Bull searches for another lie, but gives up and just hopes his intimidating glare carries them through.
"Now look here," Edgar says, faltering only briefly and then plowing forward, "I'm afraid I'll have to take you to have a word with our Head Banker — I'm sure a Zone of Truth will sort this all out and allow you to get on with your transaction—"
Bull judges the guy's stature and physique as he talks at them, then punches Edgar in the temple with just the right amount of force and catches him as he crumples.
"Ah, shit." There doesn't appear to be anybody else in here, at least for now; no point stationing guards behind an arcane lock. This whole place is a concrete and marble box under the ocean, there's no other way in — or out. "You were right. It's fine, change of plans, that's all." Calm because he needs Astarion calm. He's already turning the whole Counting House in his head like a puzzle box, retracing their steps to think about when they might need to fight, if someone sets off an alarm.
But first things first. Edgar had just pressed the key into the lock and it sits there; Bull gestures with his chin. "You want to do the honours?"
Calm. He almost had been calm, actually, and then Bull punched a man out. Astarion sputters, eyes going wide as saucers. "You— I—!" He can feel his neck heating with anxiety, no matter how many times Bull says 'it's fine'. Vault—and doing any sort of honors—momentarily forgotten, Astarion runs his fingers through his hair, pulling slightly at the root.
"Fuck," he hisses, staring down at Edgar's limp body before turning his attention back to Bull's face, every bit of the apprehension he'd had before walking in here returning to him in a flood. "He knows what we look like, you numbskull!"
Which maybe doesn't matter for Bull, but it fucking matters for Astarion. Astarion has to go back home to the very person they're swindling out of a fortune. Fuck, Cazador is going to kill him. No, that would be a mercy; he's going to make Astarion wish he had been killed.
Gesturing wildly: "Well, you have to kill him now!"
Bull closes his eye a moment — not because Astarion's pissed off, but because he knows that's true. He'll come around, and report the theft, well before they've left the city. And then he'll have to fight, and kill, a whole lot more people.
He looks down at Edgar cradled in the crook of his arm. "Crap. Tough when you know their name," he admits. It used to be easier, to stop thinking of them as people, to move someone to the place where their death can't really touch him. Astarion looks like a warhorse that's about to bolt, though, and that's kinda how he looked the last time Bull just started a fight right in front of his salad, and that went. Badly.
But he's not killing a man over an unknown amount of gold, so he just hoists the dead weight and does it himself, no ceremony, swinging the door wide and hoping the gold will distract Astarion — because there is gold, and even better, jewellery and gems, unobtrusive valuables. A heavy crossbow, for some reason. "We can leave his body inside," he decides, though he still sounds reluctant.
Oh, gods. He's accidentally teamed up with someone who believes some ridiculous thing like 'indiscriminate killing is bad' and 'maybe people's lives have worth'.
"Think of it this way," he says as he drops his pack off of his shoulder and begins shoveling coin and valuables into it. They're not getting that cart he asked for now, so he might as well utilize what he has. "You know my name, and leaving him alive is as good as killing me."
Astarion is long past feeling bad for sacrificing others to keep himself safe. Now, he doesn't feel anything at all about it. Blissful, empty numbness.
"And I'm much better looking than he was." So, obviously, Bull would be more sad about his death. A pause, and then he adds, with the closest thing to sympathy he can muster, "I'll slit his throat for you if you can't bear it."
"Too much blood," says Bull, shaking his head, "But thanks, though. I got it." He leans up against the wall alongside the vault, rearranging his burden so he can get his head in a good position, body weight hanging. A soft hup, and he does a lunge, the cracking of the neck loud and wet, echoing off the marble floors. The face twitches spasmodically in the wake of this paralysis, as cerebral hypoxia sets in.
He's too big to really fit properly into the vault, so he just hoists the body in there like it's a sack of potatoes and leaves the guy to die like that, starts helping collect up what he can. Pulls out the heavy crossbow once he runs out of room in his pockets for coin, and studies it, staring down the sights. Might be useful if they have to fight their way out, since he obviously didn't bring one of his huge two-handed weapons down into the fancy bank. "Recoil's gonna suck without my brace," he mutters, lowering it and glancing to Astarion filling a pack, already expecting that he, like his namesake, is gonna be the one shouldering the weight of all that gold.
"Way you were on the beach, I thought you were squeamish," he admits.
Squeamish! Ha. "Hardly." When my master's really mad at us, he doesn't say, he makes us torture each other. I'm really good at it. He thinks it, though, as he watches Bull stuff a previously-living man into the vault.
Once his pack is as full as it can be, bursting at the seams with gold and jewels, he tests its weight— and then immediately tosses it to Bull. While he hates giving up his spoils to someone else, he's not carrying all of that with these delicate arms.
"Pragmatic," he corrects. "I didn't want to die over 200 gold pieces." Hands on his hips, stretching out a crick in his neck after having bent down uncomfortably to procure the valuables from the vault: "And I don't have time to get injured and have to recuperate."
There would have been hell to pay; a spawn's body doesn't belong to them, so damaging it is like damaging someone else's merchandise. Of course, when you're the owner of that merchandise, you get to do whatever you want to it.
A couple more connections in the thousand piece puzzle that is Astarion. He loosens the straps on the backpack and slips it on.
"No amount of gold worth dying for," he agrees, and closes the vault on the body that used to be Edgar.
The adrenaline is really kicking in now, and he's having to lean on his training to keep a level head. They see nobody as they go back up the stairs, out the door and into the puzzle room. No idea how to reset it and no time to try, Bull ignores the whole thing and keeps going, down the corridor and past the signs where clients are expected to wait for access to some of the smaller vaults. Pauses at the bottom of the stairs, catching his breath.
"Bored," he says. "Bored and a little annoyed we're running financial errands, I think that's the best attitude to dissuade questions. Straught up and out the front door."
Astarion is still halfway to pissing himself over this whole thing, but Bull projects confidence, so he follows his lead. It's easier that way, when he doesn't have to make any scary decisions for himself—he hasn't made any decisions of his own in so long that he no longer knows how to do it. At least this way the responsibility lies on someone else's shoulders.
So, he does as Bull suggests. Looks as bored as he can, breezes right past the first guard.
"—Gentlemen?" he hears behind him. "You're not supposed to be leaving the vaults without an escort."
Bored. Bored and annoyed. "Can't you see we're busy with more important things?" he snaps, turning over his shoulder with a withering glare. "You've all wasted enough of our valuable time already!"
Oh, they're fucked. Bull had kinda hoped that since the banker had met them down there, it wouldn't be weird to show up without him. There's already a cashguard heading down the steps they just came up, another splitting off to follow them up the stairs: "If you could just wait here a moment—"
Nope, nope, nope. Bull keeps walking — just another flight of stairs, they're almost there. Nobody will see the body unless they open the vault, and they have to figure out which vault it was, first. Nobody's drawn a weapon yet, and they're unlikely to cause a commotion once they're on the top floor with all those people. He flashes their pass to a clerk, who steps out of their way with a little bow, has second thoughts only after he sees the bulging backpack over Bull's shoulder. "Ah, excuse me..."
"Apologies," Bull says, "We're in a hurry." Increasingly true, it's difficult not to just break into a run. Fortunately the staff seem mostly put out, discussing amongst themselves, not yet certain they weren't supposed to be down here — where's Meadhoney, didn't he escort them to the lower vaults?
The thick metal grate over the entrance to the vaults is still open, and they're through, into the crowd, out of the wide doors and past the stone-faced guards that stand either side. Walking fast but still just walking. There's an abandoned house just near here, all rubble and mildew, a common Guild drop-off point, and Bull heads there just to give them a chance to take a breath.
Astarion doesn't say a fucking word on the way, like he's terrified even speaking one syllable into existence will somehow ruin this. Once they're finally at the drop-off point, he slams the door behind them, the dilapidated wood creaking with the force of it, and presses himself against it like he's worried someone might burst in behind them and take all of the gold away.
(They won't, the small part of his mind that's rational thinks. None of those employees had the guts to abandon their post and follow them.)
He's committed a lot of crimes, and none of them have ever made him feel such an adrenaline rush. Most of the time, he'd felt bored—they'd mostly been just another task to complete for someone else's benefit, nothing he actually cared about beyond avoiding retribution for not achieving whatever needed achieving. This time, though, he's sweating a little, entire body tingling, head swimming. He laughs, a little hysteric, inexorable grin spreading across his face.
"We actually did it." Unbelievable. "Gods! I'm getting out of this hellhole."
"Fuck yeah," Bull agrees. It's not just that Astarion's hysteria is contageous, Bull can feel it too, the rush like watching an axe slam a killing blow into the space you just were. Adrenaline only bolstered by the deep rightness he feels at cloaking himself in deception, a certainty of purpose that was trained into him too young to ever be rid of it.
He lights a burnt down candle in the wall sconce so he can calm his own twitchy paranoia that they're about to get jumped — qunari can't really see in the dark. Then slips the pack off and leans against the wall, horns thunking back against it.
"Haagh. Okay. Mage is staying at the Helm and Cloak," Bull says, naming the fancy inn of the Upper City. He can tell Astarion is still kinda in fight or flight, is talking half to himself, trying to stay on task. Keeps moving the bag from hand to hand — maybe it's the ancient draconic ancestor, but he likes the jingling weight of it. Will it be enough? He wishes he'd had time to count it. "There's more gold at the Mermaid, plus whatever's left of your little beach stash. And we gotta pick up the fork from the diabolist." Always with the fucking fork, but there's a reason people don't just plane shift around amd it's because the tuning fork component is a bitch. Bull has had half a dozen plates in the air for the past forty-eight hours straight, and they're starting to feel precarious, but if they can get the last pieces assembled in one place then yeah. They're getting out of this hellhole.
Bull talks, and Astarion barely hears it, ears ringing, blood rushing. High on hope that he hasn't felt in two centuries. He isn't really the type to say so, but— yes, fuck yeah indeed.
"Huh?" he says after a conspicuous pause, then— "Right, yes, of course. All of that."
Gods, he's still trembling, but this time it's from an almost deranged amount of happiness. Is this what it feels like? Being happy? He bounces back and forth on the balls of his feet, nowhere to put all of this energy.
"We should go right now. Get rid of this awful place before the sun rises again." Which is an insane thing to say, and even he recognizes so after a moment. He hadn't been fully listening to Bull's list of tasks left to complete, but it had been pretty long. "—Tomorrow. Not a minute after sundown."
Insane, but Bull wants to get on board so badly. If they wait another day it's all gonna come crashing down. "We can do it. We split up. Pick up the stuff we need — I'll give you my room key. Get you into the Helm and Cloak before dawn." Because of Astarion's drow heritage sun allergy — it's never gonna twig that it's anything else, Bull doesn't know what a vampire is. "Keep the curtains shut tight while whatever magic shit needs to happen happens."
Though that means there's no time to waste. Bull pushes off the wall and fishes through the coin in his pockets with agitation until he finds the key to his room. "Purse in the rafters." Astarion might have to climb something. "And my pack, if you're feeling real generous."
His face actually hurts from smiling; the muscles he's currently using are withered and atrophied, unused to such strange and foreign contortions. He snatches up the room key in an instant, cradling it to his chest like it's something precious. By dawn, he'll be unreachable by anyone that ever hurt him. Starting over, somewhere new. One thing he knows for sure: he's never going to go hungry ever again.
"I underestimated you, Bronco," he says, genuinely complimentary, and this time he's only calling him that as a tease and not because he doesn't know Bull's real name. "You've proven yourself to be quite the advantageous ally."
Slipping the key into his pocket: "Where shall we rendezvous, then?"
Bull rolls his single eye, but he's smiling. "And hey, you're not as much of an asshole as I first thought." That or he's just acclimatising to it. "Meet you in the Helm and Cloak. Ask for Gale of Waterdeep." Who will probably be sleeping at this late hour, but for the amount of gold they're paying him Bull truly doesn't care.
He pauses, and then messes up Astarion's curls a little with one big hand. "Don't fuck it up."
Unfortunately Astarion comes with a built-in fuck it up fish-hook lodged in his brain and it will occur to him, with unnatural thought like a cold whisper through his secret places, that Cazador wants him home. Not a command, not yet, just a little tug of the leash to remind him it's still around his neck. Ignorable.
When he unlocks Bull's room at the Mermaid, it's Leon and Violet, always so competitive, who are waiting for him. Well, they're waiting for the tiefling he's been seen going shopping in the Upper City with. It's a public room, they don't need an invitation.
"Astarion!" Violet says, jumping up out of her waiting crouch, clearly not expecting him to be the one coming in through the door. Leon already has a blade out. "We've been wondering where you went, and I suppose here's our answer. Our master wants to see you." Presumably not about the empty vault, otherwise the tugging in his head would be... louder.
"That tiefling with you?" Leon asks, already coming forward to get Astarion in grabbing distance.
"Gods, you— idiots," Astarion snaps as he jumps back in shock, every cell in his body suddenly painfully alert. Gods, of course his so-called siblings are here to ruin everything, just when he's finally on top of the world. Don't they always?
He steps back, keeping his distance. Where had Bull said his things were? Up in the rafters? Astarion glances up, then quickly back down to the roadblocks in front of him. He wonders if maybe he should just run out, lead them on a wild chase around Baldur's Gate before ducking into the Helm and Cloak and having this Gale of Waterdeep poof him into another dimension— but Cazador might actually command him back if he's not quick enough about it, and then he'd be up shit creek without a paddle.
"The tiefling," he spits, "isn't here right now. But he's obviously... a surprise sacrifice, for the master. If you two don't fuck it up."
"Not a surprise any more," Violet says, circling him with a smirk.
"We were to bring him back," Leon explains. "He came to the house, apparently — talking about the Counting House. Do you know anything about this, brother?"
"No no," Violet says, linking her arm with Astarion's. "Don't tell us. Come tell Master. Leon can wait here—"
"I swear, Violet, if you think you can worm into his good graces just by bringing back Astarion," Leon sighs, brushing hair behind his shoulder disdainfully. He lifts his sword to whisper along Astarion's jaw. "Why don't you hunt the big tiefling and I'll take him home."
This is so fucking stupid. Neither Leon nor Violet will actually dare harm him without Cazador's say so, so the attempted menacing is more irritating than anything else; besides, he's heard the sounds Leon makes when the pliers come out, the way he begs for his daughter—there's no universe in which that intimidates him. What does intimidate him is the thought of having to answer to Cazador, though, and he swallows.
"He has a very generic face. Honestly, that could have been anyone at the palace."
Astarion does a quick run-through of every possible scenario here, looking for one where he somehow still comes out a winner. It's not looking so good. Jaw tight: "He's my prey—why don't we all go tell the master about my wonderful surprise and see who he wants to do the hunting, hm?" A pause, and then he adds, "Unless you'd like me to tell him that you made the decision for him. I'm sure he won't mind!"
Leon sheathes his sword hard. "Fine," he says snippily; clearly still plotting, Leon is always obsessing over keeping the favoured spawn privileges, and it occupies most of his thoughts.
"Let's go," Violet says, taking the chance to switch sides and pretend to be Astarion's friend instead, the same thing she's done about a thousand times since they met. Her demeanour switches from attempted threat to friendly gossip. "Tell me what makes him so special — Petras did say he was very big."
Even if he were really trying to hunt Bull for Cazador, he certainly wouldn't share any details with Violet. Or any of the spawn, really—they all despise each other at the end of the day, because Cazador wouldn't have it any other way. But he steps out of the room, lingering in the doorway and staring longingly at the rafters he won't get a chance to climb up into for just a moment before he says, "All the more blood pumping through him, yes?"
One last look inside, and he closes the door, tossing the key on the floor in front of it before hurrying along down the hall. He wonders, briefly, what Bull will think when he doesn't show up at the Helm and Cloak. Probably that he's just as much of an asshole as Bull had thought him to be, and that he's standing him up on purpose. Maybe he won't even care; now that he has the coin, he can leave Astarion behind without any repercussions.
"Well, come along already," he snaps, mood darkening as he trudges down the stairs and out into the night. "You don't want to keep the master waiting."
What Bull thinks, when he's somehow the first one to the inn, is that Astarion had someone he wanted to say goodbye to after all. An old friend or lover, or maybe just a last drink overlooking the docks, for all he'd disparaged the city. It's stupid, but Bull's been doing a little of it himself in between everything else, so it's forgivable. There's still time before dawn.
So for a little while he just waits. Sits with the wizard in his purple pajamas — "Is it normal to interrupt a man's beauty sleep so rudely where you're from? Very uncivilised." — while an Unseen Servant counts the coin. Gale's ordered a frankly stupid amount of high tea, and Bull polishes off little sandwiches and watches him set up a circle in the middle of their expensive room, do something glowy with the fork. Tries to read one of the books the wizard teleported with him, a more advanced treatise on the planes, shit that Bull's been struggling to wrap his head around for weeks. Fails.
"Ah," says Gale, coming over to refresh his tea. "Forgive me if this is broaching a delicate subject, but you did say there were two of you off on this little adventure. Might it be in any way possible that your partner has... how do I put this... cold feet?"
Bull thinks of Astarion's bright joy, and crushes a blue macaron between two fingers, the shell cracking. "Nah," he says, pushing his chair back, dropping it uneaten onto his plate. "Might have run into some trouble though. You wanna come get some air?" However harmlessly nebbish and obtuse Gale strikes him, Bull is reluctant to leave him alone with more than fifteen thousand gold and a portal to his home.
"I think you'll find me uniquely suited to handle whatever trouble might be thrown at us," Gale says in a way Bull finds deeply, intensely irritating. It only gets worse when he snaps his fingers to change into a set of gold-embroidered purple robes. The Unseen Servant comes to tidy up the food, and Gale casts more spells. "A little something to discourage any would-be thieves. Well, lead the way!"
Bull heads back to the last place he knew Astarion was, and finds it as the vampires left it: a little rummaged through, but his things still in the rafters and the key on the floor — the one, he explains, he gave to Astarion earlier. He's been here. "Gimme a sec," he adds, "I'm gonna change."
"Do you think," Gale suggests from the other side of a closed door, "That he meant it as a message of some kind?"
"No," says Bull. "Not the message you're thinking of. C'mon."
He tries the Guild first, finds out from Glitterbeard that their heist hasn't been sprung yet. One of the guys who do top-floor jobs claims to have seen a pale-haired elf headed to the Upper City with a tiefling and a long-haired human man (which is confusing considering Bull and Gale could just as easily match that vague description.)
"Baldur's Gate after dark," Gale says once they're back out on the streets again. "This is all very invigorating. And quite, ah, athletic. This city has a lot more hill than I'm used to, I'm afraid."
He's not wrong: Bull's picked up the pace, storming up the steepest road to the Upper City towards the Szarr palace. Worried, now, too worried to pay Gale any attention. "You know how to get into a place with magic?"
"Certaintly. There's Knock, of course, but one can also Misty Step through a window if one is so inclined. One time I flew myself up to the third floor of a friend's tower and came in via his hovering garden, just to give him a little surprise&mdash"
"Great. Pick one of those things," Bull says, "We're doing this the uncivilised way."
"I'm not so sure," Gale pants, trying to keep up, "That I signed up to do any breaking and entering — I've enjoyed, of course, this little venture into the underbelly of the Gate, but I do feel it necessary, as the Chosen of Mystra, to uphold the principles I learnt at my mother's knee, and—"
"Those include rescuing a victim of kidnapping?" Bull says impatiently. "Helping him escape from his uh, tyrannical master?"
This is, of course, true, but Bull is mostly exaggerating so the mage shuts up and breaks them into the manor. It works, enough that Gale murmurs, "Well, if heroics are called for," and pulls Bull with him through a Dimension Door into one of the only rooms with windows, a dim and empty kitchen. Politely gives the qunari a moment to adjust to the teleportation: "If you didn't like that, my well-hornéd friend, we may need to give you a bucket for the Plane Shift. Now. Where are we."
"Better question," says Bull, shaking off the nausea and checking the axe strapped to his back. "Where's Astarion." A question he intends to keep asking people.
Astarion is, as it turns out, in the kennels with Cazador, currently trying to lawyer his way out of getting his fingernails ripped out or toes crushed. Spinning every story he can think of that might paint him in a better light. It wasn't even Bull who came to the palace. Or maybe it was, but only because Astarion was trying to lure him there in the first place so that Cazador could drain him. If anyone saw him out in the Upper City with a tiefling, it's because he was leading him back to the palace and the fool wanted to stop in a boutique along the way, against Astarion's will, but it's not as if he could just say no—
"You know I hate to listen to you whine," Cazador says, although what he really means is that he hates to hear Astarion talk at all, "and I hate even more to listen to you lie."
Meanwhile, in the strangest set-up for a joke yet, a qunari and a wizard teleport into a kitchen AND ACTUALLY YOU SAID IT'S EMPTY SO the halfling woman furiously scrubbing at an already-spotless VASE IN THE HALL OUTSIDE yelps in fear when she sees them, eyes wide like she doesn't know if screaming out will make this better or worse. The master of the house will be furious at her if she doesn't alert him, but furious if he finds her up here with two strangers, too. (And on top of everything, he so hates for his servants to make noise.) Master Cazador will never give her the gift of eternal life if she fucks this up.
"I don't know!" she hisses upon being questioned, her whole body shaking in fear of the master's retribution if he ever knew that she spoke to the intruders. ...She's also shaking in fear at the very large, very well-armed behemoth of a man who just magically popped into the palace, though—less so the dapper little wizard beside him, sorry to Gale—so she adds, "The master was angry with him, and when he's angry, he always takes people down into that h-horrible place down the hall."
Her eyes turn wide, and she clamps her hands over her mouth. They're red and cracked from the incessant CLEANING OF VASES AND NOT DISHES. "But you mustn't interrupt Master's discipline!" is muffled into her palms.
Terrified obsequiousness giving real Tevinter slave vibes, so Bull doesn't hurt her, wouldn't even if he wasn't aware of Gale's watchful eye. "Great," he says. "Don't worry, we'll make an appointment. Let's just pretend we never saw each other."
He doubts it'll work, she has that same thought-obliterating terror he's seen in Astarion a couple of times, and in Seheron a whole bunch more. But he isn't exactly planning on doing this quietly.
Gale offers a, "Have you considered—" as Bull heads down the hall checking doors, but Bull doesn't listen, and he doesn't stop for a nervous servant's inquiry, either. Not too different from the Counting House, just barrel through confidently and hope to be gone by the time people decide what to do about it. At least one servant just goes back to dusting with her eyes closed, prioritising doing her job to Cazador's complete satisfaction over the potential ramifications of getting involved.
He pushes open the door to the kennels and shoulders his way in, expecting Astarion but also finally coming face to face with the aristocrat who ah fuck he's a mage. Fuck. Bull immediately regrets all the choices leading him to this moment: nobody who wields gleaming red threads of magical power is good to fight.
Fortunately, he's brought along an archmage, who also steps into the room with a, "Good evening — or I suppose good morning would be more appropriate, in this moment."
Perfect timing! Cazador is just in the middle of telling Astarion how, if he's only going to use his tongue for lies, perhaps it should just be cut off. Astarion braces for the worst, and then— saved by the Bull, at least for the moment.
It's beyond shocking. If he'd had to guess who would come bursting through the door in that moment, Astarion's very last guess would have been Bull. Wait, scratch that. His second-to-last guess would have been Bull; his last guess would have been this guy in wizard robes that he's never seen before in his life, who's politely greeting them like he didn't just step into a dingy old torture dungeon.
Astarion and even Cazador are stunned into silence for a brief moment, jaws slack. Then, although he isn't proud of how quickly he does it, Astarion begins the pleading: "I swear I didn't bring them here. I don't even know who that is—" The sentence is cut off with an oof as Cazador pushes him back against the stone wall—with magic, of course, because he'd never deign to dirty his hands.
"You imbecile," Cazador spits out in that reedy voice of his. His gaze drags over to the newcomers in the room, then, and somehow it's filled with even more disdain than when he looked at Astarion. His eyes had been harsh when looking at Astarion, but it's like the two mortals aren't even worth his hatred. Like they're no more than disgusting pests to be crushed underneath his shoe. He says as much: "You've brought vermin into our home."
And Cazador would never deal with vermin directly. He has people to do that for him. A curl of his fingers, and an armored skeleton in the corner of the room reanimates bit by bit, rising jerkily as it reaches for the greatsword on its back. Typical Cazador, always getting others to do his dirty work. "We'll discuss this," he says, "once the rats have been exterminated."
"Well that's a bit rude," murmurs Gale, as Bull unhooks his axe from his back and steps forward. "Look, honestly, I'm not here to quarrel. I'd hate to ruin your lovely home. If you'll just let us borrow your ah, servant—"
Fucking mages, Bull mouths to himself as he falls into combat with the skeleton, swinging to try and scatter some of the bones before it comes whole.
"Oh, don't bother fighting the construct," Gale back-seat commentates, "He'll just put it back together. Fight the necromancer! Surely that's the first thing—"
"You fight the fucking necromancer!" roars back Bull, lunging so the greatsword smacks into his shoulder pauldron instead of his bicep, though the blade still skims off and bites ice into his skin.
Gale huffs and adjusts his sleeves. "Well all right then." He feels a little bad about attacking a man in his own home, so he's going to try Hold Person on Cazador, which fizzles due to his lack of personhood. Which is a bit of a worry, contextually, so the next thing he'll try is a friendly Banishment to get the man(?) out of their hair.
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"Now look here," Edgar says, faltering only briefly and then plowing forward, "I'm afraid I'll have to take you to have a word with our Head Banker — I'm sure a Zone of Truth will sort this all out and allow you to get on with your transaction—"
Bull judges the guy's stature and physique as he talks at them, then punches Edgar in the temple with just the right amount of force and catches him as he crumples.
"Ah, shit." There doesn't appear to be anybody else in here, at least for now; no point stationing guards behind an arcane lock. This whole place is a concrete and marble box under the ocean, there's no other way in — or out. "You were right. It's fine, change of plans, that's all." Calm because he needs Astarion calm. He's already turning the whole Counting House in his head like a puzzle box, retracing their steps to think about when they might need to fight, if someone sets off an alarm.
But first things first. Edgar had just pressed the key into the lock and it sits there; Bull gestures with his chin. "You want to do the honours?"
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"Fuck," he hisses, staring down at Edgar's limp body before turning his attention back to Bull's face, every bit of the apprehension he'd had before walking in here returning to him in a flood. "He knows what we look like, you numbskull!"
Which maybe doesn't matter for Bull, but it fucking matters for Astarion. Astarion has to go back home to the very person they're swindling out of a fortune. Fuck, Cazador is going to kill him. No, that would be a mercy; he's going to make Astarion wish he had been killed.
Gesturing wildly: "Well, you have to kill him now!"
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He looks down at Edgar cradled in the crook of his arm. "Crap. Tough when you know their name," he admits. It used to be easier, to stop thinking of them as people, to move someone to the place where their death can't really touch him. Astarion looks like a warhorse that's about to bolt, though, and that's kinda how he looked the last time Bull just started a fight right in front of his salad, and that went. Badly.
But he's not killing a man over an unknown amount of gold, so he just hoists the dead weight and does it himself, no ceremony, swinging the door wide and hoping the gold will distract Astarion — because there is gold, and even better, jewellery and gems, unobtrusive valuables. A heavy crossbow, for some reason. "We can leave his body inside," he decides, though he still sounds reluctant.
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"Think of it this way," he says as he drops his pack off of his shoulder and begins shoveling coin and valuables into it. They're not getting that cart he asked for now, so he might as well utilize what he has. "You know my name, and leaving him alive is as good as killing me."
Astarion is long past feeling bad for sacrificing others to keep himself safe. Now, he doesn't feel anything at all about it. Blissful, empty numbness.
"And I'm much better looking than he was." So, obviously, Bull would be more sad about his death. A pause, and then he adds, with the closest thing to sympathy he can muster, "I'll slit his throat for you if you can't bear it."
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He's too big to really fit properly into the vault, so he just hoists the body in there like it's a sack of potatoes and leaves the guy to die like that, starts helping collect up what he can. Pulls out the heavy crossbow once he runs out of room in his pockets for coin, and studies it, staring down the sights. Might be useful if they have to fight their way out, since he obviously didn't bring one of his huge two-handed weapons down into the fancy bank. "Recoil's gonna suck without my brace," he mutters, lowering it and glancing to Astarion filling a pack, already expecting that he, like his namesake, is gonna be the one shouldering the weight of all that gold.
"Way you were on the beach, I thought you were squeamish," he admits.
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Once his pack is as full as it can be, bursting at the seams with gold and jewels, he tests its weight— and then immediately tosses it to Bull. While he hates giving up his spoils to someone else, he's not carrying all of that with these delicate arms.
"Pragmatic," he corrects. "I didn't want to die over 200 gold pieces." Hands on his hips, stretching out a crick in his neck after having bent down uncomfortably to procure the valuables from the vault: "And I don't have time to get injured and have to recuperate."
There would have been hell to pay; a spawn's body doesn't belong to them, so damaging it is like damaging someone else's merchandise. Of course, when you're the owner of that merchandise, you get to do whatever you want to it.
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"No amount of gold worth dying for," he agrees, and closes the vault on the body that used to be Edgar.
The adrenaline is really kicking in now, and he's having to lean on his training to keep a level head. They see nobody as they go back up the stairs, out the door and into the puzzle room. No idea how to reset it and no time to try, Bull ignores the whole thing and keeps going, down the corridor and past the signs where clients are expected to wait for access to some of the smaller vaults. Pauses at the bottom of the stairs, catching his breath.
"Bored," he says. "Bored and a little annoyed we're running financial errands, I think that's the best attitude to dissuade questions. Straught up and out the front door."
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So, he does as Bull suggests. Looks as bored as he can, breezes right past the first guard.
"—Gentlemen?" he hears behind him. "You're not supposed to be leaving the vaults without an escort."
Bored. Bored and annoyed. "Can't you see we're busy with more important things?" he snaps, turning over his shoulder with a withering glare. "You've all wasted enough of our valuable time already!"
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Nope, nope, nope. Bull keeps walking — just another flight of stairs, they're almost there. Nobody will see the body unless they open the vault, and they have to figure out which vault it was, first. Nobody's drawn a weapon yet, and they're unlikely to cause a commotion once they're on the top floor with all those people. He flashes their pass to a clerk, who steps out of their way with a little bow, has second thoughts only after he sees the bulging backpack over Bull's shoulder. "Ah, excuse me..."
"Apologies," Bull says, "We're in a hurry." Increasingly true, it's difficult not to just break into a run. Fortunately the staff seem mostly put out, discussing amongst themselves, not yet certain they weren't supposed to be down here — where's Meadhoney, didn't he escort them to the lower vaults?
The thick metal grate over the entrance to the vaults is still open, and they're through, into the crowd, out of the wide doors and past the stone-faced guards that stand either side. Walking fast but still just walking. There's an abandoned house just near here, all rubble and mildew, a common Guild drop-off point, and Bull heads there just to give them a chance to take a breath.
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(They won't, the small part of his mind that's rational thinks. None of those employees had the guts to abandon their post and follow them.)
He's committed a lot of crimes, and none of them have ever made him feel such an adrenaline rush. Most of the time, he'd felt bored—they'd mostly been just another task to complete for someone else's benefit, nothing he actually cared about beyond avoiding retribution for not achieving whatever needed achieving. This time, though, he's sweating a little, entire body tingling, head swimming. He laughs, a little hysteric, inexorable grin spreading across his face.
"We actually did it." Unbelievable. "Gods! I'm getting out of this hellhole."
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He lights a burnt down candle in the wall sconce so he can calm his own twitchy paranoia that they're about to get jumped — qunari can't really see in the dark. Then slips the pack off and leans against the wall, horns thunking back against it.
"Haagh. Okay. Mage is staying at the Helm and Cloak," Bull says, naming the fancy inn of the Upper City. He can tell Astarion is still kinda in fight or flight, is talking half to himself, trying to stay on task. Keeps moving the bag from hand to hand — maybe it's the ancient draconic ancestor, but he likes the jingling weight of it. Will it be enough? He wishes he'd had time to count it. "There's more gold at the Mermaid, plus whatever's left of your little beach stash. And we gotta pick up the fork from the diabolist." Always with the fucking fork, but there's a reason people don't just plane shift around amd it's because the tuning fork component is a bitch. Bull has had half a dozen plates in the air for the past forty-eight hours straight, and they're starting to feel precarious, but if they can get the last pieces assembled in one place then yeah. They're getting out of this hellhole.
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"Huh?" he says after a conspicuous pause, then— "Right, yes, of course. All of that."
Gods, he's still trembling, but this time it's from an almost deranged amount of happiness. Is this what it feels like? Being happy? He bounces back and forth on the balls of his feet, nowhere to put all of this energy.
"We should go right now. Get rid of this awful place before the sun rises again." Which is an insane thing to say, and even he recognizes so after a moment. He hadn't been fully listening to Bull's list of tasks left to complete, but it had been pretty long. "—Tomorrow. Not a minute after sundown."
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Though that means there's no time to waste. Bull pushes off the wall and fishes through the coin in his pockets with agitation until he finds the key to his room. "Purse in the rafters." Astarion might have to climb something. "And my pack, if you're feeling real generous."
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"I underestimated you, Bronco," he says, genuinely complimentary, and this time he's only calling him that as a tease and not because he doesn't know Bull's real name. "You've proven yourself to be quite the advantageous ally."
Slipping the key into his pocket: "Where shall we rendezvous, then?"
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He pauses, and then messes up Astarion's curls a little with one big hand. "Don't fuck it up."
Unfortunately Astarion comes with a built-in fuck it up fish-hook lodged in his brain and it will occur to him, with unnatural thought like a cold whisper through his secret places, that Cazador wants him home. Not a command, not yet, just a little tug of the leash to remind him it's still around his neck. Ignorable.
When he unlocks Bull's room at the Mermaid, it's Leon and Violet, always so competitive, who are waiting for him. Well, they're waiting for the tiefling he's been seen going shopping in the Upper City with. It's a public room, they don't need an invitation.
"Astarion!" Violet says, jumping up out of her waiting crouch, clearly not expecting him to be the one coming in through the door. Leon already has a blade out. "We've been wondering where you went, and I suppose here's our answer. Our master wants to see you." Presumably not about the empty vault, otherwise the tugging in his head would be... louder.
"That tiefling with you?" Leon asks, already coming forward to get Astarion in grabbing distance.
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He steps back, keeping his distance. Where had Bull said his things were? Up in the rafters? Astarion glances up, then quickly back down to the roadblocks in front of him. He wonders if maybe he should just run out, lead them on a wild chase around Baldur's Gate before ducking into the Helm and Cloak and having this Gale of Waterdeep poof him into another dimension— but Cazador might actually command him back if he's not quick enough about it, and then he'd be up shit creek without a paddle.
"The tiefling," he spits, "isn't here right now. But he's obviously... a surprise sacrifice, for the master. If you two don't fuck it up."
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"We were to bring him back," Leon explains. "He came to the house, apparently — talking about the Counting House. Do you know anything about this, brother?"
"No no," Violet says, linking her arm with Astarion's. "Don't tell us. Come tell Master. Leon can wait here—"
"I swear, Violet, if you think you can worm into his good graces just by bringing back Astarion," Leon sighs, brushing hair behind his shoulder disdainfully. He lifts his sword to whisper along Astarion's jaw. "Why don't you hunt the big tiefling and I'll take him home."
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"He has a very generic face. Honestly, that could have been anyone at the palace."
Astarion does a quick run-through of every possible scenario here, looking for one where he somehow still comes out a winner. It's not looking so good. Jaw tight: "He's my prey—why don't we all go tell the master about my wonderful surprise and see who he wants to do the hunting, hm?" A pause, and then he adds, "Unless you'd like me to tell him that you made the decision for him. I'm sure he won't mind!"
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"Let's go," Violet says, taking the chance to switch sides and pretend to be Astarion's friend instead, the same thing she's done about a thousand times since they met. Her demeanour switches from attempted threat to friendly gossip. "Tell me what makes him so special — Petras did say he was very big."
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One last look inside, and he closes the door, tossing the key on the floor in front of it before hurrying along down the hall. He wonders, briefly, what Bull will think when he doesn't show up at the Helm and Cloak. Probably that he's just as much of an asshole as Bull had thought him to be, and that he's standing him up on purpose. Maybe he won't even care; now that he has the coin, he can leave Astarion behind without any repercussions.
"Well, come along already," he snaps, mood darkening as he trudges down the stairs and out into the night. "You don't want to keep the master waiting."
apologies, i wrote you a fanfic
So for a little while he just waits. Sits with the wizard in his purple pajamas — "Is it normal to interrupt a man's beauty sleep so rudely where you're from? Very uncivilised." — while an Unseen Servant counts the coin. Gale's ordered a frankly stupid amount of high tea, and Bull polishes off little sandwiches and watches him set up a circle in the middle of their expensive room, do something glowy with the fork. Tries to read one of the books the wizard teleported with him, a more advanced treatise on the planes, shit that Bull's been struggling to wrap his head around for weeks. Fails.
"Ah," says Gale, coming over to refresh his tea. "Forgive me if this is broaching a delicate subject, but you did say there were two of you off on this little adventure. Might it be in any way possible that your partner has... how do I put this... cold feet?"
Bull thinks of Astarion's bright joy, and crushes a blue macaron between two fingers, the shell cracking. "Nah," he says, pushing his chair back, dropping it uneaten onto his plate. "Might have run into some trouble though. You wanna come get some air?" However harmlessly nebbish and obtuse Gale strikes him, Bull is reluctant to leave him alone with more than fifteen thousand gold and a portal to his home.
"I think you'll find me uniquely suited to handle whatever trouble might be thrown at us," Gale says in a way Bull finds deeply, intensely irritating. It only gets worse when he snaps his fingers to change into a set of gold-embroidered purple robes. The Unseen Servant comes to tidy up the food, and Gale casts more spells. "A little something to discourage any would-be thieves. Well, lead the way!"
Bull heads back to the last place he knew Astarion was, and finds it as the vampires left it: a little rummaged through, but his things still in the rafters and the key on the floor — the one, he explains, he gave to Astarion earlier. He's been here. "Gimme a sec," he adds, "I'm gonna change."
"Do you think," Gale suggests from the other side of a closed door, "That he meant it as a message of some kind?"
"No," says Bull. "Not the message you're thinking of. C'mon."
He tries the Guild first, finds out from Glitterbeard that their heist hasn't been sprung yet. One of the guys who do top-floor jobs claims to have seen a pale-haired elf headed to the Upper City with a tiefling and a long-haired human man (which is confusing considering Bull and Gale could just as easily match that vague description.)
"Baldur's Gate after dark," Gale says once they're back out on the streets again. "This is all very invigorating. And quite, ah, athletic. This city has a lot more hill than I'm used to, I'm afraid."
He's not wrong: Bull's picked up the pace, storming up the steepest road to the Upper City towards the Szarr palace. Worried, now, too worried to pay Gale any attention. "You know how to get into a place with magic?"
"Certaintly. There's Knock, of course, but one can also Misty Step through a window if one is so inclined. One time I flew myself up to the third floor of a friend's tower and came in via his hovering garden, just to give him a little surprise&mdash"
"Great. Pick one of those things," Bull says, "We're doing this the uncivilised way."
"I'm not so sure," Gale pants, trying to keep up, "That I signed up to do any breaking and entering — I've enjoyed, of course, this little venture into the underbelly of the Gate, but I do feel it necessary, as the Chosen of Mystra, to uphold the principles I learnt at my mother's knee, and—"
"Those include rescuing a victim of kidnapping?" Bull says impatiently. "Helping him escape from his uh, tyrannical master?"
This is, of course, true, but Bull is mostly exaggerating so the mage shuts up and breaks them into the manor. It works, enough that Gale murmurs, "Well, if heroics are called for," and pulls Bull with him through a Dimension Door into one of the only rooms with windows, a dim and empty kitchen. Politely gives the qunari a moment to adjust to the teleportation: "If you didn't like that, my well-hornéd friend, we may need to give you a bucket for the Plane Shift. Now. Where are we."
"Better question," says Bull, shaking off the nausea and checking the axe strapped to his back. "Where's Astarion." A question he intends to keep asking people.
PLEASE i'm delighted
"You know I hate to listen to you whine," Cazador says, although what he really means is that he hates to hear Astarion talk at all, "and I hate even more to listen to you lie."
Meanwhile, in the strangest set-up for a joke yet, a qunari and a wizard teleport into a kitchen AND ACTUALLY YOU SAID IT'S EMPTY SO the halfling woman furiously scrubbing at an already-spotless VASE IN THE HALL OUTSIDE yelps in fear when she sees them, eyes wide like she doesn't know if screaming out will make this better or worse. The master of the house will be furious at her if she doesn't alert him, but furious if he finds her up here with two strangers, too. (And on top of everything, he so hates for his servants to make noise.) Master Cazador will never give her the gift of eternal life if she fucks this up.
"I don't know!" she hisses upon being questioned, her whole body shaking in fear of the master's retribution if he ever knew that she spoke to the intruders. ...She's also shaking in fear at the very large, very well-armed behemoth of a man who just magically popped into the palace, though—less so the dapper little wizard beside him, sorry to Gale—so she adds, "The master was angry with him, and when he's angry, he always takes people down into that h-horrible place down the hall."
Her eyes turn wide, and she clamps her hands over her mouth. They're red and cracked from the incessant CLEANING OF VASES AND NOT DISHES. "But you mustn't interrupt Master's discipline!" is muffled into her palms.
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He doubts it'll work, she has that same thought-obliterating terror he's seen in Astarion a couple of times, and in Seheron a whole bunch more. But he isn't exactly planning on doing this quietly.
Gale offers a, "Have you considered—" as Bull heads down the hall checking doors, but Bull doesn't listen, and he doesn't stop for a nervous servant's inquiry, either. Not too different from the Counting House, just barrel through confidently and hope to be gone by the time people decide what to do about it. At least one servant just goes back to dusting with her eyes closed, prioritising doing her job to Cazador's complete satisfaction over the potential ramifications of getting involved.
He pushes open the door to the kennels and shoulders his way in, expecting Astarion but also finally coming face to face with the aristocrat who ah fuck he's a mage. Fuck. Bull immediately regrets all the choices leading him to this moment: nobody who wields gleaming red threads of magical power is good to fight.
Fortunately, he's brought along an archmage, who also steps into the room with a, "Good evening — or I suppose good morning would be more appropriate, in this moment."
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It's beyond shocking. If he'd had to guess who would come bursting through the door in that moment, Astarion's very last guess would have been Bull. Wait, scratch that. His second-to-last guess would have been Bull; his last guess would have been this guy in wizard robes that he's never seen before in his life, who's politely greeting them like he didn't just step into a dingy old torture dungeon.
Astarion and even Cazador are stunned into silence for a brief moment, jaws slack. Then, although he isn't proud of how quickly he does it, Astarion begins the pleading: "I swear I didn't bring them here. I don't even know who that is—" The sentence is cut off with an oof as Cazador pushes him back against the stone wall—with magic, of course, because he'd never deign to dirty his hands.
"You imbecile," Cazador spits out in that reedy voice of his. His gaze drags over to the newcomers in the room, then, and somehow it's filled with even more disdain than when he looked at Astarion. His eyes had been harsh when looking at Astarion, but it's like the two mortals aren't even worth his hatred. Like they're no more than disgusting pests to be crushed underneath his shoe. He says as much: "You've brought vermin into our home."
And Cazador would never deal with vermin directly. He has people to do that for him. A curl of his fingers, and an armored skeleton in the corner of the room reanimates bit by bit, rising jerkily as it reaches for the greatsword on its back. Typical Cazador, always getting others to do his dirty work. "We'll discuss this," he says, "once the rats have been exterminated."
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Fucking mages, Bull mouths to himself as he falls into combat with the skeleton, swinging to try and scatter some of the bones before it comes whole.
"Oh, don't bother fighting the construct," Gale back-seat commentates, "He'll just put it back together. Fight the necromancer! Surely that's the first thing—"
"You fight the fucking necromancer!" roars back Bull, lunging so the greatsword smacks into his shoulder pauldron instead of his bicep, though the blade still skims off and bites ice into his skin.
Gale huffs and adjusts his sleeves. "Well all right then." He feels a little bad about attacking a man in his own home, so he's going to try Hold Person on Cazador, which fizzles due to his lack of personhood. Which is a bit of a worry, contextually, so the next thing he'll try is a friendly Banishment to get the man(?) out of their hair.
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