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neopets and bg3, because that's who i am as a person
"It's just so fascinating, don't you think? I mean, certainly, I find it rather fascinating. There I am, trooping along with someone who I have been told many a time by many a person is the greatest wizard in all the lands, and so we stumble upon an area just absolute... ripe with magic. Overly ripe, one might say. One might also say it is in fact the perfect place to be standing side by side with the greatest wizard. So I, for one, would love to know , how exactly so much magic ended up working exactly against us to send us to an entirely unheard of realm."
"And for that particular lecture on magic," Gale replies chipperly, "I would gladly go in great detail on it with you, perhaps with the accompaniment of a chalkboard, but I am, as you recall, assisting our good friend Sophie here, and will need some quiet for focus."
Astarion scoffs, and rolls his eyes, but he does comply. That enough helps ease the scowl off of the lovely witch whose cauldron Gale is helping to stir.
That the witch is, well, a good bit shorter than most humans Gale would know, and also covered in green fur, and makes it difficult to tell if she is some sort of floppy-eared bipedal dog or something else entirely, is... Well.
That is merely the sort of predicament he and Astarion have ended up in.
Really, Gale doesn't think they should be complaining too much. There are far worse realms they could have been magically transported to through a serious of magical item rebounds and expired potion explosions. For example, the realm of Neopia seems as though it's perfectly safe for a pair of very fleshy and physical individuals as themselves to make a living in, and there's even functional societies. Countries! Fascinating technology and ways of magic that he never would have thought of.
And hey! The portal even spat them unceremoniously out onto a set of clouds, which they didn't fall through to plummet to their deaths! Gale would say that is fantastic luck.
Astarion hadn't quite agreed, but, ha! Gale knows him well enough by now. He'd seen the rather appraising way he'd glanced over at some of the Dark Faeries who'd crowded around with all the others to inspect such a peculiar pair of newcomers to their little floating city. And certainly, there'd been no real complaints about being fitted with a pair of convincing enough fake wings so that the native population who weren't faeries wouldn't be too confused about their existence.
If he has any questions - well alright, perhaps that's not quite the right phrasing. Gale has so many questions about this fascinating realm, he could write an entire tome on it. He could fill a library. Easily, as a matter of fact. With his knowledge of magic and inquisitive nature and massive charisma on matters such as this, he could have an entire little library dedicated to this very pursuit of knowledge.
That's all besides the point. What has Gale's attention, besides the very dire fact that they need to return home for a variety of reasons (like doing daring adventures and saving the world et cetera et cetera) is that there are such a strangely unique type of race here... with a startling amount of variation. Certainly, they all refer to themselves as Neopets, but trying to say that a bird and a very fat dragon are the same would get more than a few wizards back home staring. Maybe a book thrown at someone's head, if there was one cheap and well hated enough around.
(Wizards have more of them than one would think, but of course any self respecting wizard has some piece of literature that they can pick up at any given time to flip through and be appropriately outraged by. Sometimes one just needs that little bit of indignant fire, don't they? That's a common occurrence, Gale thinks.)
And yet here they all are! All alike, except in the ways they aren't, and with a fascinating amount of magic pulsing through the world - a sort of Weave whose pattern and song is nothing like what he has grown so familiar with, back on his own plane of existence. Oh, to have all the time in the world to sink his fingers into it all, learn its secrets, feel the beautiful and rapturous flow of it.
There's just a problem.
Alright, so, much like Gale's questions, there are actually a lot of problems, but one of the most ever present and pressing ones is the matter of food. Not exactly for him, he's relieved to say - despite its curious collection of races and individuals which fall under the umbrella of 'Neopet', Gale is relieved to say that many of the foods in this plane are in fact perfectly edible! Both when plucked straight from the vine, or often sold in the shops of all the cities about. You know, for the most part. Many, not all. He's not sure how people just... eat sand, here.
And yet for all the strange and peculiar foods that fill this place, including some which are truly grotesque and raise many uncomfortable questions, few sate Astarion's particular hunger.
From what Gale has managed to see, many of the stores all over this strange plane offer questionable foods at times, and yet, in order to take care of Astarion's particular needs, their best bet has remained in one particular area above all the others.
"You would think that even a shop would fight a little bit to the dreary aesthetic of these woods and do something to keep their doorways clean," he remarks as they once again enter the little food shack which thrives in place far too colorful and miserable at the same time. It's like a festival, except permanent, and with far too many curious contraptions which are more death trap than anything else as far as Gale can tell.
Astarion turns his head away even as he strides ahead of Gale, but he certainly can't fool him, oh no! He saw that wry little smirk of amusement, curling across those pale lips. No one can resist a dashing wizard, even a stubborn and reluctant vampire. "Ah, but you see, if not for the threat of wandering into a fully developed Spyder's web in the complete dark, how ever else would these inept little shopkeepers get one over their customers? Certainly the advantage of shock addling the mind is the only way some of their wares are ever sold."
Unlike Gale, Astarion says this with his entire chest, and the stout bird-like fellow manning the counter glowers at them. Or perhaps that's simply the default appearance of his face? Hard to tell, with the red feathers between his beady little eyes forming a permanent arrow downwards and the beak doing.... very little in the way of emoting.
Fortunately, cash is rather easy to come by in this plane, so long as one is willing to be imaginative, and that is all their dear feathered trader need care about. Gale doesn't dwell too much on any particular insults, and instead goes to peer up at the latest batch of steaks which line the walls in their little cages. Necessary, with the wings they have, and how they flap about incessantly. He can't even imagine the process that goes into having to cook the little devils. (Devils being literal, maybe, considering their name, and the forked tails which slip out of them.) "These did well the last time, didn't they?" he asks over his shoulder, trying to find the right balance between looking closely and leaning back so that a stray tail doesn't smack him right across the face. His pride has taken enough of a beating; he doesn't need to add this to the list of occurrences that have nipped at its heels.
Astarion's gaze flicks rather disgruntedly over the sight of the flying steaks, all bat wings and thin tails. Really, Gale had thought that he'd taken to the morsels with some gusto when they'd first eaten here in this place - like a man starving. Which, well, he had been, granted.
"If one can say that eating a dead rat is well enough."
"The next shipment of almost gummy rats might come in six more minutes," the Bruce at the counter says. "So you'll have to wait if you wants those rats."
Him and Astarion both pause their conversation. Just, stop it entirely. Gale's eyebrows go up more than a little bit, possibly make a little rendezvous with his hairline, and Astarion makes the sort of sound with his eyeroll that could only ever accompany an eyeroll.
He spots a small container of little fried potato slices covered in something which is most certainly not chili, and grabs it before someone else can.
Really, however, it isn't as though Gale can't sympathize. Being in an entirely new realm like this is exciting, and fascinating, and he'd gladly spend ages here if he were so allowed, but it's just...
There's so much magic here. It sets the hairs on the back of his neck up on end, sometimes, sensing how all of it is just everywhere, sometimes in the least likely of places. Faerieland is the most intense of these areas, for fairly obvious reasons, but it's everywhere else, too. Sophie's quaint little tower. A particularly bright point on the shining tip of Terror Mountain. Somewhere deep down in the very oceans, where Gale hasn't had a chance to visit yet.
He's been... dealing with that, as best as he's been able to. It's been manageable. Of course. He's been managing very well. Neopia Central is right outside the edges of the Haunted Woods, so it only takes a quick jaunt, when he can spare the time, to visit the potion store and various armories. Some things are fairly common and always in stock one way or another, which is nice. Others are a little more rare, a little more powerful. Gale appreciates whatever he can get. Whatever will.... hold back the tide. Hold back what sometimes seems like the inevitable.
It's just... It doesn't fill him as much as it seems it should.
What's almost worse is that sometimes what does feed him, his own little unbearable hunger, it just - simply doesn't feel right. It doesn't give him enough, despite the fact that some of the things which are quite common in the plane of Neopia would be highly sought after little marvels back home amongst the average noble.
Best he can, Gale tries to hide it from Astarion. Oh, certainly, they have been travel companions through thick and thin now, there's no doubt about that, and he likes to think that his sarcasm-filled friend understands what he's going through, yes. It's just...
Well! Astarion is a starving and snippety little mess as it is. One of them has to carry the optimism in this little journey away from home, yes?
So Gale makes the journey to Neopia Central every week while they dig through Sophie's books and maintain correspondence with the Faerie Queen, all so that he can grab even a simple and cheap Arcane Bow. Its magic settles inside of him, inside the core, with a certain uneasiness, but what can he do?
He makes his trips and he digs through a variety of cursed old tomes and he works like a genius wizard should.
When most people think of hauntings, they think of very empty places that get worryingly Not empty at the worst possible moment. Notably when it is dark, and lighting is scarce, and one is still trying to pull their undergarments up from around their ankles after having a bit too much ale to drink.
So it's rather amusing that, despite its name, the Haunted Woods is rarely ever actually quiet. There's some chap going absolutely wild shooting zombies in some sort of hedge mage at any given point in time, the Esophagor churns and shifts through the earth as though it were water, and that's not even talking about the absolute multitude of ghosts that poke their noses wherever they please. Sometimes they're incredibly annoying, as Gale's coinpurse mysteriously getting lighter can attest to, but... Other times, it helps liven up the monotony of their lives.
For example, one of the more eclectic inhabitants of the Woods who is at least relatively harmless is one Eliv Thade, who gladly has what are apparently quite infamous dinner parties at his massive manor there in the middle of the dreary place.
It's a big annual event, in a manor that's apparently fascinating to explore. A pity that Gale can't attend, of course, but there are more important things he must put his attentions towards.
...And he wasn't given an invitation to the entire party anyway. That has nothing to do with anything, however, really.
Fortunately, right before he can really convince himself that the whole affair really is completely boring and he has more important things to do, all hell breaks loose right as he and Astarion are heading back from Sophie's one night. The entire manor is being locked off! Rumors of murder swirl about! And there is a chap who is very short and very furry and with the most enormous feet who waddles over with a serious look upon his face.
Perhaps one day, those involved in their little merry band of adventurers will stop getting involved in things that have absolutely nothing to do with them. However, it shall not be through the effort of he and Astarion today. Not with how the two of them somehow manage to slip right in with the gloomy investigator, temporarily enlisted as assistants.
Alas for Astarion, the entire affair doesn't involve a proper murder, with blood spread all over and a corpse who he seemed so sure no one would miss. Not when the poor victim in question is, ah, made entirely out of fried meat...? Just one of many peculiarities in the plane of Neopia...
In contrast, murder is rather straightforward with little peculiar about it at all. A stray ketchup-stained hairbow over there which annoys Astarion, some interesting little stray sprouts from a weapon Gale has had time to recognize, and a few convenient anagrams later... The whole matter ends up sorted, with the sad little murderer dragged away from some werewolves for proper justice given in the Haunted Woods. "How very droll," Astarion grumbles, going to flop down dramatically in one of the least dust-filled armchairs. With nothing really from Sophie's Tower helping them, and an entire evening spent solving a murder with no rewards Astarion can really reap with his condition and hunger being what it is, well, Gale will let the poor chap have a bit of sulking.
As he is invited into Eliv Thade's little room to go through his things and pick a reward for his help in the matter, Gale is hoping for a little more luck for himself. After all, doesn't it only make sense that a perfectly healthy and thriving Gale is the key to getting out of here? And yet, none of the things Eliv Thade has for him or Astarion or the good detective seems particularly magical. Let alone a kind of magic that would help him.
But no luck on his end, either. A variety of things, surely, such as paintbrushes (quite a high commodity in Neopia it seems) and Neggs and such. Although....
He lingers, for a moment, on a rather mundane looking spraycan that's sitting in what seems to be a place of honor. "Choco Spray?" he murmurs to himself, as he picks it up and looks over the instructions. It appears the original was gently pulled off years ago. Now all that's left is... a bunch of anagrams.
Gale takes another ten minutes to painstakingly go through all of them while Eliv Thade stays at his elbow and cheerfully (maniacally) drops hints.
He takes the bottle of Choco Spray.
"What do you mean there's no point in going to the food vendor tonight!?" Astarion asks, lips curled over his fangs and eyes bright in aggravation. Which, frankly, is actually a far better result than Gale might have thought! He's not physically trying to strangle him or anything. Now isn't that some wonderful bonding if there was anything?
As they arrive at the porch of their own personal haunted mansion, Gale enchants a couple of brooms to chase out any Korbat squatters and stray ghosts before he flaps one hand at Astarion in the direction of seat. "Oh, don't you worry about that. Besides, apparently this is quite the month for an important holiday for the Woods. They've all been nearly sold out every time we've gone there to begin with, and I have no doubt that, with this being the penultimate holiday, it'll be even more barren than usual. Now!" He swirls around to face where Astarion has reluctantly perched in one of their sagging armchairs. It's actually in better condition than Eliv Thades's own, which is actually worse according to the inhabitants of the woods. "I need you to be sure if I turn into chocolate."
That at least gets Astarion to straighten up in some interest, a bit of his bad mood from earlier shifting away. "I believe my hunger pangs are beginning to interfere with my hearing. What was that about you turning into chocolate?"
From within the pockets of his coat, Gale pulls out the Choco Spray with a flourish. "To the average inhabitant of this plane, to spray this into their mouth turns their entire presence into moving chocolate and other desserts," he explains. "I plan to test this on myself, to see how it affects those from an entirely different plane."
Astarion cocks his head to the side. Considers the absolutely absurd scenario that Gale is proposing. "Now, normally, I wouldn't be opposed to this sort of masochistic display which demonstrates a fascinating lack of self preservation," he drawls in that pretty accent of his, "but, now correct me if I'm wrong, but you've been boasting about how you will be the one to relieve us of this plane. I would think that to be hard to do, if you melted into a sticky puddle on the floor."
"And who wouldn't melt into a puddle around you?" Gale says cheerfully, before feeling some part of his brain stumble through that. "Stickiness and all." The stumbling gets worse. Gale decides now isn't the time and tries to move on. Fast. "At any rate, it appears to not deal with the reality of such things, not when applied to the local inhabitants. Now is the time to test how it works on non locals."
It's sound logic! At least, sound enough for Astarion to watch with some mild curiosity as Gale sprays the entire thing into his mouth - and he has to admit, the quality is far from bad. But he waits a minute, and then a minute more. "Well, you haven't melted, I can confirm that much," Astarion says.
"I can see that," Gale retorts, before setting the empty bottle to the side. Despite the fact that he doesn't look different, he's fairly sure, something still seems strange... And he hopes that means what he thinks it means. What he'd been hoping for, after he'd digested just what the label on the can was proposing. "Now then!" Sliding off his coat, rolling up his sleeves, he goes right down over to where Astarion is sitting and leans over. "I need you to bite me. "
Astarion stares at him again. Blinks. Turns his head away and speaks, just a bit, to the armrest more than to himself or Gale. "I really have gone insane from hunger," he says aloud, in a quiet and bemused sort of wonder. "Well, I suppose that was to happen sooner or later."
On one hand, it isn't as though he can blame him for that. On the other, well, the thrill of a potential discovery has him itching too bad, drives his impatience. If it's in this case, surely, it would be alright, wouldn't it? So he gives up on just standing there, instead moving so that he can sit right there on the edge of the armchair, nearly on Astarion's lap. "Well, you can lose your mind more completely after biting me," Gale informs him. "Come on, now!"
That snaps Astarion out of it, a bit, and his hand automatically goes to Gale's knee as though to keep him balanced right there. "Last I tried that, the results were rather disastrous, or did all your research wash away your brain?" he asks.
"That is because you didn't ask permission."
"Well, from where I was standing, it was because your blood was in competition with raw sewage vomited up by a diseased rat, but that is also something that added to it, I will admit."
Trust Astarion to have proper priorities. "That won't happen again," Gale promises him. "Probably."
"Probably," Astarion echoes back to him before sighing. The hunger must truly be biting at him, however. He doesn't continue on with his arguing or his mocking, deceivingly delicate fingers digging into Gale's flesh just a bit before he leans forward.
This is... purely to help a companion in need. Gale reminds himself that firmly, that he is doing this out of the goodness of his heart, even as he feels the soft curve of Astarion's nose brush past his shirt collar and along the line of his neck. For all that he is a vampire, there is something to the gust of his breath which stirs a heat inside of him. The hard slide of his teeth before the points press down, just slightly, hesitant, before -
The pain is a starburst in his system, clearing away everything else before he comes back down to reality with the gentle throb of it all. Gale grinds his fist down against his other leg, trying not to think too hard on the strangely alluring way it feels, Astarion sucking hard and once at his throat. In this position, it's impossible for him to see the other man's face, but he can feel how he stops. How his jaw goes just a little slack in shock. "It managed to affect me this much," he says proudly, pleased for his discovery. Tries to fight past the strain in his throat, and not mind how Astarion pulls him closer. Things are most certainly not happening in his trousers right now, at the sensation of that vampiricly strong hand on his waist. "You'll have to - ngh - tell me if it tastes like actual chocolate, since I don't think it literally is."
Astarion doesn't pull away to give him a quip, or any kind of answer. He just adjusts, lips dragging over Gale's pulse point, breath growing warm from the heat of his blood, and sucks down harder. It's - hard. To bite back a gasp there, and Gale's hand rises up instinctively, goes to brace against his shoulder. Doesn't stop him. Doesn't press back against the way that Astarion pulls him in so close, their legs tangling all the more there on this little armchair.
He almost doesn't even realize that one of those big dark and bat-like wings nearly smacks him in the face.
At one point, he knows he should tell Astarion to stop. That he should make sure he doesn't die of blood loss, because that would be horrifically embarrassing.
But he doesn't. If anything, his own hands work against his own self preservation, his other hand sliding up into that pale hair to force Astarion to stay close as every hard suck makes him feel contradictingly cold and burning white hot.
Neither of them really realize how much Astarion has feasted on, all desperate hunger that hasn't been truly fulfilled in agss now... up until Gale realizes that the world is growing dark, and he's growing whoozy, and, oops, that's sure him falling to the side. "Shit," Astarion says.
Gale is just conscious as he hits the floor, for long enough, that he giggles at that so very posh accent cursing.
And then he's out.
"So, I think that's quite a lesson learned," the large blue Elephante nurse tells him casually as he lays there in the hospital bed, his pale blue fake wings stuck uncomfortably underneath his back while he slowly comes to. "Even if we really like the Dark Faerie very much, there's a limit when it comes to play in the bedroom."
Gale would love to respond to that, he really would, because him and Astarion aren't really any kind of thing. Terrible manners and very passive aggressive behavior sometimes, that Astarion, and who would want to bed that?
But he's drowsy. It's a little hard to make syllables stand out from one another in his mouth. And he is just so aching with what the core demands from inside of him. If this doesn't get solved soon, if he doesn't sate it just a little bit more with something that will properly sit there in that ravenous gullet...
The nurse doesn't need to know that. All she needs to do is her job as she wipes some sweat from his head, makes sure the funny little tube is in his arm correctly, and toodles off. It's tempting to just fall right back into unconsciousness then and there, except she holds open the door for someone, and that someone slips right past her massive frame with something tucked underneath one arm. "So I suppose you melted into a sticky puddle on the ground one way or the other," Astarion drawls, although is it just Gale and his lack of blood, or is his voice carefully quieter than usual? "Well, that is the sort of thing reckless wizards get up to, isn't it?"
It's not as though he's wrong. Reckless wizards do get up to all sorts of nonsense, and Gale supposes he should have known better. He really will learn. He swears he will.
Trying to tell Astarion of such a swear, however, is a little hard with his tongue refusing to really function with him properly right now for the kinds of words he'd love to use, and Astarion cuts him off by taking the thing under his arm and flinging it onto his face. "Still... Let no one say I can't be appreciative. Sophie managed to scrummage up something useful, so this should do more than well enough for you."
Gale barely hears him. Not with how his mind focuses right on the powerful magic that's sitting right there on his face, more powerful and pure than anything else. An old witch's hat, stereotypically black and pointed, but awash with power.
It's exactly what he needs, and Gale wastes no time in feeding its power into himself.
Of course, this sort of process doesn't render him hale and whole again, or anything like that, but it makes him feel a little better. Far less stressed. Lets him sink back into his pillows with a sigh and a smile. "Oh, my lucky Star came through for me," he mumbles, able to be at least a little more coherent, with the words short enough.
Astarion stares at him with all the bewilderment of a cat that's been startled by a cucumber. "What did you just call me?" he asks, not sounding perhaps as offended as he might have been aiming for, but it's a little too late. Gale is already drifting back to sleep.
His body has an awful lot of blood to make up for, after all.
"And for that particular lecture on magic," Gale replies chipperly, "I would gladly go in great detail on it with you, perhaps with the accompaniment of a chalkboard, but I am, as you recall, assisting our good friend Sophie here, and will need some quiet for focus."
Astarion scoffs, and rolls his eyes, but he does comply. That enough helps ease the scowl off of the lovely witch whose cauldron Gale is helping to stir.
That the witch is, well, a good bit shorter than most humans Gale would know, and also covered in green fur, and makes it difficult to tell if she is some sort of floppy-eared bipedal dog or something else entirely, is... Well.
That is merely the sort of predicament he and Astarion have ended up in.
Really, Gale doesn't think they should be complaining too much. There are far worse realms they could have been magically transported to through a serious of magical item rebounds and expired potion explosions. For example, the realm of Neopia seems as though it's perfectly safe for a pair of very fleshy and physical individuals as themselves to make a living in, and there's even functional societies. Countries! Fascinating technology and ways of magic that he never would have thought of.
And hey! The portal even spat them unceremoniously out onto a set of clouds, which they didn't fall through to plummet to their deaths! Gale would say that is fantastic luck.
Astarion hadn't quite agreed, but, ha! Gale knows him well enough by now. He'd seen the rather appraising way he'd glanced over at some of the Dark Faeries who'd crowded around with all the others to inspect such a peculiar pair of newcomers to their little floating city. And certainly, there'd been no real complaints about being fitted with a pair of convincing enough fake wings so that the native population who weren't faeries wouldn't be too confused about their existence.
If he has any questions - well alright, perhaps that's not quite the right phrasing. Gale has so many questions about this fascinating realm, he could write an entire tome on it. He could fill a library. Easily, as a matter of fact. With his knowledge of magic and inquisitive nature and massive charisma on matters such as this, he could have an entire little library dedicated to this very pursuit of knowledge.
That's all besides the point. What has Gale's attention, besides the very dire fact that they need to return home for a variety of reasons (like doing daring adventures and saving the world et cetera et cetera) is that there are such a strangely unique type of race here... with a startling amount of variation. Certainly, they all refer to themselves as Neopets, but trying to say that a bird and a very fat dragon are the same would get more than a few wizards back home staring. Maybe a book thrown at someone's head, if there was one cheap and well hated enough around.
(Wizards have more of them than one would think, but of course any self respecting wizard has some piece of literature that they can pick up at any given time to flip through and be appropriately outraged by. Sometimes one just needs that little bit of indignant fire, don't they? That's a common occurrence, Gale thinks.)
And yet here they all are! All alike, except in the ways they aren't, and with a fascinating amount of magic pulsing through the world - a sort of Weave whose pattern and song is nothing like what he has grown so familiar with, back on his own plane of existence. Oh, to have all the time in the world to sink his fingers into it all, learn its secrets, feel the beautiful and rapturous flow of it.
There's just a problem.
Alright, so, much like Gale's questions, there are actually a lot of problems, but one of the most ever present and pressing ones is the matter of food. Not exactly for him, he's relieved to say - despite its curious collection of races and individuals which fall under the umbrella of 'Neopet', Gale is relieved to say that many of the foods in this plane are in fact perfectly edible! Both when plucked straight from the vine, or often sold in the shops of all the cities about. You know, for the most part. Many, not all. He's not sure how people just... eat sand, here.
And yet for all the strange and peculiar foods that fill this place, including some which are truly grotesque and raise many uncomfortable questions, few sate Astarion's particular hunger.
From what Gale has managed to see, many of the stores all over this strange plane offer questionable foods at times, and yet, in order to take care of Astarion's particular needs, their best bet has remained in one particular area above all the others.
"You would think that even a shop would fight a little bit to the dreary aesthetic of these woods and do something to keep their doorways clean," he remarks as they once again enter the little food shack which thrives in place far too colorful and miserable at the same time. It's like a festival, except permanent, and with far too many curious contraptions which are more death trap than anything else as far as Gale can tell.
Astarion turns his head away even as he strides ahead of Gale, but he certainly can't fool him, oh no! He saw that wry little smirk of amusement, curling across those pale lips. No one can resist a dashing wizard, even a stubborn and reluctant vampire. "Ah, but you see, if not for the threat of wandering into a fully developed Spyder's web in the complete dark, how ever else would these inept little shopkeepers get one over their customers? Certainly the advantage of shock addling the mind is the only way some of their wares are ever sold."
Unlike Gale, Astarion says this with his entire chest, and the stout bird-like fellow manning the counter glowers at them. Or perhaps that's simply the default appearance of his face? Hard to tell, with the red feathers between his beady little eyes forming a permanent arrow downwards and the beak doing.... very little in the way of emoting.
Fortunately, cash is rather easy to come by in this plane, so long as one is willing to be imaginative, and that is all their dear feathered trader need care about. Gale doesn't dwell too much on any particular insults, and instead goes to peer up at the latest batch of steaks which line the walls in their little cages. Necessary, with the wings they have, and how they flap about incessantly. He can't even imagine the process that goes into having to cook the little devils. (Devils being literal, maybe, considering their name, and the forked tails which slip out of them.) "These did well the last time, didn't they?" he asks over his shoulder, trying to find the right balance between looking closely and leaning back so that a stray tail doesn't smack him right across the face. His pride has taken enough of a beating; he doesn't need to add this to the list of occurrences that have nipped at its heels.
Astarion's gaze flicks rather disgruntedly over the sight of the flying steaks, all bat wings and thin tails. Really, Gale had thought that he'd taken to the morsels with some gusto when they'd first eaten here in this place - like a man starving. Which, well, he had been, granted.
"If one can say that eating a dead rat is well enough."
"The next shipment of almost gummy rats might come in six more minutes," the Bruce at the counter says. "So you'll have to wait if you wants those rats."
Him and Astarion both pause their conversation. Just, stop it entirely. Gale's eyebrows go up more than a little bit, possibly make a little rendezvous with his hairline, and Astarion makes the sort of sound with his eyeroll that could only ever accompany an eyeroll.
He spots a small container of little fried potato slices covered in something which is most certainly not chili, and grabs it before someone else can.
Really, however, it isn't as though Gale can't sympathize. Being in an entirely new realm like this is exciting, and fascinating, and he'd gladly spend ages here if he were so allowed, but it's just...
There's so much magic here. It sets the hairs on the back of his neck up on end, sometimes, sensing how all of it is just everywhere, sometimes in the least likely of places. Faerieland is the most intense of these areas, for fairly obvious reasons, but it's everywhere else, too. Sophie's quaint little tower. A particularly bright point on the shining tip of Terror Mountain. Somewhere deep down in the very oceans, where Gale hasn't had a chance to visit yet.
He's been... dealing with that, as best as he's been able to. It's been manageable. Of course. He's been managing very well. Neopia Central is right outside the edges of the Haunted Woods, so it only takes a quick jaunt, when he can spare the time, to visit the potion store and various armories. Some things are fairly common and always in stock one way or another, which is nice. Others are a little more rare, a little more powerful. Gale appreciates whatever he can get. Whatever will.... hold back the tide. Hold back what sometimes seems like the inevitable.
It's just... It doesn't fill him as much as it seems it should.
What's almost worse is that sometimes what does feed him, his own little unbearable hunger, it just - simply doesn't feel right. It doesn't give him enough, despite the fact that some of the things which are quite common in the plane of Neopia would be highly sought after little marvels back home amongst the average noble.
Best he can, Gale tries to hide it from Astarion. Oh, certainly, they have been travel companions through thick and thin now, there's no doubt about that, and he likes to think that his sarcasm-filled friend understands what he's going through, yes. It's just...
Well! Astarion is a starving and snippety little mess as it is. One of them has to carry the optimism in this little journey away from home, yes?
So Gale makes the journey to Neopia Central every week while they dig through Sophie's books and maintain correspondence with the Faerie Queen, all so that he can grab even a simple and cheap Arcane Bow. Its magic settles inside of him, inside the core, with a certain uneasiness, but what can he do?
He makes his trips and he digs through a variety of cursed old tomes and he works like a genius wizard should.
When most people think of hauntings, they think of very empty places that get worryingly Not empty at the worst possible moment. Notably when it is dark, and lighting is scarce, and one is still trying to pull their undergarments up from around their ankles after having a bit too much ale to drink.
So it's rather amusing that, despite its name, the Haunted Woods is rarely ever actually quiet. There's some chap going absolutely wild shooting zombies in some sort of hedge mage at any given point in time, the Esophagor churns and shifts through the earth as though it were water, and that's not even talking about the absolute multitude of ghosts that poke their noses wherever they please. Sometimes they're incredibly annoying, as Gale's coinpurse mysteriously getting lighter can attest to, but... Other times, it helps liven up the monotony of their lives.
For example, one of the more eclectic inhabitants of the Woods who is at least relatively harmless is one Eliv Thade, who gladly has what are apparently quite infamous dinner parties at his massive manor there in the middle of the dreary place.
It's a big annual event, in a manor that's apparently fascinating to explore. A pity that Gale can't attend, of course, but there are more important things he must put his attentions towards.
...And he wasn't given an invitation to the entire party anyway. That has nothing to do with anything, however, really.
Fortunately, right before he can really convince himself that the whole affair really is completely boring and he has more important things to do, all hell breaks loose right as he and Astarion are heading back from Sophie's one night. The entire manor is being locked off! Rumors of murder swirl about! And there is a chap who is very short and very furry and with the most enormous feet who waddles over with a serious look upon his face.
Perhaps one day, those involved in their little merry band of adventurers will stop getting involved in things that have absolutely nothing to do with them. However, it shall not be through the effort of he and Astarion today. Not with how the two of them somehow manage to slip right in with the gloomy investigator, temporarily enlisted as assistants.
Alas for Astarion, the entire affair doesn't involve a proper murder, with blood spread all over and a corpse who he seemed so sure no one would miss. Not when the poor victim in question is, ah, made entirely out of fried meat...? Just one of many peculiarities in the plane of Neopia...
In contrast, murder is rather straightforward with little peculiar about it at all. A stray ketchup-stained hairbow over there which annoys Astarion, some interesting little stray sprouts from a weapon Gale has had time to recognize, and a few convenient anagrams later... The whole matter ends up sorted, with the sad little murderer dragged away from some werewolves for proper justice given in the Haunted Woods. "How very droll," Astarion grumbles, going to flop down dramatically in one of the least dust-filled armchairs. With nothing really from Sophie's Tower helping them, and an entire evening spent solving a murder with no rewards Astarion can really reap with his condition and hunger being what it is, well, Gale will let the poor chap have a bit of sulking.
As he is invited into Eliv Thade's little room to go through his things and pick a reward for his help in the matter, Gale is hoping for a little more luck for himself. After all, doesn't it only make sense that a perfectly healthy and thriving Gale is the key to getting out of here? And yet, none of the things Eliv Thade has for him or Astarion or the good detective seems particularly magical. Let alone a kind of magic that would help him.
But no luck on his end, either. A variety of things, surely, such as paintbrushes (quite a high commodity in Neopia it seems) and Neggs and such. Although....
He lingers, for a moment, on a rather mundane looking spraycan that's sitting in what seems to be a place of honor. "Choco Spray?" he murmurs to himself, as he picks it up and looks over the instructions. It appears the original was gently pulled off years ago. Now all that's left is... a bunch of anagrams.
Gale takes another ten minutes to painstakingly go through all of them while Eliv Thade stays at his elbow and cheerfully (maniacally) drops hints.
He takes the bottle of Choco Spray.
"What do you mean there's no point in going to the food vendor tonight!?" Astarion asks, lips curled over his fangs and eyes bright in aggravation. Which, frankly, is actually a far better result than Gale might have thought! He's not physically trying to strangle him or anything. Now isn't that some wonderful bonding if there was anything?
As they arrive at the porch of their own personal haunted mansion, Gale enchants a couple of brooms to chase out any Korbat squatters and stray ghosts before he flaps one hand at Astarion in the direction of seat. "Oh, don't you worry about that. Besides, apparently this is quite the month for an important holiday for the Woods. They've all been nearly sold out every time we've gone there to begin with, and I have no doubt that, with this being the penultimate holiday, it'll be even more barren than usual. Now!" He swirls around to face where Astarion has reluctantly perched in one of their sagging armchairs. It's actually in better condition than Eliv Thades's own, which is actually worse according to the inhabitants of the woods. "I need you to be sure if I turn into chocolate."
That at least gets Astarion to straighten up in some interest, a bit of his bad mood from earlier shifting away. "I believe my hunger pangs are beginning to interfere with my hearing. What was that about you turning into chocolate?"
From within the pockets of his coat, Gale pulls out the Choco Spray with a flourish. "To the average inhabitant of this plane, to spray this into their mouth turns their entire presence into moving chocolate and other desserts," he explains. "I plan to test this on myself, to see how it affects those from an entirely different plane."
Astarion cocks his head to the side. Considers the absolutely absurd scenario that Gale is proposing. "Now, normally, I wouldn't be opposed to this sort of masochistic display which demonstrates a fascinating lack of self preservation," he drawls in that pretty accent of his, "but, now correct me if I'm wrong, but you've been boasting about how you will be the one to relieve us of this plane. I would think that to be hard to do, if you melted into a sticky puddle on the floor."
"And who wouldn't melt into a puddle around you?" Gale says cheerfully, before feeling some part of his brain stumble through that. "Stickiness and all." The stumbling gets worse. Gale decides now isn't the time and tries to move on. Fast. "At any rate, it appears to not deal with the reality of such things, not when applied to the local inhabitants. Now is the time to test how it works on non locals."
It's sound logic! At least, sound enough for Astarion to watch with some mild curiosity as Gale sprays the entire thing into his mouth - and he has to admit, the quality is far from bad. But he waits a minute, and then a minute more. "Well, you haven't melted, I can confirm that much," Astarion says.
"I can see that," Gale retorts, before setting the empty bottle to the side. Despite the fact that he doesn't look different, he's fairly sure, something still seems strange... And he hopes that means what he thinks it means. What he'd been hoping for, after he'd digested just what the label on the can was proposing. "Now then!" Sliding off his coat, rolling up his sleeves, he goes right down over to where Astarion is sitting and leans over. "I need you to bite me. "
Astarion stares at him again. Blinks. Turns his head away and speaks, just a bit, to the armrest more than to himself or Gale. "I really have gone insane from hunger," he says aloud, in a quiet and bemused sort of wonder. "Well, I suppose that was to happen sooner or later."
On one hand, it isn't as though he can blame him for that. On the other, well, the thrill of a potential discovery has him itching too bad, drives his impatience. If it's in this case, surely, it would be alright, wouldn't it? So he gives up on just standing there, instead moving so that he can sit right there on the edge of the armchair, nearly on Astarion's lap. "Well, you can lose your mind more completely after biting me," Gale informs him. "Come on, now!"
That snaps Astarion out of it, a bit, and his hand automatically goes to Gale's knee as though to keep him balanced right there. "Last I tried that, the results were rather disastrous, or did all your research wash away your brain?" he asks.
"That is because you didn't ask permission."
"Well, from where I was standing, it was because your blood was in competition with raw sewage vomited up by a diseased rat, but that is also something that added to it, I will admit."
Trust Astarion to have proper priorities. "That won't happen again," Gale promises him. "Probably."
"Probably," Astarion echoes back to him before sighing. The hunger must truly be biting at him, however. He doesn't continue on with his arguing or his mocking, deceivingly delicate fingers digging into Gale's flesh just a bit before he leans forward.
This is... purely to help a companion in need. Gale reminds himself that firmly, that he is doing this out of the goodness of his heart, even as he feels the soft curve of Astarion's nose brush past his shirt collar and along the line of his neck. For all that he is a vampire, there is something to the gust of his breath which stirs a heat inside of him. The hard slide of his teeth before the points press down, just slightly, hesitant, before -
The pain is a starburst in his system, clearing away everything else before he comes back down to reality with the gentle throb of it all. Gale grinds his fist down against his other leg, trying not to think too hard on the strangely alluring way it feels, Astarion sucking hard and once at his throat. In this position, it's impossible for him to see the other man's face, but he can feel how he stops. How his jaw goes just a little slack in shock. "It managed to affect me this much," he says proudly, pleased for his discovery. Tries to fight past the strain in his throat, and not mind how Astarion pulls him closer. Things are most certainly not happening in his trousers right now, at the sensation of that vampiricly strong hand on his waist. "You'll have to - ngh - tell me if it tastes like actual chocolate, since I don't think it literally is."
Astarion doesn't pull away to give him a quip, or any kind of answer. He just adjusts, lips dragging over Gale's pulse point, breath growing warm from the heat of his blood, and sucks down harder. It's - hard. To bite back a gasp there, and Gale's hand rises up instinctively, goes to brace against his shoulder. Doesn't stop him. Doesn't press back against the way that Astarion pulls him in so close, their legs tangling all the more there on this little armchair.
He almost doesn't even realize that one of those big dark and bat-like wings nearly smacks him in the face.
At one point, he knows he should tell Astarion to stop. That he should make sure he doesn't die of blood loss, because that would be horrifically embarrassing.
But he doesn't. If anything, his own hands work against his own self preservation, his other hand sliding up into that pale hair to force Astarion to stay close as every hard suck makes him feel contradictingly cold and burning white hot.
Neither of them really realize how much Astarion has feasted on, all desperate hunger that hasn't been truly fulfilled in agss now... up until Gale realizes that the world is growing dark, and he's growing whoozy, and, oops, that's sure him falling to the side. "Shit," Astarion says.
Gale is just conscious as he hits the floor, for long enough, that he giggles at that so very posh accent cursing.
And then he's out.
"So, I think that's quite a lesson learned," the large blue Elephante nurse tells him casually as he lays there in the hospital bed, his pale blue fake wings stuck uncomfortably underneath his back while he slowly comes to. "Even if we really like the Dark Faerie very much, there's a limit when it comes to play in the bedroom."
Gale would love to respond to that, he really would, because him and Astarion aren't really any kind of thing. Terrible manners and very passive aggressive behavior sometimes, that Astarion, and who would want to bed that?
But he's drowsy. It's a little hard to make syllables stand out from one another in his mouth. And he is just so aching with what the core demands from inside of him. If this doesn't get solved soon, if he doesn't sate it just a little bit more with something that will properly sit there in that ravenous gullet...
The nurse doesn't need to know that. All she needs to do is her job as she wipes some sweat from his head, makes sure the funny little tube is in his arm correctly, and toodles off. It's tempting to just fall right back into unconsciousness then and there, except she holds open the door for someone, and that someone slips right past her massive frame with something tucked underneath one arm. "So I suppose you melted into a sticky puddle on the ground one way or the other," Astarion drawls, although is it just Gale and his lack of blood, or is his voice carefully quieter than usual? "Well, that is the sort of thing reckless wizards get up to, isn't it?"
It's not as though he's wrong. Reckless wizards do get up to all sorts of nonsense, and Gale supposes he should have known better. He really will learn. He swears he will.
Trying to tell Astarion of such a swear, however, is a little hard with his tongue refusing to really function with him properly right now for the kinds of words he'd love to use, and Astarion cuts him off by taking the thing under his arm and flinging it onto his face. "Still... Let no one say I can't be appreciative. Sophie managed to scrummage up something useful, so this should do more than well enough for you."
Gale barely hears him. Not with how his mind focuses right on the powerful magic that's sitting right there on his face, more powerful and pure than anything else. An old witch's hat, stereotypically black and pointed, but awash with power.
It's exactly what he needs, and Gale wastes no time in feeding its power into himself.
Of course, this sort of process doesn't render him hale and whole again, or anything like that, but it makes him feel a little better. Far less stressed. Lets him sink back into his pillows with a sigh and a smile. "Oh, my lucky Star came through for me," he mumbles, able to be at least a little more coherent, with the words short enough.
Astarion stares at him with all the bewilderment of a cat that's been startled by a cucumber. "What did you just call me?" he asks, not sounding perhaps as offended as he might have been aiming for, but it's a little too late. Gale is already drifting back to sleep.
His body has an awful lot of blood to make up for, after all.