[It's a well-known fact among historians that when the vampires rose to power, the witches drew back and conceded to their rule. More accurately, their apathetic disposition and immense magic, arguably greater than the vampires themselves, allowed them to largely remain independent of the power-hungry undead clans who wanted their alliance in order to gain crucial advantages during their centuries-long struggle against each other and their food (mortals) that continued into the modern age where an uneasy equilibrium has been reached among all beings. Vampires ruled the night, humans and other mortals endured and innovated, and witches slipped between the cracks, mastering their own crafts.
The covens were scattered and hidden, but the occasional witch would pass by and settle down in whatever town or city of their fancy to be a valuable member to the community. Normally, if a vampire clan catches wind of this, they would send someone to investigate and evaluate this witch's worth as an asset to their side. Sometimes the witch will agree to join their cause, but only after a contract is agreed upon. They cannot and do not want to stay bound to the undead forever.
For vampires, there is a certain allure to witches who are long-lived like them, but still mortal, still warm, still alive. All power plays aside, their neutrality and dismissiveness of the vampiric overlords had garnered them a certain respect and fascination. There is no doubt that a witch's involvement could be a sign of change that would reverberate into the next century...
The woman's arrival in Baldur's Gate did not go unnoticed, but that was mostly because, uncharacteristically, she didn't put effort, if any, into concealing her presence. The 13th floor of the unused business building began to burst into green with branches and leaves and dots of brightly colored flowers spilling over the balcony. That could only mean that she was a Green Witch, one with mastery and connection to flora and fauna and her domain reflected this.
Her neighbors cautiously greeted her and to their relief, they found Amelia Eva Steinbeck, fairly approachable. It helped that witches were basically human-shaped and Amelia was for all intents and purposes, an affable if sharp conversationalist who didn't like dilly-dallying. Amelia dressed loosely, sported green cat-eye glasses, had a rose tattoo across her chest, wore handmade jewelry, and smoked from her long tobacco-pipe much to the discomfort of the more conservative citizens. She provided services, such as giving advice to the community leaders who wanted to develop a neighborhood garden, sold flowers and potted plants, and the occasional tonic, salve, or potion for minor fees. Neighborhood children and youths were sometimes fortunate enough to leave her 13th floor shop with a baked treat or candy she happened to make that afternoon.
All was peaceful for a time. But Baldurians knew that even after it had been several weeks since Amelia Steinbeck moved to the city, the creatures of the night would begin to make their move and this ephemeral serenity would be shattered. And they weren't wrong. However, the outcome was something no one could have predicted, not even herself.
One week ago, the witch's life was changed forever.
The remaining rays of the sun have disappeared and soon Baldur's Gate is awash with electric lights. From her 13th floor residence, the Green Witch yawns and finishes watering the last of her plants. She checks her inventory and makes a mental note to come up with another product to sell that would be useful to the public. Practical, not necessarily magical.
Now, however, is the time to wind down. There's a pause and she glances at her door. She sighs and keeps the lights on, returning to her seat behind the counter. A thin and elegant pipe is produced from her drawers and she crumbles her own personal concoction into the chamber. After it's lit, a floral and musky scent fills the air.
She settles into her seat and inhales her pipe before blowing a few smoke rings upwards. Her eyes are fixed to the ceiling when she finally speaks up.]
[His initial interest in her had been professional. It was rare that an unbound witch would make herself known among their society; vampires and those who answered to them ruled the cities at all hours, their day-living servants ensuring that all ran smoothly while they slept. To hear that a witch who served a niche not too far from his own had moved to the city had intrigued him; he was curious as to the nature of her work, rather than concerned about a professional rival, and had observed largely at a distance as he went about his own business— both shop and clan-related.
His ability to do so quietly had been swiftly brought to an end when that same witch had begun to draw the wrong sort of attention, through no fault of her own. He had, over the last several decades, made it a point to keep himself as removed from clan politics as possible. Keep his head down, mind his own business, play by their rules long enough to be able to go about his nights with as little interference as he could manage.
There were some things, however, that he simply could not stand by and allow to happen. Not when there was something to be done about it.
He clears his throat softly when she invites him in. His kindred would insist such a thing was unnecessary, but given their current situation, he wished to make an effort to maintain politeness and boundaries— as long as it was safe.
The floral scent is thick as it washes over him while he crosses the threshold, the smoke stinging at the back of his throat in a way that was almost pleasant. He exhales, a habit he has long held onto despite no longer having any need for breath, and approaches the counter to pause beside it, letting his hand come to rest against it as he looks towards her seat.]
[This. This man right here, is her current problem.
Her piercing green eyes settle their gaze on him as he approaches the counter and pauses in front of her. She regards him cooly as she had done with the other vampiric underlings that invaded her shop not so long ago, but unlike that time where her utter distaste and unabashed disrespect seeped through, it's harder to tell what she's thinking in the face of this more "respectable" vampire.
He was a respectable creature of the night and she owed him for his interference. Gratefulness ought to be the first thought that came to mind, but as it stands, they inherently knew it was more complicated than that.
Amelia rests one arm in the crook of her elbow as the other remains occupied with the pipe.]
Unless you count toddlers and nosy old women, then no. Business has been slower than usual, but that isn't objectionable.
[She lets out a puff of smoke. The aroma has changed from floral to something more oaky and peat-like, akin to a deep black tea scent.]
Have you just woken up? Rather early for a vampire isn't it?
[Additionally, old enough that he only requires twilight to awaken, rather than full dark, but even when such things had not mattered to him, he had tended towards being an early riser on principle— when he slept at all. He'd always been the sort to keep busy. Sleep was a necessity, but sometimes an inconvenience. What he experienced now in its stead— well, he hardly had much choice.]
I thought it would be in both our best interests to be here before anyone else had the opportunity to come and pay any unwelcome visits. You may have my protection, but there are some who aren't terribly happy about that— and others still who may not respect it.
[There were ways, he supposed, to offer his protection in a more definite sense, but granting any human or witch the necessary marks for such a thing was not to be done lightly— and in his opinion, asking far too much of the one being protected. He had never marked anyone, never taken a human servant, and he did not intend to.
He certainly wasn't going to start with this poor woman who had done nothing but try to live her life in this place. A greater challenge than she had expected, perhaps.]
I don't intend to disrupt your evening. [His gaze casts downwards for a brief moment, and he raises a hand to gently adjust his spectacles.] I think it's best I remain close by, but you... ought to go about your life as you normally would. I only mean to preserve your safety.
[There's another inhale of her pipe and another fog of sweet smoke.]
Though they wouldn't have minded the extra meal.
[ She hadn't foolishly waltzed into Baldur's Gate without acknowledging that it was a veritable nest of vampires. Where other witches opted to stay in mostly human settlements (or any of the various mortal races such as the tieflings or the equally long-lived elves), her move to the city ruled by the night creatures was puzzling if not concerning. There was no way the vampires would turn a blind eye to her presence, not when the opportunity to contract a witch dangled in front of them like a tantalizing meal. The Green Witch, driven by stubborn whimsy, could have taken the grim consequences with more seriousness in retrospect.
Having her exotic flower monster sprout from the ceiling and devour an underling of one of the more bloodthirsty lords wasn't her smartest move. One would think that a 50 year old (young for a witch, but still) would think twice.
Amelia doesn't describe herself as wise; reactive, certainly. But if she had an ounce of wisdom, she wouldn't be in this farce with the vampire before her.]
You know... [She slides out of her sheet and moves to the other side of the counter.]
Your clan. [The pipe is pointed at him as a replacement for a wagging finger.]
They're going to ask questions. Proof of a contract. I believe you don't have an ulterior motive, but most vampires do not operate on pure good will.
[The witch is now standing in front of Gale with only two feet of distance between them.]
I'll take that as a compliment. Fearsome though your plants may be, some of these individuals may indeed require a more delicate touch.
[A touch he would like to think he has developed after so many years among them, but any hint of mirth that might have begun to creep into his voice fades as she points her pipe at him, circling around the counter to stand before him.
His expression is somber, a small line forming between his brows as he sinks his hands into the pockets of his coat.]
None taken. The thought had not escaped me.
[The exact opposite, in fact. It has been on his mind since mere moments after he had stepped in and declared her to be under his protection, made his 'claim.'
In his world, such an arrangement meant exchanging a great deal more than just words, promises, and she was exactly right. They would, eventually, want proof.]
My word alone only offers you so much. A temporary measure at best, but I have no interest or intention of forcing a definitive claim. That would— defeat the purpose.
[She replies airily as she watches the smoke that filled the room dissapate. Her face continues to conceal her thoughts, something she's particularly skilled at when all is calm.
But then she smiles lightly and pulls her cardigan over her shoulders to cover up.]
Well, let me put your looming presence to good use outside.
[The pipe is casually tossed over her shoulder, landing in one of her flower pots to be cushioned among its leaves. Then the witch walks past the vampire towards the exit, only stopping to look over her shoulder at him.]
Let's not get fussy about the details tonight. I need to eat dinner.
[For a brief moment, he looks a touch blindsided— if only because he has thought of nothing else but the details since the moment he had stepped in and made his so-called claim in the interest of protecting her from someone far more sinister doing far worse. That she can be so carefree in this moment, when so much remains uncertain...
Well. It is admirable, if nothing else, and it does help him to relax just a touch, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders as he bows his head. The sweet scent of the smoke still clings to the both of them even as it dissipates, he notes, and he quickly joins her at the door with long, purposeful strides so that he can reach past her to open the door in her stead, bowing his head briefly.]
Of course. The details can wait a bit longer. After you.
[She'll not be going much of anywhere without him for quite some time, he reasons— but it's far more pleasant and less awkward to go in her company than to lurk nearby in the shadows.]
[Time passes so fluidly, that if measured by hourglass, it would have turned several times without Amelia noticing.
In the mornings she wakes up alone in Gale's bed, usually hugging a book and a blanket pulled over her shoulders. The bed is remade and by the third day or so, Amelia would leave a handwritten note, stuck to the window, on novelty stationary (she had chosen a cat-shaped notepad) giving her thanks, notifying the vampire if something was out of place, or that she's neatened up part of the room and cleared away her dishes.
"Thank you for the salt and vinegar potato chips. I'm glad they're not popular of a flavor so you got me lots π"
"I'll make the bed when I'm here, but I cannot promise it'll be wrinkle free. How do you that anyways? Never figured it out in 50+ years without magic."
She smokes in the mornings sometimes, outside so that the smell doesn't stick to the fabrics, but a touch of smokey rosemary or oaky peat tends to linger hours later on the sheets, mingling with his scents, a mix of vanilla and sandalwood.
It was a shame, she thinks, that they couldn't look at the sunrise together before he had to sleep.
To her surprise, she had an escort to and from her shop, in the form of Gale's friend, Wyll. Amelia found him charming, pleasant, and a thoroughly upstanding young man. They would chat during those periods and Wyll would even purchase some plants from the witch. She tried to give them to him for free, but he politely refused, not wanting to take advantage.
Her flow of customers returned to normal and though most of them minded their own business, some would give her curious glances, uncertain about whether they should or even could ask about being "claimed." Anyone brave enough to ask, would get short answers or something wry such as:
"You can ask him if you'd like. But he has different hours from me, so you'll have to wonder longer."
When evening fell, Wyll was there to watch her back while she closed up shop until she could finally meet with Gale. That she looked forward to the most.
Periodically, on a whim, she would want to go out to eat, but more often than not, she was fine with just walking with her vampire companion back to his shop and settling into a large armchair with a book, a mug of strong black tea, and a salty snack of choice. The witch was perfectly satisfied with a simple activity because it helped her wind down from her busy daytime hours. Regardless, her leisure within Gale's shop also played its intended role; those who came in to peruse his wares or consult with the vampire also saw her.
What vampire wouldn't want their chosen companion close by? Fellow creatures of the night were sometimes crass enough to remark that Gale's scent was beginning to match Amelia's. (And she had to suppress the urge to smirk or hold up a middle finger. Both were very, very tempting to do).
And that was how their days passed, a routine that easily fell into place before either of them could notice. What Amelia did notice was that she liked being around Gale. Things were easy for the time being and more importantly... It feels safe. An oxymoron perhaps, when it comes to vampires, but they've started with a stronger foundation than they realized.
Outside of the charade they presented to the world, when it came to each other, the simple trust was a precious thing they were able to cultivate day by day and night by night. Gale couldn't be there for her during the day, and Amelia couldn't be present for the darker hours, but when their time could intersect, it was a small magic in itself.
Could it last? No, it couldn't, but it felt like it could, especially in the less busier evenings where they could both speak to each other freely.
One quiet and slow evening, the Green Witch sits on the counter, dangling her legs while eating some fish-shaped cheese cracker snacks and scrutinizing a palm-sized potted flower in her hand.]
I'm thinking about cultivating some flowers that bloom at night. Do you think night creatures would like that?
[Though Gale persisted in being cautious as nights passed, he had found that he quite enjoyed Amelia's company— hardly a surprise, considering all they had in common, and her easy, direct nature was quite refreshing when compared to the duplicitous politicking many of his own kind preferred. He found that he looked forward to her company, enough so that it had almost begun to overshadow his concerns regarding Cazador's next move; he began to feel increasingly more at ease, smiling and laughing a touch more frequently than he had before, eager to hear about what she got up to during her day and what interesting business her clients may have brought her as he went about finding new volumes from his own shop to share.
Being a specialty store, his own business was staggered but steady, meaning they had plenty of opportunities to talk and when they so chose, and he had made sure to make note of her tastes. Wyll had been gracious enough to bring supplies that first night in addition to serving as his eyes during the daylight hours, and Gale had since made certain to keep more human food available in the kitchen above his shop. His tea supply had already been quite extensive, at the very least, and while remaining close to home so frequently may have seemed dull to some, it was equal parts cautious and strategic. The shop was defensible, warded by his own spells, and Amelia being there allowed others to see them in one another's company, supporting the idea that they did, in fact, have the arrangement that they were currently allowing others to believe they had.
It was only a matter of time before that bond was tested, especially with Cazador being the type who didn't take 'no' for an answer, but for now, the groundwork they had laid was serving them quite well. That they got along as well as they did only helped them that much more.
This particular evening, there was a reasonably long stretch between customers, and Gale was just surfacing from the back room with a warmed mug in his hand as the witch mused aloud. He pauses beside her seat on the counter, tipping his head slightly to one side as he examines the pot in her hand.]
I certainly think it would have its audience. There are many of us who miss such sights. While some such flowers exist, they tend to be quite rare— Shadowheart is quite fond of night orchids, for instance, but has more than once lamented that she never can seem to find any.
You'd be correct. There's a lot of flowers that bloom at night, but not many are native to the city.
[Amelia cups the miniature potted flower in her hands and lets it sit on her lap, contemplating the small bloom. The blossoms appear in blue-ish purple clusters, akin to mini-hydrangeas. She's only gotten this result recently after a long period of development. The color of the petals only intensified during the twilight hours, but for the rest of the evening and early morning hours, it wouldn't look as bright.]
And even if they were, the color variety is limited. Night orchids, though? Hm.
[She has a very notable habit of taking out her pipe when she wants to think deeply; from the curtain of her sage-green shawl, she takes it out, puts it between her lips, but doesn't make any smoke rings yet.]
That is rare. And a sign of good taste. You can pass that along to Shadowheart.
[He watches with faint amusement as she draws her pipe from its place within her shawl, his gaze following its path to her lips and, perhaps, lingering just a moment before his attention returns to the flower in question, now resting her lap.]
Your work so far is quite promising. Much of my own knowledge of plants is limited to their alchemical properties, but I can still appreciate the results quite well.
[He looks back to her, letting out a faint half-chuckle before lifting his mug to his lips.]
As for Shadowheart, I will be certain to tell her, though she may well be more interested in hearing it from you. She may not say so openly, but I think she could do with another friend or two, and while I haven't needed her in the shop while we've been here this week, she seemed curious about you.
[There are times when Amelia is very aware of Gale's reactions and evolving attitude towards her. Right now, isn't one of those times as his remark about befriending Shadowheart catches her interest.]
I wouldn't mind chatting more with her. She reminds me a lot of my sisters in my home coven. Her wryness would rival theirs.
[It need not be said, but it was clear that Gale and Shadowheart go way back. The witch has pondered over the decades of experiences both they and Astarion have shared. She can't imagine that all of it was very happy, but even after all this time, Amelia can't say she's at the point where she could outright ask Gale about it. They feel closer, sure, but in a casually comfortable way.
Well, she tells herself, that's just one of many bridges to cross and it's still ways off.
The witch dusts off some cracker crumbs from her lap and then slides off the counter, flower pot still in hand.]
Can I keep this little one in your shop? I wasn't going to bring any of my plants over, but I think by now it's okay for it to have a home here.
[He sounds only mildly surprised, but he's smiling when he lowers his mug. She must be feeling quite comfortable here, indeed— something he is certainly glad for.]
Of course. I would be glad to look after it, though I suppose you're here so often it will hardly be a necessity. I'm sure it will grab the attention of more than a few customers, as well.
[After a beat, he continues:]
I hope you don't feel that you can't bring other belongings here. It's important that you feel comfortable, especially as we remain— cautious.
[There have been a lot of nights in, despite all the city has to offer.]
[The remark catches him just as he'd been in the middle of taking another drink, and he sputters as blood goes down the wrong way— something that shouldn't be much of a bother given that he's long since given up the need to breathe, but that unfortunately causes a visceral reaction regardless.
He coughs to clear his throat, turning his head to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand so that he can compose himself.]
Ah— well, you would certainly be welcome to it, should the need arise. I don't know that I would be much of a host otherwise.
[As the start of Cazador's event swiftly approached, careful preparation was a necessity. Gale had chosen to enlist aid— while he was an expert when it came to the history of the city and its clans, with local vampire politics, he was not nearly as intimately familiar with this part of the culture to be able to adequately prepare Amelia for certain parts of what was to come.
Thankfully, Shadowheart was happy to assist and fill in the gaps.
With less than a few hours to go until they were due to arrive, Shadowheart had swept through Gale's shop and into his living quarters with an armload of clothing— most of which was black— leaving Gale and Astarion to their strategizing as she sought out her friend's new companion. The shop would be closed for the night, a sanctuary for any of their number to return to when the time came, but all of their combined efforts would be put towards ensuring that Gale and Amelia made it through the evening unscathed.
She pauses outside the door to Gale's bedroom, which she understands Amelia has taken over during the evening hours, and raps her fist against it.]
[Where is Miss Green Witch? She's in Gale's bed, of course.
No, not like that.
Shadowheart's knocking gets her out of said bed and when she answers the door, the vampire will find that Amelia is completely wrapped up in a blanket, hair mussed up, glasses lopsided, and a book in hand, the corner unintentionally dog-eared.
Yeah, she fell asleep on accident. Still, she smiles (sleepily) at the other woman and opens the door up wider.]
Ah. Shadowheart. Come on in. Sorry about my... Everything.
[She'll step aside and push the blanket back onto the mattress.]
The vampire smiles serenely as she steps in to see Amelia cocooned in Gale's blankets, a knowing weight to her gaze as she closes the door behind herself to ensure their privacy— Gale and Astarion are occupied elsewhere, but it would be best to avoid any interruption. These two ladies have work to do.]
I can hardly fault you. You'll need your rest for the night ahead, anyway— though it looks like you've made yourself quite comfortable.
[She proceeds to unload the armful of clothing she'd brought, hanging most of it over the back of a nearby armchair, then turning to face the witch with her hands on her hips, looking her over in appraisal.]
Fortunately for us, we have an excellent canvas to work with. Getting you ready should be easy.
[Amelia chuckles lightly at Shadowheart's last remark while she puts the book aside.]
Flatterer. But that's all the better for me.
[Looking over the clothing, she crosses her arms while trying to assess which one she'll be equipped with for the evening. She gives a low whistle, impressed by the finery.]
These are real fancy. Are you in the habit of dressing up vampire companions or am I just that special?
I won't say you're the first, but certainly the first under these circumstances.
[She smirks, reaching for the first hanger to hold up a dress with an incredibly short skirt, all black and made of something that looked like it didn't have much give or leave much of anything to the imagination.]
Most of them are mine, admittedly. Our dear occultist may not spend much time in establishments like these, but I'm quite familiar with this part of the vampire social scene— meaning I'm well-equipped to help you to dress the part.
For reasons I'm sure you can imagine, vampires like their humans to be... accessible.
[To put it gently.]
We are, after all, creatures of appetite— some more than others, perhaps, but where you're going tonight, the show is important. Cazador is known for excess, and many of our kind consider decadence to be an indicator of power or position.
[She sets the dress down over the arm of the chair, putting her hands on her hips as she levels her gaze at the witch.]
Cazador is predictable in that he wants to be seen as a benevolent ruler, here to provide his 'guests' with all the delights and debauchery they can imagine. That means he'll have to play by the rules in public— he won't try to poach you for himself where he can be seen violating vampire law. As long as you play the part of 'pet' human and trust Gale, I believe you'll be safe. You can, by the way— trust him.
Accessible. [She repeats and then sighs, running a hand through her hair again.]
Right.
[Amelia knows this wasn't going to be a walk in the park. But a brisk jog, surely even with vampires nipping at their heels? But Cazadoor's presence over her own life is ever looming and seething at how he couldn't just snatch her up.
Still, the distaste at being called a 'pet' human shows on her face, but just as quickly replaced by a softened expression at the mention of Gale.]
I do. I trust him.
[Maybe.
She pauses, second guessing herself when she remembers their shared kiss, the mutual heat, and that unmistakable draw between them despite all of their inner burdens.]
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sunfloras2024-05-18 10:26 pm
it's only skin deep
The covens were scattered and hidden, but the occasional witch would pass by and settle down in whatever town or city of their fancy to be a valuable member to the community. Normally, if a vampire clan catches wind of this, they would send someone to investigate and evaluate this witch's worth as an asset to their side. Sometimes the witch will agree to join their cause, but only after a contract is agreed upon. They cannot and do not want to stay bound to the undead forever.
For vampires, there is a certain allure to witches who are long-lived like them, but still mortal, still warm, still alive. All power plays aside, their neutrality and dismissiveness of the vampiric overlords had garnered them a certain respect and fascination. There is no doubt that a witch's involvement could be a sign of change that would reverberate into the next century...
The woman's arrival in Baldur's Gate did not go unnoticed, but that was mostly because, uncharacteristically, she didn't put effort, if any, into concealing her presence. The 13th floor of the unused business building began to burst into green with branches and leaves and dots of brightly colored flowers spilling over the balcony. That could only mean that she was a Green Witch, one with mastery and connection to flora and fauna and her domain reflected this.
Her neighbors cautiously greeted her and to their relief, they found Amelia Eva Steinbeck, fairly approachable. It helped that witches were basically human-shaped and Amelia was for all intents and purposes, an affable if sharp conversationalist who didn't like dilly-dallying. Amelia dressed loosely, sported green cat-eye glasses, had a rose tattoo across her chest, wore handmade jewelry, and smoked from her long tobacco-pipe much to the discomfort of the more conservative citizens. She provided services, such as giving advice to the community leaders who wanted to develop a neighborhood garden, sold flowers and potted plants, and the occasional tonic, salve, or potion for minor fees. Neighborhood children and youths were sometimes fortunate enough to leave her 13th floor shop with a baked treat or candy she happened to make that afternoon.
All was peaceful for a time. But Baldurians knew that even after it had been several weeks since Amelia Steinbeck moved to the city, the creatures of the night would begin to make their move and this ephemeral serenity would be shattered. And they weren't wrong. However, the outcome was something no one could have predicted, not even herself.
One week ago, the witch's life was changed forever.
One week later, life appears to have moved on.
The remaining rays of the sun have disappeared and soon Baldur's Gate is awash with electric lights. From her 13th floor residence, the Green Witch yawns and finishes watering the last of her plants. She checks her inventory and makes a mental note to come up with another product to sell that would be useful to the public. Practical, not necessarily magical.
Now, however, is the time to wind down. There's a pause and she glances at her door. She sighs and keeps the lights on, returning to her seat behind the counter. A thin and elegant pipe is produced from her drawers and she crumbles her own personal concoction into the chamber. After it's lit, a floral and musky scent fills the air.
She settles into her seat and inhales her pipe before blowing a few smoke rings upwards. Her eyes are fixed to the ceiling when she finally speaks up.]
Well? Come in. I haven't locked the door yet.
no subject
His ability to do so quietly had been swiftly brought to an end when that same witch had begun to draw the wrong sort of attention, through no fault of her own. He had, over the last several decades, made it a point to keep himself as removed from clan politics as possible. Keep his head down, mind his own business, play by their rules long enough to be able to go about his nights with as little interference as he could manage.
There were some things, however, that he simply could not stand by and allow to happen. Not when there was something to be done about it.
He clears his throat softly when she invites him in. His kindred would insist such a thing was unnecessary, but given their current situation, he wished to make an effort to maintain politeness and boundaries— as long as it was safe.
The floral scent is thick as it washes over him while he crosses the threshold, the smoke stinging at the back of his throat in a way that was almost pleasant. He exhales, a habit he has long held onto despite no longer having any need for breath, and approaches the counter to pause beside it, letting his hand come to rest against it as he looks towards her seat.]
No unsavory visitors today, I hope.
no subject
Her piercing green eyes settle their gaze on him as he approaches the counter and pauses in front of her. She regards him cooly as she had done with the other vampiric underlings that invaded her shop not so long ago, but unlike that time where her utter distaste and unabashed disrespect seeped through, it's harder to tell what she's thinking in the face of this more "respectable" vampire.
He was a respectable creature of the night and she owed him for his interference. Gratefulness ought to be the first thought that came to mind, but as it stands, they inherently knew it was more complicated than that.
Amelia rests one arm in the crook of her elbow as the other remains occupied with the pipe.]
Unless you count toddlers and nosy old women, then no. Business has been slower than usual, but that isn't objectionable.
[She lets out a puff of smoke. The aroma has changed from floral to something more oaky and peat-like, akin to a deep black tea scent.]
Have you just woken up? Rather early for a vampire isn't it?
no subject
[Additionally, old enough that he only requires twilight to awaken, rather than full dark, but even when such things had not mattered to him, he had tended towards being an early riser on principle— when he slept at all. He'd always been the sort to keep busy. Sleep was a necessity, but sometimes an inconvenience. What he experienced now in its stead— well, he hardly had much choice.]
I thought it would be in both our best interests to be here before anyone else had the opportunity to come and pay any unwelcome visits. You may have my protection, but there are some who aren't terribly happy about that— and others still who may not respect it.
[There were ways, he supposed, to offer his protection in a more definite sense, but granting any human or witch the necessary marks for such a thing was not to be done lightly— and in his opinion, asking far too much of the one being protected. He had never marked anyone, never taken a human servant, and he did not intend to.
He certainly wasn't going to start with this poor woman who had done nothing but try to live her life in this place. A greater challenge than she had expected, perhaps.]
I don't intend to disrupt your evening. [His gaze casts downwards for a brief moment, and he raises a hand to gently adjust his spectacles.] I think it's best I remain close by, but you... ought to go about your life as you normally would. I only mean to preserve your safety.
no subject
[There's another inhale of her pipe and another fog of sweet smoke.]
Though they wouldn't have minded the extra meal.
[ She hadn't foolishly waltzed into Baldur's Gate without acknowledging that it was a veritable nest of vampires. Where other witches opted to stay in mostly human settlements (or any of the various mortal races such as the tieflings or the equally long-lived elves), her move to the city ruled by the night creatures was puzzling if not concerning. There was no way the vampires would turn a blind eye to her presence, not when the opportunity to contract a witch dangled in front of them like a tantalizing meal. The Green Witch, driven by stubborn whimsy, could have taken the grim consequences with more seriousness in retrospect.
Having her exotic flower monster sprout from the ceiling and devour an underling of one of the more bloodthirsty lords wasn't her smartest move. One would think that a 50 year old (young for a witch, but still) would think twice.
Amelia doesn't describe herself as wise; reactive, certainly. But if she had an ounce of wisdom, she wouldn't be in this farce with the vampire before her.]
You know... [She slides out of her sheet and moves to the other side of the counter.]
Your clan. [The pipe is pointed at him as a replacement for a wagging finger.]
They're going to ask questions. Proof of a contract. I believe you don't have an ulterior motive, but most vampires do not operate on pure good will.
[The witch is now standing in front of Gale with only two feet of distance between them.]
No offense.
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[A touch he would like to think he has developed after so many years among them, but any hint of mirth that might have begun to creep into his voice fades as she points her pipe at him, circling around the counter to stand before him.
His expression is somber, a small line forming between his brows as he sinks his hands into the pockets of his coat.]
None taken. The thought had not escaped me.
[The exact opposite, in fact. It has been on his mind since mere moments after he had stepped in and declared her to be under his protection, made his 'claim.'
In his world, such an arrangement meant exchanging a great deal more than just words, promises, and she was exactly right. They would, eventually, want proof.]
My word alone only offers you so much. A temporary measure at best, but I have no interest or intention of forcing a definitive claim. That would— defeat the purpose.
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[She replies airily as she watches the smoke that filled the room dissapate. Her face continues to conceal her thoughts, something she's particularly skilled at when all is calm.
But then she smiles lightly and pulls her cardigan over her shoulders to cover up.]
Well, let me put your looming presence to good use outside.
[The pipe is casually tossed over her shoulder, landing in one of her flower pots to be cushioned among its leaves. Then the witch walks past the vampire towards the exit, only stopping to look over her shoulder at him.]
Let's not get fussy about the details tonight. I need to eat dinner.
You coming?
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Well. It is admirable, if nothing else, and it does help him to relax just a touch, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders as he bows his head. The sweet scent of the smoke still clings to the both of them even as it dissipates, he notes, and he quickly joins her at the door with long, purposeful strides so that he can reach past her to open the door in her stead, bowing his head briefly.]
Of course. The details can wait a bit longer. After you.
[She'll not be going much of anywhere without him for quite some time, he reasons— but it's far more pleasant and less awkward to go in her company than to lurk nearby in the shadows.]
Where did you have in mind?
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[Into the elevator they go. She punches the lobby button with her thumb and then leans her back against the wall.]
Oh! [The witch snaps her fingers decisively.]
Fries. Loaded fries. Not healthy certainly, but I want to treat myself.
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facepalms at my gremlin hour tagging
here I am doing the same
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bloody and breathless
In the mornings she wakes up alone in Gale's bed, usually hugging a book and a blanket pulled over her shoulders. The bed is remade and by the third day or so, Amelia would leave a handwritten note, stuck to the window, on novelty stationary (she had chosen a cat-shaped notepad) giving her thanks, notifying the vampire if something was out of place, or that she's neatened up part of the room and cleared away her dishes.
"Thank you for the salt and vinegar potato chips. I'm glad they're not popular of a flavor so you got me lots π"
"I'll make the bed when I'm here, but I cannot promise it'll be wrinkle free. How do you that anyways? Never figured it out in 50+ years without magic."
She smokes in the mornings sometimes, outside so that the smell doesn't stick to the fabrics, but a touch of smokey rosemary or oaky peat tends to linger hours later on the sheets, mingling with his scents, a mix of vanilla and sandalwood.
It was a shame, she thinks, that they couldn't look at the sunrise together before he had to sleep.
To her surprise, she had an escort to and from her shop, in the form of Gale's friend, Wyll. Amelia found him charming, pleasant, and a thoroughly upstanding young man. They would chat during those periods and Wyll would even purchase some plants from the witch. She tried to give them to him for free, but he politely refused, not wanting to take advantage.
Her flow of customers returned to normal and though most of them minded their own business, some would give her curious glances, uncertain about whether they should or even could ask about being "claimed." Anyone brave enough to ask, would get short answers or something wry such as:
"You can ask him if you'd like. But he has different hours from me, so you'll have to wonder longer."
When evening fell, Wyll was there to watch her back while she closed up shop until she could finally meet with Gale. That she looked forward to the most.
Periodically, on a whim, she would want to go out to eat, but more often than not, she was fine with just walking with her vampire companion back to his shop and settling into a large armchair with a book, a mug of strong black tea, and a salty snack of choice. The witch was perfectly satisfied with a simple activity because it helped her wind down from her busy daytime hours. Regardless, her leisure within Gale's shop also played its intended role; those who came in to peruse his wares or consult with the vampire also saw her.
What vampire wouldn't want their chosen companion close by? Fellow creatures of the night were sometimes crass enough to remark that Gale's scent was beginning to match Amelia's. (And she had to suppress the urge to smirk or hold up a middle finger. Both were very, very tempting to do).
And that was how their days passed, a routine that easily fell into place before either of them could notice. What Amelia did notice was that she liked being around Gale. Things were easy for the time being and more importantly... It feels safe. An oxymoron perhaps, when it comes to vampires, but they've started with a stronger foundation than they realized.
Outside of the charade they presented to the world, when it came to each other, the simple trust was a precious thing they were able to cultivate day by day and night by night. Gale couldn't be there for her during the day, and Amelia couldn't be present for the darker hours, but when their time could intersect, it was a small magic in itself.
Could it last? No, it couldn't, but it felt like it could, especially in the less busier evenings where they could both speak to each other freely.
One quiet and slow evening, the Green Witch sits on the counter, dangling her legs while eating some fish-shaped cheese cracker snacks and scrutinizing a palm-sized potted flower in her hand.]
I'm thinking about cultivating some flowers that bloom at night. Do you think night creatures would like that?
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Being a specialty store, his own business was staggered but steady, meaning they had plenty of opportunities to talk and when they so chose, and he had made sure to make note of her tastes. Wyll had been gracious enough to bring supplies that first night in addition to serving as his eyes during the daylight hours, and Gale had since made certain to keep more human food available in the kitchen above his shop. His tea supply had already been quite extensive, at the very least, and while remaining close to home so frequently may have seemed dull to some, it was equal parts cautious and strategic. The shop was defensible, warded by his own spells, and Amelia being there allowed others to see them in one another's company, supporting the idea that they did, in fact, have the arrangement that they were currently allowing others to believe they had.
It was only a matter of time before that bond was tested, especially with Cazador being the type who didn't take 'no' for an answer, but for now, the groundwork they had laid was serving them quite well. That they got along as well as they did only helped them that much more.
This particular evening, there was a reasonably long stretch between customers, and Gale was just surfacing from the back room with a warmed mug in his hand as the witch mused aloud. He pauses beside her seat on the counter, tipping his head slightly to one side as he examines the pot in her hand.]
I certainly think it would have its audience. There are many of us who miss such sights. While some such flowers exist, they tend to be quite rare— Shadowheart is quite fond of night orchids, for instance, but has more than once lamented that she never can seem to find any.
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[Amelia cups the miniature potted flower in her hands and lets it sit on her lap, contemplating the small bloom. The blossoms appear in blue-ish purple clusters, akin to mini-hydrangeas. She's only gotten this result recently after a long period of development. The color of the petals only intensified during the twilight hours, but for the rest of the evening and early morning hours, it wouldn't look as bright.]
And even if they were, the color variety is limited. Night orchids, though? Hm.
[She has a very notable habit of taking out her pipe when she wants to think deeply; from the curtain of her sage-green shawl, she takes it out, puts it between her lips, but doesn't make any smoke rings yet.]
That is rare. And a sign of good taste. You can pass that along to Shadowheart.
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Your work so far is quite promising. Much of my own knowledge of plants is limited to their alchemical properties, but I can still appreciate the results quite well.
[He looks back to her, letting out a faint half-chuckle before lifting his mug to his lips.]
As for Shadowheart, I will be certain to tell her, though she may well be more interested in hearing it from you. She may not say so openly, but I think she could do with another friend or two, and while I haven't needed her in the shop while we've been here this week, she seemed curious about you.
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I wouldn't mind chatting more with her. She reminds me a lot of my sisters in my home coven. Her wryness would rival theirs.
[It need not be said, but it was clear that Gale and Shadowheart go way back. The witch has pondered over the decades of experiences both they and Astarion have shared. She can't imagine that all of it was very happy, but even after all this time, Amelia can't say she's at the point where she could outright ask Gale about it. They feel closer, sure, but in a casually comfortable way.
Well, she tells herself, that's just one of many bridges to cross and it's still ways off.
The witch dusts off some cracker crumbs from her lap and then slides off the counter, flower pot still in hand.]
Can I keep this little one in your shop? I wasn't going to bring any of my plants over, but I think by now it's okay for it to have a home here.
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[He sounds only mildly surprised, but he's smiling when he lowers his mug. She must be feeling quite comfortable here, indeed— something he is certainly glad for.]
Of course. I would be glad to look after it, though I suppose you're here so often it will hardly be a necessity. I'm sure it will grab the attention of more than a few customers, as well.
[After a beat, he continues:]
I hope you don't feel that you can't bring other belongings here. It's important that you feel comfortable, especially as we remain— cautious.
[There have been a lot of nights in, despite all the city has to offer.]
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Thanks. If it does catch the attention of customers, you can do me a favor and point them towards my shop if they want more of where it came from.
[Smart businesswoman we have here. Some smoke begins to emit from the pipe (it smells like jasmine this time).]
Well, I'm comfortable enough as it is. I don't think I need to bring anything of mine here. Maybe a change of clothes?
[She blows some puffs of smoke at the ceiling and then glances at Gale.]
I think using your shower is a bit much, even for our situaton.
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He coughs to clear his throat, turning his head to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand so that he can compose himself.]
Ah— well, you would certainly be welcome to it, should the need arise. I don't know that I would be much of a host otherwise.
[It's a polite answer, if nothing else.]
I'm— just glad that you feel at ease.
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kicks life and brain in the butt
joins you in the kicking!
we're that jojo kicking meme now
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under the cover of night
Thankfully, Shadowheart was happy to assist and fill in the gaps.
With less than a few hours to go until they were due to arrive, Shadowheart had swept through Gale's shop and into his living quarters with an armload of clothing— most of which was black— leaving Gale and Astarion to their strategizing as she sought out her friend's new companion. The shop would be closed for the night, a sanctuary for any of their number to return to when the time came, but all of their combined efforts would be put towards ensuring that Gale and Amelia made it through the evening unscathed.
She pauses outside the door to Gale's bedroom, which she understands Amelia has taken over during the evening hours, and raps her fist against it.]
Amelia? I'm here to help you get ready.
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No, not like that.
Shadowheart's knocking gets her out of said bed and when she answers the door, the vampire will find that Amelia is completely wrapped up in a blanket, hair mussed up, glasses lopsided, and a book in hand, the corner unintentionally dog-eared.
Yeah, she fell asleep on accident. Still, she smiles (sleepily) at the other woman and opens the door up wider.]
Ah. Shadowheart. Come on in. Sorry about my... Everything.
[She'll step aside and push the blanket back onto the mattress.]
Clearly, I forgot that the night was young.
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The vampire smiles serenely as she steps in to see Amelia cocooned in Gale's blankets, a knowing weight to her gaze as she closes the door behind herself to ensure their privacy— Gale and Astarion are occupied elsewhere, but it would be best to avoid any interruption. These two ladies have work to do.]
I can hardly fault you. You'll need your rest for the night ahead, anyway— though it looks like you've made yourself quite comfortable.
[She proceeds to unload the armful of clothing she'd brought, hanging most of it over the back of a nearby armchair, then turning to face the witch with her hands on her hips, looking her over in appraisal.]
Fortunately for us, we have an excellent canvas to work with. Getting you ready should be easy.
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Flatterer. But that's all the better for me.
[Looking over the clothing, she crosses her arms while trying to assess which one she'll be equipped with for the evening. She gives a low whistle, impressed by the finery.]
These are real fancy. Are you in the habit of dressing up vampire companions or am I just that special?
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[She smirks, reaching for the first hanger to hold up a dress with an incredibly short skirt, all black and made of something that looked like it didn't have much give or leave much of anything to the imagination.]
Most of them are mine, admittedly. Our dear occultist may not spend much time in establishments like these, but I'm quite familiar with this part of the vampire social scene— meaning I'm well-equipped to help you to dress the part.
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[Her lips are pursed at the vampire's selection, uncertain with the length.]
Well, no, not but. I could pull this off since I'm on and off with how much I show on any given day.
[The witch has had her ear talked off by any local aunty or grandma-figure about her tops during business hours...]
Since you're familiar with the scene, be honest. [Amelia takes another hanger, a halter dress with a very open back and suggestive lacing.]
What's the potential of things going awry?
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[To put it gently.]
We are, after all, creatures of appetite— some more than others, perhaps, but where you're going tonight, the show is important. Cazador is known for excess, and many of our kind consider decadence to be an indicator of power or position.
[She sets the dress down over the arm of the chair, putting her hands on her hips as she levels her gaze at the witch.]
Cazador is predictable in that he wants to be seen as a benevolent ruler, here to provide his 'guests' with all the delights and debauchery they can imagine. That means he'll have to play by the rules in public— he won't try to poach you for himself where he can be seen violating vampire law. As long as you play the part of 'pet' human and trust Gale, I believe you'll be safe. You can, by the way— trust him.
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Right.
[Amelia knows this wasn't going to be a walk in the park. But a brisk jog, surely even with vampires nipping at their heels? But Cazadoor's presence over her own life is ever looming and seething at how he couldn't just snatch her up.
Still, the distaste at being called a 'pet' human shows on her face, but just as quickly replaced by a softened expression at the mention of Gale.]
I do. I trust him.
[Maybe.
She pauses, second guessing herself when she remembers their shared kiss, the mutual heat, and that unmistakable draw between them despite all of their inner burdens.]
He's bitten me just once after I let him.
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