Chapter Text
It was a dark night when Gale went out that first time, on a new moon in early May. So dark, he could barely see the waves crashing at first. He locked his arms around himself, blinking furiously to try to get his eyes to adjust. He wasn't afraid of the dark, of course, perish the thought, but it was unnerving to be blind to what was six feet in front of his face. His new colleagues had told him that this was crucial to properly observing the bioluminescence phenomenon; too much light would trick the eye and wash out the delicate glow of the plankton.
Luckily, they'd given him the location of what they called "the secret beach," an otherwise nameless and much less crowded place to observe. So here he was. So far, nothing. He shivered slightly; he'd come to the beach as he would at home in Southern California, without a shirt, but this was proving unwise. He usually ran warm, but he was certainly feeling the chill of the damp air this evening. The wind ruffled his hair as he wrapped his arms protectively around his chest. Gale squinted up at the sky, trying to make out the bitten-off thumbnail of the moon that he knew was there. But there must be cloud cover. So Gale stood there and pondered.
It had been only a few weeks since he'd taken this job, a continent away from his mentor and all of the animals he'd cared for and observed. The otters and their serious little faces as they beat clam shells with rocks. The far-too-smart-for-her-own-good octopus, Inky, who was always escaping her tank and making a crawl for the drain pipe. A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the flutter of the stingrays under his hands and their rough sandpaper skin. There had been that one bat ray that always nosed at his hand, looking for shrimp. Stanley, Gale had called him. Myliobatis californica, Gale mumbled to himself reflexively. The memories helped loosen the tight feeling in his chest the darkness had provoked.
But his smile faded as he recalled his mentor's reaction. The woman who proclaimed to have made his academic career. Her disappointed face floated in his mind's eye. "Your choice beggars belief," Mystra had said when he brought up the possibility of this fellowship over coffee. "Hardly constructive," he'd grumbled, but she'd continued her rant—told him he was throwing away his future, that no one would take him seriously over there without her, that no one cared if you weren't researching charismatic megafauna, it wasn't flashy enough—but Gale was tired of flashy. Didn't care for the attention, or the inevitable let down once you stopped getting it as regularly.
Gods knew he had been feeling that with Mystra lately, now that he was no longer her prime focus, her golden boy. In any case, he wanted to be of use, and the role of bioluminescence in medical research seemed to be just that. Eventually, he could tell other patrons at the cafe were craning their necks to look at who was getting berated, and his neck grew hot beneath his collar. There was something about the way her lips were pursed in that condescending expression of hers…he could feel himself start to become disconnected to what was happening around him. The sounds around him dulled, and his hands went numb. In the end, the public nature of the humiliation had snapped something inside of him and he'd been ignoring her calls since. Guilt fluttered in the cage of his ribs at the thought of her. She had done a lot for him, and—
His thoughts were jarred aside as his glazed brown eyes snapped toward something offshore: there was a pale glimmer to the nearest crashing wave. Could it be? He shuffled a little closer, wishing he'd thought to bring binoculars—and there it wasn't again, a glittering blue crest where the sea was churned up.
"Remarkable," he breathed. The curl of shimmering surf became a line in the dark water, which became a rippling belt across the sea extending out in every direction. Gale's breath caught in his throat. There it was, what he had been looking for: noctiluca scintillans, also known as sea sparkle. An organism he'd never actually seen before, and a hypnotizing shade of blue that differed from other species. Without any conscious effort, he started to drift toward the ocean's edge, his eyes never leaving the bioluminescent glow that stretched before him. And then without any warning at all he went sprawling headfirst into the sand with a pained grunt.
"Excuse me," an airy voice sounded. Gale blew a sharp breath out of his nose to dislodge the sand that had gathered there, his eyes searching wildly for who it belonged to—and squinted at a pale leg being withdrawn. That must be what he'd tripped over…and as he stared, he noted dumbly that the leg was attached to a delicate looking man, drawing his legs up as he sat in a rather uncomfortable looking twist to hide his obvious nudity. It was dark, but now with the ambient glow he could make out an impossibly narrow waist and perfectly defined if minimal musculature through his slender arms and torso. With rising panic, he took in the look of puzzled annoyance dominating a lovely face that had more in common with a feline than most, and featured a high pink blush dusted across prominent cheekbones and the oddly pointed tips of his ears. Gale's brain short circuited.
"Well, aren't you going to apologize?" the man huffed. His nose twitched. Were those…did he have whiskers…? No, Gale told himself. Must've been a trick of the light. He swiped up on his phone to access a bit of light, its beam small and pale in the swallowing darkness. He made sure he didn't shine it in the other man's eyes, but could've sworn he saw a cringe pass quickly over his face anyway.
"I'm dreadfully sorry," he stammered. "I didn't see you there. That is, I was looking at something else—" he gestured uselessly to the sea beyond them, where the bioluminescent glow had gone unhelpfully dark. The other man scowled at him. There was a tight, guarded nature to his posture that made Gale feel immediately guilty. He could only assume it had to do with the vulnerable position he was in, naked as he was. He was trying very hard not to look below head level. "I certainly didn't mean to—"
"Bruise me with your oafish gait?" The man sniffed, flicking sand off his coiled legs. "You've interrupted a perfectly peaceful evening, and you're staring," he added in an arch tone. Panic flooded Gale's confused brain. It was obvious he'd been a nuisance, and now he'd been caught staring at someone naked. Someone beautiful, no less. He could think of few crimes just now he wanted to be called out for less. The man likely thought him an unrepentant lech. He hastily shut the light off, plunging the beach back into darkness. He was even more blind after the flashlight's intervention.
"I was only here to observe the bioluminescence," he spoke into the black, raising his voice a little over the crash of the waves and gesturing toward what he thought must be the direction of the sea. "The lights in the water, surely you saw—?"
Silence. Then he heard a long-suffering sigh echo across the hard-packed sand. "Really can't see a thing, can you," the voice said.
"Well no," Gale replied, entirely without guile. "Can you?"
"My eyes have adjusted," the man said. His voice sounded a little nearer, and laced with a confidence that hadn't been reflected in the body language Gale had observed just a moment ago. Almost smug. "What is such a studious creature doing out here all alone in the middle of the night, hmm?" Gale's muscles tensed without conscious thought.
"Well, I'm studying the plankton," he muttered, feeling his nerves spike as he attempted a layperson's explanation. "What behaviors make them light up, and eventually, hopefully, which genes. But that's a long way off yet, I'm just getting started. Of course it's easier to see them when it's pitch black. Oh! But before you think me most ill-mannered a man, I'm Gale. Gale Dekarios—" he broke off with a muffled yelp as a cold hand closed around his wrist. He'd had no idea that the stranger had gotten so close.
"Studying little bugs that glow in the dark sometimes. Thrilling," the man drawled, unnervingly close to Gale's ear. "Well, I suppose that tracks. You do give the distinct impression of someone who spends too much time indoors." There was a menacing lilt to the man's voice that made the back of Gale's neck prickle.
"And how is that?" Gale asked, trying to sound neither frightened nor offended. He had a tawny, nearly olive complexion thanks to his Greek heritage. No one had ever said such a thing to him before, although begrudgingly he had to admit it wasn't far off.
Gale could swear he heard the man sniff. "You smell of antiseptic and tragedy," he said, his tone snide. "Perhaps a hint of…trees…"—this was delivered uncertainly, with a dramatic shift in tone—"if I'm being generous. And you move like your limbs are stiff from sitting. Am I wrong?"
"You're not altogether wrong," he admitted gruffly. But then he brightened, curiosity getting the better of him despite the oddity of the interaction, and the fact that the man still had his hand on Gale's arm. "But say, if you can really smell all of that you've got quite the sniffer on you," he added, raising an eyebrow and looking at the pale stranger quizzically. "Can you really?"
The man's eyes flashed as he drew himself up, the motion fluid and strangely elegant. Suddenly he released Gale's arm, seeming to move back a few paces in the dark. Behind him, there again was the glimmer of the bioluminescent plankton, momentarily distracting Gale and leaving the stranger outlined enough to spot the careless shrug he affected. "I have excellent senses. It’s a matter of survival, not a party trick." His voice dropped, losing its performative lightness. "You learn to notice things when you’ve had to. The scent of rot on a fish, the shift in the wind before a storm... the particular stench of a person who means you harm." He let that hang in the air for a moment, his gaze piercing. He didn't seem to react well to the quizzical look on Gale's face, he couldn't help but notice. Reflexively, he wondered why.
Gale's eyes widened at the shift in the other man's tone. "I see," he said faintly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Are you a...fisherman, then, Mister…?" He asked uncertainly, not sure how to place the stranger's words.
Astarion’s posture stiffened at the word ‘fisherman’. "Fisherman? No. Not in the way you mean," He said flatly. An odd reply. There still seemed to be something almost menacing in his tone, and he still hadn't disclosed his name. Finally everything Gale's mother had ever told him about interacting with strangers—particularly alone, particularly at night—seemed to sink in all at once. Gale cleared his throat, keeping his eyes trained stubbornly on the man's face.
"Right. Well, I regret the interruption. Enjoy your…whatever it is you're up to," Gale said hurriedly, turning and striding away without further comment. Faintly over the surf he heard a dry, mocking laugh. His shoes squeaked in the sand as he strode toward the dunes, not looking back.