Astarion Ancunín (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sixfeetofdirt) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
wondrousplace2023-09-05 06:26 pm
sixfeetofdirt) wrote in wondrousplace2023-09-05 06:26 pm
vampiric AU for Tommy
'Szarr Palace' is an exaggeration, at best. Yes, the house is rather grand, by the standards of Birmingham's wealthier set, but palatial would be pushing it. It's also in clear disrepair - there are windows cracked, grotesques with wings or heads missing, railings rusted and overgrown with ivy.
But nobody comes for the ambience. Some come to the drawing rooms and offices to do business with Cazador, who has strong links to traders of varying legitimacy in Eastern Europe. Some come to avail themselves of the stable of pretty things he makes available in the luxuriant boudoirs on the upper floors.
The smallest handful, however, go downstairs into the lavishly decorate cellar rooms.
By the time one is working with Cazador in person, what he is becomes something of an open secret, an elephant in the room. No intelligent prey animal points out the predator's teeth while sitting in their lair, after all. However, the breadth of what he can do is even less well-understood. Those who need brief oblivion but know better than to drink themselves into the gutter or go trawling the opium dens can come here for the clean bliss of a few hours' waking dream.
Astarion usually works upstairs.
He doesn't really remember what his face looks like any more - mirrors have nothing to offer, and so cameras don't, either - but it seems to be fit to turn passing trade into repeat custom. However, when he's considered in need of discipline, he'll be sent down to the cellars. Greeting guests, making sure their needs are met, monitoring them during their dreams - such is Cazador's power that he doesn't need to be close by to maintain them.
It might seem like easier work. It isn't. Spending hours staring at the prone bodies of humans who wouldn't even know if they were bitten, and forbidden from doing so; spending hours watching his master exercise power he will never, never have?
It's almost as torturous as the literal torture, honestly. But! Being gloomy about these things won't make the time any faster. He meets their next guest in the foyer with a rakish smile and a tilt of the head.
"Welcome to the Palace." His voice is all but a purr. "May I take your coat, Mister...?"
But nobody comes for the ambience. Some come to the drawing rooms and offices to do business with Cazador, who has strong links to traders of varying legitimacy in Eastern Europe. Some come to avail themselves of the stable of pretty things he makes available in the luxuriant boudoirs on the upper floors.
The smallest handful, however, go downstairs into the lavishly decorate cellar rooms.
By the time one is working with Cazador in person, what he is becomes something of an open secret, an elephant in the room. No intelligent prey animal points out the predator's teeth while sitting in their lair, after all. However, the breadth of what he can do is even less well-understood. Those who need brief oblivion but know better than to drink themselves into the gutter or go trawling the opium dens can come here for the clean bliss of a few hours' waking dream.
Astarion usually works upstairs.
He doesn't really remember what his face looks like any more - mirrors have nothing to offer, and so cameras don't, either - but it seems to be fit to turn passing trade into repeat custom. However, when he's considered in need of discipline, he'll be sent down to the cellars. Greeting guests, making sure their needs are met, monitoring them during their dreams - such is Cazador's power that he doesn't need to be close by to maintain them.
It might seem like easier work. It isn't. Spending hours staring at the prone bodies of humans who wouldn't even know if they were bitten, and forbidden from doing so; spending hours watching his master exercise power he will never, never have?
It's almost as torturous as the literal torture, honestly. But! Being gloomy about these things won't make the time any faster. He meets their next guest in the foyer with a rakish smile and a tilt of the head.
"Welcome to the Palace." His voice is all but a purr. "May I take your coat, Mister...?"