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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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."

Thrawn watched Astarion's face as he selected art, and thanked him when he handed back the datapad. With a few taps, Thrawn gathered the selected images into a single slideshow, which he scrolled through, going into a meditative state as he did so.

Yes, this was very helpful. Astarion was a man with a dark past, one that he realized he had to face. He was a man with something to hide, who kept his secrets close to his heart. He'd either sought revenge in the past, or was about to get revenge. More than that, the one thing he wanted was freedom. Very curious indeed.

"You have excellent taste in art, Astarion."

The look of the meditative state was familiar. Not so much the purpose of it but the look- after all, elves did not need to sleep and he too sank into a meditative state when he turned in for the night- sinking deep into memories, the way that Thrawn apparently sunk into art.

"Well of course- every part of me is impeccable."

Like as if there was ever any doubt that his taste was excellent.

"Is meditating over art something you do often? You appeared almost like we elves do when we go into our trance."

"Very perceptive. Yes, I often meditate over artwork. For you see, artwork reveals much about a person or culture, be they an artist or a collector."

Perhaps it was foolhardy to reveal what he was about to, but this discussion was about gaining trust. Thrawn would give a little, and perhaps Astarion would in return.

"For example, I can see that you are a man who has had vengeance on his mind for quite a long time." He also saw a sadness, one that he did a good job at hiding.

"And here I thought all they revealed how much money the artist wants to earn."

The remark was flippant, of course. He didn't truly believe that. It was part of it, he was pretty sure- no getting around the fact that money ran the world- but a part of the artist was always left behind. He thought. He assumed.

"And you'd be surprised how often a good old bit of revenge is on someone's mind here. It's like the entire world's pastime!"

It was said with a smile, though one with furrowed brows and a hint of danger- theatrical and dismissive. It was a joke. Like life was a joke. Because he didn't like that Thrawn could touch that part of him just by looking at the sort of art he liked. So it had to become a joke.

"I can't imagine people being any different where you're from. Someone's always laughing and someone's always wanting to make them stop."

"Sadly, yes," Thrawn replied. "Revenge is a common motivation even beyond the stars. I've seen many soldiers and officers get preoccupied with it, and I've made my share of enemies who would like nothing more than to get revenge on me."

That went for the Ascendancy and the Empire, whether it was a warlord, and enemy combatant, or a politician who didn't like that an alien had gotten so far within the Navy. Eli had been better at explaining that last part to him, just as Thrass would explain to him why Chiss like Thurfian, Zistalmu, and Formbi didn't like him.

Astarion was also deflecting, and Thrawn just let him. They weren't yet at a point where Thrawn could point this out.

"I also get the impression that you are a shameless flirt, but I already knew that and did not need the artwork to tell me so. It's just a matter of how far you're willing to take it."

"See? It's just the nature of sentient creatures to seek revenge. As natural as breathing."

Had Cazador done what he did to someone else, Astarion likely wouldn't have cared. But that had been the issue. Cazador had done it to him. And naturally, Astarion's thoughts of vengeance had grown and grown. Even now in the aftermath though, he wasn't sure what he felt. His feelings on the subject- revenge gotten, freedom gained, memory scarring him still- were all tangled up.

Of course this was nothing he'd mention to a stranger.

Or to his friends, really.

"You think I'm the type to tease and not put out? I'm hurt."

Complete with doe eyes and fluttering of long lashes, hand to his chest with those long fingers splayed out elegantly.

"On my honor, I always follow through."

Almost all, Thrawn wanted to say. He considered himself above such things as revenge. As a senior officer, he had to be above such things, but Thrawn also just didn't have it in him to hate anyone that much. The grysks being an exception.

A smirk crossed Thrawn's face. He suspected that things were probably going to go in this direction. Did he dare push things, or take Astarion up on his flirtations? The wise thing to do would be to gently turn him down. But Thrawn was admittedly curious.

"Then how would you like to proceed?"

"I'm sure we can get a room upstairs, should you be so inclined."

It really was the stoic ones one had to watch out for. Astarion had assumed that Thrawn would let him flirt, and Astarion would have tried to use that to build up some relationship- something he could take advantage of eventually. But to have him willing to indulge in what Astarion assumed was curiosity?

That was a surprise.

He wasn't sure if he thought it was a pleasant one just yet.

"Or are you going to be the one who teases and then refuses to follow through?"

"Oh, I would be so inclined. My bodyguards can be put somewhere out of earshot even." Thrawn promised.

Perhaps he should have just let Astarion play the long game, but Thrawn wasn't sure how much longer they were going to be on Faerûn. Besides, Thrawn and Astarion both knew where this was going to lead, so he could just let Astarion quickly seduce him. It had been a while since Thrawn had engaged in carnal pleasures, so he could let himself indulge if Astarion was so willing.

"I don't mind if they listen in. Or are in the room with us, even. Absolutely nothing happens in this tavern that can't be heard by half the building anyway."

He was fairly certain the pair had heard their entire conversation. Even if Thrawn sent them away for a while, they'd know exactly what their boss had been up to when they got back. He drained his glass of wine- happy to not have to force down the rest of his meal- and stood up, extending a hand to Thrawn so they could relocate to somewhere more suitable.

"Come on, then. I'll make sure we get the room with the most comfortable bed."

One of the private ones given that even if the rest of his usual group were out and about, he wasn't about to go have sex where any one of them could walk in at any given moment. Astarion wouldn't really mind considering he was still plotting but he was sure his companions and Thrawn himself would be of a different opinion on that particular subject.

"Well then, if you aren't shy..." Death Troopers didn't gossip, so nothing that happened between him and Astarion would reach outside ears.

He stood and took Astarion's hand. "I trust your judgement."

He was really doing this. He was about to have sex with an alien, with a mysterious past and motives, and both of them were looking to gain something out of it other than just pleasure. It wasn't how Thrawn usually did things, but Astarion was eager and willing, and Thrawn figured it would do him well to have a little coitus, rather than use his own hand for once.

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