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It is within the moments of dawn that Tajdal awakens. Molten fire matches the sunrise, colors of burning orange, decorated with flourishing pink and warming yellow cascade across the canvas that is the sky. Unlike his comrades, the dragonborn does not rest near the crackling of the fire, but by the river's chill, the trickling water distracts his thoughts and soothes him. He can wake up alone and be kept company only by the myriad songs of the waking world.
But it is not the mornings that calm him, so it's the moment he awakens; he leads himself to the waters to practically drown the heat that erupts in his head, claws down his arms with the sudden urge to bite, maim, and kill. Carnage fills his thoughts, and it's eviscerating, easy to imagine corpses cast across the shoreline. When Tajdal's knees hit the familiar depth, he's shoving his giant head into its abyss.
Flashes of faces -- human, elf, drow -- torn asunder by his claws, it is straightforward to rip their soft flesh, delicious to feast upon. Sweet not in the meat itself, but in the cries, the adrenaline of the urgency to survive, only to fail.
But eventually, all these thoughts wash off of him, demons in his head following down the river, fading away like a lost song. He pulls his head back out, inhaling in one breath before exhaling deeply through his nose.
You are being watched.
Instincts flare, and you do not need a weapon to kill.
As he rises and turns, there is a face that can only be assumed to be carnality in a ruby gaze. A tinge of worry, yes, but it is hard not to notice that whenever the dragonborn is shirtless, the stares he receives amongst his comrades grow more into the... intimate kind.
He's already had that odd moment with Gale and the Weave and the even weirder instance of Lae'zel and... whatever the fuck her administration was to sleep with him. The twisting and turning of threads and the dance of predators is seen between Tajdal and Astarion, the tension noticed by all of their companions on to get it over with, but fiery eyes look into crimson...
" Were you hoping I'd drown? " Tajdal rumbles, wading back to shore. The vampire licks his lips before smirking, dagger-sharp and gleaming, his scent still that of a pale fire but overlapping in complexities that make the dragonborn wonder if it's the same for himself. Suppose the reason for their contradictions is why they have two left feet around each other.
" While it would have been incredibly hilarious, losing a free meal like you would have been a terrible loss. " The pale elf responds the silver tongue at the ready no matter the time of day.
But the sun catches the light upon the both of them, Tajdal eclipsing most of the rays, casting Astarion in shadow simply by his size alone. The vampire recognizes the mistake immediately, gaze flitting to the side where he doesn't rest upon the boulder behind him. Draconic eyes follow his doubt, challenging him to stay, authority not by the parasite in their heads, but the hunger for honesty.
" You haven't been sleeping, have you? " It's too soft, warm, and detached, only to ensure it doesn't hurt when Tajdal's truth burns these threads between them.
These moments between them have him simultaneously wanting to gouge his eyes out and hunt for the pale flame in his vision; the cold fire licks across his scales, and for that moment, he wonders, really thinks to himself,
" I want to kill you. "
It comes out no matter what, and he sees that recognized fear of prey, but Tajdal puts a large hand upon his snout and drags it down. That is not how he wanted this to go. " It's those feelings again, these urges, but different, strange, like sweet wine with red flesh. And to be honest, I tolerate everyone else, but I enjoy you. "
And to Tajdal's ever-horrifying dread, he has to witness Astarion laugh.
" You -- oh dear, I would not have expected that these urges you have would have meant that you want me. "
" I want to kill you and you laugh? "
" In case you haven't recognized it already, darling, everyone here wants to kill somebody. But you, "
The silence overlaps on both of their thoughts connecting. It's not needed, but it shows you standing over the vampire with claws raised at the throat; for such a large man, the dragonborn is an effortlessly silent hunter, but he stops and shakes his head before packing up his sleeping bag and moving it towards the river. What Tajdal didn't notice at the time was Astarion opening his eyes after the failed attempt.
" So, you are losing sleep over little ol' me? "
The confession is over; the hunter is now hunted, and Tajdal curses something ancient before grabbing his pack as the vampire trails annoyingly like a gnat in his ears.