Chapter Text
“Are you sure it’s a good idea? This place gives me the creeps.” The half-orc whispered, his voice trembling as he and his companion crept into the abandoned house. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and every creak of the floorboards echoed like a death knell.
“Don’t be a bitch. Are you really gonna believe some sh*tty urban legend?” his partner retorted, though his eyes darted nervously around the shadowy interior.
“It’s not just that... I have a bad feeling about this. Maybe we should leave. It’s not like there’s—” A sudden noise behind them cut him off. They both spun around, staring into the inky blackness that seemed to swallow the room.
“Your paranoia is getting to me too. Let’s just—” The second man’s sentence ended in a gurgled scream as something yanked him into the darkness.
The half-orc’s heart pounded in his chest as he stumbled backward, desperate to escape. He turned to run but was met with a dark figure.
“No, please! Sorry, I—!” His plea was cut short by a slashing sound. His screams echoed through the house, mingling with the malevolent whispers of the dark.
And then there was nothing but silence, the house reclaiming its eerie stillness, as if nothing had ever disturbed it.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
5 years later
—-------
Jenevelle opened the “office” door with a yawn. She tossed her bag onto the yellow sofa and collapsed into it, letting out a small growl.
"Another sh*tty night?" Karlach walked past, balancing a big box on her shoulder. Her black sleeveless shirt accentuated her muscles.
"Just the usual…" Jenevelle closed her eyes and grimaced in pain.
Wyll appeared, holding some cables in his hands. "Did you try the tea I gave you?"
"I've tried everything at this point," Jenevelle opened one eye to look at him. "Unless someone comes to me every night and hits me on the head with a brick, I don't think anything will work."
“I’m sure you can find someone who’s into that,” Karlach joked as she passed by, carrying another box. She suddenly stopped in her tracks, her eyebrow raised as she glanced at Shadowheart.
“I was alone last night!” Jenevelle quickly clarified, fully aware of where the tiefling’s thoughts were heading.
The door next to the sofa opened. "You’re here! Fantastic! Our star!" Astarion clapped his hands together, smiling. "Are you ready to make us rich, darling?"
Jenevelle looked at him with a disgusted expression.
Wyll walked past them, holding more cables. "It's not about the money, my man. We’re helping those who need it."
"Sure, sure. In that case, why don't you help me by loading the van faster?" Astarion gestured for him to hurry.
"Chill, dude. It's not even noon, and you’re already being a dick. Also, why do we have to pack all of this? Are we going somewhere?" Karlach carried another box through the room and intentionally bumped into the pale elf.
"Astarion's got us some big new case," Jenevelle replied sarcastically. "If it’s another so-called possession, I quit. I don’t need another maniac faking it for fame."
“Well, yes, our last case was clearly a failure. What can I say? He was a bloody good actor.”
“He f*ckin’ bit me!” Karlach shouted from the backroom.
"Oh dear, trust me. This is the real thing." Astarion gestured grandly with his hands. "After this, we will be famous. I'm talking about talk shows, movies, and deals. Our lovely Shadowheart will be a celebrity, invited to cooking shows to make sh*tty pancakes.”
"Sounds fantastic…" Jenevelle smirked.
“A little more enthusiasm, if I may ask, my dear. This time, a pretty famous person called me in need of help.” Astarion announced with a wide smile.
“Omg, is it a celebrity? A rockstar?” Karlach exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement.
"No." Astarion stopped for a moment and sighed. "It's Mr. Dekarios."
"Who? Dick Orios?" Karlach scratched her head.
"Gale Dekarios. He's a pretty well-known writer. He had a bestseller last year." Wyll explained.
"He's a prick writing sh*tty fantasy books." Jenevelle jumped in, rolling her eyes.
"Well, those sh*tty books made him enough to buy himself a fancy old house." Astarion forced a smile.
Karlach frowned. "I was hoping for something more... dramatic."
"Trust me, if everything goes well, this will be dramatic enough," Astarion put his hands together. "Mr. Dekarios's new house is rumored to be quite the hotspot for supernatural activity."
“What a twist.” Karlach was a bit disappointed. "But if it's a big-ass house, we will need all of the cameras!"
"Already on it!" Wyll headed to the backroom to gather more equipment.
Astarion clapped his hands again, drawing everyone's attention. "Before we head out, I need to address last time's fiasco. We've faced too many weirdos lately, so I hired some... protection."
Jenevelle raised an eyebrow. "Protection? What kind of protection?"
"Think of it as a security detail. I want to make sure nothing unscripted terrible misery happens to us. Again." He faked a laugh.
"Ohh, ohh, will we get guns? Heck yeah!"
"No Karlach! I hired, well, you could say a bodyguard." Astarion smiled.
"What?" Jenevelle had a bad feeling.
"Are they cool? Are they hot?" Karlach was practically bouncing from excitement.
"She is an ex-soldier who doesn't ask a lot of questions—perfect for a job like this."
"An ex-soldier?" Jenevelle's bad feeling deepened. The military usually attracted a specific type of person—one she couldn’t stand. "Wait—don’t tell me you hired some psycho or, even worse, some gith." She chuckled, thinking it was a joke.
But when Astarion’s smile widened, her amusem*nt vanished.
"No!" Jenevelle shot up from her seat. "No… no, no, no!”
"Come on, dear… I just want you to be safe." Astarion's voice was disgustingly sweet.
"Are you ok moonlight?" Karlach set down a heavy box and wiped the sweat from her forehead. "You seem worked up."
"Didn't you hear him? He wants to work with a–with some gith! " Jenevelle spat out.
Wyll tapped her shoulder with a concerned look. "Jen, as your friend, I have to tell you, you're acting a little... problematic right now. You should never judge someone by their race.”
Jenevelle looked taken aback. "What? No, wait! It’s different! Githyanki are..." She hesitated, glancing away as if debating whether to continue. "They don’t mix with us because they think we’re lowlife trash compared to them. Have you ever seen one working in a coffee shop? No! The few that live in this city are either rich assholes or retired soldiers like her, who are probably rich assholes too because the government pays them. Come on, Wyll, aren’t you an anti-war activist?"
"Well, I do despise violence, especially unnecessary conflicts, but everyone deserves a second chance. She left the army, didn’t she? Maybe she seeks more peaceful ways now." Wyll smiled.
"She probably left because she was a good little dog and served her role, so now she can live off our taxes." Jenevelle brushed off his hand from her shoulder.
Karlach and Wyll exchanged glances. Wyll cleared his throat awkwardly. “I assume it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think you had some bad experiences with them when—”
Karlach nudged him with her elbow. "Come on, Moonshine, you can’t judge someone without meeting them first." she tried to lighten the mood.
"Which will happen in like five minutes." Astarion looked at his watch.
"Is she coming here?" Jenevelle's eyes widened.
"Of course. I'm not some shady person. First, we will write a contract like adults."
“Wait, you guys have contracts?” Karlach looked around confused.
A loud sound was heard from outside. Karlach and Jenevelle ran to the window and peeked out. A black motorbike was parked in front of their place, with a person getting off wearing a black helmet.
"A f*ckin' Red Dragon??" Karlach almost screamed in excitement.
"What?" Jenevelle was lost.
"The motorbike. It's an original Red Dragon XX 80. It's super rare; I've only seen it in magazines."
Well, this only supported Jenevelle's statement about gith being rich assholes. Arriving with a rare, loud motorbike—this person is probably even worse than she thought.
The door opened, and a woman walked in wearing black boots, ripped jeans, and a black jacket. Jenevelle’s first thought was that she looked like some typical bad bitch from a sh*tty action movie—the type who would shoot first and ask questions later. The type she hated. The visitor took off her helmet.
She had long brown hair tied in a messy bun, with pointy ears pierced by silver rings. A prominent scar marked her face. Her golden eyes held a strange expression as if she had come to the wrong place. Before she could say anything, Karlach ran up to her and shook her hand vigorously.
"Hi, soldier! It's a pleasure to meet you! I'm Karlach!"
"Lae'zel." the woman answered tonelessly. With her training, she was quick to explore her surroundings. This place was in a not-so-good neighborhood on the ground floor. It was probably cheap to rent. It had a big room with three doors, an ugly yellow sofa, and some weird stuff all around. The tiefling who welcomed her was a tall, muscular woman with one broken horn. She looked tough but acted like a child, happily bouncing around. Part of a large scar was seen at the neckline of her sleeveless shirt which said: “MILF Man I Love Fishing”.
"I will show you around!" Karlach smiled and ran to Jenevelle. "This is Jen, or Shadowheart." She said the second part in a spooky voice. "She is our star who deals with the dark and mysteries."
"Hi," Jenevelle spat out, the word sounding more like a curse than a greeting. Lae'zel's eyes swept over her, taking in the half-elf's appearance. She was almost the same height as her, just a touch shorter. Her long black hair framed a face marked by a small scar, and another on her hand that looked oddly unhealed. She wore tight black pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She stared at Lae’zel with a judging expression, arms crossed.
Karlach then ran to Wyll. "This is Wyll, our tech guy."
"Well met." The man said, smiling. He was a human with heterochromatic eyes. He looked like a typical nice guy.
“Oh, I forgot myself! I do the driving and the heavy work.” Karlach showed off her muscles.
Astarion walked up to Lae’zel with a sweet smile. “A pleasure to meet you! We already talked on the phone. Please, come to my office.” he gestured to one of the doors. He was a pale elf with red eyes, probably an albino. Every movement of his looked fake.
They went into the room while the others waited outside. At some point, a loud noise caught everyone's attention, causing them to turn towards it. After a moment of silence, the door opened. Lae’zel emerged, pausing as she surveyed the room with a stern expression.
“Looks like from today I will have to take care of you all. Especially you, istik.” She looked at Jenevelle.
“Why-why me?” Shadowheart was already getting irritated.
“Well, the others seem somehow capable, but it would be foolish to say the same about you. Look, I don’t care if you're a fraud or have some brain problem. This ‘little play’ you do is none of my concern. Just don’t get in my way while I do my job.” Lae’zel's eyes were cold and sharp.
“Interesting way to break the ice.” Maybe deep down, Jenevelle had hoped this woman would be different than expected, but sadly, no.
“Why would I break any ice?” Lae’zel looked genuinely puzzled.
Jenevelle stared at her for a moment before slipping back into her usual sass. “Instead of assaulting me, maybe you should work on your language skills, Gith.”
“Chk! I can’t help that I’m forced to speak your simplistic yet confusing tongue! This city and its people clearly can’t master anything more complex, like Tir.”
Jenevelle felt an urge to slap this woman but collected herself, smirking instead. “As your future boss, I don’t exactly fancy your attitude.” she retorted with sass.
“Well, technically, you're not the one who hired me,” Lae’zel shot back, her tone icy. “You're not my superior. You’re more like a piece of fragile equipment that needs protection. And being nice? That’s not part of the job description.”
“Astarion, you can’t be serious!” Jenevelle turned to the pale elf.
“Already calling for help? Chk! I knew you looked helpless, but I expected more. Good thing I’m here istik.”
“You being here is as good as getting tortured in a basem*nt. And stop calling me istik before I-”
Astarion intervened, clapping his hands to redirect their attention. “I think we should head out now.”
Lae’zel walked away, leaving Jenevelle simmering with anger. Once settled in the van, Karlach started playing her usual playlist while the motorbike followed behind.
“I can’t believe it!” Jenevelle exclaimed from the back seat, glaring at Wyll. “I told you! Her kind is insufferable!”
“I think it’s too soon to make that judgment,” Wyll tried to calm her down. “She called you istik. What does that mean?””
“It means anyone that’s not them. It’s derogatory.”
“Nah, I’m sure it’s just some harmless gith slang,” Karlach chimed in from the driver’s seat, bobbing her head to the music as she drove. “If you ask me, I think she’s cool. A little rough around the edges, but she seems like someone who can handle those biting bastards.”
“She looks like someone who bites back.” Jenevelle muttered. Astarion’s smile only fueled her frustration. “Are you enjoying this?”
Astarion turned in his seat to face her. “Seeing you so worked up over some mean comments, actually, yes.”
“Screw you! I’m the one doing most of the work here. If I refuse to work with her, say goodbye to your big case.”
“Oh dear, think about it. If we fire her just because of her race, what will people think of you? We don’t need media drama right now. Do you want us to vote? It’s fine by me. Who wants to fire our lovely new member?”
Nobody raised their hand except for Jenevelle. She growled in frustration.
—----------------------
Maybe it was a wrong idea. She found this job randomly. The description was a little shady, and Lae’zel guessed she might end up in something illegal. Not that she was afraid of criminals; at least she could beat them up, which might make her feel better. She hesitated to actually go to the meeting, but she had nothing better to do at the moment. The place and the people were odd. As soon as she stepped into the pale elf’s office, she got suspicious. Whatever security job this was, it seemed weird.
“So what’s this all about?” she asked, walking to the table where Astarion sat down.
“As I mentioned on the phone, we need someone to deal with problematic situations.” He smiled.
“That’s not really helping me out.” She put one hand on the table. “I need details, istik.” Her golden eyes almost glowed.
Astarion’s red eyes looked at her calmly. “Well, we deal with cases others wouldn’t.”
“Drugs?” Lae’zel looked toward the door, where the others were waiting. “Prostitutes?”
“Oh, hell no.” Astarion laughed.
Jenevelle was sitting on the sofa, wondering what the two were talking about. She hoped the Gith would decline the offer. A big slam was heard from the office.
Lae’zel slapped her hands on the table. “Are you toying with me, istik? I’m not some k'chakhi! I won’t babysit some ghost hunters or whatever you are.” She was almost growling.
“Are you sure?” Astarion looked at her in a way that made her feel like she was walking into a trap. The pale elf opened the drawer and pulled out a paper. “With your… record, finding a job must be difficult.” He smiled.
Lae’zel felt her blood run cold, then flaming hot. “Tskva! Are you blackmailing me? Where did you get that?” She looked at the paper.
“I like to know about the people I want to hire.” Astarion smiled widely. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell them a thing. You get the job, we get protection—everybody wins.”
Lae’zel wanted to hit this man, but he had a point. Most places wouldn’t hire her. She never wished to be seen with some lunatic ghost hunters, but she had a feeling it was better not to mess with this man. If he got information this easily on her, who knew what else he could do.
“Fine.” She growled.
