market has gotten crowded now that the sun is rising high in the morning sky and the cool fog of the morning coast has cleared. Karlach’s just gone up the stairs when there’s a shift right next to her. Instinct has her tensed and ready to strike.
Taking a deep breath, Karlach turns to find Mizora standing behind her with the fish in hand. There’s a lazy curl to her stance as she tosses the fish, all wrapped up in thin sheets of paper, between her pale hands.
“I never took you for the type to like fish quite so much, but look at you with a whole bag of them,” she says with all the cadence of someone commenting on the weather.
Karlach’s grip tightens on the bag. “Shouldn’t you be living your early retirement on some beach in the Hells?”
Mizora doesn’t respond. Instead, she reaches into her purse and pulls out dark cat-eye sunglasses.
“Dis is lovely this time of year. I could be tanning on the beaches of Phlegethos with a mojito in one hand without a care in the world. Wouldn’t that have been nice. But, alas, my pension was ripped from me, and who’s fault is that?”
“Your own, Mizora,” Karlach snorts. “You got better than you deserve, and you know it—”
“And you? Did you get what you deserved?” Mizora smiles, perfect teeth glinting in the sun and it takes Karlach all her self control to keep from punching her mug in.
But then Mizora tosses the fish she had to Karlach, who catches it if only on reflex.
“Think of it as a present. A gift from your old commander,” she says. “Perhaps you can share it… I know you were ever so close to my precious little pup, Wyll. I wonder how he’s doing, we haven’t spoken since… well. You’ll give him my regards, won’t you? I am ever so curious what he’s been up to since our departure.”
“Fuck off, Mizora,” Karlach says.
Mizora just laughs. “Ta ta, Karlach. I do think we’ll be seeing each other very soon.”
Karlach watches as she leaves, a bad feeling festering in her gut as the woman walks away. She takes one look at the fish Mizora ‘gifted’ her before finding the nearest trash can and throwing it away. “Rotten fish from a rotten person,” she grumbles as she takes a longer, more complicated route back home. She isn’t taking any chances that that bitch isn’t stalking her—she knows better than that and Mizora’s speciality was always espionage.
She doesn’t know why Mizora is back or what she wants from them, and she doesn’t really want to dwell on it either. She thought that bitch was gone for good the moment she got court-martialed; she should have known better.
Now, all she can do is make her way home and warn Wyll.
It's a bit impossible to believe. There are mermaids, they're real, and that's something Wyll can believe in. Has always believed in. But believing in the mythical is the easy part.
The unbelievable, unfathomable and completely ridiculous part is that not only are mermaids real, but there's one in his bathroom right now. Sitting on the floor.
Wyll has slumped down on the floor with Astarion while they wait for Karlach to come back. It’s been an hour or so, Wyll thinks, since he first woke up and stumbled on Astarion sleeping just outside of the bathtub.
The mermaid is perplexing. Though, Wyll supposes that makes sense. He’s never talked to a mermaid before and despite having known about Astarion for the betterment of a month, he didn’t really know anything about the mermaid. Only that Cazador had to have been mistreating him.
Astarion hasn’t said much since Wyll got here. They talked a little, yes, and Wyll found out that his name is actually Astarion . And Wyll promised him freedom—a promise Wyll does not intend to fail in keeping.
Some time ago Fangs had wriggled his way into the bathroom and Astarion had startled so badly that Wyll had quickly removed the kitten.
Now, Wyll wouldn’t say that Astarion had settled, there was a tenseness to the mermaid that didn’t seem to leave, but his teeth weren’t bared and his eyes would flicker closed every so often. Though, there was this twitch Astarion would do every so often, not so much in his face, but his tail. It would spasm every so often before Astarion would get a glassy look in his eyes and curl it in.
They’d been here for a while now, Astarion even longer than him. He sincerely hoped that Karlach would be home soon.
As if reading his mind, Astarion broke his silence, “I do wonder how long Karlach will be…”
Stretching, Wyll checks his watch. “I can’t imagine she’ll be much longer…”
“Hmm, I should hope not,” Astarion says briskly, then tenses up just a bit, barely noticeable, before falling back in silence.
It’s not a comfortable silence. Wyll can feel how heavy the tension is, rolling over them like the heavy fog off the coast in the mornings. Astarion is braced back against the bathtub, but he makes no effort to move, despite how uncomfortable his position looks.
Wyll can think of several reasons why that is, but none of them make him feel any better.
Astarion just sits there, his tail against the floor. And he doesn’t look real. But he is, he’s here, alive and very much real. It’s just so… so…
“Entranced by my beauty?” Astarion says, preening, as Wyll looks away from the mermaid, chagrinned. “Can’t say I blame you, I am rather exotic.” His voice is haughty and while he was smiling as he spoke, Wyll swears he catches the barest hint of disdain in his words.
Wyll frowns, then shakes his head. “No, well, you are beautiful, I can’t deny that…”
Astarion hums in agreement and his tail flicks ever so slightly.
“I was just thinking- actually, it’s funny. When I was a kid I almost drowned,” Wyll starts, recalling the memory quite easily now.
“And that’s funny to you? You surface dwellers are so odd—”
“No, well, not that. I find it more ironic. I almost drowned in the sea because I was looking for mermaids and now I have one in my bathroom and it’s just funny.”
Astarion gives him an odd look, the kind of scolding look that says what he finds funny may in fact not be funny at all. “Hmm, well I doubt you’d find any that near the coast. Unless you were traveling leagues out. We don’t fraternize with surface dwellers for obvious reasons…”
“Yes, of course. I was foolish back then.” And he was. His father had reprimanded him for his thoughtlessness after that, stating how he needed to root himself in reality more. “I used to search the sky hoping I’d see dragons flying despite them being long extinct, and I'd go looking in the garden with a microscope and flashlight hoping to catch a glimpse of fey. I always believed in the fantastical, and how could I not, when our history is so rich with it. So, foolish I may have been, but I see no wrong in believing in something beyond myself.”
“Believed in it enough you nearly drowned… correct me if I’m wrong, but that seems rather counterintuitive. You surface dwellers already live such short lives and you risk it for such impossibilities—”
Wyll just chuckles lightly. “And yet, here I am, many years later, of course, but with a mermaid alive and well.”
“Alive I may be, but well is a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
Wyll flinches back at that. Astarion is not well, that much is clear. His neck still appears angry and red, cracked dry in places and viscous in others. HIs arm that’s bandaged has bled through and among various other small scrapes and the overall shriveled up look to his scales, he is still missing his entire dorsal fin. That’s not fine and Wyll is worried if that will affect his ability to swim in the strong currents of the sea.
“You’re staring again,” Astarion deadpans. “It’s no fun when you do that.”
“Apologies—I-when Karlach gets here we’ll get you some food and then we’ll come up with a plan, okay?”
Astarion’s eyes narrow and his tail twitches, which forces a grimace to cross the mermaid's pale face. “Yes… a plan. What sort of plan?” His voice has lost that playful edge it had, instead favoring a much darker undertone.
Wyll just blinks in response. “To free you, of course.”
Astarion’s shoulders draw up and he holds himself high. “Right. Yes, of course…” His tail moves and the grimace returns.
Wyll furrows his brows. He’s about to ask Astarion if he’s okay, but thinks better of it. Astarion is a coiled spring and anything he’s said has been met with variable results. Instead he takes in how Astarion’s tail has shriveled, the scales receding almost noticeably now, with red lines between the pale colors. And yet, Astarion has made no effort to go back in the bathtub—hasn’t even looked at it.
Wyll isn’t about to force him into it, especially if he doesn’t want to, but there has to be something he can do.
Abruptly, Wyll stands up. “I’ll be but a moment,” he says carefully. He moves quickly, closing, but not shutting the door. Fangs mews at his arrival and follows him—intertwining himself between Wyll’s feet as he walks—to the linen closet. There, Wyll finds the biggest towels he has and grabs several, for good measure. Then, he’s going to the living room and finding all the mismatched throw pillows Karlach has on the couch.
And lastly, he steals a thin blanket from the couch and returns to the bathroom, careful to nudge Fangs away as he enters.
Astarion’s brows furrow as he looks at everything in Wyll's arms. The tension in his features is easy to read and Wyll quickly drops everything to the floor, before kneeling down.
“I find the bathroom floor to not be the most comfortable place to sit and if we’re going to be here until Karlach comes back, surely we can make it a little better. What say you?”
“Now that you mention it, it is a bit stiff. What are those things you have…” If it’s possible, Astarion shrivels closer to the bathtub, shrinking away from Wyll.
But Wyll just grabs a plusher pillow and holds it out for Astarion. “These are pillows, we use them to make uncomfortable places more comfortable.”
Astarion is careful in his grip as he takes the pillow from Wyll. It is red and ruffled, covered in a silk casing that Astarion runs his hands over several times. But when Wyll moves his hand too quickly to pick at another pillow, Astarion flinches back and drops the pillow on the ground. He composes himself well enough and goes to carefully grab the pillow again.
“And you what, hold them?” He asks, his claws holding the pillow delicately but firmly.
“You can. I sit on them occasionally,” Wyll says as he places a larger one on the ground next to Astarion. “Or you can prop it up behind you. Whatever works best.”
Astarion is slow and deliberate with his rusting of the pillow, so Wyll just slides a few more his way but doesn’t urge him to use them in any capacity. He grabs a fluffy towel and goes toward the bathtub.
He stops when he hears a low growl and looks to see Astarion’s tail has curled—or attempted to, it only curved slightly before it creased and Wyll could see the scales tearing. He carefully sidesteps the tail and places the towel in the bathtub, letting it soak up all the water it can.
“What are you doing?” Astarion asks with an edge in his voice.
“You mentioned before you weren’t a fan of being on the floor. I imagine a creature like you is predisposed to the water…”
Astarion eyes him then the bathtub and his claws clench around the throw pillow. “I believe I said that the bathtub wasn’t suitable for me…” His tail thumps again, frantic and unsure as his eyes dilate on the tub.
“Of course. I would never ask you to return, I merely thought this might be an alternative,” he says as he grabs the towel, now soaked in the lukewarm water from the tub.
“I…”
“May I?” Wyll asks, holding the towel up, hovering over Astarion’s tail.
There is a moment where Wyll thinks Astarion will decline and say no, but then there’s a tiny nod from him and he turns his head away. “Do what you must.”
Carefully, and gently, Wyll lowers the drenched towel over Astarion’s tail, not wrapping it, just letting it drape over his tail.
“Oh… well that's… you are full of surprises, aren’t you.” Astarion sighs, “That… doesn’t feel terrible. Not nearly as great as being put back in the sea, mind you, but well—” his eyes trail behind Wyll, where there’s a stack of a couple more towels.
“Would you like me to get the rest of your tail covered?”
Astarion doesn’t say anything but nods his head, eyes still lingering on the towels.
It’s a short process to soak the rest of the towels and give them to Astarion, who carefully pads them along his tail. Once he’s finished, Wyll grabs one of the thin blankets and settles down in his previous spot.
Astarion lets out a content sigh, flexing his tail and settling against some of the pillows.
“Better?” Wyll asks.
“Much,” Astarion purrs out. “Would you believe me if I said this wasn’t the longest I’ve been out of water?”
Wyll worries his brow over that but doesn’t say anything. It’s been several hours now, he thinks, that Astarion could have potentially been out of the bathtub, but already, Wyll can see how it pains the mermaid. Breathing may be less of an issue than he previously thought, but it’s clear that his tail doesn’t do well in dry environments.
“Oh, hush you, I can hear your worrying. I’m not so fragile as to break from a mere few hours out of water. My scales are much more resilient than that. Once I’m back in the sea, they’ll be good as new.”
“Of course not, I would never—”
“You’re weird, even for a surface dweller. You know that?” Astarion blurts out quickly, as though it’s something he’s just realized.
“Oh,” is all Wyll can say. He’s not really sure how he should take that.
“You have a one of a kind, exotic, beautiful creature at your mercy and instead of taking advantage of that, you offer me these-these—” he holds up the throw pillow.
“A pillow—”
“Yes, that.”
“Well, Astarion—”
“And that’s another thing!” Astarion accuses angrily, but Wyll can see the tremble in his hands as he holds the pillow. “You-you call me that and-and…”
“You said that was your name.” It’s easy to see now that it’s not anger that has riled the mermaid up, it is fear.
“It is,” Astarion whispers.
There’s a moment of tense silence before Astarion sighs and shakes his head. “Yes, well, like I said: you’re a weirdo.”
Wyll chuckles at the exasperated expression on Astarion's face. “I suppose I am.”
Astarion grins and turns his chin up. He’s wrapped in towels and sitting against several throw pillows, but he looks more relaxed now. The tightness in his jaw has lessened and he holds himself with a bit more regalness.
There’s something far off in his gaze though, as he sits quietly. A glazed over affect that covers him like a film. It’s poised and cold—reminds him of a sea lion basking in the sun on a rock, nose pointed and body arched against the rock as water sprays and the sun beats down.
Did Astarion ever do that? He can picture it easily, Astarion with his piercing eyes and pointed face looking past him, past it all as he sits preciously on a rock, tail laid about lazily, catching the sun’s rays as it sets behind him. It’s a nice image—perhaps too nice, as already the creepings of a blush have rooted just beneath his cheeks.
But still, Wyll wonders—because he has to wonder—what Astarion was like before Cazador. Before his freedom and his fin were ripped from him. It’s clear from his tail alone that Astarion was built for speed, a predator of the sea. But… was there more to it than just that? Wyll thinks so.
He’s been staring. Wyll hadn’t realized he’d been staring until Astarions eyes, sharp as ever and red ringed like blood in water, are staring at him and that grin of his has turned into a wicked smirk.
“Admiring the view?” Astarion clicks out, exposing his long fangs. “I can’t say I didn’t expect it, I am rather pretty, aren’t I?”
Heat floods his cheeks as he turns away, stuttering. “Yes-wait, no. I mean-well, you are, uh, magnificent and stunning—”
“Oh, yes. Please continue, flattery will get you everywhere.”
Before Wyll can respond, Astarion turns towards the door and tilts his head, his ears twitching and gods if it doesn’t remind him of Fangs when the little kitten hears something… But then not a moment later Wyll can hear it too. The jiggle of keys at the front door.
The walk back to the apartment is long and boring. Karlach is at the very least positive that Mizora hasn’t followed her.
It hasn’t done shit to ease her mind though. Gods, why was that right cunt back? Her last words still rang in Karlach’s head. Because if there was one thing Mizora was, besides a bitch of course, it was petty. If she’s back, then she’s back with a vengeance.
But, even though it is important and Karlach should absolutely not write her off, she doesn’t want to think about it. She’s got other things going on.
Which, right, yeah. That’s also something—Karlach takes out her phone and dials the familiar number, hoping Shadowheart picks up this time.
It rings several times and just as Karlach is about to curse at her rotten luck, there’s a click and then Shadowheart’s voice is filling her ears.
“Shads? Yes, finally. Been tryin’ to get a hold of you for ages—”
“Yes, well Reithwin isn’t exactly known for its cell phone reception, being a national forest and all,” she replies dryly. “Did you need something?”
“No, I was just-Well, okay, sorta?” Karlach fumbles with her words as she walks up the sidewalk towards the apartment complex.
There’s a moment of silence where Karlach swears Shadowheart is rolling her eyes before a soft sigh and a ‘go on’ is said.
“So, you remember a few tendays back, yeah? When me an’ Wyll visited?”
“Yeah… I distinctly recall being a kitten short after that—”
Karlach stops. “You said I could take him off your hands! Fangs has—”
“I only jest, Karlach.” Shadowheart chuckles through the line.
“Right, good. And the mermaid we mentioned.”
“I do recall a conversation of such things… Karlach, what did you do?”
One of Karlach’s neighbors is sitting on the porch and waves to Karlach as she goes to the front door of the complex. Karlach waves back and smiles at them before opening the door and trekking down the long hallway towards the apartment’s front door.
“Nothin’ bad, Shads! He was in a rough way and,” Karlach pauses when she hears Shadowheart take in a sharp breath.
“Karlach, please tell me you didn’t call me because you stole a mermaid and now you don’t know what to do.”
Taking out her keys and fumbling to find the right lock, Karlach bites her lip, not saying anything.
“Oh my gods. You STOLE THE MERMAID?” Though there is distinct disapproval in her voice, Shadowheart gets over it quickly enough. “What exactly do you think I can help you with here? I don’t work with sea animals…”
“Okay, well, he’s not an animal , Shads. He’s a person, or well, half person, half… shark? And he’s in a bad way,” Karlach half whispers as she fumbles with the keys to the front door. She may be a bit reckless at times, but she’s not about to yell it to the streets that she’s got a mermaid in her apartment. “I think he’s got an—oh come on you stupid door, open,” she jams the key into the lock one more time and wiggles it until she hears a click, “ah-ha! Gotcha. Anyway, as I was saying, I think he’s got some sort of infection on his neck, by his, uh, gills, yeah that's what they’re called. It’s all gross and sinewy and red.”
“So, get him antibiotics then,” Shadowheart replies.
“He doesn’t need, like, special ones?”
“That would depend on the infection. Look, I can ask Halsin. He’s kind of the go-to guy for any inquiries on animal care.”
“Okay, yeah,” Karlach says, finally opening the door and entering the apartment. “But… keep this on the down low? I don’t think Astar-the mermaid wants too many people to know about him.”
There’s a short pause before Shadowheart replies, “Of course, I won’t say anything unneeded. I’ll get back to you when I have an answer, but I gotta get going here. Reception will be a bit dicey, but I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Shads.” Karlach disconnects the call and puts her phone back in her pocket.
There’s a squeaky mew before Fangs comes bounding up to the front door and brushes against Karlach’s legs.
Karlach takes Fangs in one hand and holds onto her bag of fish in the other, carefully walking down the hall in case Astarion is still lingering somewhere. But the hallway is devoid of life; he must have gone back to the bathtub then.
Once Karlach reaches the bathroom door, she can hear voices from beyond. It’s Wyll that she hears first, then there’s a response and that’s definitely Astarion.
Fangs meows pathetically and Karlach pats his head before setting him down and scooching him away from the door. “Something tells me you weren’t invited to the party for a reason, little guy.”
She knocks gently on the door before opening it, knowing that either way she’ll probably startle the occupants.
Sure enough, once she opens the door, Astarion is flat against the floor, right up next to the bathtub. Not in it, surprisingly, though he did mention how uncomfortable it was for him. Even more surprisingly is the pillows and towels that surround him.
Wyll is against the sink with a blanket loosely thrown over him.
“We having a slumber party in the bathroom now?” She laughs out, then holds up the bag of fish. “Looks like I brought the snacks, then.”
Predictably, Astarion perks up at the mention of food, his ears and nose twitching slightly as they take in the scents. Karlach will admit it looks adorable, but she stifles back her reaction to hold out the bag of fish.
The thing is, Karlach has met starving kids before. War does that. And if she’s learned anything from her experience with them it’s that you can never give them free range over too much food. They’ll eat it all at once then get sick and then you’re just stuck with a starving kid and no food.
But, well, the other problem is Astarion here, who is clearly starved—it doesn’t take a biologist or whatever to see that the poor mermaid is skinnier than he ought to be, with ribs prominent and his scales looking worse for wear—is not like war starved kids who haven’t eaten because no one has food. Astarion hasn’t eaten because that shit for brains politico starved him into compliance.
She can see it in his stance now, a tightness in his jaw and muscles tensed, preparing for a backlash. He already doesn’t trust she’ll give him the food anyway.
“So, there’s a lot more fish than I thought at the fish market,” she starts, gauging Astarion’s reaction to her voice. He’s listening, but his eyes are trained on the bag. “I got a sampler sort of thing. Like a little bit of everything. There’s some tuna, and uh, a whole salmon. Man, I did not know salmon got that big. Oh! And eels, I got some eels, the guy told me they were the best eels around, but what would I know? And then I think there’s a squid in there too—”
Astarion perks up at that. It’s slight, but Karlach doesn’t miss the way he bites his lip and his eyes dilate.
“That all sounds…” Astarion pipes in quietly, “sounds… agreeable.” He says in a way that has Karlach convinced that it sounds much better than agreeable to him.
“Yeah, what do you want first?”
“First?” He sounds surprised. “Yes, well, the squid did sound rather pleasant…”
“Squid! Yes, okay.” She digs around in the bag, clawing through all the paper wrapped fish until she finds the one she thinks is squid. She unwraps it and yep, those tentacles are definitely squid. It’s all squishy and pink—not what she would call appetizing, but then Astarion is practically drooling as she tosses it to him.
“Say, Wyll, come help me put the rest away, would ya?” She asks.
“Away?” Astarion asks, a look of confused disappointment running across his features. “I thought, well, ah, thank you for the squid—”
Starved kid, right. Karlach sighs. “Just to keep it fresh. You can’t eat it all at once or you’ll get sick. Trust me, you want to take it slow.” She nods her head to Wyll, signaling for him to get up and help her. She doesn’t wait for him to follow before she leaves the room and heads to the kitchen to put the rest of the food away.
Wyll, predictably, follows her slowly and with a bit of a confused face.
“Karlach—”
“Do you remember, back when we were scouting through the towns, that little girl we found? The one who lost her parents?” She interrupts Wyll and starts unpacking the fish and putting it on the counter.
Wyll nods his head slowly. “Yenna?”
“Yeah,” she says, “Spitfire, that one. She had a cat with her too, shy little guy. Both of em’ were starving, and when we finally gave them something, just some bread and some stray slices of meat for the cat, they ate like ravenous wolves. Wasn’t pretty.”
“I remember, yeah.” Wyll speaks slowly, coming up to help her put the tuna filets in the fridge—gods, their apartment is gonna stink of the sea now. “She hadn’t eaten in days.”
“She was a friendly girl, but one time I got too close to her while she was eating and it looked like she was about to rip my arm off for it. She apologized endlessly afterwards, O’ course. But if you saw the look in her eyes, Wyll, Astarion may be sapient, but he’s a starved animal too. I’m not about to get in the way of him and his prey when he’s gone so long without.” She saw a glimpse of it with the tuna last night, how he hunched over it and scarfed it down. And that was bland canned tuna, this was actual food. Fresh and full blooded prey for his predator stomach.
There’s a brief pause, then: “I suppose that makes sense.”
It’s quaint as they pack the rest of the fridge with fish. Karlach thinks they’ll give Astarion some time to eat and digest before bringing more food in. But until then…
Karlach knows she has to tell Wyll about Mizora. Gods, of course she does. But how is she supposed to broach the subject? She’s always been rather brash about these things but now, she’s leaning against the counter, biting her lip because it just pisses her off.
“Everything alright?” Wyll asks, because dammit, Karlach forgets how perceptive he can be too.
“Yeah…” she starts and then shakes her head. “Actually, no. No, everything is not alright.”
Wyll tilts his head.
“I mean we stole a mermaid,” she deflects, “we trespassed on a prominent person’s house, no matter how much of an asshole he is, and I lost my shoe over it. My favorite shoe, mind you.”
Wyll nods his head slowly. “You were the one who suggested we steal him—-”
“I know that! I’m not mad that we stole him, It’s for the best, I mean look at him! He’s starved and he’s got… he’s got like an infection on his neck or something. I know we promised him we’d bring him back to the sea, and we should! But, you gotta admit that the infection looks bad and it’s on his neck, Wyll. I mean, we’ve seen guys lose legs to infections less than that and it’s his neck…”
“Okay… so we talk to him. We ask him what he wants to do about it. This doesn’t seem like that big of a problem—”
“But what if he stays? What if he has to stay here for a while?”
“Again, you were the one who wanted to take him? Is him staying really that big of a deal?”
No. It’s not a problem at all really. They have two bathrooms and well, it’s a mermaid. No matter how Karlach spins it, that’s kinda awesome. But there are problems. “Of course it’s a big deal! Wyll. Cazador is going to go looking for his mermaid. He’s going to search here, he’s that kind of creep.”
“Shit. You’re right. But we’ll figure it out. Karlach, we will figure it out.” And Wyll sounds so sincere, like he truly does believe that everything will be okay. He sounds so confident.
“I ran into Mizora at the fish market,” she whispers out, hating that she knows this will break that confidence.
There’s silence.
She can’t bear to look at Wyll.
“What?” He asks, disbelieving.
“She’s back.”
“No, no she can’t be. She was court-martialed, she’s gone. She—”
“Was at the fish market today. I don’t think it was a coincidence.”
“She doesn’t… but she doesn’t know where we live? Right…?”
Karlach shakes her head. “I don’t imagine so, but if she’s back here… then it’s only a matter of time till she finds out.”
“Okay,” Wyll says after a while. “We’ll—we will figure it out. We always do.”
Karlach nods, because it is the only thing she can do. They dealt with her once, and she has to believe they can do it again.