boxofmisfits | It's Not a Software Glitch

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It's Not a Software Glitch

Sometimes the crew of the Chimaera figured that high command sent them on missions to the Unknown Region just so they didn't have to acknowledge the alien Grand Admiral for a while. Thrawn just took such assignments in stride. Scouts had reported the discovery of a backwater planet near the Unknown Region, and their reports sounded rather strange. A world host to many different native sapient races, able to do strange things that science couldn't explain, which hadn't become space-faring or even technologically caught up to most of the galaxy.

Thrawn was to send a camera crew down to film the planet, both as intel and as potential propaganda material. 'See what these people are going through and how nice would it be if the Empire helped them?' and all that. Thus the Chimaera had taken residence over a large city, later identified as Baldur's Gate, much to the citizens' horror and awe. Apparently their world was no stranger to invaders from another realm.

It was during one of these filming sessions that the crew ran into a rather odd glitch. They filmed a small group of seven people, but only six were showing up on the camera. They could see the man with their own eyes, he was right there, and yet no matter what, he just wasn't showing up on camera. Immediately the group had gone to the tavern where they were staying and reported this to Thrawn. The only explanation was that it was a software glitch, unlike anything they'd seen before. That explanation didn't satisfy Thrawn.

Curiosity immediately piqued, Thrawn asked for a description of the man and the location of where they'd captured the footage, and off he went. He had a pair of Death Troopers, in civilian clothes, nearby just in case, and Thrawn himself wore a hood and sunglasses, which did little to hide his alien features.

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"So they wish to consider setting up shop here regardless of how primitive the people are."

Astarion could understand. The people were primitive in comparison, but they had magic. Resources. Plenty to offer, even if technology wasn't one of them. A lot of things to take advantage of, and with the people not capable of fighting back. Fear was quelled for the moment given that nothing had happened, but if they showed opposition, then that could change in an instant.

Especially since this Empire likely had more of those ships. Entire fleets, perhaps. And where there were warships, there were weapons.

He scooped up the last of his stew then, and finished it off with another deep drink from his glass of wine. Despite drinking plenty of it, he didn't seem to be drunk at all. Nor was there any more color on those pale cheeks. No, Astarion drank it down the same as he would drink water down- and poured himself another glass. He'd need it to get through the bread and the cheese.

"I don't see how the mind flayers or the cult would be of much concern to a people so advanced- though I suppose wariness is understandable. One wrong move and one or more of your people might end up with tadpoles burrowed in their brains and a nasty little loss of free will."

"Unfortunately I have only been able to find secondhand accounts of Mind Flayers." They didn't create artwork, and he couldn't exactly study their tactics firsthand. All he had deduced was that this cult of the Absolute had something to do with them, and something to do with the worship of dark gods.

What Thrawn had learned came from books and artwork of Mind Flayers, depicting their ships and what they did to those they captured.

Thrawn wondered if Astarion's resistance to alcohol was a trait of High Elves, or if it had something to do with his ability to hide from cameras.

"I would rather not needlessly endanger my troops, officers or crew."

Edited 2023-10-11 09:45 (UTC)

"My advice would be to not go looking for a firsthand account. One moment you're looking into them, the next moment you are one of them and all traces of the man you are now is gone."

Normally Astarion wouldn't care to warn someone away from danger- wasn't his business whether or not a stranger went and found trouble, after all. But when it came to mind flayers, he was happy to keep them from gaining anything they might want. They had saved him from Cazador. Given him the sun and the world in color. But had things been any different then he would long since have become one of them.

And he was too pretty to have his face split open.

"Get a tadpole in your brain and suddenly you're bleeding from every orifice and your face splits open to make way for-" He brought a hand up to his chin, with his fingers pointed outward to indicate tentacles, "Not a pretty process, I assure you. And losing that pretty face of yours might just be considered a tragedy."

"I will pass along that advice to my Death Troopers and media team," Thrawn assured him. "And stay away from them myself." Yet he wouldn't mind getting a hold of one of these tadpoles so that his science team could study it. Surely there was a way to acquire one safely. Such an interesting, if horrifying, way to reproduce.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, you know."

"Who says it's flattery?" Astarion asked, his tone light and almost jovial, lips curling into a smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but then his smiles almost never did unless he was speaking to a specific set of people. Maybe his smiles had been easier in the past. More genuine. He couldn't remember any more.

These days they were all part of the act when he found it necessary to put one on.

"It's flirtation."

He ate a little of the cheese and bread, and almost cringed as the texture was worse than the stew. The bread felt like it turned to ask on his tongue. Sapping away any moisture and turning his mouth drier than a desert. The food he'd eaten felt like a heavy knot in his stomach. He washed it down with another sip of wine to alleviate both feelings.

"I mean, we're both attractive men. Had I still been a magistrate I'd say we are legally obligated to flirt at least a little."

His brows raised, "Unless you're only into women- in which case I'll stop. I can behave."

"Now who's being forward?" Thrawn replied with dry wit, though it probably came out sounding more deadpan than he intended.

He gazed at Astarion, studying him like he was a particularly interesting and challenging puzzle for him to solve. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and Thrawn had noticed by now that he smiled in such a way that he didn't show all of his teeth. It was careful, practiced.

"Fortunately for you, quite the opposite. I'm exclusively attracted to men."

"You started it."

Maybe there wasn't an opportunity to be found here. Maybe Thrawn's Empire saw vampires in much the same way as the people of Faerûn- and he was sure they had something far worse than stakes in that case. They didn't seem the types to rely on clerics with sharp wooden sticks should a vampire come knocking. And if that was the case, Astarion was playing a very dangerous game even aside from the whole being able to be in the sun making it hard to peg him as a vampire thing.

He was currently safe as could be from the sun- something he hoped would continue even after the business with the brain was over. But not safe as could be should someone decide to ram a stake between his ribs.

"Ah," He smiled, somewhat lopsided, but charming still, "Fortunate for me indeed."

Could he go through with it if his flirtation was successful was an entirely different question- and one he didn't intend to try and answer yet.

"So if this Empire of yours sets up a base here- what would that mean for the fine primitive folk of Faerûn?"

What it meant for him specifically was way more important, of course. But best not put that particular trait of his on full display either.

"It would mean many things. Employment opportunities, gaining access to new technology, and being provided for. It would also mean swearing yourselves to the Emperor."

Hopefully not Palpatine for much longer. The man was old, and he was bound to die sooner rather than later. Then Thrawn could get a much better Emperor elected. If he had to take out Vader too, then he would.

"You may continue flirting with me, if you like." If Astarion wanted to play that game, then Thrawn would let him.

To swear themselves to the Emperor. Now there was something that just sounded wrong to him, all things considered. Not the Emperor that Astarion and the rest of them knew, but still. The very sound of the title felt somehow sullied when he thought of the mind flayer in the relic. Especially since those delicious powers the tadpole had offered had lost their luster somewhat ever since.

Provided for didn't sound very nice either. Cazador must have felt like he was providing for him and his siblings too, after all. And Astarion knew how twisted that could be when the ones doing the providing saw the ones they provided for as inherently lesser beings than them.

"I suppose the employment opportunities would be more than welcome."

Considering the current situation- there were special circumstances that Astarion had zero interest in getting into, of course, but it was an easy enough statement to make.

"And thank you- I will."

That was a lot more interesting than getting into the current crisis and the matter of the refugees.

"It does give me so very much to work with."

Flirtation was easy, but easier when the person he was flirting with was easy on the eyes.

"We shall see." Thrawn obviously disagreed with the Emperor on many things. The man commanded his actions, but didn't command his mind and heart. This was for the Chiss, and for them he would do anything. He would bring the Seventh Fleet and the Empire's forces to the Ascendancy and crush their enemies.

"If you do not want the rest of your food, I will give it to my men outside." Astarion clearly wasn't enjoying it. Thrawn was willing to chalk it up to a texture thing, or perhaps Astarion just didn't do well with carbs or gluten.

"I'm quite enjoying my meal, actually."

He wasn't. But he was a good liar.

"Enjoying the wine more, admittedly, but it is a very good vintage so I can't exactly be blamed for that."

Astarion definitely felt the need to purge himself of the meal that his body was no longer meant to be able to process. Even though he had gotten the stew and a bit of bread and cheese down, it felt heavy in his stomach. Foreign. It did nothing to sate the hunger that gnawed at him, and yet it felt like it had his stomach in an unforgiving grip. Uncomfortably full and yet empty at the same time.

Perhaps he should be glad that he was already pale as could be, given that he would definitely have lost a few shades otherwise.

"And enjoying the company the most."

Deflections, distractions.

He wasn't enjoying the food, but Thrawn let it slide. He could play the long game.

"The excitement of meeting a new race, I imagine. Though I must admit, you yourself are not bad looking."

Edited 2023-10-13 00:49 (UTC)

"It had been a learning experience and will remain so for a while still- usually everyone I meet have at least some common ground. You though- you are a mystery."

There was no reminiscing about places or history or experience they might both share here. He was something new entirely. Astarion still saw him as an opportunity, of course, but he was also something of a puzzle. A puzzle in a thankfully appealing package.

He tilted his head then at that attempt to flirt back, "Oh really?"

Had it been anyone else, he might have been insulted at such a weak compliment. But he could tell that flirtation was something that Thrawn didn't exactly indulge in often. Or that was the feeling he was getting anyway.

"You should tell me what parts of me you find more pleasing than others then."

Thrawn wondered just what it was that he had in common with that little group he'd been traveling with. He had referred to one of them as Gale and expressed a familiarity with him, suggesting that they had all been a group for a while now. If being flirted with, and flirting back, got Astarion to open up more, he'd allow it.

"Very well. Your hair is quite a lovely shade of white, much like the snow of my home world, and it's rather charming how it curls around your ears." He could start with that. He could draw upon what he'd analyzed from gazing at romantic pieces of art, if he had to.

The compliment to his hair color was welcomed, though the mention of how it curled around his ears made one of his eyebrows twitch ever so slightly. He'd been complimented on it before, though he couldn't say it was something he particularly liked.

Maybe it was charming.

He was charming, after all. But it was just too sweet he supposed. Compliments about his eyes or the danger in his smile, lust over his body. Those he could live with. But the way his hair curled around his ears? He didn't know how to work with that.

"I wasn't aware that I'd traded places with a grandmother," He commented, though his smile still remained, "Though I suppose if that's what you happen to find attractive..."

"A grandmother? Perish the though." Eli had hair that curled around his ears too, and he was eight years Thrawn's junior. "You are far too young."

Thrawn wasn't always the best at judging how old people were, and while Astarion clearly wasn't someone barely out of being a mid-ager, he certainly wasn't old enough to be someone's grandparent. Thrawn just assumed that white hair was just a natural hair color for elves.

"You also have rather nice hands."

"I'm quite certain that I'm much older than you are."

Though Astarion supposed he had been quite young for an elf back when his time had been permanently stopped. Eternity was a very long time he'd come to learn- but at least he would be beautiful forever. Of course he'd never get to enjoy that- couldn't preen in the looking glass. See himself.

Even that strange device from another world entirely couldn't show him his reflection, "Though certainly no grandmother- so lets choose something a touch less... Poetic than calling attention to the way my curls fall around my pointy ears."

Hands were... Better, he supposed. He could agree, given that he could see them for himself. Nimble fingers, well taken care of. Clean, perfectly manicured.

"And that's better. Even though you haven't even experienced what they're capable of yet."

"Are you? Would you be surprised to hear that I am thirty-nine?" Making him the youngest of the Grand Admirals, most of whom were in their sixties. Of course, none of them had jumped ranks and gotten the position within ten years.

"I can see that they are the hands of someone who doesn't do manual labor. You take good care of them, with nary a callus or nail out of place. You also have long, dexterous fingers, much like a surgeon."

"Then you are significantly younger than I am, my dear. I've been on this mortal coil for over two centuries."

Undead coil was more like it, but he wouldn't out himself. Elves were thankfully long-lived so there was no need for him to lie about his age. Astarion did realize that he had been very young when he was turned, but by now he was most certainly considered an adult even by other elves.

"You've studied them that closely already, have you?"

"Is that so?" High elves, or just those from this realm, must be very long-lived then. That was the only conclusion Thrawn could currently come to, since he still didn't have a big reference pool. They weren't exactly doing surveys for how old the average citizen of Baldur's Gate was.

"I have." He held his own hand out, inviting Astarion to put his own fingers in it. "May I?"

Now here was a curious sort of dilemma. If he let Thrawn touch him, he would feel it. The coolness of his skin that would be difficult to explain away should he have happened to touch another elf at some earlier point in time. The coolness of Astarion's skin was hardly natural for his species after all.

Even so, he gave a quick smile and slight sigh that held a tone of slight approval as he followed it up with- "Of course."

Any refusal to touch when he was being flirtatious would be suspicious after all and he couldn't go back to being coy about it.

Those slender fingers came to rest against Thrawn's hand. He supposed he was mildly curious about why he wanted to touch his hand when he could obviously see them just fine.

Thrawn smiled slightly as Astarion's hand touched his own. Immediately he noticed how cold he was. Much in the same way that a Chiss was cold. Thrawn hadn't touched any other elves, so he couldn't be sure if this was just a racial trait or if it was just something odd about Astarion himself.

"Hands can say much about a person. What they do for work or leisure, how vain they are, and of course, scars."

He raised Astarion's hand and turned it over, so Thrawn could gaze at his palm. Just as he thought, the hands of someone used to more dexterous and cunning tasks. The hands of a thief. Or an assassin.

Letting go of Astarion, he asked, "Do you like art, Astarion?"

Thrawn's skin was cool- but very much felt alive. Apparently his own did too, given that Thrawn said nothing about the coolness of his skin, even though Astarion thought that out of the two of them, his own skin was coldest. It was less noticeable when he was somewhere warm, but without any particular ambient temperature, it settled into the coolness of touching the dead.

He pulled his hand back when he let go, "I'm the vainest of them all, so I can only assume my hands say as much."

He was an adept killer and liked being elbow deep in gore- but he always cleaned himself off well. Moisturized his hands. Used his scented oils. And never really did anything that would leave him with any permanent marks of performing a job or task. He enjoyed having very soft, very flexible hands- all the better to wield his knives and gently pull the gold out of people's pockets.

"That depends entirely on the art. But I can't think of anyone who'd dislike having something pretty to look at, at least."

Thrawn had noticed, of course, but for the sake of this little encounter he felt it was best to not mention it for now. Astarion was proving to be a very interesting creature indeed.

"If you will indulge me for a moment." He pulled his datapad up and switched over to a screen containing pictures of artwork. Paintings, stone and clay sculptures, and even some stained glass. He laid the device in front of Astarion.

"If you see a piece you like or something that you feel drawn to, simply tap the picture." Thrawn demonstrated, along with how to scroll through the gallery. "When you are finished, simply hand it back to me."

Astarion did look curious about the slate- eyes following the movement of what Thrawn was doing to the thing. He'd seen his share of magic books where the weave saturated the very pages and the spirits whispered, but this was something else entirely. A book was only a book, meant to be read.

This thing appeared to have multiple purposes.

He took it from him, holding it in a way that told of how foreign it was to him, though he quickly got into the rhythm of flicking through the pictures and tapping the ones he felt drawn to. A few paintings equal parts morbid and romantic, some that depicted victory over a foe- one in particular of a man with his slain enemy draped across his lap with several blades piercing the defeated while the victor had his head back screaming at the heavens- but also marble statues where the marble seemed almost soft as flesh from how it had been sculpted, and one stained glass window of a figure in black leading smaller brightly clad figures away. There was a halo around the dark figure's head, suggesting that it might be less sinister than it looked.

Perhaps a depiction of a merciful death.

He did find a few pieces that were familiar- beings with sharp teeth and what seemed like an icy demeanor- but those he simply flicked past.

One he was done, he handed the thing back to Thrawn, "There."

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