Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I read this all used to be green?”  Sitting in the nook of the window with her tea in hand, Evie looked out upon the crimson lands, much torched and barren from the constant onslaught of war.  The skies were occasionally punctuated by bright balls of fire crashing to the land.  A land she may never have the ability to set foot on despite now calling it home half of the time.

Raphael leaned on the wall behind her and followed her gaze.  “Mm, as it was first created by Asmodeus, before the Blood War.”

She tipped her head back to look up at him.  “And how do you see Avernus?”

“However we like, sweetling.”  His hand rose to run his knuckles over her cheek.  “Once the Blood War is curbed here, it may return.  Is that how you desire to see Avernus reborn?”

She leaned into the warmth of his touch.  “I think it’s more poetic for the Hells to greet with temptation.  Potentially more effective if you can smack them with the disparity of beauty and brimstone.”  Evie knew his priorities weren’t in how the Hells looked - yet - his focus on reining in the other layers under his - their - rule.

His eyes narrowed on her as he leant forward but there was a spark of humor in them.  “Are you certain it isn’t simply for a better view?”

“That, too,” she giggled.  “Speaking of beauty, I have to go visit the Underdark to see how my fishies are doing.  Depending on that, I’ll probably spend the rest of the day working out of the warehouse.  Or…hm.”  Evie touched a hand to her chin as she rethought that.  “No, I’ll stop by to pick stuff up and then go home.  I feel like I’ll need the sun and fresh air.  And a shower.  I need to have that seasonal room built.”  The research on the Underdark waters was well under way.  The first step towards identifying the sources of rot and pollution.  Her Kuo-toa could live in it but they were far from thriving - she wasn’t entirely convinced the rotting foods weren’t making them ill, but determining that was its own project as they insisted otherwise.  She couldn’t command them to not eat rotting foods until they had stable sources of fresh foods.

Where did she put her menthol rub?

“Be back for dinner,” Raphael commanded.  She knew better than to think it was a request.

Her brows rose in interest.  Dinner together was proving to be a very occasional luxury with how busy they both were.  Many contracts were struck over the evening hours - mortals and immortals alike, wooed with the ol’ ‘wine n’ dine’ - keeping him out until the wee hours on the clock.  They were fewer now than before his reign but more important than ever.  The rest of the night was typically paperwork and strategizing for a devil that needed far less sleep than she did.  Breakfast was their time together before meetings upon meetings ruled their days.

“Any occasion or simply dinner?”  Necessary to ask in case they were hosting someone she hadn’t been aware of.  He’d thankfully adopted her vastly more organised agenda system, so it was rare that such things surprised her.  Either way, by telling her, he was also saying that he was expecting her to be presentable, so she’d need to cook in time to get back and prepped.  She just needed to know what kind of presentable.

He took her hand in his own.  “Simply dinner with my Archduchess.”  Lips pressed to her palm with a look that promised more than ‘simply.’

She hid her mirth in her mug.  “Don’t you have a meeting?”

Raphael's smile turned dark and he hissed, “He can sweat.”

Uh-oh.  Someone was getting fired.  Quite literally by the look on his face.  She’d check the name again later to make sure it didn’t affect her own affairs.  Hers weren’t terribly entwined with his yet, so it was doubtful outside of a handful of people.  Raphael held very little patience for failure among his rank and file but there was always someone else itching and clawing to take a vacancy.

Evie turned and slid from the settee, then downed the last of her tea.  Time to get the ball rolling on the day.  From the perpetually bright fire and brimstone of Avernus to the cool darkness of the mushroom forested Underdark.  She had come to find a comfort in the latter as she tended to her piscine worshipers - perhaps one day she’d find the same here.

Reaching up to snag his collar before he turned away, she pulled him back down to press a peck to his cheek.  “See ya later!” she bid with a wave as she made to leave the bedroom, not missing the way his fist clenched against his urge to pull her back.  If he did, they wouldn’t be leaving the room for some time.

Now she just had to make sure time didn’t get away from her again.  The bruises on her ass had only just disappeared from the last time she hadn’t been paying attention and came home late without checking in.  ‘To serve as a reminder each time you sit,’ he’d said.  They’d probably last twice as long if she was late again…  Assuming he didn’t get creative with his discipline.  It was best to try not to find out.

Chapter Text

She was right on that verge of awake and asleep when she felt a foreign magic swiftly envelop her.  Panic blooming through her chest, she struggled against it, attempting to summon forth what she could of her own to fend it off.  There was the briefest sensation of falling, and then-

Evie hit the ground hard.  Any cry she would have made was stolen as her breath was forced from her on impact.  Sucking in a pained breath, she felt tears well up as she gulped in air.  Blurry shapes cleared as she hastily wiped at her eyes and pushed herself up on her knees.  The tile beneath her was damp with the warm humidity of the room.

Was that a giant bath?

Where was this?

There didn't seem to be anyone immediately around, though she could hear some muffled sounds if she focused long enough through the throbbing of her head.  Who- or whatever brought her here wasn't here.

Grumpily getting to her feet, she took a closer look at her surroundings.  Opulent red and gold furniture, fixtures, and rugs against smooth stone with marble inlays.  There was an archway to her left with some sort of glowing, yellow barrier.

Her ears twitched at a soft sound the same time a deep voice spoke, “Now, now…what have we here?”

Her head snapped around to the…practically naked, very tall cambion stalking towards her from around the bath behind her.

Shit.  She’d missed that presence.

The skimpy leather straps across crimson skin left very little to the imagination on the figure that had an odd sense of unfamiliarity.  Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, catching the faint glimmer when she peered from the corner of her eye.  That wasn’t Raphael.  But they were trying to be?

“Who are you?” she reluctantly asked, suddenly having an idea of who had dragged her from bed.  This was some sort of very uncanny lookalike but not who was currently deserving of her ire.

“Asks the little fox whilst traipsing through another’s boudoir.  Are you lost, little fox?” they avoidantly replied.

Evie tilted her head in thought.  “I don’t know where I am.  But I was brought here.  So I don’t believe ‘lost’ is the right word.”

“Perhaps not.”  They continued to saunter closer and gestured to the room as they spoke, “Perhaps you are right where you are meant to be.”

“Where’s Raphael?” she asked.  Would he really drop her here on purpose?  Maybe this was another area of his House of Hope.

They shrugged, affecting an air of playfulness but their grin was a bit too…devilish.  “I’m sure he’ll be along.  Why don’t we play a game in the meantime?” 

Evie let out a disgruntled sigh.  Playing games with a devil - or whatever this was - didn’t seem like the smartest idea.  “No, thanks.”

“That’s a pity.  We could have so much fun together.”  Their tone was of candy-coated disappointment but it didn’t match the determined look in their eyes.  “Won’t you allow me to change your mind?”

Alarms were starting to go off in her mind from their persistence.  “I don’t even know you.”  Maybe she just needed to keep them talking until Raphael arrived or she could figure out how to get out of here.

“But I've heard so much about you, little fox.  He does like to go on about his favorite future client.”  Favorite client?  She had wanted to hold her ground but found herself being corralled backwards as they pressed on.  They spread their arms dramatically and finally introduced themself, “I suppose you ought to know my name.  I am Haarlep, Raphael’s personal incubus!”

'Incubus’ gave her a lot more context to work with.  She hoped.  It was all assumptions based on her own plane’s lore, but it should be better than nothing.  Incubi subsisted off of sexual energy.  Which…probably explained the getup, mannerisms, and exactly what kind of ‘game’ they were wanting to play.  Why they were wearing Raphael’s skin was beyond her, though, unless they used it to seduce others.  Though ‘personal’ implied…  There were weirder kinks.

Her heel hit a stair.

“We can get to know each other very…intimately.”  Haarlep grinned.  “What’s the harm, dear fox?”

The ‘harm’ was that they were clearly targeting her and she didn’t know every way they could take advantage of her.  And it would feel weird to be with someone wearing the face of someone she knew, even if it wasn’t quite exact.

Behind her, the stairs led up to a large bed.  The bath was to her left and there was nothing but stone wall to her right.  Her best bet was either the loop of the room once she went up the stairs or darting towards the bath to try to run past them to the only door she could see.  Her gut was telling her to avoid going further in the room.

Haarlep stopped a few feet from her, their wings spreading restlessly and serving to cage her towards the stairs as if they knew what she was thinking.  They were tall enough, however, that she could probably duck beneath them without too much trouble.  But that risked being within their reach and would only work if she was fast enough.

“That’s a game I enjoy, too.”  She’d been too obvious.  They were easily reading her eyes and movements.  “You’re certainly welcome to try, but you’ll enjoy yourself more if you lose.  What,” they bent further into her space but did not come closer, “will you choose?”

Well, fuck.

She was under no illusion that she could fight her way through them by herself.  But maybe if she could do something to take them by surprise enough for her to get away…

Thinking on her feet, she threw her hands up and used her magic to flash a bright, lingering light at their face and feinted towards the bath but pivoted to duck under their left wing when they turned to blindly grab at her.

She ran for the arched doorway hoping she wouldn’t just bounce off of the barrier that she totally didn’t forget about but didn’t make it five steps before an arm wrapped around her and she was hoisted up.

“Oopf!”  Her back met the wall with a thud as the glamoured cambion held her aloft by her neck with their hips pressed hard against her.  Evie turned her head to pointedly divert her gaze as her hands tried to pry theirs away and demanded with a sneer, “Put me down!”

“Valiant effort!”  Haarlep’s free hand grasped her jaw, their claws pricking the sensitive skin below her ears, and they forced her to look at them.  “Still so resistant, pet.  You should be little more than the puddle in your panties by now.”  Ew.  With the way they were trying to force her to make eye contact, she assumed they had some kind of charm or influence magic.  Made sense for an incubus.  Let them keep trying that against her charm immunity while she figured out what to do now.

She channeled her lightning magic to her hands and shoved at their chest.  Haarlep stumbled back a step but their grip didn’t loosen enough for her to escape.  Her hands scrambled and scratched and dug in wherever they could reach, ratcheting up the voltage as she tried again.

Before Evie could make the charge stronger, Haarlep snatched up her hands and pressed them into the stone above her head, giving her a disorienting shake as they pressed close again.

They chuckled and grinned darkly, flashing sharp fangs.  Their forehead touched hers as they hissed, “Oh, I do so look forward to taming you, dear vixen.”

“There you are.”  Her breath caught at the annoyed voice, unable to see Raphael around the incubus but feeling his prickly presence approaching swiftly.  Nonetheless, she was thankful for the timing.  “All you had to do was simply not fight the summons.  Haarlep, release her.”

She felt some hesitancy but they did set her down and back away.  “She is a feisty one,” Haarlep commented with another appraising glance down her body before they swaggered over to one of the chaises and draped themself over it, disappointment clear on their face.

Seeing them next to each other was…weird.  Haarlep wore what she could see now was a younger version of Raphael, though it still seemed like there were little inconsistencies.  Maybe an incubus couldn’t make an identical version?  It would be enough to fool someone less discerning or unable to see the signs of a glamour, however.

Raphael pinned her with a stony look and jerked his chin over his shoulder towards the doorway.  “Come along, feisty fox.”  He turned on his heel and walked from the room.  

She followed after him, noticing that the yellow barrier that had been over the archway was gone.

“Do come to play again, little one,” Haarlep said lowly as she passed them.  She stuck her tongue out at them.  Probably not her best of impulses.

Catching up with quick steps and being careful to avoid his wings, she kept pace at Raphael’s side as he led her elsewhere in the House.  Now that she wasn’t in imminent danger of being assaulted further, she felt the draining comfort of relief.  Crossing her arms over her chest, she grumpily asked, “So, does Hell operate in a different time zone or did you just…forget that it’s the middle of the night?”  She was feeling the effects of her adrenaline crashing and exhaustion was already setting back in.

He looked down his nose at her with an arched brow, biting out, “Careful, I would truly hate for you to lose such a pleasurable piece of anatomy as your tongue.”

Evie huffed, a scowl pinching her face and undeterred by his words as she craned her neck to look up at him.  “And I don’t appreciate being woken up without warning, yanked somewhere I don’t recognise, and then having your incubus threatening to shove theirs down my throat.  Rather rude.”  The part of her that controlled her filter had long since shut down for the night but there was a fragment of her brain looking on in silent horror and unable to do anything.

“Continuing to chastise a devil,” Raphael commented dryly.  “One should ponder if you are simply brave or stupid.  Though you do still have your clothing on - if one could call that clothing - which is more than most can say when Haarlep’s determined to have them.”

Evie bristled, her tail flicking with her irritation.  “Gross.  Woulda been like fucking a forgery.  Or being…by…  Whatever.”  A voice in her head tried to warn that he might take issue with her calling being with the incubus wearing his face and body ‘gross.’

“Oh, now, don’t let them hear you say that.  You’ll hurt their feelings.”  Something Raphael would take great joy in going by the grin on his face.  There appeared to be some negative energy about the incubus.  Interesting.  Definitely a bit of pocket info.

“Why am I here, Raphael?” she finally asked directly.  “Presumably not to tour your Bed, Bath, and Beyond back there.”  And dammit, no-one would properly appreciate that joke here.  Tragic.

“I have information that I presumed you would like to be made privy with some sense of haste.  But I suppose I could simply send you back to your bedroll.”  His magic rose to his hand with the threat but there was a delay behind the action as he waited for her response.

She rolled her eyes at the pettiness.  “I’m already here.  That would just be a further waste of our time.  I’ll hear you out.”

.

.

.

“You can hardly blame me.  I just assumed you had poofed a new toy right into my lap.  You should have given me a little more time to play with the staticky little fox.  Then you could have her whenever you desire.”

“You are not to so much as touch her without my express permission, Haarlep.  She requires a more…delicate approach to ensnare and I will not have you compromising that.”

“Mm…she smells of honey.  I wonder if she tastes as sweet?  At least let me have her when you’re through with her~”

Chapter Text

Evie’s ears caught on a curious sound over his words, twitching every time she heard the barely perceptible interruptions that now rang thunderous.  Her eyes scanned down his clothing as her ears honed in on where it was coming from.

The shoes.

Her head canted.

The feet stopped their slow pacing.  “Is something the matter?  …Evie.” 

Her eyes shot back up to his, shaken from the fixation she’d found herself in.  “Hm?”

His shoulders rose and fell with his sigh, his mouth pinching into the start of a scowl.  Raphael strolled towards her, the softest of jingling accompanying each step.  “I find the newly sprouted ears suit you.  They complete the picture of a curious vixen.  Unlike all those pretty little ceremorphosis symptoms - sundering skin, dissolving guts…  You’d best pay attention, fox.  One might say you’re a paragon of luck, yet as the clock ticks, it will run out.  And here I’ll be waiting with my generous offer of salvation.”

“Bells,” she said.  “The…bells are distracting.”

He looked like he wanted to say something but held his tongue, instead plastering on a smile and asking, “Have you sufficiently considered my offer?”

Evie rolled her shoulders in a shrug and rocked back on her heels.  “I suppose.  I wasn’t expecting to be brought here or I’d have brought my copy.”

Raphael’s eyebrows shot up as his eyes brightened in surprise and his smile turned from one of performance to genuine excitement, prior grievances seemingly forgotten.  “No need to worry, I have one all prepared.”  With a snap of his fingers, one appeared before them.

Frowning, she gave it a dismissive wave and set her hands on her hips determinedly with a huff.  “Like I’m going to remember all the red-lining I did.  That was awful, forcing myself to read through it the other seventeen times.”  She sighed, half wondering if it was even worth the effort to explain.  “I suppose it doesn’t matter.  I’m rejecting it on the principle of unacceptable parameters.  Poetry has no place in contract legalese and only serves to provide you with smokescreens and loopholes to exploit,” she criticized with a shake of her head.  “Properly define your terms and supply a more suitable exchange and I may reconsider.”

“I don’t think you fully appreciate the direness of your situation.  You’re hardly in any place to be making negotiations,” the cambion sneered.

The direction of this conversation combined with things he’d said in the past confirmed something that had been nagging her.  “See, this is how I know you - or one of yours - have been in my companions’ minds…but haven’t been in mine.  And I hardly believe it’s because y’all haven’t tried.  You’re projecting them onto me with the presumption that we’re at least similar if not the same.  I’m not desperate.”  She figured he was at least spying on them somehow.

“Oh?  Are you looking forward to growing tentacles and losing your mind to the oblivion of being an illithid slave for the rest of your days?” he asked mockingly, unhappy at being called out and turned down again.  She noted that he said nothing about her accusation of spying into their minds.

“No.  I don’t think it will get to that point,” she said, maybe too flippantly.

Raphael was unenthused and clearly skeptical of her optimism.  “An awfully intrepid belief.  Are your companions aware that you don’t share their urgency?”

“We are still acting with a sense of urgency.  I’m simply not clouded by it,” she tried to reason.  “However, I would never block anyone else from going to you should they decide that’s the best choice for them.”  That didn’t seem to be swaying him any.  “Unless…that’s not good enough?  For some reason, you want my soul specifically.”  Evie crossed her arms, feeling an uncomfortable confusion trying to take root in her mind.  She tamped it down, telling herself she had to remain keen right now.

His bright eyes stared into her for several long seconds, as though weighing his words.  Could he actually see her soul?  “Your soul, dear fox,” he pointed at her with a clawed finger, “carries unique qualities that devils find attractive.  And though you may not see yourself as the Leader- the Hero of Baldur’s Gate - yet - others most certainly will.  It is a covetous thing to own the contract of one who has played such a part.”  This wasn’t the first time that he had referred to her with that title and it wasn’t one that she was comfortable with, as he well knew from their prior talks.

He had assigned her a role that he expected her to play in order to, essentially, load her soul’s CV with the achievements he desired to make it extra…whatever devils valued.  ‘Heroic’ seemed like a theme, so maybe there was a corruption component?  This wasn’t something she was warned about in Sunday school.

If they were successful, he wasn’t going to stop pursuing her soul.

Undeterred, she confidently replied, “Well, unfortunately for you, I would rather pop my own eye and yank out the parasite myself before signing away my soul.”  Eternal damnation didn’t exactly sound better than simply dying.  Though her worry now was that he might try to manifest a scenario in which she would have to sign her soul away to him.  The tadpole was looking like it was just an object of current convenience for him.

If he wanted her soul, she at least wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

Raphael openly rolled his eyes.  “You truly believe you can be rid of it that way?”

Evie held her fingers up in a pinching gesture.  “Well, a bard, a goblin, a hag, and an illithid have all suggested doing such, so far, which tells me that there may be the barest of slivers of merit to it.”  She’d be the first to say that their methods were highly sus and not probable to come without their own consequences - it was simply yanking it out and most of them may not have put any thought into it beyond that.  But she wasn’t them…and it might be more feasible than she initially thought.  “The advantage I have is the modern-day knowledge of physiology and medicine.  And probably far more finesse than any of that lot.”  And Volo had a fake eye if not.  She could rock a fake eye.

Astarion would make fun of her for being even more clumsy for the lack of depth perception, but people loooved eccentricity in business moguls!

And the way she was with her new claws, she was wont to take out her own eye at some point, anyway.

“Do extend an invitation to me whenever you decide to try to pluck your own eye from your skull,” he hissed sardonically.  “I would like a front row seat.”

“I have a friend who can pop his own out on a whim.  I don’t need to remove it entirely, just get around it and the optic nerve.  And muscles.  And thanks to the wonders of daytime - and late night television, I’ve at least actually seen it done before in a professional medical setting.  That’s probably not the difficult part, though - relative.  That would be not accidentally lobotomizing myself in the process.  Buuut at least I wouldn’t feel that.  Probably.”

The cambion before her was the picture of disgusted exasperation.

Unfortunately for him, that did not stop her rambling and info-dumping now that she was excited that she might actually be onto something.

.

.

Raphael was under no illusions that, upon summoning her to him tonight, she would actually acquiesce to signing over her soul right then.  He did believe that he could slowly whittle away at her pesky sensibilities and plant the needed seeds that would lead her back to him once she hit the point of desperation.

It had never once occurred to him that he might unwittingly lead her to the thoroughly audacious conclusion that she could remove the illithid blight herself.  Delusional.

Was it a bluff?  The more he watched her, the more he doubted that it was.

His resistant heroine closed her eyes and touched a hand to her chin in thought while she audibly walked herself through the theoretical process in a far more knowledgeable manner than he could have anticipated.  That knowledge was making her comfortable.  The conviction was impressive, if foolhardy.

Her attention diverted, he watched as she continued to mumble to herself, and then something on the bookcase next to her caught her eye.  She turned and stooped slightly, her words trailing off mid-sentence.  Her head tilted to read the words along the spines of the books.

Though irritated that she had just…walked off from the conversation without being dismissed, he allowed her to peruse the room under his observance, to stumble her own way across a line that would land her within his claws.  He could see her fighting the urge to touch.  Perhaps a minor contract could be the catalyst for her soul.

She jerked back suddenly, eyes wide, and brought her fist down onto her palm.  A classic gesture indicating a spark of thought.  “Oh!  I should ask Wyll about his eye!” she exclaimed to herself.  Then she pointed to a golden fixture set upon a side table whereupon a handful of especially bright souls rested and addressed him as though she hadn’t been behaving like she had forgotten about his presence, “What’s this?”

“That is a lamp,” he answered flatly, wondering if that knowledge would bring any alarm or disgust to her.

She gave a curious hum and walked on.  Attention already on the next thing as her tail flicked blithely behind her.

The little fox was seemingly not ignorant to what he was, but she was decidedly without fear of him.

It couldn’t possibly be due to confidence in her own strength - she wasn’t and had none - but rather the belief or trust that he would not harm her.  Like some soft little pet.

Overly familiar in her language and behavior.

Presented herself as though his equal.

The rules and etiquette by which she governed herself were most typically found among the working class.  Not nobility by any stretch unless that class held very different traits and values in her locality.  Yet highly educated.  There were some…odd notions in there, however, but he was uncertain if they were a product unique to her or from whence she came.

At present, she had nothing to her name and no desire to return to her plane.  A beautifully blank canvas.  From what he had been able to discern, the pure novelty was what led her desire to stay.  She was confident in her ability to thrive here and perhaps had the ambition to achieve that on her own.  If she didn’t get herself killed first.

“Ah, you do have clocks!” she suddenly exclaimed and turned around to face him.  The fox continued with an unprompted explanation, “You said ‘as the clock ticks’ earlier and part of my brain just caught up and threw it at me.  I’ve been trying to figure out the general technological timeline of Faerûn but that’s really hard considering I’ve never been in a city, so far, and with talks with the others, I’ve learned some things are called different things here.  I was looking for a clock but either you don’t have any or you subscribe to the casino theory of timekeeping.  Or they look different.”  She gestured to the room at large with her next words, “But if you - a noble - live like this, I think I have a better idea.”

Like…this.

“Elaborate.”

Her head fell to the side and her eyes drifted up as she collected the thoughts to distill into words that, for both their sakes, had best resolve the ire building within him to which she appeared oblivious.  She held her hand up as though counting while she spoke, but quickly did away with that endeavor as she started pacing, her hands and face emphasizing her words with a new gusto, “You have hot, running water as indicated by your bath.  But no electricity - though I think there’s a strong case for magic working as a sort-of substitute here and for some other use cases.  Some of the things in Grymforge and the arcane tower were wholly novel to my companions, which tells me that technology may be unique to those locations and-or the prior occupiers.  Books - printing press and even detailed, graphical covers!”  

She stopped pacing abruptly and tapped her foot briefly before throwing her hands up in a sharp shrug.  Frustration leached into her explanation, turning it into a rant, “But you use quills and no-one’s heard of flushing toilets!  ‘Ice boxes’ are maintained by magic and not a chemical vacuum system or electricity.  Air conditioning, heating - is also mostly magic but largely only by those capable of it.  Which throws a bit of a wrench into trying to match things against the technological timeline of my world because we don’t have magic.  Higher technology is definitely missing, though, or I think you’d probably have signs of it.  Though also possibly not since I’m sensing a certain aesthetic and that kind of thing doesn’t always pair well for those who are…discerning.”

Oh, did the fox realise she was ranting?  She had the sense to look contrite, but uncareful words before a devil were dangerous.  Information was a currency in his world and she was offering up more and more with each successive summons.

She might have been lower born, yet it was a clear bet that, courtesy of her own plane’s advances, she was used to a standard of living even much of Faerûn’s nobility did not have.  Her ‘every day’ was found in the very lap of luxury here.  Was she prepared to face that reality?  That she may never obtain that without a truly obscene amount of ambition?  Of drive?  Of connections?  Of money?  Of power?

While he presumed her to be conventionally attractive beneath the ratty, oversized clothing, she had made her features unique enough that she may get away with being someone’s spoiled pet - but would she be satisfied with that?

This he could use.

He rolled his shoulders and felt his mood lift.  He stepped towards her and ignored how her eyes dropped to his boots again.  “You seem to have a certain disdain for quills.”

Face souring, she spoke in a clipped tone, “I haven’t been the biggest fan of having to relearn how to write.  They’re so inefficient!  And messy.  I swear, my handwriting isn’t anywhere as bad as they make it seem…”  The first worry she had expressed in his presence…and it was about her handwriting.

Raphael grinned with a flourish of his hand.  “Fear not, I shan’t care how your signature looks upon any of my contracts.”

She breathed a laugh at his humor and shook her head.

Time for her to return.  “The night has grown long, little fox.  We will speak again soon.”

Her hand rose in a wave.  “This has been an eye-opening conversation,” she giggled as she disappeared swathed in his magic.

His jaw clenched.  What an aggravating little thing.

Chapter Text

“Why are you-?”

Raphael observed as, with much exasperation, the fox precariously balanced on one foot while prying off her shoe, then hopped to the other to repeat the action.

Footwear in hand and frown upon face - none too thrilled about being abruptly summoned again - she turned and padded her way on her toes to the entrance of the room and tucked them by the door.  Barefoot before him now, she crossed her arms.  “It’s rude to be in someone’s home with your shoes on,” she said as though it was a most obvious, plain as day explanation of behavior.

Raphael found himself speechless.

He wanted to chide her for the odd behavior - he’s clearly wearing shoes in his own home - but it’s a sensible rule of decorum that he now found himself wondering if he shouldn’t, himself, extend to more guests.

Irked by even the brief moment of internal conflict, he opted instead to ignore the interruption and carry on with their business.

“Now, then…”

Chapter Text

Evie covered a yawn and looked expectantly towards the man standing in front of his desk.  Human this time.

She wasn’t sure if his insistence on summoning her here this late was some attempt to be covert—it wasn’t like her companions didn’t know of their meetings—or if he just wanted her tired in the hopes that she would be more amenable to…whatever.

Raphael clasped his hands behind his back.  “Korrilla tells me that you have shown much interest and initiative in learning magic.  Have you given any thought to becoming a warlock?”  His gaze drifted from her to the ceiling, dropping back with each overly emphasized word until he awaited a reply, “Certainly a consideration when one does not have the time to dedicate the required long years and intense efforts to studying wizardry.”  Another sales pitch, then.  Always gotta hurry, hurry.

“Like Wyll?”  She didn’t know much at all about warlockry—not a class she’d ever played in any of her D&D games—but he was definitely an example of what could happen when your convictions didn’t match your patron’s.  The last thing she wanted was to be stuck in a similar situation.

Except Eldritch Blast, she knew about that.

“Yes, one is given power through a deal made with a patron.  Such as Wyll’s contract with Mizora.  And very much akin to your fox Aspect—you made a deal with a nature spirit in exchange for power.  Trivial power, though all the same.”  Evie found the more she watched him speak—emphatic gestures, purposeful, even over expressing with his face—the more…hypnotic it was.  Like everything was a stage performance.  “I can make you far more powerful than Wyll.  Korrilla could even mentor you.”  It was a more fun mask to try to decipher than the normal ones.

“For the low, low price of my soul, I’m guessing?”  Evie side-eyed the contract that appeared near her with a wave of his hand.

“I am a bit possessive,” he frowned coyly, “so your connection with the spirit would be severed.  But I’ll let you keep the fluffy tail and ears.”  She scoffed as his frown turned into a teasing smirk and he drew his fingers together in a mimicry of claws.  “Even the itty, bitty claws and those things trying to pass as fangs in your mouth,” he finished with a sharp click of his teeth.

“No, thanks…”  She batted away the parchment.  “Though, while I’m here…if this is going to be a regular thing, can we at least agree on a day and time?”

“Absolutely, dear fox,” Raphael too readily agreed.

It occurred to her then that her exhaustion had gotten the better of her.  She should have been telling him to stop pulling her here on his whims, yet, instead, she just offered to set up meeting times with him like he was her manager.

And he certainly saw himself that way, no doubt pleased by her suggestion as it only fed the legitimacy of whatever this was.

Maybe she’d be able to get some proper sleep in before, though.

Chapter Text

Evie was laughing so hard her sides felt like they were going to burst as a bemused and increasingly impatient devil stood nearby with his hands on his hips.

A far cry from the smug smoothtalker he’d been mere moments ago, so assuredly trying to lure her into a new or updated contract…until she’d realised what had happened.

She backed into a chair to sit and covered her face with her hands in an attempt to control herself and wipe the tears from her eyes.  “I’m sorry,” she managed to huff out between giggles, “I think you misunderstood something.  Or didn’t have context.”  Not that she had any sympathy for him trying to use information from spying on her against her.  “I…I promise I have no addictions to any such illicit substances.  Or anything else, really.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow as though he had doubts about that claim.

Evie launched into an explanation, “I can only presume this came up because I was complaining about missing my beloved Vanilla Coke.”  She threw in her own dramatic gesture, pressing a hand to her chest over her heart with a giggly sigh.  “Which is a cola soft drink that’s ‘vanilla’ flavored - I don’t think it tastes like vanilla but whatever.  Coca-Cola - Coke - is a popular brand.  The drink used to have cocaine in it from the coca leaves they used but they, like, figured out how to get rid of the cocaine part somehow - in amongst the push to make it illegal in my country, which they wholeheartedly lobbied for with loopholes to protect their own business interests - so the drink hasn’t had it in it in several decades now.  Longer than I’ve even been alive.”

She paused a moment to think back on the original conversation she’d had nights ago with her companions around the supper campfire.  “If I said anything about being addicted, it was purely hyperbolic.  I just miss it.  Not enough to sign anything, though.”

“The attempt at a vice gotcha’s cute,” she teased, her grin barely holding back another fit of laughter.

Raphael let out a harsh breath through his nose though otherwise remained unnaturally stoic.  “That’s a pity.  It would have provided some explanation.”

Evie tsk’d at the insult but found herself engulfed in his magic on her way back to camp before she could retort.

Their fastest ‘meeting’ yet - the devil didn’t like being wrong.

Chapter Text

“It worries me how often that devil summons you,” Evie heard her tentmate softly say while he stared at the pages of the book in his hand.

After hours of travelling, the group had opted to set up a temporary camp.  Instead of dragging everything out, she and Astarion had decided to simply share a tent for the ‘night.’  Just two bedrolls…and the wall of pillows between them.

Evie watched the motes of dim light floating above them.  “But what do I even do about it?  I think upsetting him wouldn’t exactly be smart.  We don’t want to needlessly make an enemy of him and he has provided us with good info.”

Astarion scoffed and dropped the book aside, turning to look at her fully.  “Does he have nothing better to do, though?” he complained, his face twisting into a sneer.

She could only shrug.  Though they spoke fairly frequently, she couldn’t pretend to know how Raphael spent the rest of his time.  “I do kinda wonder if he may be planning something else.  Like, this is a lot of his time he seems to be putting into us.”

His expression turned dubious.  “You.  That he is putting into you, dearest.  The devil isn’t whisking away anyone else in the dead of night.”

Honestly…it made her feel better that no-one else was in the same position she was.  With Raphael focusing on her, that kept them safer.  Fewer temptations, fewer distractions.  “I tried confronting him a while back about why he’s so keen on me specifically, and all he said was that my soul has more unique qualities that attract devils.  He’s been pushy about the ‘Hero of Baldur’s Gate’ thing.  Maybe it’s an investment thing?  He’s invested in the outcome and so certain that he’ll get my soul eventually that he’s taken it upon himself to micromanage us?”

“Plausible as any other theory at the moment, I suppose,” Astarion sighed, tracing the frayed decorative stitching on one of the pillows.  “You said he’s had one of his…minions spying on us?” 

“Korrilla?  Yeah.  She seems okay.  Minus the…spying…part.”  She remembered the time she first met Korrilla when she and Lae’zel confronted her near their camp.  She had occasionally seen the warlock since during her time spent with Raphael.

He sat up straighter and looked down his nose at her.  “Evie, darling, just because someone is nice to you, doesn’t mean you should trust them.”  She couldn’t help how her eyes narrowed on him, the weight of his very recent confession to her that he had spent most of the time he’d known her trying to manipulate her still stung. “Yes, I am a phenomenal example!  Oh, don’t give me that look!  I’m no devil, at least.  Trusting me at all was still stupid and you shouldn’t keep making exceptions.”

She knew this and she knew she didn’t always have the best judgment of character or ability to read others.  It meant others did take advantage of her.  But she still preferred to err on the side of seeing the best in people.  After all, Astarion had told her and promised to do better and focus on introspection and growth.  Would he have gotten to that point if she hadn’t shown him that trust and compassion, that not all the world was bleak?  

“He offered to make me a warlock,” she shared.  “I told him I wasn’t interested, but he must have told her to try to convince me.  She said I was dumb if I didn’t accept.”

“Then that goes doubly so!” he hissed, leaning close.  In a blink, though, his face turned imploring. “You’re not considering it, are you?  I hope you aren’t for my sake, dear.  We can find better ways to deal with Cazador than accepting a deal from - honest to Hells - one of the few people who could turn out to be worse.  There’s no telling how he could really be if he ever owns you.  We want our freedom when we are through with this mess, after all.”

“I guess she’s been secretly helping us out quite a bit at his direction.  Maybe we’re just that awful at all this,” she stifled a slightly worried giggle.  Korilla had been saving her hide specifically a lot, as it turned out.  Astarion would have an absolute conniption if he discovered she was leaving out supper portions for the warlock whenever she cooked if she sensed her nearby.

Chewing her lip, her thumb soothed over the tattooed symbol above her opposite wrist.

Astarion shook his head.  “Don’t let them get in your head.  I know I can be critical at times…but you have improved immensely.  It’s only in their interests that you doubt yourself.”

Her eyes drifted around the bare tent.  “It hasn’t been all bad.  Sometimes it’s even…enjoyable.”  It made her feel guilty just how much she enjoyed talking with Raphael at times.  He was prone to dramatics but that was part of his charm - much like the elf sitting across from her.  “Though I’m starting to feel like I’m having routine meetings with my manager, which I think messes with my head more than anything else.”

“See, that is precisely what worries me!” he bristled again.  “He’s just hoping to butter you up so you’ll sign one of his contracts!”

Evie gripped one of the pillows, contemplating throwing it at him.  “I’m not going to!  And I’m well aware that is most likely his goal.”

Astarion shrank back.  He looked like there was something else he wanted to say but he chewed on it for a bit.  When he finally spoke, his words were uncertain and vague, not aided any by the gesture he made before recrossing his arms, “He’s not making you…you know?”

“Making me what?”  She didn’t catch his meaning.

Astarion sighed with his exasperation.  “Fuck him!  He’s not using you for sex, is he?”

She blinked in disbelief.  “No.”  

Sure, the devil used language meant to entice - quite similarly to how Astarion used to speak to her, actually - but he had never propositioned her like that.  To her knowledge.  Maybe Astarion was seeing similarities to their relationship and that was adding to his worries?

He held his hands up defensively.  “I had to be sure.  You did say the time with him was enjoyable.  And with us not…  I’m not sure I could blame you if you were - he has a certain allure to him.  Maybe he likes the whole sexy fox thing.”

The sound she made was a choked mash of a laugh and a scoff.

“So what do you do during these visits?” he asked.

She thought for a moment.  “Aside from all the garbage going on-  Talk about nerdy shit.”

“You’re joking,” he stated dryly.

“Politics, music, art, theater, books, history, food…”  Was that really that weird?  “He’s really knowledgeable and seems to just like the conversation.”

“You’re making friends with the devil, Evie!” he exclaimed, running his hands down his face.

“Is that a bad thing?”  Before he could answer, she added, “Do you remember when we were on the docks and you said that being friends with a vampire was weird?”

“I think there’s a bit of a difference between a vampire and a devil, my dear,” he argued.

“Why?”  Everyone treated the answer like it was super obvious.  It reminded her of the scaretales of her religious upbringing that she had long since abandoned.  ‘Devils are evil’ held no real meaning to her anymore.  Raphael held himself to a rather strict code of conduct - “Hell has its laws,” he was fond of saying - which was more than could be said of many people she knew who claimed to be better.

He tsk’d in disapproval.  “Well, for one, the moment he decides you’re no longer of any use to him - or worse, if he believes you’ve slighted him in some way or broken some rule - he is significantly more capable of harming you.  Devils see everyone as tools to use at their own convenience and nothing else.  I, for one, would prefer we stayed clear of him but…” the energy behind his words died off.  He couldn’t forget that there was something they did need Raphael’s help for.

“Speaking of-” Evie broached softly.  “I think…you should be the one to approach him about your scars, Asta.  If I bring it up, I kinda worry any deal he’d come up with might be weighted differently than if you were the one to ask him.”  She earnestly added, “Not that I don’t wanna help or anything, because I’ll totally talk to him for you if you want me to!”

He pursed his lips and shook his head.  “No, I agree.  You especially should be wary of making any deals with him and this is my burden to bear.  The less you’re involved in that part, the better.”

A companionable silence lulled between them.

But she was no closer to understanding her questions.

Evie flopped down on her back with a yawn and stretched her arms over her head.

“Do you think…I could have a bit of a late night snack?”

She cracked her eyes open to see crimson pleading down at her.  “Toss me a ration pack from my bag?”

He bolted upright and grabbed for her bag, rooting through it until he found what she asked for.  She caught and tore it open, flopping her arm over the pillows between them.

Chapter Text

“Welcome back, little fox!”  Not five minutes here and the incubus was already back to trying to get under her skin.  She wasn’t sure how - had Raphael told them? - but they had found out that her ears were extra sensitive and could hear them wherever they were skulking about in the House of Hope.

“Why not come play with me,” they bid in that deceptively dulcet lilt, “once you’re done with all that boring stuff I’m sure you talk about with the master?”

If she hadn’t been a product of the modern era of sex and such things as the internet and all that came with it - porn galore, unsolicited lewdness and pictures in every inbox as a woman merely existing online, rule 34, et cetera, et cetera - maybe their words would have fazed her.  As it was, they usually weren’t too difficult to ignore, though they had been escalating in drama and explicitness...  She refused to give them the satisfaction of getting a response out of her.

“I could pamper you in the bath first.  Evie…would you like that?  Light candles while we soak and relax in the hot waters.  I would scrub every bit of that soft skin until my touch makes you tingly and breathy.  Run my claws over your scalp as I lather and rinse your beautiful red hair.  I bet they’d feel divine on those fluffy ears.  Oh, and I of course cannot forget about your tail!  I wonder how sensitive it is?  Do you moan when it’s grasped and pulled, little fox?”

“I would massage all those muscles, so tight and sore from your travels.”

“Perhaps I would steal a kiss or two from those lips and give your nipples a pinch just to hear you gasp.”

“And then I would pluck you up and seat you on the pool’s edge.  You would lie back into plush pillows and I would attend to your most sacred of places!”

Oh, what she would give for a proper hot bath…  One of the things that she did fantasize about.  What was most aggravating was that the incubus was likely saying all this from that amaaazing looking pool she’d seen in Raphael’s ‘boudoir.’

Boudoir: an archaic term she’d giggled at when Raphael first used it.  He had a poetic way of speaking at times though he clearly kept up with linguistic changes to be however many millennia old and still sound similarly to the others that she had so far met.  But words like this reminded her that he was not that forty-something appearance of the man before her.  Astarion frequently did the same, and Gale, sometimes to a lesser extent.  Surprisingly, it was infrequent from Halsin, who she knew to be the oldest of their group - maybe the language of the wilds changed less than that of the cities?

She wasn’t playing this right with Raphael.  She could be asking for things in exchange for the information he was trying to dig out.  Getting caught in his game, though, wasn’t something she wanted.

“Do you leave your curls?  Or do you trim them down?  Perhaps you’re bare completely?  I would wager that to be difficult to maintain for one travelling so long in the wilds.  I could clean them up, should you like?  If you’ve never been shorn bare, you’ll be in for a treat!”

But it was so tiring to dance around saying what he wanted to know all the time.  In most of it, she didn’t see much harm, but he was sneaky, and with her tendency to ramble once she got started, her mouth would go before her brain had a chance to pull the break.

While their first meetings had felt more like they were butting heads and clashing horns at times, the devil had pivoted and changed his strategy since.  It was a constant battle now to remind herself that he wanted her to associate him with comforts and luxury.  There was always food and drink offered.  Plush, velvet seating.  The House was near always quiet at the hour they met - except for someone.  He’d even offered to loan her a book after they had shared some of their favorites - she’d declined for now for fear of it getting damaged or ruined while travelling.  She thought he’d enjoy Alice in Wonderland.  It was kind of sad that she’d never be able to loan him or anyone a favorite book from her world.

“-to taste you!  You come here smelling all sweet and it’s not fair that I’ve been denied!  Would you be so sweet on my tongue?”

His obvious logic was that if she liked him she would be increasingly likely to sign over her soul to him - if not now, then at some point in the future.  But what if she did start turning into an illithid?  If it came to that, would she really be able to kill herself or allow another to kill her?  It was easy to say she would, but she could just as easily panic and summon him.  Because comfort was what you turned to when faced with your own mortality.  As it stood, she still thought chance was on her side.

And now-  They were discussing tea.  She loved tea!  Now Raphael knew her favorite tea.  Black with lots of spices and a dab of honey and cream and sugar…  Most of that she had actually been able to come by, but certain spices and dairy were a luxury out there.  She would bet a hefty sum of gold that he would start offering tea alongside, or instead of, wine for these meetings.

“-eave little love bites all up your thighs.  And then I’d hold them apart as my tongue laves at your lips.  I’m afraid I might be too eager to savor this!  I’d delve into your cunt for that first bit, then lick and suckle at your clit until you’re writhing beneath me and begging for more.  My tail would thrust into your hole until you spill that sweet nectar for me.  Would you cry out?  Would you scream your release?”

Her problem was that she did like him.

However much of this was an illusion to draw her in, there were parts that were genuine.  When there wasn’t ‘work’ to talk about, he often led conversation with his own interests and hobbies - they had quite a few in common!  It might have started as a way for him to show off his sophistication as he played host, but he was happy when she was able to keep up and contribute.  After so many months out no-where, it was exciting to be able to get a bit nerdier with someone over her own interests!  Even if they were a devil.  Was it possible there was a part of him that felt similarly?  Devils didn’t have friends, right?  

…Did they say tail?

Was that…a thing?  That they could do?

No!  They were not going to distract her.

“-or we could get adventurous.  And you would look up at me with those big, innocent eyes-”   They were cackling again.

“Oh, I hardly believe you are innocent or lacking experience, dear fox.  You’ve quite the self-control if Raphael hasn’t caught on to our game, yet.  I think you’re much the opposite!  Keeping hidden your wiles and desires.  He likes to talk and brag, you know?  Little ‘modern era’ girl, are the carnal delights so free where you are from?  I should love to hear all about them!  Could you surprise an incubus?  Could I surprise you?”

“-been fucking a vampire?  I could turn green with envy!  Has dear Astarion tasted more than your blood?  We could invite him, too!  Have you ever been with two lovers at once?  Stuffed so full of cock?  Could your little body and holes handle us both?  Or…are you the voyeur type?  Would you like to watch as I fuck him?  Or he could fuck me, I care not.  Lie back or pull up a chair, spread your legs wide, and touch yourself as he moans on my cock.  I could shove him between your thighs and make him-”

Bringing Astarion into their stupid fantasy made her angry.  She could shake things said about herself, but it was much harder when she felt the urge to defend someone else.

She hadn’t told Astarion about Haarlep.  He was self-conscious enough as it was while he was processing his changing feelings over his sexuality.  She didn’t want to worry him or have him think it was somehow his fault if something did happen to her.

“And I shall let you in on a secret, you vixen-  As I lie here stroking my cock to thoughts of you, my dear Master - whose form I presently share - can feel everything!”  She could hear them giggling.  “I can guarantee that he’s fighting himself in those britches.  Here, watch closely~”

She tried to keep the surprise from her face upon hearing that fact, probably only going unnoticed as, in that moment, she saw Raphael’s jaw tick as his eyes flicked in the direction of his bedroom from over the rim of his wine glass.  He had quite the mask, too - she wouldn’t have known about this had she not been warned.  At least the table between them blocked the view of anything potentially indecent.

Maybe that was karma for the devil.

“Will you go back to your camp and touch yourself tonight?  Or seek the arms of your lover?  I do so hope you’ll think of me.  I’ll certainly be having fun.”

Chapter Text

Did she know?

It rose and curled behind her, now lazily swaying from side to side.

A novel behavior from the fox.

Were this any other mortal before him, he would presume it to be purposeful.  A coquettish play to charm, persuade, or signal availability to the handsome devil before them.

He supposed that he had to remind himself that, though she had a tail, she was no devil nor tiefling…but human.  Ish.

The fox did not have-  Could she?  She had said herself there were none but humans in her yester-world.  No.  She did not have the cultural knowledge nor social conditioning to know what she was doing was considered flirtatious at its most innocent and outright propositional at its most indecent.

Yet that did not mean there wasn’t any deeper…instinct behind it.

Which led to-  Whether or not she knew, was there an instinctive or unconscious cause for her behavior?

In the mere spark of time spent following this mote - nearly the same length of time she’d had the fluffy appendage - there had been an escalation in her behavior from a reserved, neutral carry to animated expression reflecting whatever excited or incited her.  All in thanks to his tireless efforts to draw out her trust and get her to open up to him.

The addition of the ears added a somewhat helpful dimension: even a careful mask was rendered ineffective when one did not know how or to alter expressions and signals from…newer extensions of their anatomy.  This, however, did have the frustrating side effect of furthering incongruencies in her behaviors.

Was their discussion of tea truly that exciting?  Was it meant to signal approval?

How much was influenced by the canine nature of her Aspect?

It was not an unfounded assumption to believe there was within her a vixen on the hunt that identified him as desirable.

A curious new degree of separation from the vampire spawn now existed - mum as Evie was of it.  A flame snuffed as quickly as it was lit!  A lonely spirit seeking a replacement for lost carnal companionship?

He had not initially bothered with more sensual seduction tactics, preferring her to focus on forging such a relationship with a curated few to suit the future.  Even if those involved insisted on going off script.  Whatever had changed between them, the spawn remained clung to her, terrified to lose that little beacon of light in his life.

Which still worked perfectly in his favor.

There was no longer any reason he saw not to sway her in such a manner.  Should he prove successful - and perhaps that was a better means by which to convince her to sign away her soul - the Hero would be that much further under his claw.

And he was growing so fond of the little fox.

.

.

It was safe to say that the fox did not recognise his own deliberate signals in response to her less-than-deliberate tail flirting.

The next time she raised and flicked and swayed her tail so invitingly while they were seated in conversation, he caught it within his own, coiling around it securely in a manner that should have been nigh impossible to dismiss out of hand.  An open acceptance of what she was offering!

Evie stopped mid-sentence, gesturing hands frozen, and looked down, her face scrunching in confusion as she stared.  After a few beats, she reached down and deftly yanked her tail from his, only to stuff it under her leg.  “Sorry, if I was distracting,” was all she said before clasping her hands together and relaunching into her prior discussion point seemingly without another thought about it.

It was so completely the wrong conclusion to draw, that he found himself in a rare moment - though these were becoming disconcertingly more common wherever she was involved - without words as he studied her for a fracture, a crack that indicated this was a bluff, a trick, a trial.  A hidden smile, a flush of lust, the musk of arousal, desire hungering her gaze, a retreating grimace of shame from the yearn of forbidden fruit - anything.

But to what end would it serve her to play coy?  To rile him?  To cause him to pursue harder?  It was customary for women to feign disinterest, after all - to turn away even a person of interest possibly numerous times before accepting their attentions.  There were whole contrived social conventions around such inane behaviors and the taboo of appearing too eager for the attentions of another.  Was he not already chasing the fox?  Having his offers of salvation rebuffed time and again?

After further reflection, he concluded dear Evie was genuinely ignorant in her singalling of an unconscious attraction.

What fun there was to be had with that!

Another facet to this challenge of winning over her soul.

Following her amusingly hostile reactions to Haarlep crassly propositioning her on more than one occasion, he was reluctant to escalate in this moment.  It was advantageous to allow her to continue to draw distinctions between him and the incubus, to see him as a safe and trustworthy presence.  Thus he bit his tongue and played the perfect gentleman devil as he patiently stalked his prey.

Perhaps he would be the one with a spoiled pet by the conclusion of this all.

Chapter Text

With the bright flash of light of his transformation, Evie found herself doubled over in a violent fit of sneezing.

She heard Raphael walk to his desk and pull out his chair to sit.  “In all my years of dealing with mortals, I can safely say you have the honor of being the first to have such a-…reaction.”  She didn’t need to be able to see Raphael to know the judgmentally amused expression he assuredly wore.  “Fear, cowering…apathy, varying degrees of anger.  A dwarf pissed himself last ten-day - not uncommon.  Sneezing, though, that is new.”

“Oh, dear fox, we are beginning to match with the shade you’ve turned!” he teased.  “This reminds me of when we first met.  And here I thought it had merely been the occasion!”

She’d rather not be reminded.

Though she frequently saw him in both his devil and human forms, Raphael hadn’t transformed in front of her again since that first time.

Evie further hid her face in mortification.

He’d come waltzing into the camp, started reciting poetry, and she panicked as he introduced himself, promptly informing him, “Sorry, sir, but we’re full on bards.”  Things were a bit tense at the time and she had literally just come from separating Volo and Wyll, who had threatened to skewer the bard for his gods-awful playing.  Not one of her best moments.

And then the devil whisked her away, and she nearly brained herself on a dining table chair from sneezing after the first time he transformed in front of her.

“It’s the liiight,” she whined out from behind her knees in explanation, now half buried sideways in the armchair as her face throbbed and lungs burned but the sneezing had finally stopped.  And then she hiccoughed.

The devil was laughing.

He could never say he hadn’t been warned of her oddities.

Chapter Text

Reflexively glancing out the windows beyond Raphael’s desk, Evie absently noted the perpetually crimson sky and the light cast on what mountains she could make out from her vantage of sitting on the floor in the middle of the office.  Avernus didn’t have a traditional ‘night time’ where it got dark, according to him.

Although she had only been in the House of Hope a couple of times during what would be day time back at camp, it seemed like Raphael still followed some kind of ‘evening’ routine.  Sometimes his office door was open and she could make out extinguished wall sconces.  Her ears told her that there were plenty of others around but out of sight at this hour, and he made no secret of the fact that the place was often bustling with his debtor servants.  Maybe most of it was actually their routine or for their benefit.  Maybe it was his habit from all the ‘dallying’ he did with mortals.  Maybe he, like many others, just liked having a slower, quieter period of hours.

She had pieced together that, while Raphael did indeed sleep, he didn’t require it anywhere near as often as she did.  He’d sometimes mention periods of reflection that sounded like meditation or the trance elves had.  Did devils need sleep?  Or maybe it was a cambion thing to need some degree of it?  Did that change as they aged or gained power?  She knew he didn’t actually need to eat ‘mortal’ food but still did because he liked to - and offering or connecting over food was an easy way to win over and lower the guard of targets…  There were a lot of things she wanted to ask that she worried were too personal or might cross some line she didn’t know about.

But it hadn’t escaped her notice that Raphael was becoming more casual around her.  He’d always had a ‘purposefully relaxed’ air to him - like putting on the mask of a languid lion.  A being who held great power but whose intentional mannerisms could lull you into a false sense of security.  It also reminded her of the coyotes that would pretend to be playful towards pet dogs to lure them into an attack, but ‘lion’ seemed more fitting than calling him a ‘coyote.’

He’d lost the tension behind his performance of being relaxed and now just…was.

Less stiffness through his shoulders.  The swagger in his step was less exaggerated.  Looser posture as he sat.  And though he still gesticulated a lot while he spoke, it was less out of a practiced storytelling and rather simply because he spoke with his hands.

Could scheme, ‘I’ll Make a Friend Out of You,’ actually be working?

She just had to make sure the lion she was trying to befriend didn’t maul her face off.

It was especially helpful that Raphael had actual interest in her technical knowledge and various random things from her world and experience - that was something of high value to him that she could leverage.  She’d been keeping track in her head of what seemed to perk his ears as they talked, getting smarter about how much she shared so that hopefully she still had bits to dangle in front of him when needed.

There still was a kind of unsaid ‘trade’ game going on - there was the exception of specific intel he seemed to be feeding her, but she was increasingly of the mind that there was something in all this illithid and Absolute business that he ultimately wanted, whether a thing or an outcome or something like the right person in the right place at the right time...  As long as she spoke fairly freely and of things of interest, so did he.  Towards the beginning of all this, he’d once revealed this game, stating, in so many words, that he wouldn’t share more information without something of equal value in return.  Sometimes this meant simply moving on from a topic if a ‘paywall’ was hit, other times it was scrounging through their pockets for ‘loose change’ info to keep the other talking.

But while he occasionally still got that look on his face like he was calculating something, those scales had definitely become far more lazy of late.  The devil liked to hear himself talk as often as she found herself rambling, though she did wonder if he simply saw it as investing in an outcome rather than keeping on ‘nickel and diming.’

It wasn’t like that wasn’t how many other interactions and relationships functioned - it was just more…codified with the devil.  If anything, it was easier for her because his expectations were generally upfront.  He never hid what he was.  She could count on him to be a scheming devil but also to extend the same level of respect that she gave.  Supposedly.

Her head swung to where he sat at the table near the fireplace.  “Evening!” Evie greeted as she slipped off her camp shoes and stood to walk towards the door to leave them where a small decorative gold rack had been added.  The guestbook flew up in her face as she turned, prompting her to flusteredly scribble her name on the blank entry presented before shooing it away.

She then made her way towards him to take her usual seat with the fire at her back.  Now that she was thinking about it, the chairs had crept closer together at some point, too, being placed on the same side with the table no longer between them but next to them.

“Long day?” she asked.  Raphael looked put together but his hair had the slightly disheveled appearance of him having run his hands through it often and he was just shy of slouching. He might not need it as often as she did, but he definitely looked like he needed sleep.  Maybe that was why he’d summoned her so early this time?

“All of my days are long, dear fox,” he replied, pulling a face at her again sitting cross-legged in the chair though forgoing mentioning anything.  But the disapproval faded and he returned her greeting with a cordial nod, “And good evening.”  Picking his battles tonight?

And he was already drinking something that looked stronger than wine.  Evie crooked a knowing brow at it before surveying the offerings laid out on the table.  Breads, spreads, fruit…

There was a tea set.

Crimson with accents of gold and black, like much of his chosen decor.  She set her journal aside and pressed the back of her hand to the kettle curiously, finding it to be hot.  Gingerly picking it up and placing it closer, she lifted the top off to check if tea had already been brewed.  The caddy was prepped with everything she’d said she preferred with her tea and then some.

“You don’t have to summon me if you’d rather relax.  Self-care is important and I know you work hard.”  Evie picked up a teacup for herself and looked over to him, asking, “You want some?”

He didn’t have to summon her at all.  It was a ‘handshake’ agreement that these meetings were for as-needed mutual exchange of information pertaining to the current goings-on but that could have been couriered by Korrilla or something.  At least…that’s what they had started as, along with the unspoken, thinly veiled purpose of continued attempts to tempt her into signing away her soul.  Yet, while they had started pretty brief, they began to grow longer and longer.  He used to send her back the moment he determined there was nothing further to speak of or whenever he'd get exasperated by her or had other work to move on to, and then it became whenever she started fighting sleep.  And she let it happen…

He declined with a shake of his head.  “And break our routine?  I’ve come to enjoy our time together.  Is this not relaxing?”

She wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not.  “Maybe just the introvert in me.  I don’t often do this much talking.”  Which was true and a testament to how well he was doing at getting her to talk - her own curiosity was a beast difficult to tame when humored and being comfortable meant higher chances of verbal vomit.  But though she once dreaded being dragged here because being on constant guard was abysmally draining, now that she was getting an idea of the ‘rules,’ she couldn’t deny that it was a nice break.

Especially now that he was cheating by offering her favorite tea.

At the raise of his brow, she realised how her words must have sounded and stumbled to rephrase before he found some offense in them, “Point of clarification: enjoyable, yes.  Relaxing, no.”  There was no reason to lie about either point.  Raphael hated lying and to deny that she had begun to find enjoyment in these meetings felt insincere - plus, he’d totally call her on it - especially when she was trying to stay on good terms with him.  But to let her guard down here completely even she would say was dumb.

“What isn’t relaxing about being in the Hells and keeping the company of a devil?” he asked with a chuckle.  Okay, that had to be rhetorical.  She was picking what she wanted from the tea caddy when he followed up with, “What do you do to relax, fox?”

Evie paused to consider the question.  “These days, if I’m lucky, finding a quiet place to read.  Sometimes cooking.”

He dismissed that answer with a wave of his hand and exaggerated frown.  “No, no.  Tell me of your before.  Of how you took leisure in the old life you had established before your unceremonious rehoming.”

“Finding a quiet place to read.  Sometimes cooking,” she repeated humorously.  She carefully poured herself a cup of the black tea.  His eyes followed her hands as she worked quickly to add everything to her taste and stir it in before the tea cooled too much.  “Hm…quiet nights reading by the fire…with tea or hot chocolate.  Or, replace ‘fire’ with bubble bath.  Music.  So much music.  Yoga.  Sometimes video games are relaxing.  Depended on what I was playing at the time - and with who.  If I was really out of it, I’d watch someone else’s stream or TV.  I did these little puzzle build things when I had downtime from work.  Gardening - I do miss my herb garden.  And my orchid collection.  And the buggies.  Uhm…getting lost in data sheets.  Fishing.  Hiking.  Taking my housemate’s dog for a walk.  Oh, there are botanical gardens in my city I’d visit.  Though the landscaping place had a lot of the same stuff and was far less crowded, so if the parking lots at the gardens were looking full, I’d often turn around and go there instead.”

The tea was rich, silky and both soothing yet energizing.  Maybe a hair too much clove.  Hopefully the caffeine at whatever hour this was didn’t fuck her over.

“There is certainly something to be said of an evening by the fire with a fine drink in hand and pleasant company.”  He tipped his glass towards her with a tired smile that was nonetheless charming.

“What else do you do for relaxation and leisure?”

“I am a devil of many pleasures, dear,” he drawled.  “Fine drink, fine food, fine clothing, fine décor, fine flesh.”  She rolled her eyes at the overly broad and obvious answer.  He took the silent, ‘You can do better than that,’ jibe and gave a more fitting reply, “At times, arranging all the little pieces for a contract is akin to sitting down to a puzzle or game of lanceboard.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Evie said after a moment picturing that.  She further prodded, “Any favorites?”  She wanted to know more about how the whole contract process worked, but that felt like trying to get him to spill trade secrets.

“You mean other than the one with my favorite associate that could be prominently on display within my archive?” he asked with a leading grin and vague gesture towards the door.

“Mhmm!”  She nodded.

Raphael shook his head and made a show of faux remorse.  “I’m afraid that I cannot share the details of contracts made with others.”  Her crestfallenness made him laugh.  “So disappointed!  Are you that interested in the depravities and desperations of others?  Then again, it is mortal nature to be curious of the secrets and skeletons others keep hidden.”

“Like that isn’t in your nature, either?” she countered.  “I find many things interesting that I don’t necessarily condone.  It’s not like ‘bad’ and ‘interesting’ are mutually exclusive.”

“A reasonable perspective.”  Raphael eyed the cup in her hands.  “I trust the tea is to your liking?” he asked after she had taken a few sips.

She could almost swear he looked relieved when she happily nodded.  “Kudos for the attention to detail.  Thank-you, Raphael.”

A satisfied smirk pulled at his lips.  “You are most welcome, Evie.  One could say that is my specialty.”  Oh, he practically preened, sitting up a bit straighter and smoothing away a wrinkle in his doublet.  He even said her name, something he rarely used over his preference for some vulpine endearment.

If there was one thing she could say the man fussed over, it was being seen as an exemplary host.  He adored opportunities to show off his status and wealth and knowledge and power via the accommodation of a guest’s desires - all in the name of furthering his own desires.  She got the impression he didn’t get many genuine compliments, though.  In his ‘line of work,’ it was doubtful there was much else than hollow words and desperation.

Evie giggled, biting back a yawn.  “I’ll give you the pun.”

He proceeded to tell her - well, brag about - the trade origins of each spice he’d come to acquire and she nodded along with rapt interest.  She would have to remember the info to write in her journal later so she could hunt them down in the future.  Thankfully, Baldur’s Gate was a port city with lots of trade, though if that didn’t work out for her, it was beginning to sound like Waterdeep might be a good place to explore for trade and business.

They were something she took for granted to find affordably in practically any grocery store where she lived in the modern era, but it was easy to forget that spices often drove trade hundreds and more years ago in her world.  No wonder he was showing off - they were a status symbol.

Raphael lazily pointed at the last one, dark brown pods jutting from a small jar.  “And the vanilla is from the jungles of Maztica, across the Trackless Sea.”

“It’s a type of orchid!” she added on excitedly.  “Mine’s taking up a good portion of a living room wall in my house- or, what was my house.  Assuming my housemate hasn’t managed to kill it.”  She’d babied the thing for nearly five years and had only just begun to get small pod harvests to process the last couple.  Shaking her head sadly, she said wistfully, “Maybe I’ll get another to grow some day.”

“Exotic spices, tea, even plants…  You have quite indulgent tastes, fox.  How do you plan to continue living with such luxury?” he questioned.  Every time he looked at her like that - like a know-it-all who’d already determined that whatever she was going to say was wrong - she had to disgruntledly fight the urge to reach over and pull at his cheeks.

Would her death be quick?

His question was one she did actually think about often.  What could she and couldn’t she live without?  What things here would become her new luxuries?  What things of her old ‘normal’ did she want to pursue if they did not exist here as she was accustomed to or at all?  There was a growing list in her journal.

“They’re so commonplace now where I’m from, many of these aren’t even really regarded as exotic anymore even though they technically are.  I’d come across some of these out and about so it hadn’t occurred to me that they may be imports.”  She bemoaned, “I might have to be a bit stingier with what I have.  But I’m sure I’ll manage.  After all, knowing where to source from is most of the trouble.”  She smiled into her tea.  And that had just been free info.

“Perhaps I am spoiling you too much.” He heaved a dramatic sigh, not appearing at all bothered by her insinuating that she would use his information in potential future procurement of her own fineries.

She nodded solemnly in agreement.  “Definitely for someone convinced I’m gonna burst open with tentacles at any moment.”

Raphael pressed a hand to his chest and learned forward as though offended.  “Oh, now, I am ever the optimist!”  But his expression turned sharp and that little glint of wicked returned to his eyes.  “I have full faith in your word that you will find a solution to the worm wriggling away in your brain.  After all, I would be most disappointed should you turn from a fox into a squid.”  Spoken in a tone laced with a peculiar venom and sardony.  She did not doubt that he would be upset if she fell to the blight.  All this work for nothing.

“Aww, can’t have that!” she pouted playfully, ignoring the slight prickling sensation of the hairs along her spine and tail raising in a warning of ‘danger!’  “You’d have to find another cute face to wax to about Cormyrean theatre.  Truly, tragedy.  But y’know what they say about tragedies- with time, comedy.”

He scoffed and she wondered if she caught him off guard.  Raphael took a swig from his glass as he reclined once more, the tension passing from the illithid reminder.  He tipped his head back towards the ceiling in contemplation.  “You do amuse me.  I once considered simply devouring your soul.  Succulent it would be - it would sustain me for some time.”  Despite knowing full well what souls looked like now because they drifted around the House, her mind couldn’t help conjuring the unsettling imagery of being cooked and served up.  His eyes drifted down and he stared through her in a way she’d come to learn meant he was looking at her soul…and probably not her boobs.  “However, there, too, is value in proper entertainment.”

And there was a new angle: please him and even if she did have to sign away her soul, there was a chance that it would simply be more of this when collected upon her death.  At least until he grew bored of that.  And ‘entertainment’ could mean literally anything, including eternal torture still.  She remembered the very broad pre-mortem clause of servitude - with disobedience being subject to discipline - in the first contract he had tried to get her to sign before she just rejected the whole thing.  After having gotten to know him better, she figured that was something he tried to slip into a lot of contracts as a trade for a soul should have been enough for most things without also serving him.  It was something he only benefited from by including it - even if many challenged it, enough people wouldn’t read the whole contract or know they could negotiate terms that it was a simple way to grow the number of those in his service.

But it was proof that their relationship had evolved from one of simple acquaintance!  She had no idea what she’d call whatever this was now. ‘Friend-ly’?  What had he called her earlier?  His ‘favorite associate’?  Was he seeing this as a partnership now and not just a ‘client’ transaction?

He even admitted that he enjoyed spending time with her!  Another point for Evie!

Evie shrugged in a good-natured dismissal.  “I can respect the hustle.”

“I would not be so flippant were I you, love.  There are fates far worse than being a cherished trophy,” he warned, brown eyes illuminating with a flash of the hellfire glow of his devil form.  It was difficult to tell if he was angry at the rejection or if it was something else.

She balked at the phrasing and implication - the potential of being paraded around and treated like some prize pet - though he was technically right.  The world was harsh.  But her pride would never allow for that.  There were fates better.  She didn’t want everything just…handed to her, nor could she live under the whims of another.

There was a quick rap at the door, halting anything further either of them were to say.

And she watched all that missing tension return to his body in a blink.

Raphael looked to the door from the corner of his eye.  “Enter,” he snapped.

The door opened and his Archivist took a step in, fear obvious in his eyes as they flicked between Raphael, her, and the floor.  He took a steadying breath, but his voice still trembled as he spoke, “Master…she has returned.”

A sneer twisted Raphael’s face.  Throwing back the rest of his drink and setting the glass on the table with a harsh clank, he stood and strode angrily from his office without a word, slamming the door in his wake and narrowly missing the Archivist scurrying after him.

Evie startled at the sound of a scream moments later and had to dab a spill of tea from her lap.  The Archivist?  Not knowing what was happening and feeling her heartbeat hasten, her ears continued to follow his footsteps that suddenly became heavier as he crossed to the other end of the hall - he’d transformed.

Others were making themselves scarce before Raphael crossed their paths.

She wondered who ‘she’ was.

She had never seen him this angry before…

It was a sobering reminder of what he was.

Chapter Text

Raphael halted to compose himself before he entered his office.  Mephistopheles’ consort - an undesired guest plaguing him with demands all day, no doubt at the behest of his father - had been dealt with, though at the cost of the last of his nerves, and it would not do to have his desired guest see him in such a state.

All he yearned to do was step back to a quiet, peaceful evening before wading into the next flurry of work.

Would it have been more prudent to return the fox?  Unquestionably.

But he allowed himself to be selfish and reckless.

Just as he had been in the moments of conversation before he left his office, testing the waters with a new proposition he had been mulling.  The fox may turn her nose up at it now, but new seeds were sown within that pretty little head.  All’s more the pity that they were interrupted before he could further elucidate his vision.

The tea had proven to be a wise decision.  The moment her eyes lit up upon spotting the kettle, he knew the lure had set.  Watching her wiggle excitedly in her chair while mixing spices with a practiced hand had him regretting turning down her offer of a cup if only to have a taste of her preferred flavor profile in mind.

There would be a next time.

With the prospect of hot tea, sweet words fell from her lips as that tail swayed to and fro - indicative of her approval.

This was what he needed.  This was what was missing in the carefully curated order of his House of Hope.  That bit of soft.  A hedonistic retreat from the day to day - that wasn’t spying on him for his father.  Ever more during today’s irksome tribulations did his mind attempt to escape to her.  Tormenting debtors and souls had its fun but there was always something in the draw to one yet unbroken by the cruel hand of fate.

Either she miraculously found a way to be rid of the tadpole herself or she would crumble and turn to him for aid at the last moment.  He did not believe that she would allow herself to spew tentacles or die when she had so much ahead of her - ambitions he was keen to feed.  Although it meant she would have no need of signing that contract, there was a potential worthiness in the act of cleansing herself of the blight.

And an indulgent little thing like her would quickly come to crave what he had to offer in due time when that ambition of hers necessitated rest and results did not come fast enough.  There was a determined path ahead, but how would she fare freed upon the busy Gate with naught but her own lofty goals to drive her?

Should he have the Crown of Karsus - and he would - a much busier devil he would be with less time to spend indulging with a little fox that refused to sign his contract, no matter how favored she may be.  

Would she come crawling back for quiet respite?  For safety?  For companionship?  For advice?

She would seek him, long for him, hunger for him.

And when that craving became desperation, there he would be with arms thrown wide!

He opened the door and entered, his eyes automatically darting to where he had left her, only to find the table vacant.  The words he had prepared died on his tongue.  Scowling, his gaze quickly swept the room until he spied her.  In his desk chair.

Raphael slowly strode around the desk and stopped to regard her, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the edge.

She had fallen asleep.

Perhaps he had been kept away longer than he thought.

A flash of irritation boiled through his veins at the time taken from him.  His hand rose to send her back to her filthy camp but something occurred to him - a thought most pleasing - staying the action and smoothing the growing wrath from his face.

Curled into the seat of the chair like a pet awaiting her master, the little fox felt comfortable enough - with him, with his House - to allow herself to be so vulnerable.  Were he to send her back now, she would simply wake upon her bedroll and think nothing of it!  However, should he wait to do so until she stirred once more, she would be forced to consider the implications of her actions.

And he, generous and compassionate host that he was, would happily provide for such a weary guest.  After all, he had so rudely stepped out and made her wait on him.

He contemplated the room, searching for anything a hair out of order.  His absence was plenty time to allow for mischief.  A spell cast and he retraced her steps.

From the table to lounging in front of the fire, to pacing a rut through the middle of the room.  She eventually went to stare out one of the windows, sitting upon the settee for a time.  Then resumed her pacing.  Towards the far bookcases…and the near ones.  And then around and around his desk until she at last seated herself there.

The sheer audacity of commandeering his chair over all other options scattered around the room…  There were few others who had ever been so bold.  Or perhaps she was drawn to it because it was most associated with him.  A boundary tested or a boundary breached as she sought comfort when left all by her lonesome?

His desk was still in order, as was the rest of the room - save one thing.  Her prized little journal splayed open upon his desk to his searching gaze.  His fingers tested the quill and found it to be dry.  She hadn't so much as borrowed ink.  

It seemed she had behaved herself.

Rather than be satisfied that order was kept, there was a touch of…disappointment within him.

A number of tailored disciplinary measures had been spun up at the ready for the possible infractions of a naughty little fox.  From innocent mishap to egregious transgression- he salivated at the thought of having her at the mercy of his claws.

Made to sit posed and still upon one of his pedestals as he painted her figure.

Hand feeding him while perched upon his lap.

Contracts of servitude and more.

Clearing vermin from his House in her canine form.

Subjecting her to a few courses on proper etiquette.

An obedience collar to cinch around her neck.

Sat at his feet in nothing more than a collar and leash as he entertained guests.

Cleaning his House nude under the strictest of supervision.

Within his mind’s eye, he could starkly envision her wavering between bashful blush and indignant scowl when presented with a contract for reparations containing the terms by which she would serve him sexually.  Would she accept her fate or bare her fangs and challenge him, in denial of her own body’s desires?

He was particularly attached to the idea of having her warm his cock while he toiled away.  Would this petite, little body be able to take the bulk of his cock and knot?  He wouldn’t mind a bit of practice.  Allow her the mercy of starting with his other form.  Or stuffed full of some toy as she readied him with her mouth.  He was a patient devil, after all.  Though he did not often bother tying with his chosen lay, finding the time spent waiting to decouple tedious at best, the imagined vision of watching himself sink fully into her cunt and feeling it swallow his cock within a silky vice grip as he locked them together was so deliciously enticing it had him gnashing his teeth.  Nearly as enticing was how he imagined she would react, presuming such a coupling to be novel for her.  Writhing howls of pleasure?  Panicked yelps of pain?

His waking dreams contained a flirty fox purposefully crossing lines and breaking rules in a game of being punished.  A wonderful concept for prose whether or not he could tempt her in such a way.  Perhaps one day he would gift her with something…personalized?

So fond she was of flesh ink, he had pondered a brand.  Perhaps a variant of his seal?  Visible to show off the claim he had upon her?  Secreted to serve forever as an intimate reminder?

Catching sight of his abandoned glass from earlier, Raphael refilled it as he shifted his focus just slightly.

He summoned his quill and journal, flipped to the appropriate page, and began a more thorough record of observation of her features.  Any great writer would be taking advantage of penning the current events as they unfolded - as he was, of course - and to have one of its heroes under roof for such direct scrutiny was…serendipitous.

There were already a number of pages dedicated to their progress, traits, shortfalls.  Some worthy of more commentary than others.

In recent days, he found himself plagued by more fanciful musings for his writings.  The urge was quelled as he told himself that he would only truly revel in it once the Crown was in his grasp, but that did little to stop the dreams and waking thoughts.

Clever he swooping in to save a certain damsel from the tricks and traps of another…

A tempestuous roil of seduction as she is lured from another…

Explorations of her spiralling corruption and fall at his feet…

He paced, quill quickly jotting his thoughts as his eyes honed in on every detail, fine and broad.  To paint a picture with words- No time to be sparse with ink while the opportunity presented itself!

The overly expressive, large ears studded with glinting metal and chips of twinkling gems surrounded by the deep copper curls that flowed loose to her collar.  The short wisps of dark fur that trailed down the back of her jaw.  The gentle bow and pout of full lips.  The teensy fangs hidden behind that flashed with every grin and grimace - could they even rend flesh?  The color of the flush upon her cheeks - coral, salmon?

The way her brows sloped over wide eyes with fans of curled lashes and the frown lines between them, present even in her sleep.  The blackened rings around her eyes that couldn't hide the progressive exhaustion of a long journey taking its toll.

Her eyes- One of her more alluring features, he would say.  If one ignored what wriggled hidden just behind her right.  She didn't need to be awake for him to recall their color of a clear evening sky just after sunset.

Raphael’s nose scrunched at the sight of faint scarring along her neck from where the vampling had fed of her.  A proof that she would give of herself to another in the mar upon otherwise smooth, pale skin flecked plentifully with sun marks.

He told himself the rush of something waspish was merely frustration at her refusal to sign his contract, at her unyielding nature, and not because he was developing a possessiveness for more than her soul.

His quill paused as he momentarily mused this other character.

Astarion.  His was a role to which he found himself giving more attention due to his clinging to the fox.  The spawn had a thirst for freedom and power - desires easily exploited.  He wasn’t his first choice to cast for a leading role in his next ‘play,’ but perhaps the script needed some adjustments.

He was still of the opinion that the Blade made a finer choice but this dear, little fox wasn’t…getting along with Wyll quite like he had hoped.  Strong, dashing lad - and she reportedly paid him little notice beyond their duties.  Perhaps it was simply because the vampling had been driven with his attempts to manipulate and seduce her - oh, how he wished he had witnessed the breaking point!  At what point did she capitulate?  Had the spawn been more to her tastes?   A pretty face and a sense of danger?  A powerful aphrodisiac to many.  Though the warlock had certainly taken his precious time with his own attempts to court her.  At times, a useful strategy in the realm of mortal courtship - except where there was obvious competition and the duress of outside forces.  Too little, too late.  The Blade was not out of the picture just yet, but he was edging reassignment to a supporting role.

And yet, nearly as quickly as her affair with the spawn had begun, so it ended.  ‘Why’ was an elusive, flighted thing in their continued close association.  Incompatible in the bedroll?  Or was the rutting just abysmal?  Were there fascinating secrets shared only between bedsheets and reeds?  It mattered not but to sate his own curiosity.  A bond of intimacy lost, though ultimately of no concern so long as they continued to perform for him as desired.  It only meant the vacancy was that much easier to claim himself.  

And Wyll, eager and brave Blade of the Frontiers, who had begun as his own cast favorite among the soon-to-be Heroes of Baldur’s Gate, was lost ever increasingly to the shadow of this waif before him.

Dearest Evie on her lonesome would hardly be a force against the mundane ferocities hidden in Baldur’s Gate - would she be able to continue drawing in others to follow her whims?

Raphael rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms.

A re-evaluation of her role was needed.  While he penned the script, she was- had become…more than a mere actor following his lines.

The stage director.  Following his pen even unknowingly.  Involved, yet a degree removed from the action.  Ineffective without a cast at her beck and call.

Lax with improvisations and annoyingly prone to adding her own write-ins.

Foolish, reckless, inattentive…ambitious, innovative, cunning.  There was an eager, sharp intelligence behind those doe eyes.  He had done himself a disservice in not recognising it for so long through the bevy of odd behaviors and assumed apathy from her oft fool-go-lucky demeanor.  She played off the blanket of innocence and ignorance naively thrown upon her by others who missed that this soft, cute furball with large ears was a predator and no rabbit.

But he was still the stronger, the quicker, the more cunning, the more ambitious fox in this dance and this vixen would submit to his will.

Underestimation of one’s quarry led to mistakes.  He would not do so again.

With gentle yet firm direction, she would prove ever useful.  Evie was eager to please and to find a new purpose - so long as it was on ‘her’ terms.  The City needed to thrive in its depravity and debauchery lest it all crumble and deplete a fount of ready, needy souls.  For that, it required stability and order as it rebuilt.

Wyll had the connections and all the makings of a hero that the people of the City would grasp…but Astarion had a ruthlessness and need for control that could prove the same ultimate result, if tempered by someone’s rosy idealism.  While this idealistic fox had the brains, she needed power and tough follow-through.

Alas, at times one had to be flexible to account for such developing schisms.

It was time that he observed the workings of the blighted group in person as they tumbled about on their way like a litter of lost pups.  Reports and scrying were but half-measures to personal witness.  There was other business to see to in their vicinity, as well.

He stopped his restless pacing and lifted his nose.

Mixed with her natural scent, she smelled of honey and herbs.  Light, medicinal.  A not unpleasant combination, but there were surely ones that would suit her far better.  Something thematically heady and exotic…  Vanilla.  With sweet top notes of-

The pull of her shirt drew his eye as she shifted in her sleep, and he stooped closer.  It revealed more of the tattoo curling around her bicep: ever so delicately detailed leaves and flowers climbing up and over her shoulder to disappear under fabric.  He recognised them readily as the amusingly toxic devil's flower - intriguing.

Tonight’s ragged scraps she tried to pass as clothing left little of her figure to the imagination - had the choice been intentional or another unconscious bid to stir the appetites within him?  Rather than lust, it invoked the image of so many of his debtors.  Desperate, in need…pathetic.

She was not one of them.

She would serve a higher purpose.

How he itched to shred it from her.

One would hardly know the figure she had - a full, abundant bosom with nipples teasing the threadbare material; the slope of a trim waist over a plump stomach cradled by wide hips - so hidden were they under the hideously ill-fitting clothing and armor she always wore.  How tragic.  Those ‘shorts’ of hers, however - tight around an ass that called for him to sink his claws into it - left ample thigh free to his hungry gaze.

He did so love playing with his toys.  Perhaps a touch of extra generosity was called for.  A preview, of sorts.

The evening elegance of flowing silk.  The midnight sin of taunting gossamer.

Skintight leather.  Innocent lace.  Rich velvet.

She would look lovely robed in his colors.

There had been frequent playthings over the years.  A willing body was never difficult to find.  Trysts and momentary flights of fancy until he inevitably grew bored of them - despite his qualms with Haarlep, they made a fine catalogue of flesh to revisit should the urge strike.  All the same simpering, drooling, predictability.  Even the most pious were so easily corrupted and broken.  All becoming of little value save the holes into which he could sink his cock and the soul to be reaped from their bodies.

Yet never had he felt this attracted to…this possessive and conflicted about a mortal.

Already, she had provided more ponderance and entertainment than innumerable others.  The depths of his mind left no single option but to possess, eagerly devising the ideal chamber within his House of Hope for a new pet.  There were plenty of other options to play warden for Baldur’s Gate, it insisted, why not keep this one safely locked away?  It took advantage of every little note and observance he had made of her preferences and attributes.  It craved her affection, her attention, her praise, her softness.

She would come to see that he was a generous master, able to provide anything she could desire.  In turn, he would own her soul, body, and mind.

There was part of a spire that could be converted.  A spacious, private hideaway for two.  

A gilded cage for his retreat.

He shook his head of the intrusive thoughts.  This required patience and control.  While she may now be behaving more as desired, he had no present means by which to keep her and abandoning his initial plans for her use may not be the wisest.

The wispy fur of her ears was visibly a different texture than her hair.  The same fur had grown to gather at her elbows and the backs of her calves.  Would she stir if…?

Casting a glance down her figure, her tail was different yet, with long, smooth guard hairs atop a thick undercoat.  Not prehensile and he could tell it had heft from the way she held it.  A frequent amusement was watching it bristle and splay with her frustration - such an animalistic response for one to give the illusion of being larger and more intimidating that served only to make her appear…fluffy.

He tilted his head in thought, then, giving into the impulse with a grin, reached forward and drew his knuckles over her temple and up the ridge of her ear, as one would a dog or cat.  And like a dog's, it folded down under the gesture.

It felt of soft down against her silky hair.

When she showed no further movement, he ran his hand down her tail, finding it, too, to be quite pillowy and soft.  The end flicked and she pulled it closer up her front to grasp within her arms with a sigh.

He would have to save her pelt should she perish.

Spirit-gifted traits that melded seamlessly with her human features.  Similar - yet so different - to the werefoxes of Cormyr.  And how would she fare with and because of them?  They had made their way through the region and sown mistrust with their ways and wiles.

Such magic wasn't always so kind to those on the receiving end depending on how mischievous the spirit felt.  Another show of luck - or deliberation.  He wasn’t concerned about the nature spirit, yet with it not having any prior account in this script of events and concerning his favorite associate, it now, too, fell under the charge of further research.

Feeling bolder that she wouldn’t wake, he carefully took hold of her hand - diminutive within his own - noting the smooth, raised ridge down each of her pale, sloping claws.  It seemed she'd found a file, the points kept short and blunted.  There was a certain satisfaction in seeing hers contrasted so starkly with the sharp, piercing black of his own.  Though a few showed signs of old paint and being chewed…  

While the fox could wear a mask of stoicism well, she had anxieties floating about that head of hers, after all.  He merely had to find the cracks in the porcelain she hid behind.

She wore a simple silver ring of…hard sap studded with ants.  No enchantment.  A sentimental trinket?

Ink stained her flesh in streaks and smudges.  Clumsy with a quill.

So…bafflingly graceless in so much of what she did.  Was it merely a product of the events or was this a true self?

He recalled her complaints about quills and suspected inexperience could be cause for that.  Her penchant for walking into walls, tables, and tripping over her own feet had no such excuse.  Alas, no broken centerpieces for which to extract a penance…yet.

If she had not already made this far, he would have been tempted to bet on her undisciplined attention getting the best of her.  The only thing equally confounding was the degree of sheer, dumb luck upon which she floated obliviously.

Perhaps he was still coming to terms that this…mess of an unrefined cur was what had become a linchpin in nearly every scheme he had conceived to seize the Crown of Karsus.  Inelegant, all the strength and fierceness of a feeble newborn, a fish threshing out of water.

No.  If his convictions wavered, so, too, would she.

She now saw him as a source of trusted guidance and so long as that remained, his plans progressed.  Her soul was desirous but the Crown was his priority.  He would play to her strengths and idealism to bring her to heel.

There was a small symbol inked at the base of her thumb that he had eyed previously.  A few letters and symbols came to mind but they were not quite a fit.  Equally permanent, fine lines of delicate, mimicked lace encircled her wrist.

The old calluses she wore were not of someone used to hard labor.  No…everything about her, even this, screamed soft.  From their size and positioning, he would guess writing, possibly drawing or painting, and instruments.  A child of the arts.

He could not recall ever seeing her with an instrument - not that they had ventured across many in any state of working condition in the wilds.  With her developing magic, one would be an easy focus should she have even the barest amount of talent.  Perhaps a fun intervention to plant one for her to stumble across.

The newer calluses forming on her palms and the undersides of her fingers belonged to that hammer she'd taken to.  An inelegant bludgeon for one with no other combat weaponry skills.  These soft hands had never known such harsh trials before now.

A pity he couldn't see more of her just yet.  A gentleman he would remain, for now.  Allowing Haarlep to have their way as they so begged - incessantly badgering by the day since she had ‘unfairly’ escaped their grasp - was tempting for the access.  Though he couldn't chance her being broken before she at least served her current use.  He would have the Crown.

And her off-handed words those weeks ago of being akin to ‘fucking a forgery’ had frustratingly crept under his skin, loathe as he was to admit it.  He knew that if he allowed the decadence that he would never be happy with a mere copy.

Haarlep acted as a sensually idealised version of how they believed someone acted.  Evie acted how Evie acted - unpredictably.  Haarlep would never come close to a perfect imitation.  He was introspective enough to know that Evie being Evie was what drew him to her.  Every time he thought he had her puzzled out, she threw it in his face!

And the thought of Haarlep having any part of her made his blood boil.  There were many things he graciously shared with the ungrateful incubus…but this one would remain his alone until he grew bored of her.

He scowled down at her slumbering form with a creeping annoyance.  A snap of his fingers and she was out of his sight, sent off to one of his guest rooms as he snatched up her journal and reclaimed his chair.

Chapter Text

Loose pages threatened to flutter to the floor as Raphael carefully scanned the open spread of the fox’s journal with a burning curiosity.

It was brimming with notes, drawn maps, charts, musings, strategies, doodles…  Stuffed with found letters and scribbles from her travels.  Torn excerpts from books.  A deep look into the mind of the little fox sleeping away.

Her quill had been dropped between two pages, marking a thought interrupted when she had been summoned.  The Moonrise Towers.  A collection of found information and intelligence.  Their current strategy and goals for what they believed was upcoming.

He flipped to the beginning.

Entries began as daily reports and morphed into pages tracking various quests and wants and goals with reports moved to a set of pages carefully ruled into weekly sections.  Each page diligently numbered.

A pair of hand ruled calendars ticked off the days and tracked events.  Translations of dates, measurements, et cetera, between the Faerûn standard and her own.

She had a small, careful hand hidden by her admitted inexperience with a quill - it shed the shaky, uneven lines, blots, and strikes through the dated entries, gaining a smoothness with the repeated practice.  There was little flourish behind her pen, the writing appearing crisp and utilitarian in later areas.  Impeccable spelling and grammar, an advanced vocabulary - proof of the higher education he suspected despite her casual manner of speech.

The journal had seen better days and ink, dirt, and other unknown substances were smeared and spattered across nearly every page…  Some required peeling apart.  It smelled vaguely of Evie though mostly of a roil of scents from her travels.

A section was dedicated to inventory - the pages divided up into neat columns and rows with name and count meticulously tracked.  Items sorted by type with a wealth of other information noted.  When space ran out, new pages had been glued, bound, and folded onto the end.  Subsequent iterations showed changes over time, indicating what had been deemed important to her to track.  Food stores had their own section similarly formatted.  He recalled that Korrilla had made note in a report that Evie could be frequently seen taking stock of inventory.  Had she performed similar work in her past life?  This level of organisation spoke to experience he had not gathered from conversing with her…

According to her inventory, they held a few rare items of interest.  Perhaps she would be amenable to parting with them following the conclusion of this saga?

Pages here and there torn out.

Pages of recipe and document titles with-

Well, be still his infernal, bloody heart…she used reference and change codes.  From the number of them, she kept many separate, feasibly in some other journal or collection.  Noted page numbers called back to relevant inventories, reports, musings…and information she had compiled about various individuals.  What a trove!

Leading a claw down the document list, his eyes fell on one of interest: the copy of the first Soul-Sworn contract he had offered.  It was found folded at the back of the journal, as indicated, along with a few other documents that he set aside.

He knew she had made changes prior to stating her rejection but had never seen them.  A blue ink was stark against the black used for the copy.  The top right was dated and twice coded for the corresponding document number and change number.  She had struck through the signature lines at the bottom and written ‘REJECTED’ atop them.  Each strike, note, and change was initialed - EV.

He passingly pondered what the ‘V’ represented.  That could not be how she actually spelled her name…could it?  While he doubted, it was not a quirk he could put past the fox.  It was also possible that she lived by her initials.  They had gleaned no information on possible family ties through their efforts to verify her identity.

Thoughts were able to be plucked from all save the little fox.  Music.  All he and his warlock could ever hear was strange music that they had been unable to pierce through.  Some individuals were expected to have mental fortifications to protect against such intrusions, however, there was no reason to believe that Evie, who hailed from a plane where magic was foreign, would have had any such learned protections of that caliber.  An early annoyance he had to work around.  Was it a product of her tadpole?  He knew hers projected that music of her mind to those also infected - a frequent complaint within the group.  Was it attempting to transmit something else?

The more revealed of her, the more evident it became that she was abnormal in more ways than one.  An ever growing, ever morphing puzzle.

It was difficult to believe that this was the same fox who would routinely need to be reminded of the topic of discussion while they spoke if, by the Hells, anything happened to distract her.

Without her presence to distract and cloud his mind, his thoughts revisited her use.  Caging her away, while tempting, would be a waste of her skills.  It would serve well in both the Gate and his court once his takeover of the Hells was put into motion.  True talent that shared his love for order was so difficult to find!

Although…there was little need for one to leave the House for most administrative tasks, and for the ones that necessitated doing so…well, that was the job of a courier.

From this, he had to ask himself how much of the chaos surrounding the fox was of her own doing?  She had eccentricities aplenty, yet how would her group of blighted companions have fared without her reining them in and tracking all of this information?  Would they have lost their way or separated to the winds?  Would another have stepped up?  Perhaps this degree of detail was gratuitous relative to what was needed at the minimum, but she was flourishing in her role as their leader despite her flaws, as he knew she would.  Much was shouldered on this little fox.

He took up his own quill once more to add to the night’s notes, starting with her numerous contract complaints.

Finding the dossiers she kept on individuals, he scanned through them.  Much she had written was already known to him and she kept personal thoughts here to a minimum.  More reference numbers dotted the pages.  Karlach’s had notes about the infernal engine within her.  The Archdruid…the wizard…Lae’zel…Wyll…  To be expected, Astarion’s was more detailed than most.

‘Scars - written in Infernal per A.  Ask R?’

He grinned.  This gave him an edge.  They intended to ask him - for who else could she mean? - about Astarion’s scars.

His satisfaction then turned sour with disappointment and confusion.  The page reserved for himself was entirely blank.

He had almost flipped past it as the page was entitled with a sole ‘R,’ to which she had amusingly added horns.

Unlike others that she saw as outsiders and enemies to her group, there was no physical description.  Nothing to identify him explicitly as a devil.

Korrilla had more written about her.  He suspected the fox had known of his warlock’s presence well before official introductions and learning that she worked for him.  The very few references to him were marked with a simple ‘R’ and kept brief.

She referred to his House of Hope as simply ‘the House.’

Was she withholding writing down information about him?  An interesting notion.

Referring to him not even by full name anywhere - the only such individual treated so vaguely - led him to believe there was a purpose.

Haarlep, however - or ‘Harlep’ as she had spelled it - had been written about at length.  He felt a twinge of bitterness that he was able to read her thoughts on his incubus but not himself.  Her dislike of them was palpable even in ink, breaking the rule of other dossiers that were free of such biases.  Since their first tumultuous encounter, she had not cared to see the fiend again - which Haarlep had taken to moaning about around their attempts to steal glimpses and engage her in salacious conversation.

‘Won’t fucking take no for an answer.’

‘Charm effect with gaze?  Don’t think that affects me?  They’ve implied they have other means of control/coercion, though - avoid being near.  -Not touch -Effect or spell from kiss? (ew)  Maybe venom?’

‘Incubi feed off of sexual energy and probably souls.  Not keen on finding out what would happen if they got their way.  This one has some degree of transformative ability (R) - idk if all do.  They’re sparkly, so glamour?  When they have a form, that person can feel what they do (???).  How do they get the form?’

Spatters of ink dotted the page in what appeared to be areas where she had stabbed at the paper with her quill.  Her feelings towards the incubus stood out to him.  No other he found had earned animosity.

‘Mfker’s relentless.  Now being gross from the pool/boudoir.  idk how they found out abt hearing.  [forceful scribbles]  Lucky guess?  R told them?  Something I did?  Refuse to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.  No reason to trust anything they say.  Hoping they just get bored and fuck off.  Or drop dead.’

‘Bastard’s lucky they get hot water ._. ’

‘What’s their purpose @ the House?  Not treated or behave like one of the servants & seem to get far more leeway.  Not like K, either?  Def some degree of antagony b/w Hr and R, though.  Contract terms?  Just a really annoying guard?’

Ah…Haarlep had discovered her heightened hearing, taking advantage of it by teasing her from afar with, no doubt, ‘inappropriate comments.’  How naughty.  The fox, however, made no mention of this behavior to him nor had he witnessed any indications of such distractions - yet it bothered her enough to write down. She was prone to distraction, however, so would he have been able to distinguish?  How would she look with lust and obscenities whispered in her ear?

Why not tattle on the incubus and tell him of her discomfort?  She had hesitated earlier in saying that her visits were relaxing - was this why?  Certain precautions had been taken due to that hearing of hers, but it was clear now that he had not gone far enough.  It appeared Haarlep had revealed part of their arrangement.  Perhaps she was simply too embarrassed to risk revealing what she had learned?

Though…there was a thread of envy here that he was sensing.  Was the little fox covetous of what she saw as special treatment afforded to the fiend?  A new light was cast on her resentment of them.  Perhaps in denial over her desires?  Was claiming his chair due rather to feeling…territorial?

Despite her earlier words, she may be more open to his newer thoughts on an arrangement than he was led to believe.

It would seem Haarlep had a use here, after all.

On a whim of inquisitiveness, Raphael flipped back to the page about Astarion.  Nowhere was it mentioned that he was a vampire spawn.  She had not physically described any of her companions.  And now that he was deliberately seeking, he noticed there was obvious information missing throughout many of her entries.  Even Astarion’s links to Cazador, and vice versa, had been muddied through a use of misleading references.  Cunning, little fox.

The journal was a wealth of information, but she had taken care not to reveal certain identities and information.  Feasibly in the event that it fell into another’s hands - such as now.  He understood Astarion, but to include him in such care meant a greater degree of sympathy than he had expected at this juncture.  Or perhaps she did not wish for another to know a devil reserved her time?

The last section of her journal was dedicated to her personal entries.  

Pages filled with doodles and affirmations.  Lines of poetry and song.  Scores of melodies.  Her thoughts and reminders on this and that.  Her voice was more casual here than in the rest of the journal.

.

‘I am Evie.

I am the beat of the butterfree’s wings.

I am the dandelion on the wind.

I am the howl of the storm.

I am the erosion of rain.

I am the flower blooming in concrete.

And I am magnificent.’

.

As quaint as she.  ‘Magnificent’...a lofty word.  One that spoke of a dazzling pride, unrelenting ambitions, feats of splendor, and realised dreams.  A word that played prettily on his tongue.

The magnificent little fox.

Were you truly, little fox?

He would look forward to her magnificence.

He took notice of her name written here - so the V was a separate initial…

‘Plan A: Yank It Out’

A diagram of an eye, where she believed the tadpole was, and the various detailed steps she would take to remove it.  Her thoughts on this sprawled across a full spread of pages.

‘I think DV is connected more to the slug than they have shared.  I don’t like that they are encouraging its use.  Why?  Protecting me/us from its influence - how?  Something is off about them but I can’t put my finger on what.  An uncanniness.'

An arrow was drawn from the word ‘uncanniness’ to where she had written:  ‘Like the incubus!  Glamour/fake projection?  No sparkle bc dream?  But why?’

‘Why does mine project?  If not for the mash of music, would it be my thoughts?  Still does that force connection thing to other slugs sometimes - thoughts/memories/feelings - though the others have said mine are hazy (?).  Doesn’t seem to do anything else (for the others given powers, I can see why its use is tempting).  O said mine seems weaker than others, though.  Maybe not meant to be constantly broadcasting?  Has it weakened?  Or it came damaged?  Or it just isn’t compatible with my weird brain? lol’

‘DV visiting more often.  They said my slug is weak bc I don’t use it and removing it would kill me (X to doubt).  They don't like that I'm trying to get rid of it.  They don’t like my meetings with R.  They are def reading my thoughts.  G & R couldn’t manage that.  Via slug?  Doesn’t seem to be all the time.  Can’t trust something reading my thoughts.’

.

‘I don’t like things in my head,
I said.

I don’t like them red, white, purple, green.
I don’t like them when they come by dream.
I have my music, my radios of thought.
I have a crowd thinking I can be bought.

Power, protection, glory.
Trust me!

‘I can remove it!*’
Trust me.
Trust me.

I miss the quiet,
The safety of my maze.
Instead I’ve a riot,
And can’t focus for days.

It’s enough to scream,
‘Save me, o’ dextroamp-amphetamine!’

*For a fee.’

.

How insightful!  Her worries, her fears, and the meandering paths winding towards the truth.  He was quite satisfied to read of her distrust in their dream visitor.  His was the only voice she should be heeding.

She ‘missed the quiet’?  Was this in reference to her music or to another force invading her mind?  Or perhaps merely to a ‘riotous crowd’ of companions demanding so much of her attention that she had none left to focus on anything else?

The last line referred to what read as a chemical compound - an amphetamine stimulant of sorts.  No addictions and perhaps not illicit where she was from - by her words - but what of medicinal use?  Korrilla had reported that the fox drank an ‘alarming’ amount of kaeth, especially for someone who outwardly despised the taste.  Perhaps caffeine was a circumstantial substitution?  Another note to research…

‘Plan B: Wait ‘n See
Why be hasty?  It’s different and there for a reason.  I don’t think ceremorphosis is it.  Or why mutate/modify it?  Unless…Super Illithids!  Not the hero origin story I wanted…  XP’

‘Plan C: Dumb Luck
Maybe it’ll just…resolve on its own.’

Raphael scoffed.  ‘Plan: Accept the Devil’s Bargain’ was nowhere written - except coded within poetry.

What hubris.

Pages of thoughts and diagrams for inventions and innovations.  A list of ‘modern’ amenities she missed so much she would find them or a way to recreate them here.

‘Self-inking pens
Stretchy hair ties
Deodorant
Bug Repellant
Hoodies
~The Internet~
Computer
Digital Archive
Phones
Vibrator
Pizza
Pasta
Ramen
Vanilla Coke
Chocolate
My teeeeeea
Penicillin
Blood Bank
A gun’

She had spoken of her plans for the pen, and it seemed she was already crafting and testing parts.  A ‘communications and archival device’ commanded the most pages.  An advanced technology for which he could see numerous benefits…should she be successful.  She frequently alluded to a device in their talks that he presumed was much like this one.

Ideas for an energy source to power the device.  A battery created from crystals that could be recharged by the user’s energy.  

‘Sounds safer than me trying to 1. find, 2. fuck around w/ nickel, lithium, etc…’

Ideas for computational coding models.

‘Hybridized model - replace mag components where possible’

‘Build in encryption.  Per G, magic comms. signals can be intercepted easily. idk if that applies to radio freqs tho? - test’

She had more than simple passing knowledge of all these components - this was an ability to replicate and create.  An ability, if proven, significantly increased her value.  It did appear that she had an aversion to magic-based components, though no notes provided explanation as to why, and she was, at the very least, consulting the wizard…  Perhaps a simple preference for that which she was most comfortable?  A device for communications that could not be intercepted by magic would be highly sought after.

Her silly idea to go the path of manufacturing goods may deserve more consideration than he had initially allotted…

Innovation created technology, advanced efficiency and order.  In the right hands, technology was power.

His confidence grew, feeling increasingly vindicated in his choice to focus his efforts on her.

The final set of entries continued in a similar vein of oddity - not surprising in the least at this juncture.  An ongoing experiment.

‘Got hit by spores from weird blue mushroom in Underdark.  Made others act odd - energetic, snappy, restless.  Made me sleepy.’

‘Collected several specimen - took precautions.  Likes to grow along the river bank and damp areas.  Seems to stay small and low-growing.  Ventral side has dark violet gills - same color splotches appear on cap after harvested when it loses glow.  H not familiar.  See if O knows more?’

‘O said no known use yet and toxic (but not deadly to their knowledge) for many to eat - stomach issues, headaches, increased aggression, blurred vision, jitters, muscle cramps.  Would that occur with microdosing?  The others did complain of aches and upset for a bit after it wore off before but they were hit by more than I was.  Use for spores vs meat?  Fresh vs dried?  Maybe G will help me test :3’

Detailed pictures of this mushroom and a small map of where she had found them.  A grid where she had begun tracking exposure, amounts taken, side effects, dates...  

A list of observed growth conditions.

So keenly interested in this mushroom - for what cause?  He considered the side effects she observed in herself thus far - drowsy, calm, headache, alert, moody…  What was it that she sought?  There were many notes but no goal stated.

A sleep aid, perhaps?  Did the little fox have trouble sleeping?

Her words before of ‘missing the quiet’ came back to mind.  She did fall deeply asleep here while left alone.  He knew her camp to be rather undisciplined.  Was she unable to block out excessive noise with that hearing of hers?  He recalled in another report that the fox had started constructing her tent further from the others…

The rest of the pages were blank but as he paged back through the journal, a note scrawled on the inside of the cover caught his eye:

‘If you are reading this, you’ve found Evie’s journal.  She acknowledges that she left it somewhere stupid, again.  Please return it.’

A laugh seized him.

A common occurrence, dear fox?

.

.

Raphael didn’t look up as the incubus sauntered in, their nose in the air.  “Your office is beginning to smell of the fox.”  They draped themself over the back of his chair, running a claw down the ornate wood as they eyed his work from over his shoulder.  “Did she visit?  Is that what has you so worked up?  What did she do?  You have not even come to bed!”

He continued to ignore them.

“Ahh~”  Haarlep held up their fingers, pinching several strands of red fur with a grin.  “What evidence!  Now, I truly must know!  Perhaps you had her strip and touch herself here, hm?”  They loudly sniffed at the chair.  “Yet I smell nothing of her arousal,” they added with exaggerated disappointment.

Sliding a finger down his arm, they leaned closer to his ear.  “Or are you to tell me that the little vixen got a free pass to seat herself upon your chair?  She certainly made herself at home with all this fur left behind.  Or perhaps you disciplined her?  Laid her over your knee and-”

“Must you disturb me?” Raphael sneered, in no mood for their antics.  Exhaustion was closing in on him and yet he had work to complete before succumbing to its call.

They flicked away the fur and began unbuttoning his doublet.  “Must you torture me so by getting all hot and bothered and doing nothing about it?  From what I felt, she must have practically pranced around you naked!”  He shook off their wandering hands.  They gasped, “Was she naked when you summoned her?  Caught at an inopportune time?  Or may it have been…with purpose?  Is she a little seductress, after all?  Simply begging for you to take her!”

He knew it would be worse to admit that the fox had truly done nothing save place her trust in him with her vulnerability.  And he was not about to tell the incubus that she was tucked away in the House asleep.

“Just a few minutes with me and I’ll have her mewling like a kitten.  You desire her, don’t you?”  Not giving them the response they wanted, they unlatched themself from the back of his chair and rounded the desk to throw themself into the chair opposite.  “I do not understand this game you insist on playing with this one,” they whined.  “Why not just take her?  She has listened to an absurd amount of your prattling on about the history of Cormyr and Calimshan without falling asleep or begging you to stop to find it disagreeable.  I’ve seen that fluffy tail wag quite often - that means she is happy in your presence!  Flirty, even!” they pointed out as though he was unaware.

“The game is patience, Haarlep!  She is on a path towards completing the goals ahead of her.  That is the priority.  Should the opportunity for a contract present itself once more, I shall most eagerly take advantage,” he emphasized, pausing in the middle of his writing.  “Barring that, before the dust has settled after this saga, the curtain shall rise for the next.  Rest assured, the fox will be mine.”

They hopped to their feet and flung themself forward to rest their head on their elbows atop his desk, grinning ear to ear.  “Does this mean you are getting me a playmate?  You wouldn’t be going through all this effort if you intended her as just any silly little toy to break in and toss aside once you are satisfied with their image alone.”

Haarlep needn’t know that he had no intention of allowing them to have her in the way they most wanted.  “Toys have significantly less use once broken.  With the proper care taken, the fox will be tamed and under my control.  She would make a far less entertaining pet without that tongue and brain of hers.”  

“Mm…  She said she liked your poetry, did she?” Haarlep teased.  “So disrespectful, though…  But I can help tame her!  How about starting with how one must always respectfully greet their betters?  And no pets on the furniture unless commanded?  Though she can sleep with me, of course, and I can ensure that she is always-”

“Cease your attempts to interfere.  Or has Mephistopheles instructed you to sabotage this, as well?” Raphael hissed in accusation, cutting off their spiral into fantasy.  He would not put it past his father to order his spy to get in the way of something else he desired.  

With a smirk, they gave a half-hearted shrug as they flicked away dirt from under their claws.  “It's not like he would care.  After all, what's more distracting than a brand new pet to break in?”  They fell against the desk dramatically as they continued whining, “I just want to play~  Such a stubborn little foxy.  She does remind me of-”

“Hold your tongue,” he demanded.

They chuckled and looked up at him.  “Oh, Master, it has been weeks since you’ve so much as mentioned the birdie in the dungeons.  All I hear now is how the fox has done this and done that and said~  Are you so afraid that she, too, may reje-”

“Should the stubborn little fox inform me that you continue to be a nuisance, I shall honor any desire of hers to have nothing to do with you,” he threatened.  He may be unable to do away with the incubus at present, but he could certainly withhold something they saw as desirable.  And the protection from or threat of Haarlep would be quite the carrot and stick for the fox should any behavioral adjustments be needed.

They jerked up with a pout.  “Then she would hardly be a playmate!”

“Then I suggest, Haarlep, that you be on your best behavior.”

“Properly seduce her and she’ll sign anything - they always do!” they attempted to argue.  Haarlep lacked the nuance and patience for long term plans, preferring to opt for whatever was most convenient to them regardless of the end result being less than optimal as long as it was good enough.  But he strove for nothing short of perfection!  “She strikes me as a ‘cutesy romantic dinner’ kind of woman.  Go take her to one of those plays first and then a walk beneath the stars!  Sit close and whisper sweet nothings as you feed her delicacies.  Ply her with a bit of wine and she’ll be all blushy and giggly when you whisk her away to our bed!”

“Yes, a fine date…,” he drawled, “for after her current work is complete.”

“But that’s taking so looong!”  He smacked away their claw shredding the corner of his paperwork.  “Tell her to hurry up!  I think we would both much rather a cute, little, fluffy foxy than a slimy squid.  Although…I have never been with that tentacled sort…”

The very notion filled him with disgust.  He was not about to arm Haarlep with such a body in their repertoire.  “Of that, we are in agreement.  Now, away with you!  I have work to complete.”

“Mm, what tedium.  There is forever work to complete,” they sighed as they turned and slipped from the room.

Chapter Text

Someone was approaching but she couldn't make out their face through the flickering wisps of shadows that enveloped them.

But she knew those eyes…didn't she?

They circled, looming, until she felt impossibly hot breath on her neck, the press of their cheek against her own.  Hands caressed her body sensually, pulling her back against the hard plane of their chest.

The scent of them was familiar but their name remained beyond the tip of her tongue.

They whispered things to her ear but she couldn't make out their words.  Her body responded all the same with excited trembles, and the mouth on her neck was welcomed with a moan.

Was it welcome?

She found herself rooted in spot, unable to turn or move except as they directed.

A gasp tore from her as nails became claws raking up her sides when the form grew to tower behind her.  The beat of restless wings sent flurries of air over her that neglected to cool the scorch of a swelling hunger.  One hand slid over and down her arm to entwine with her own as their other palmed her breast.  The heat of them turned to fire that threatened to consume yet never burned.

She stared at the scarlet flesh and sharp, blackened claws so stark against her own skin and claws, swallowing her within his grasp.

The hand at her breast rose to her neck, tipping her head aside as he leaned for fangs to scrape and nip and pinch along her throat, soothed by the warmth of his tongue.

Transfixed on their hands together, she found a comfort there to lose herself within.

She felt the hardness of him upon her back as he rut against her seeking more, more, more.  He spread and stroked her with his touch until embers grew to flame within her that melded feverishly with his.  

His tail coiled around her waist and wings enclosed around them, trapping her within his heat as they swayed together in an ancient dance.

She knew him.

Chapter Text

Her breath caught tightly in her throat.  Gold eyes stared back at her.  Not of Raphael - who would also be alarming to wake to like this - but of that lookalike fiend that wore his skin as they lounged on the bed next to her.  Haarlep.

Evie’s mind raced to remember what had happened before she had fallen asleep.  She was still at the House of Hope…for some reason.  She had been talking with Raphael in his office when he had to step out, then she wandered around the office leaving behind a few tiny gifts for him to find later.  Someone must have moved her to a bed after she fell asleep at his desk.

It was hardly any surprise that she had fallen asleep with how exhausted she had been when Raphael had pulled her here to begin with…but she still couldn’t believe that she just fell asleep in the House of the devil.

She frowned and turned over, facing away from Haarlep in what she hoped was a clear signal of her disinterest in them.

“Aww, no need to be like that, little one.  I merely desire to get to know you.  We could be friends!  You talk to the Master so often, yet you ignore poor me every time I try to talk to you.  You have yet to even come visit!  That is quite rude!”  Why were they even here?  She remembered Raphael saying he forbade them from ‘touching’ her.  Though now that she thought about it, this technically wasn’t touching…

She could hear the humor in their lilting voice as they pivoted to a different tactic, “Did you enjoy the steamy dream?  Your lovely scent says you did!  Apologies if it may have been interrupted.  But you can tell me all about it - we can even reenact it!  Or we can do any of the other things with which I’ve regaled you while you’ve pretended you don’t hear me.”  Though they laughed, there was an unmistakable edge of annoyance that they were swift to mask.  They hadn’t liked being ignored.  “Are you attracted to the Master?  There is no reason to hide it from me~”

Evie pulled the thick blanket up over her head, and while it wasn’t enough to block out the incubus’ laughter, the darkness gave her some minor comfort while she thought of how to get herself out of this.  Again.

The dream hadn’t been her own?

That made sense.  It was rare that she dreamt at all and she had chalked up the who to be from being in his House and having just talked to him.  She hadn’t really given consideration to Raphael in that way before…  Sure, he was flirty and good looking - attractive, even - but he wanted her soul and possibly her companionship to an extent, not, well, her.  She might have been trying to befriend him, but he was a whole other league in status.  She told herself that she wasn't going to assume ill intent just because he was a devil, but it was difficult at times to tell what was genuine and what was an act meant only to pull her in.

Maybe as, like, a one time thing to satiate some thrill and curiosities of being with a devil.  Though…that wasn’t fair to him, was it?  She’d hate to lead him on even if his goal was her soul.

Magic rushed brightly to the fingertips of her unsteady hand but kept flickering out.

The weight behind her shifted and suddenly Haarlep was straddling her, their knees caging either side of her hips and pulling the blanket tight over her form.  She reflexively curled into herself as much as she could, feeling her heart and stomach meet to flutter sickly in her throat as her tail hid between her legs.  This was a mistake, this was a mistake, this was a mistake-

She should have run.

She was only a guest in Raphael’s House and didn’t know the rules around harming another, even if in her own defense.  Which fate would be worse: the incubus getting their way or whatever might befall her for attacking them?

Where was Raphael?  Maybe if she made enough of a commotion, he would come…

Their hand landed behind her head as they bent over her.  Through the plush material of the blanket she felt them trace a finger down and then up her arm.  A shiver shook her, her breaths came quick.  She couldn’t panic.  Her hands clenched tighter on the blanket when they got to her wrist and she braced herself, but the finger retreated, reversing the trace, then repeated it again from her shoulder.

Haarlep slid sideways to lie next to her, still keeping a leg slug over hers as their hand brushed along her body.  They let out a loud sigh.  “Oh, ‘She liked the story of the duergar and the salamander!’  ‘Do you think she would enjoy the one of the bard and her cursed lute?’  And I have heard everything about your time-travelling woman and her dog-devil companion.”  They poked and drummed their fingers across her waist as they drawled on and she had to fight herself not to squirm, each unwanted touch like a shock bursting through her skin.  She could feel the spark of her magic just there and struggled to grasp it.  “Raphael has gotten all excited over such silly things.  You have made quite the impression.”

Under other circumstances, she’d be over the moon to hear that.  Now couldn’t be a time to be distracted.

Her mind wavered.  Should she take the opportunity to shove herself from the bed?  She needed to.  She needed to move.

But she took too long being paralyzed by indecision during those precious seconds, the window to act lost as Haarlep slung themself back over her and sat up.

The words to ask Haarlep to get off of her - as futile attempt as she knew it would be - died as they continued, “And then I hear, ‘Bah!  The fox can never sit properly!’ ‘She is always fidgeting.’ ‘She arrives wearing rags!’ ‘Why will she not eat any of the food prepared?’ ‘What will make her sign my contract?’” The bed bounced and shook her with whatever dramatic gestures they were making as they spoke.  “And now I hear that you sat yourself upon the Master’s chair!  How familiar you are for one not even signed with him.  Tsk, tsk.  And yet!  He has generously allowed you to rest your weary little head here.”

Her jaw rigid from trying to keep her words steady, she demanded, “Get off of me!  Where’s Raphael?”

“Hm?  Off working away on something or other, I would suppose.  Seducing a potential client, demanding research from the Archivist, paperwork,” they replied flippantly, completely ignoring her order.  Their voice was then cooing right in her ear, “Would you not like to spend eternity with the Master and me?  He wants to keep you, you know?  We would be able to play together whenever we want!  I would love a cute, little, foxy playmate~  We could make Raphael feel so good together.”

Her stomach churned.  The idea of being stuck with this fiend…

“It is clear to me that you require discipline.  And I would love nothing more than to tame our naughty pup!”  Another dramatic sigh.  “It is such a pity my charm doesn’t affect you, dear fox.  It makes this more difficult than it needs to be, though the direct approach should work.  You will come to enjoy it soon.”

The blanket was yanked harshly from her hands.  She gasped, immediately lashing out to push and scratch and twist herself free from them, but they were fast to catch her hands, pinning her wrists to the mattress.

She snapped at them when they leaned in too close, her teeth clacking together so hard her jaw hurt.

“Come now, you have been so eager to show me your tongue before.”  They gathered both of her wrists in one hand and reached over her.  As she struggled and pulled, she felt metal being slipped around her hands until it shrank securely around her wrists.  They released their grip, but, in this position, the cuffs had little give to their chains that were connected to a ring in the mouth of a golden devil head embedded into the headboard above her.  “I would say I hoped these would not be necessary, but that would be lying, dear one, and we know how the Master frowns upon that,” Haarlep chuckled.

The unfamiliar rumble of a warning growl bubbled and rattled up through her throat as her fear began to give way to anger.  Anger at what she knew this fiend intended to do even if she didn't want to acknowledge it.  Anger at herself that her magic was still so weak and untrained that it was utterly useless with her inability to focus this whole time when she needed it the most.

“Aww, look at you, all grumbly and fluffy!  You can’t fool me - you are drenched in the delicious scent of your fear, little fox,” they purred, licking their lips as they leered down at her.  “But it would be even lovelier with that intoxicating arousal I smelled from you before.”

They grinned as their wings spread widely behind them.  “Your options are either to allow me to have your beautiful form - which will be most pleasurable, I assure,” they dragged a claw down her chest, the fabric snagging until they stopped halfway between her breasts, “or…I relish every moment of consuming your soul.”

“Does Raphael know what you’re doing?  Or would he kill you for daring to take it?”  Buy time, delay, stall as much as possible.

“Ha!”  They shrugged, not appearing at all perturbed.  In fact, they looked scarily smug.  “I imagine he may torture me, but he cannot kill me.  Even your soul isn't worth upsetting his dear old father!”

That was what she feared - there was something between them that made Raphael put up with the incubus.

She tried to jerk away from the hand they ran down the side of her face.

“My fox, what will you choo-”

“Go-” ‘fuck yourself’ was weird to yell here, her brain had the odd fortitude to interject, “-stick your dick in a meat grinder, you fucking asshole!”

Their hand flipped to seize her jaw in a steely grip she couldn’t shake.  They leaned in close, their nose brushing hers.  “Such language!” they breathed, their lips ghosting hers.  “I adore that spirit - though, must I gag you, as well?  Do allow me to change your mind.”

They closed the rest of the distance, working their mouth against hers as she remained unmoving.  She felt their fangs prick and nibble along her lips that she kept pressed tightly together.  Their tongue swept along the seam of her lips seeking entry.

“Open, Evie…”

Their fingers pressed increasingly harsher into the sides of her jaw but it was the hand suddenly under her shirt and skirting claws up her side that gave them what they sought as she squeaked and flinched away.

Invading her mouth, their tongue curled wetly around hers, an abnormal amount of saliva moving with it to coat everything it touched.  Though flooded with disgust, their fingers kept her mouth pried open and unable to bite down how she wanted.

She felt an alarming heat building through her body that had her rigidly trembling as she tried to both fight off it and the fiend atop her.  

“Just relax and give into it, love,” they whispered, removing their hand from her face.  She failed to notice for the molten fire scorching her from the inside.  While the burn dizzied and hazed her mind and made her heart feel like it was about to burst from her chest, Haarlep mistook her slackening and the confused whine that left her throat for succumbing to their tactics.  “That’s it…”

They eagerly returned to her mouth with a groan and a loud snarl broke from her.

Her bite caught the edge of their lip as they jumped back in surprise.  Their hand reflexively flew up and she lurched towards it, her fangs sinking into their flesh with all the strength she had until she felt a gush of blood and wildly shook her head to rip into it.

All thought ceased, her mind singularly honing on shredding apart the being screeching and flailing over her.

Chapter Text

Haarlep’s moments of growing and abating arousal were nothing unusual to brush off.

His writing paused when there came taps and pricks against his chest and a roaming pressure against his mouth and tongue.  They were with someone…

After what could only be the phantom pinch of fangs clipping his lip and then tearing into his hand so deeply that the sensation of pain crossed over to him, Raphael shot up from his desk in a fury, his intuition warning him that something was awry.  Did they-?  A flash later, he was in the boudoir-

-looking down upon a scene he would never have anticipated.

Evie had been chained to the headboard and Haarlep's head was between her legs…being strangled by her thighs.

He felt the ghost of pressure around his own throat and their hitches of breath while Haarlep struggled to free themself, their claws carving into her and leaving behind welts and deep streaks of blood that beaded and welled to drip and soak the sheets below.

The incubus managed to pry her grip and flung themself backwards from the bed, stumbling to the ground gracelessly - but not before the fox’s claws raked their flank in a wayward kick.

The yowl that came out of the fox while she twisted and pulled at her bindings promised murder should she break free.

Beautifully ferocious screams of a trapped fox gone completely feral.

Raphael grinned at Haarlep, malicious and sharp.  His hand waved down the visage of the toppled incubus.  “I should allow her the privilege of killing you for so deliberately disobeying me,” his voice sunk to a hiss through his clenched teeth as his hands tensed with the strain of holding himself back.

Raphael did not miss the flash of uncertainty from Haarlep before they hopped to their feet and slunk into an attempt to play up their charms that were not going to work this time - not while he was so enraged over their malignant scheming.  

They approached with swaying hips and hands splayed disarmingly as they put on a gleeful facade and echoed his gesture at the thrashing fox.  “It would seem my venom manifests as blood lust in this little hellhound.  A thrilling surprise!  Master, we can-”

His hand shot out, wrapping his claws around their neck and squeezing to cut them off before they could start spinning excuses and pleas.

They would not weasel their way out of this.

“Out of my sight!”

With a snap, the incubus was gone - bound in the dungeons to deal with later.

As much as he would prefer to extract the price of their indiscretions immediately.

With a huff, he rolled his head to the fox, still trying to free herself from the cuffs that rubbed her wrists bloody and appearing about to gnaw at her own flesh and bones to free herself.  “How far gone are you?” he asked rhetorically.  As expected, he received no reply but incoherent, beastly snarls that he was in no mood to analyze.

For what they had been attempting to achieve - compliance compelled by heightened arousal from someone reluctant to submit to their will - Haarlep had gone overboard for any frenzy to be this extreme.  Their venom inflamed arousals that were already present - be they of lust, greed, gluttony, wrath…  For a stubborn fox that they failed to seduce at all, this was the most likely outcome.  They well knew this and yet still took the risk, then hoping he conveniently forgot that knowledge amidst this fallout.  Just as he had not until mere hours ago, Haarlep may not have known the extent to which they had already earned her ire.

With a sneer and barely controlled wrath, Raphael spied more of her crimson blood painting her belly from where the incubus had clawed at her to get away.  Its scent was provoking him.  From his own hand, he may have taken pleasure in the sight, but being spilled by another’s - explicitly against his orders - colored his vision red.

The torn and messy gash across Haarlep’s hand was no doubt the cause of the blood smeared across her mouth and face.  He felt a flash of pride.

The incubus had underestimated her resistance and fighting spirit.

And he had underestimated Haarlep’s drive to interfere.

His mind whirled to account for all possible outcomes.

He may not yet own her soul but the fox was within his care at present by virtue of his own invitation.

Had she been a willing lover of Haarlep’s, this may have played out differently.  However, there was little that he could do on the matter until she was coherent once more.

Plan determined, Raphael strode to the bed and half-knelt upon its edge to reach out, pressing his fingers to her forehead.  It took a much stronger sleep spell than expected to overcome the frenzy caused by the venom, but at last she was still.

He gently ran his knuckles down her cheek.

He would have control.

There would be order!

She was released from the cuffs, cleansed, and healed.  He tucked her between fresh linens.

A mockery of how he imagined her first in his bed.

It would be some time before the venom and sleep spell wore off on their own.  He had eyed the drawer containing a vial of incubus anti-venom countless times - force it down her throat, wake her up, send her on her way - however, there was a need to ensure Haarlep had not irreparably damaged what he had fostered with the fox.  While doubtful that she would be able to recount much, if anything, of what led up to and occurred during its influence, he refused to take that chance.  It was necessary to steel himself for damage control - be prepared to soothe and assure that the monster was gone, to find a way to contort this to his advantage.

The chaos and discord that clung to him like sticky tar were washed away as he bathed in the adjacent pool and regained composure.  A calculated decision was made to switch to his human form prior to her awakening.  He robed himself in fresh silk and momentarily basked in the feeling of the cool fabric slipping over his flesh.

Feeling the weariness that had doggedly pursued him the last day settle into his bones, he twisted to sit upon the bed and pushed himself to recline into pillows braced against the headboard.

He would stay to guard her and get some much needed rest of his own, confident in the knowledge that he would awaken well before her.  There was much to think on and a mind clear of exhaustion was needed.

His hand rose and the room was sealed and dimmed.

Chapter Text

He had not dreamt of the tumultuous river this time but of a field.  Before him had been wildflowers and tall grasses on gently rolling hills, broken by the occasional towering tree and surrounded by dense brush in the distance.  The sky above was clear and sunny - a far cry from the dreams of dark nights and wavering moons.

He turned towards rustling leaves and was met with the stare of a violet-eyed fox.

A familiar rusty shadow that had plagued his dreams of late.

They observed one another for a long moment - one fox to another - then it bowed low and bounded off on fleet paws.  By compulsion, he gave chase.

Time and again, it would stop and cautiously approach, but never too close.  Time and again, he would lose sight of it, only to have it playfully jump out from behind him and dart off.  Time and again, as they ran through the field, it so narrowly escaped his reach.

Brambles rose between them, brash and thorny, that he dodged and leapt, keeping it always in his view.  Flowers bloomed gaping maws of sharp teeth and sprouted whipping vines that failed to ensnare him.

They would not, could not, keep him from his goal as he raced into a thicket on the heels of the beast.

He spied it sat upon the post of a fence, nose to the wind and fur ruffling, as he exited the other side.  In a blink, it burst aflame and turned to ashes that blew away on the breeze.

The indistinct city in the distance crumbled and smoldered as writhing tentacles risen from the earth crushed and flattened buildings amid inky billowing smoke that blotted out the sky.

And then the fox was next to him curiously watching the flames.  Its tail waggled and it grinned at him before running off.  And again, he pursued.

He chased and chased, never able to close an impossible distance that remained between them.

They crossed again through the thicket and again the field where it deftly danced around glinting hooks and the lines that pulled to snag it.  He halted at the bank of a pond.

The fox was there, perched on a log spanning the water and staring down into it.

He jumped up to the log and glanced down to see that the water was glossy and black.

The fox leapt up and dove into the dark ripples.

Without hesitation, he followed with determination to catch it.

The waters portaled him through to another side of the dreamscape and his momentum carried him to land back on the log.  These waters overlooked the same city standing tall.  The fox, bathed in a golden crowning of sun through its dark fur, walked the wooden fence as those fish scaled in shimmering orange and gold swam around them through the air.

Though the fish were alluring, he would no longer be denied his quarry.

As it was distracted by the glistening fish, he had lunged, colliding into its flank with enough force to send them both rolling to the ground.  He came out on top as the stronger, pinning it on its back, and then it was not a fox but the fox that blinked up at him with a coy petulance as she panted - all fluttering lashes and pink cheeks and quivering lips.

The prize had been caught.

The red of her hair glinted brightly in the sunbeams, her ears twitching.

Had he known it was her before he chased her all about the meadow?  He had to have.  His little fox.

There was no resistance then but her head canted as though in one final challenge that he had been more than happy to oblige as his hand wove into those fiery curls and he hungrily claimed her lips in his winnings.

Everything else fell away as he tasted her and heard those tiny noises and mewls as she submitted herself fully to him.  The sounds of her pleasure had morphed into stuttered gasps and moans as he nipped and sucked down her neck, leaving pale marks in his wake that would bloom darkly to remind of his attentions and assert his claim.  Her claws had pierced into his shoulders and dragged down his chest, drawing rumbling groans from him.

He had whispered sweet obscenities to her as he roughly groped her soft and pliant body.  How he couldn’t wait to feel her so tight and stretched around his hard cock as he took her without mercy until he swelled and plastered her womb with his hot seed.  How he would hear her howl for him as she came apart.  How he would fill her to the hilt as her little cunt constricted around him.  How she was not escaping him until he was finished with her.

She responded with a deepening flush that travelled its way down her bust.

He palmed and plucked her breast and she trembled, her lungs greedy for the air she sucked in as he drew music from her.  His tongue lapped and circled her other peak as her hand buried in his hair and her claws found his scalp.

More he took and more she moaned and writhed and pled.

His breath blew hot across her soft, cool belly and he watched her skin prickle and tense.  The scent of her stoked the fire in his loins.

Betwixt her legs and the petals of her sex, her cunt had wept with her excitement for him.  Excitement for him to finally lay his claim on and within her body.

Her hips bucked and his growls had joined her moan as he pressed fingers into those slick, silky depths.  He felt the squeeze and flutter of her begging for his cock, surging his lust and primal urges past their breaking points.

His mouth latched to her shoulder, tasting the sweat of her flesh, as his cock breached her sheath and slowly plunged against the resistance of her straining walls.  He slipped back and rolled his hips, enjoying her squeaks, until he was seated against her end with more inches yet to warm.

Her legs lifted to wrap around his waist as she yielded to his lead in the rhythm of their dance.

He lavished her with praise as the last of him was enveloped.  How well they fit together.  How much he adored hearing her beautiful voice.  How she would be forever his.  His good little fox.

Harsh thrusts plowed her hole that worked to suck him back in, its vice unwilling to release him.  They would both soon be achieving their desire.

His nails bit into flesh as he came, his grunts and groans drowned out by the crescendo of her impassioned cries and wails, her own orgasmic finale precipitated by the ballooning girth of his member locking them together and grinding into that pleasure patch within her.

Slowly they had stilled, embracing each other and lolling in the high.

She nuzzled against his throat, breathless-

“My devil.”

His gaze lifted from her and the virescent fields had turned a familiar crimson.

Chapter Text

Raphael awoke surrounded by the scent of her.  Though a disorienting thing following his dream, his mind was sharp following the restorative hours of sleep and he was quick to recall the events of the evening.

Of returning to the fox snoozing fastly, of scouring her journal and detailing her features…of interrupting Haarlep’s harebrained scheme.

And then his dream of a fox, a field, innumerable fishes and hooks, a city in ruins, a city in thrive…and the reward of his prize.

Well, well…

He grinned.  The invigorating feeling of triumph had flooded his veins upon seeing Evie still asleep after having moved across the expanse of the bed to mold herself into his side, her hand balled into the loosened fabric of his silk robe with her tail draped over his waist as her breaths puffed sweetly across his chest.

What a paradox for the fox to shirk touch and avoid attentions awake, yet seek them so strongly while asleep.  Starved for the touch of another, was she?  The unconscious psyche was ever a revealer of truths and desires.  He merely had to peel away all those pesky inhibitions.

Had his dream ended so salaciously due to her proximity?  Had he not awoken because of his mind marrying her touch and scent with the version ravaged in his dream?  Or perhaps it said something of the miniscule amount of threat he felt from her.  Ever the soft, little fox.

Everything else scheduled for the day was hastily cast aside as trivial as his mind whirled with new machinations for this development.

His own subconscious in sleep had reiterated that the fox - soon-to-be Hero of the Gate and so many fishes! - was who would lead him to his triumph as he patiently endured.  In having one, the other would follow.

He glanced down and rolled his eyes, far from the first time, at her raggedy clothing.  It was time she more suitably graced his presence.

A few penned missives sent out for the necessary changes to the day’s itinerary and he was free to take advantage of an unhurried morning.

Raphael summoned forth his notes from the past evening to continue his observations and thoughts.  Once to his satisfaction, he had the day’s work brought promptly to him.

Reports were delivered on a plethora of new petitioners seeking his aid - some more compelling than others.  A majority held nothing of interest and were hardly worth the effort for their pitiful souls, thusly delegated.  Alongside those were a handful of updates from his agents - all goals on track.  Fate was shining upon him favorably.

Throughout his work, he watched Evie shift and squirm in her sleep - coiling herself in the sheets, kicking them off, rubbing her face into the pillows, stretching out across the bed, contorting herself into a number of odd positions, curling into his side.  Occasional sighs contentedly passed her lips, none the wiser to who she cuddled up.  At times her tail twitched or flopped over her side.  She was fond of gathering it to herself and pressing her face into the fur.

Her head was now in his lap while her arms clutched a pillow to her chest.  He ran his fingers through her hair as he read, playing with the frazzled curls as they clung and wound to his fingers until bouncing back.  She would be even softer with proper products.

He felt her nuzzle into his stomach.  She yawned, wiping at her eyes.  With an annoyed grunt and shake of her head, she dislodged his hand, much to his amusement.

Her eyes fluttered open and peered up at him for a fleeting second before she flung the covers from herself, jumping out of her skin and tumbling off the other side of the bed with a squeal.

“Ow,” he heard her whine.

“So, she awakes,” he greeted, unable to see any bit of her from where he lounged.

.

.

.

Raphael had left to do…who-knows-what with a promise to return after she bathed and freshened up.

“It is time the three of us sat down together and had ourselves a little chat.”

Her memory of last night was hazy but she remembered enough to put the pieces together.  And the jerk had definitely flipped through her journal going by some of the very specific choices of vocabulary he had dropped before handing it back to her.  Well, not like she had ever really been hiding her dislike of Haarlep.  She thought she had been pretty careful with what she chose to write down, so even the devil getting ahold of it didn’t concern her too much.  At least he wasn’t yet making fun of her personal stuff...

Raphael had assured her that she had not been ‘sullied’ by the incubus…but the intent had been there, they still attacked her, and it was more than enough to make her anxious and itchy over the prospect of seeing them again.  “Haarlep will behave,” he had said.  She didn’t know what Raphael had planned, but he had been in a peculiar mood before he left.

Maybe she should have put her foot down, demanded to be returned to camp immediately-

But that was running from the conflict and if it really was all Haarlep, it wasn’t really fair to not extend a bit of trust to Raphael on this.  Maybe there was a degree of negligence to lead to what happened, but she saw how tired Raphael was - and he saw how tired she was and gave her an actual bed to sleep in.  Apparently not his that she woke up in, but all the same.  Was that not another sign of her making inroads with him?  Raphael could have simply sent her back to her bedroll and she’d have spent another night on the ground.  Waking up next to him was a little disconcerting, to say the least, but he’d even stayed to ensure her safety.

It was Haarlep that took advantage of the pieces they saw align.  

Ugh, her head was pounding.

She took a steadying breath.  With the incubus supposedly chained in the dungeon there was no reason to keep thinking about it and working herself into a panic.  Especially when Raphael was letting her use his big fancy bath as an olive branch.

Evie padded around the edge of the pool, careful to not knock into or trip over any of the candles, incense, stray pillows, and other items strewn about.  There was an area where jars, towels, and other little amenities had been left on an ornate tray.  Kneeling next to them, she picked up each colorful jar and bottle to check what they were.

Nothing was labeled well but they were different consistencies.  She opened the one she thought might be soap and was greeted by the pleasant scent of vanilla, apple, and cinnamon.  Another was scented the same.  Hot damn, she was gonna smell like apple pie.

If she didn't know better than to bite the hand of the devil 'feeding’ her, she'd be tempted to be a terrible guest and steal these.  Though she supposed that also required clothing with pockets or her bag and she had neither…

Evie glanced around and focused her hearing to make sure no-one was around this time and then stripped of her bed clothes.  Dipping her toes into the pool, the water was hot enough to make her hiss at first but not so hot she couldn’t adjust to it.  She slowly stepped down a few stairs, the water rising until it was over her waist.

She moved into the pool just far enough to easily wet her hair and then stepped back up the stairs near the jars to set about getting scrubbed up lest she take too long gawking at everything and get interrupted by someone.

From the moment she entered the water, she noticed a slight tingle rippling briefly across her body.  Her minor aches and the bruises developing after her tumble from the bed disappeared within a few moments.  Even the pounding din of her headache was gone.  Nifty.

…Had the blisters on her hands and feet already been gone?

Now that she thought about it, prior to getting in the water, she sure hadn’t felt like she’d attempted to fight off an incubus.  She’d really only felt like she’d slept on her neck weird.  And her claws were all really clean for what Raphael had said she’d done to Haarlep.  Had she been cleansed with this water already?

Giving herself a few minutes to lie back and relax with the water up to her chin, certain thoughts renewed their gnawing on her brain.

Astarion was gonna yell at her for being gone so long…and probably Karlach.  Astarion might stab her for getting a hot bath.  The others would just look at her with pity no matter what she said.

Lae’zel was the only one who ever approved and even that was in a “we all do what we must” way.

Convincing any of them that she wasn’t trading her body for intel from a devil was becoming frustratingly difficult.

She had to keep telling herself that their concern meant they cared about her, no matter how grating it was to have to keep saying that Raphael wasn’t being inappropriate with her in any way.  HisIncubusWasAnotherMatter.

But if she did want to sleep with him…well, that was her choice.  

Or was it?  The damned incubus could be cursed six ways from Sunday for sticking those thoughts in her head.  She couldn’t trust any of what she might still feel to not be tainted from their influence.

It was nonsense, anyway.

Raphael was direct.  There was a lot he wanted from her already and if he wanted that, he would have been direct in saying something.  He had an incubus who possibly served that purpose and with his status, she was sure he had his pick of whoever practically lining up.  He saw her as some fancy lap dog companion - but that was better than seeing her as literal food, right?

Astarion seemed to think Halsin was interested in her, so maybe she should dust off her flirting skills and redirect her wayward urges somewhere safer.  At least morally.  Physically, she had no idea how she’d fare on ‘Mount Halsin.’  He was good-looking but intimidating in more than one way…

Once finished bathing, she pulled herself from the water and wrapped herself in a soft towel.  She would have loved to spend more time in the water, but it felt so nice that she was liable to fall asleep again in it.

Hair - gently towel dried with a touch of magic heat, combed out with her fingers, and curls tamed with a touch of extra conditioner.  Tail and fur - squeeze dried, brushed out, conditioner applied, brushed again.  Ears - drained.  Lotion - applied.

Clothes - missing.

New clothing was folded where she had left hers…but that meant someone had been here.  But when?  She’d never heard anyone but she hadn’t been paying attention to her dirty clothes to know when the swap may have happened.

Scowling, Evie pulled the towel tighter around herself and looked around again before lifting the provided clothes.

A white cotton dress shirt with a frilled collar and button cuffs, kinda baggy khaki trousers that would stop just past her knees - there was a word for these…  Oh, knickerbockers! - a matching waistcoat, and a pair of wedge sandals.

The panties were…strings.  They were strings.

The bra was…not better.

There was no undershirt.

Who picked this out?

Evie sighed in resignation.  She had gotten used to binding her chest with strips of cloth out of necessity for the support and protection from chaffing, but the one provided would hardly even provide that.  This all would still have to make due unless she wanted to sit around in a towel, and the waistcoat, at least, would cover her chest enough.  Besides, she didn’t want to be rude if this was what devils typically wore.  She might have had a sample size of two - one being an incubus, though she supposed Mizora would technically be a third even though she’d only seen her all of once - but it wasn’t like she had any idea what Raphael typically wore under all that fancy silk.  Well, ‘when in Rome,’ and all that…

She nearly fell backwards into the pool trying to maneuver her tail through the straps of the panties.  Why did she keep trying?  Some grasp at the final remnants of her dignity from this stay.

The trousers thankfully were properly designed with tails in mind and had hidden eye hooks to keep everything secure back there without being bulky.  The only issue with them was that tails from those that they were designed for seemed to be noticeably higher up than hers and far more muscular, leading to a larger cutaway needed for them than for hers.  Though with her long fur, most gaps shouldn’t be visible.  Way better than the holes she had been cutting into her clothes.

Not even bothering with attempting to get the bra on, she slipped the shirt over her head, buttoned, and tucked it in, then shrugged the waistcoat on.  The shirt sleeves were just a bit too long for her, but that was nothing that couldn’t be fixed by rolling the cuffs to her elbows.

Spotting a mirror, Evie walked over it to get a proper look at herself.

Well, this was a look.

Maybe this was devil or tiefling city fashion?

She felt a bit now like she’d been zapped back a hundred years in fashion, but it was working for her and she was pleasantly surprised.  Wearing something properly fitting for once was probably the main thing pulling its weight, though.  It was really nice to have a figure again.

The shoes weren’t terribly practical since she’d probably fall and break her face if she tried running in them.  But…they were cute and new, so she could wear them inside for now.

Evie tidied everything where she had found it and poked through what else had been left.  The makeup was debated.  Little pots and tiny bottles and colorful cakes of shimmering colors.  Though she didn’t typically wear much, she was curious.

…Having absolutely no idea what time it was beyond ‘morning, probably…hopefully,’ and because no-one had come to check on her yet - again? - she grabbed the products and headed to one of the vanities.

Another thing to look forward to in the city: this was much higher quality than what she had bought at the Grove.  Though considering who was providing it, she didn’t want to think on how much it might have cost.

Had Raphael chosen any of this or did he have someone else pick it all out?  The Autumn oranges and taupes were her colors.  Someone here had an eye.

Getting too done up would make her face look out of place with what she was wearing and she didn’t exactly want to fight off even more questions upon returning to camp - they were gonna be pissed for holding everything up - so she stuck with simply doing her lashes and rubbing a bit of color into her cheeks to help herself look more awake.  Too bad there weren’t pins for her hair, she thought while trying to convince some of the awkward regrowth of what remained of her sidecut to sit somewhere around her ear that wasn’t just weirdly straight up.

“There, look who's all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!”

She’d heard Raphael’s measured footsteps as he’d walked into the room but waited until he came closer and spoke to turn and face him.

“Hello.  You seem in a better mood,” Evie observed as she hopped off the vanity stool.  And now fully dressed.

With a tilt of his head, eyes scrutinized her critically.  He leaned for a more thorough scan.  “It will do.  A far better presentation, I still decree,” he said at last, though whether he fully approved was nebulous.  “A figure was hidden beneath those flour bags, after all!”

“Thank-you for the clothes!  And use of your bath,” Evie expressed sincerely with a slight bow.  “Though…where are my clothes?”  Maybe they were being laund-

“Incinerated.”  Her face must have shown her incredulity and bafflement.  He elaborated with a sharp smile, “Those rags were hardly appropriate.”  He must have hated them more than he let on…  “Now, dear fox, brunch has been served.”

Evie's ears and stomach perked to that.

He turned and began walking from the room with the full expectation that she would follow.  Frantically making sure she had her journal this time and wasn’t forgetting anything else, she hurried to catch up.

Chapter Text

“Have you spoken a word of Haarlep or my having an incubus to anyone else?  Or perhaps allowed them to peruse your diary?”

“No.  I don't think anyone has since I added the pages about them,” came her easy answer.  Saying anything about them would have only concerned everyone else even more than they already were.  Until now, there hadn’t been any problems…

“You’ve written pages about me?”

Raphael's lips curled into a smile at the rim of his steaming cup of coffee—kaeth, whatever it was—as he took a sip.  “Perfect.  What I propose then, for your continued mum, is thus—”  He produced a contract upon the table and she fought back a groan, urging her brain cells to wake up faster as she slid her fingers beneath the parchment to pick it up.

It was quite short and she very quickly figured out why: it was mostly blank.  Or a ‘fill in the blank,’ rather.  

As much as she hated the taste of coffee, she was considering knocking back a cup or two over her tea purely for the additional caffeine.  Though when the servant—one of the first that she had truly seen, aside from the Archivist—poured Raphael’s, her nose hairs felt ready to burn right out of her face.  He liked it strong, for sure.

“You are free to state what you desire in return.  Consider this an open negotiation,” he explained as he sat back with all the content of an arrogant cat.

Raphael wanted her to name her terms in exchange for her silence regarding Haarlep’s existence, alongside what read as a non-disclosure agreement.  As named within, Raphael would act as witness and enforcer.  At its core, it was a contract between her and Haarlep, officiated by Raphael as Haarlep’s master.

This required exceedingly careful thought.  Accepting meant that whatever terms agreed upon would be binding by Infernal law.  She wasn’t exactly thrilled about having anything tying her to the incubus.  But they were presently part and parcel to Raphael’s world, and, if she chose to stay in it in any manner, she could need the unsaid protection he was offering.

The NDA was, for all appearances, boiler-plate.  If she spoke of Haarlep to any but the listed entities—mostly made up of Raphael’s circle it seemed, but she didn’t recognise all of the names or entities—or the existence of the contract itself, their contract and any terms within would be null and void.  She could essentially continue as-is without any further burden but have assured protection through her own terms.  Presuming they agreed to them.

“Question: is ‘Haarlep’ their actual name and-or is this fully enforceable if not?”  She had never seen the name spelled out before, and, now that she had, her brain was seeing a curious pattern of letters.  An anagram?  The incubus had a version of his skin and evidently even his name.  A dim light lit up in a tiny corner of her brain as it tinkered away with the little bits and pieces she’d gleaned over the time she’d known them both.

“How astute.”  Was she right?  “I assure you that, with the proper terms, it is fully binding as an Infernal contract.”

Evie couldn’t help but feel as though this was some kind of test.  ‘Proper terms,’ yeah…

“I don’t get it,” she huffed.  “If you actually cared about me saying anything about them, this would have come up months ago after I first met them.  Why now?”

“I’m surprised that you have never made mention of Haarlep to anyone.  Not even your vampling?”  Not an answer.

She shrugged, taking a breath to keep her patience.  “It never felt relevant.”

“Therefore, it makes for a simple exchange, no?  Haarlep’s reprehensible actions were an unfortunate oversight on my part, and I admit that I feel responsible,” Raphael said with a shake of his head and exaggerated frown, placing a hand to his chest.  He must have slept well since he was back to pulling out the theatrics.  “What better consolation than to empower you to dictate your own terms for restitution?  Consider it a gesture of… good will.”

“It’s cute how you both pretend as though I am not sitting right here.  Do I get no say in this?”

He didn’t deem the incubus worthy of a response.

Was Raphael that afraid she’d want nothing more to do with him?  That she’d blame him to that degree?  If she tried to think of it from his perspective and from what she knew and could presume of the cultures she’d come into contact with, a master was often held responsible for the actions of those that served them or fell under their rule, and making reparations to an injured party was the expectation—was there an Infernal law that stipulated as such?  He did say he felt responsible, which maybe wasn’t so out of character as it seemed for one who said they valued rules and order so highly.  While it wasn’t an apology, it might have been the closest she’d get out of a devil.  Though he wasn’t the one who should have been apologizing…

Since Haarlep had been transported to the dining room some minutes ago, beaten and bloodied and looking all-around worse for wear—though hardly acting it—she had staunchly ignored their presence after they had been commanded to sit between her and Raphael at the table.  Raphael had seen it appropriate to inflict whatever corporal punishment he believed necessary in the span of time since she last saw the incubus.

It evidently wasn’t enough with how Haarlep sprawled in the chair and leered at her with a maddening smirk the whole time.

What did Raphael stand to gain?  How did this work in his favor?  Haarlep made her way less likely to sign away her soul if she was to be condemned here in any capacity, so it was important enough to him that he was willing to take Haarlep out of the picture to ‘sweeten the deal.’  And…if she forbade Haarlep from touching her again by contract, it wasn’t just an order they were disobeying, it was breaking the terms of a contract.   If she was right, and there was something between them that prevented Raphael from acting within the full extent of his power with regards to Haarlep, then a third party contract could provide extra leeway if he needed to enforce its terms.

Raphael was Haarlep’s master…but she vaguely recalled the incubus mentioning something about his father being involved somehow.  Did Raphael fall under his father’s rule or command?  She couldn’t recall ever hearing him mentioned before.

It was so frustrating knowing she knew practically nothing—all this was, was thinking in circles and bringing back the headache from earlier.

But one thing was becoming clear: she had to properly educate herself.

Maybe Gale had some books about the Hells?  Or Wyll?  Karlach obviously knew a lot but was it to the degree that she needed?

Chin braced on her palm, Evie smiled disarmingly. “Am I able to think on this and come back?”

Raphael gestured towards the parchment with a matching smile.  “This is a one-time offer, fox.  Should you leave here without signing this contract, it will be off the table, so to speak.”  Darn it.  “Take all the time that you need, but you would be wise not to forget your other imminent obligations.”  He popped another cherry into his mouth.

So that was part of the game.  He wanted her to rush.  Write up something overly simple and clumsy.  If too clumsy, and there were holes in it that Haarlep—or he—could exploit, then the blame was later on her.

She couldn’t rush.  Though her companions would, no doubt, have noticed her missing still by now, they were unlikely to do anything drastic yet or move on without her, so she did have a little time to think this through and do it properly.  

Grabbing her journal, Evie flipped to the section she’d written about Haarlep and slid her claw down the inside edge of the pages, carefully scoring and severing them from the rest—best to destroy any mention of them if she was going through with this.  She closed and set aside the journal once more and flipped the pages to a blank area to use to write a draft.  Before she could ask, an ink pot appeared with a ‘clack’ upon the table near her hand.  She mumbled her thanks.

Time to pull out all the law and contract knowledge she had stuffed in random nooks of her brain.  Thankfully with a few law classes under her belt from her university days and being one to frequently read through such things as corporate EULAs and local bylaws and other legalese, while a bit daunting, this didn’t feel impossible even if they weren’t identical legal systems.  But like being smacked with a surprise test she didn’t know to even study for, her heart began to race in her chest.

But this kind of high pressure was what she excelled at.  With the added boost of caffeine and a bit of a fire under her ass for the adrenaline, her brain whirled away with its brainstorming and analysis.

What, exactly, did she want out of this?

Was it better to be broad or concise?  How could her words or theirs be interpreted in other ways?

Haarlep reached past her to pluck a bunch of grapes from one of the fruit bowls, very blatantly towering over her to see what she was jotting.

Evie tapped her quill.  “Do infernal contracts…have any innate properties that I should know of?”

“An Infernal contract is stridently upheld under the rule of law of Baator, enforced up to the maximum extent as permitted by law…and within any constraints, allowances, or exceptions as explicitly agreed upon within any one contract,” he recited.  “Unless you are after specific details, my dear, I am afraid I could fill many a lecture with the wealth of information that makes up our rule of law.”

The very fact that he seemed willing to even humor her was…interesting.

He had shelves upon shelves of law books in his office.  Maybe he had versions in Common she could skim through?

“Must I listen to all this boring legal talk?” the incubus groaned as they slouched further in their chair.  “There are a plethora—the whole Hell’s worth—of imaginings far more stimulating that we could be taking pleasure in at this very moment.”  They drew their hand up their thigh and lewdly traced the hem of their bottoms.

“Are you required to provide this information?” she wondered aloud.

“It is prudent that all involved parties have an understanding of the contract in question.  I would never be one to leap to assumptions about another party’s extent of relevant knowledge but may impart guidance where inquired.”  That sounded like a dodgy way to say ‘yes.’

So as long as her questions were related to the contract legalese, he had some extent of obligation to answer.  Very good to know.

Haarlep hummed in a manner that could normally be considered ‘thoughtful,’ but she didn’t want to attribute such a word to them.  “I truly cannot remember the last time I heard a mortal ask.  Most never think or bother to do so.”  They cocked their head and sat up to lean on the table to watch her write.  She scowled seeing blood smeared across the surface far too close to her.  “Such fine penmanship!  An educated little foxy.  Were you a scholar?  A spoiled noble with private tutelage?  Or perhaps…a naive girl of some religious sect?”

She rolled her eyes but they read something into it.  “Ah~  Is that right?  Are you involved with a church?  A cult?  Are you a pious foxy, so flighty yet eager to be corrupted in the world of devils?  Or a deviant vi—”

“There’s a word for people like you,” she interrupted, finally addressing Haarlep but not looking up from her work.

“Oh!”  They excitedly slid closer, their tail wavering high behind them.  “Seductive?  Entic—”

“Obnoxious,” she replied dryly, then pointedly looked up at Raphael.  “May I ask you something without them present?”

Faster than Haarlep could object, there was a snap and they were gone.  “You have my attention, fox.”

“Haarlep mentioned something…before.  Is your father among the names listed here?”  She tapped the sequence of names to which she was allowed to speak freely of Haarlep.  Upon the very mention, his face scrunched in displeasure as he looked from the parchment to her.  She was right.

He stared at her calculatedly for a long moment.  “Do tell—how does my father pertain to this?” Raphael demanded with a wave of his hand towards the contract.

Evie confidently met his gaze.  “I want…a similar reciprocal clause where they are also barred from speaking of me or the contract to others minus appropriate exceptions, as well.  I’m led to believe that Haarlep has made mention of me to him.”

The simmering anger abated.  “A nuisance hardly able to control their blathering,” he seemed to confirm.

In a flurry of sparks, his own grandly-feathered quill appeared and began scrivening across the contract parchment, the ink glowing a fiery red then blackening.

“And Haarlep’s name needs to be added to the list of those that I am able to speak of them—and the contract—to.”  She wasn’t about to chance fucking up and breaking the contract within two seconds of signing it if it could at all work that way.

Raphael chuckled with a grin of mischief.  “Haarlep had bet you would not catch the omission.  I wagered the fox too perceptive to let it simply slip her by.  I shall be pleased to collect my winnings from them.”

“That—!”  Evie balked at their deliberate attempt at trickery, biting her tongue to keep from cursing.  “Is there anything you want me to add to require of them?” she whispered conspiratorially.

Skeptical, his brow raised.  “Unnecessary.  But how sweet of you to ask.”  He beckoned her to pass over the draft she’d been working on.  “However…why don’t we review what you have written thus far.”

.

.

An indignant scoff.  “Did you help her?  I feel so betrayed—by my own master, no less!” Haarlep read over the current iteration of the contract with the terms and clauses she had requested to be added.  They slapped it down and half sprawled across the table, brazenly eyeing Raphael with a claw teasing their lips.  “Oh, your dear father was beside himself with glee upon hearing you had found another fun little novelty to spend your time chasing.  Lord Mephistopheles will be so melancholic at the lack of stories all about the cute, fluffy foxy!”  How daring.  The incubus was willing to air laundry out of some sort of retaliation.

“I’m sure he’d be downright inconsolable if he knew that it was all your fault, too,” Evie needled, deliberately responding before Raphael did as she noted the anger rising on his face.  She felt bolder in knowing that she had an upper hand in this matter, but what she didn’t want this turning into was a temperamental argument spinning out of control just because the incubus knew which of Raphael’s buttons to press.

Oddly, Mephistopheles wasn’t among the specific names that had been listed on the contract.  Which could only mean that he fell into one of the collectives.  She was vaguely familiar with the name in a biblical folklore sense, but didn’t know where he would fall here.  Somewhere in high-ranking governance, she would presume with the title ‘Lord.’  She didn’t want to ask yet and derail the conversation further, though.

Haarlep’s gaze narrowed on her and the confident smirk faltered as they silently appraised her.

“Sign, Haarlep.”  Raphael had sat back in his chair and crossed his legs with his hands steepled upon his knee, staring down his incubus.  “It is far past time for us to be done with this nonsense of your doing,” he bit.

Haarlep rolled their eyes and pouted.  “This is hardly fair!”

“Au contraire,” Evie rebutted, “all things considered, I am being incredibly reasonable.”  Her contract terms largely boiled down to Haarlep not being able to touch her without her consent and the statement about non-disclosure to certain entities.  She was too soft to demand additional punitive measures for what had already been done, though she was hoping she wouldn’t regret not instating something more along the lines of a restraining order against their presence near her entirely.  Despite what had happened, it felt like too much to ask for in Raphael’s home.

Haarlep made like they were going to stand but thought better of it.  “Ganging up on poor me.  It is us who are to take advantage of mortal ignorance and naivety, and yet, here you are allowing her privilege.  Such special treatment for the little foxy.”  They turned back to her and leered, biting their lip.  “Did you beg the Master to give you a lesson in our laws while I was away?  I would have bent you over the table and buried my cock in you in return for my aid.”

“Sign the damn paper,” she sneered in exasperation, sick of their disrespect.

“It’s all a game, you know,” Haarlep started.  They pointed to her head, body, and then made a grasping gesture as they spoke, “Coat it all in sugar to sweeten up the fox.  Disarm her mind, disarm her body, take her soul.”  

Evie sighed with a roll of her eyes.  When would this be over?  “I’m not dumb.  Just because we might be on friendly terms doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten I’m dealing with a devil.”

They barked out a laugh.  “How adorable for you to believe there is anything friendly about this!”  They pulled the contract back over.  “Very well.”  Raising their hand to their mouth, they bit at their thumb.  Evie watched as blood welled up and they pressed their thumb to the parchment.  “There.  Everything in this contract is void should the Master come to own you, after all.  Your consent doesn't matter when you are owned by another,” they warned, though the threat in their words was hardly veiled.

“You’re like my Twitter inbox personified,” she bemoaned and pulled the contract towards herself to write her signature near their disgusting, bloody smudge.  Though as she brought her pen to the parchment, she had the sudden realisation that she didn’t know what to sign for her signature.  She no longer used her actual full legal name and had no intention of doing so since arriving in this world.  But if Haarlep could get away with not using their actual name, then the same should apply to her, too, right?  With a few strokes of her quill, she signed the same way she signed Raphael’s guestbook—E.V.

As she then passed it along for its final signature, she requested, “Raphael, please incorporate this contract in any future Soul-Sworn contract offerings.”

A final glance over it to ensure all was in order, and with a wave of his hand, his initial appeared upon the contract.  “Consider it granted.”

Aghast at how easily he had agreed, the incubus slapped their hands down on the table and gasped with incredulity, “Master!”

Raphael spread his arms with a devilish smirk.  “She asks so politely.”

She stifled her giggle, resisting the urge to childishly stick her tongue out the incubus again.  Maybe this contract was really just meant as a ‘fuck you’ to Haarlep.  Though being the middle of a proxy war couldn’t be the best of situations to find herself in.

“Your hand, my dear,” Raphael then requested of her, extending his own and interrupting her thoughts.

When Haarlep suddenly sat back and crossed their arms with a haughty smile, she should have known something was up.  There had been a brief relief that everything was now settled between them, which—in retrospect—was immature.

But, though hesitant, she did as she was told, leaning over the table some to reach with her right.

Raphael took hold of her hand, his thumb passing over her knuckles, then turning it palm up as though inspecting it.  She couldn't help but notice that his own were very warm, his touch and skin softer than she would have expected them to be.

She felt the sudden swell of power off of him and reflexively ducked her head to squeeze her eyes shut.  After a few moments, she peeked through her lashes to make sure the burst of light had dissipated from his transformation.

His wings stretched broadly and he readjusted himself in his chair.  The much larger hands on hers became even warmer, his skin no longer having the same softness but his palms were smooth.  Though they did not prick or cut her, the sharp edges of his claws set her on edge.  Her mind chose then to remind her of the induced dream she’d had that night.

Evie glanced over at Haarlep to shake the thoughts and found them to be watching raptly with a suspiciously silent grin.

With an alarm blaring in her skull at their change of behavior, she asked, “What’s happening?”

Raphael explained as though it were plain as day, “In order to ensure that my troublesome incubus does not breach the terms of your contract, I require a means by which to enforce them.  A mark.”   His eyes flicked up to hers from beneath his brow, peering at her with amusement at her panic.  “Clearly you are no stranger to flesh ink—consider it no different.”

“Uhm…”  She swallowed thickly.  The gremlins and dust pixies that made her brain function were calling it a day and packing it in with this new information.  Her thoughts were nothing but TV static and the screech of a dial-up tone.

He was going to tattoo her?

Teasingly, Haarlep asked, “She appears quite taken aback.  Are you having regrets now, little foxy?”

“No!” she snapped, feeling her tail lash behind her.  If that was what needed to be done, she could suck it up.  Hopefully.

There was no further warning before Raphael began.  He swiped his finger through the still-wet stamp of Haarlep’s blood on the contract and pressed it to her wrist, just above her tattoo of black lace.

She watched his hand shift, clenching her teeth together when his claw pricked her skin from the middle of the smudge and slowly slid down in a straight line through her tattoo.  A burning sensation immediately spread from the cut through her hand and radiated up her arm, causing her to slap her other hand over her mouth to contain a shriek of pain.  Her right hand closed tightly around the thumb of his that had been holding hers steady.

“There’s no need to hide, foxy,” Haarlep said as though enjoying a show.  “We would love to hear your delicious cries of pain!”

Evie wanted to bare and gnash her teeth at them but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of anything escaping.  Instead, she took a deep breath through her nose and attempted to focus purely on her breathing.

It felt like it was working to take her mind off it until she felt his claw pierce into her skin again…and again, the heat and pain flaring once more with each cut made.  Though she half watched it through her heartbeat-blurred vision, she couldn’t even feel her own blood running off her wrist and beginning to drip to the table below.

The bastard might have said to consider it like a tattoo, but no tattoo burned like this.

After he said something in what she presumed was Infernal, the carved mark glowed in fiery shades for a moment.  As the mark seemed to settle, most of the pain dulled to an aching throb.

Raphael rubbed her skin clear of blood with his thumb, lifting his hand to his mouth to lick it clean with a satisfied hum.  “The vampire may have taste, after all.”  Releasing her hand, he said, “All finished.  A fine work by my hand.  A rose for your bouquet of ink.  Haarlep cannot touch you without my knowing.”  He smacked away the incubus’ hand as they reached for the drops of her blood on the table.

“I want a taste, too!” Haarlep whined.  “It’s only fair—the little beast got to taste mine.”

Shooting Haarlep an incredulous glare, Evie slunk down in her seat and cradled her wrist, tilting her head to inspect the new mark.  It was a rose.  Somehow, the blood pressed to her skin had left behind a bright red smudge.  The cuts the devil made had scarred over an inky black, giving shape to a macabre bloom of petals and a jagged, thorny stem that bisected her tattoo.

“Do you not remember?  Oh, you didn’t tell her!” the incubus giddily exclaimed to the devil that could not have looked less interested as he propped his head in his palm.  “You, darling beast, sank those little fangs into me a number of times!  I’ve you to thank for a portion of this.”  They gestured to the wounds scattered on their body.

“Good for me,” she mumbled, wanting to go back to completely ignoring them, but they seemed determined to get a rise out of her.

“I was surprised at the amount of flesh you managed to tear from my hand.”  They held it up and a large flap of skin fell away grotesquely.

Evie quirked a brow at them and refused to be cowed.  “Noted.  I’ll do a better job of skinning you properly next time.”

Haarlep threw their head back and laughed.  “Aw, tough words from a little pup.  But all of that—” they waved their hand over where the contract had been before rolling upon itself and vanishing—“is now behind us.  Why don’t we start anew, hmm?  We could be friends.”

Evie stared blankly at the incubus.

“Do you hate me so?” they asked at her silence.

A calmness had overcome her since signing the contract—and getting actual feeling that wasn’t pain back into her hand.  Their presence no longer meant…anything.  Glancing over the foods piled on the table that she had not yet touched, she answered flatly, “You aren’t worthy of that kind of effort.”

They braced their chin on their palm with a smile she was sure they thought was some kind of alluring but it didn’t meet their eyes, leaving them instead just seeming…predatory.  “I could take a different form, if that would be more to your liking?”

Impulsive words died on her tongue as a new idea came to mind to try to shake them off.  “Ooh, yes!”  She clasped her hands together to pretend to be excited, her hungry stomach urging her on.

If her sudden change in attitude bothered them, they didn’t show it.  “And what is your preferred—”

Evie grinned wider.  “Something edible.”

They stared at her for a long moment without moving until their eyes shifted to Raphael and back.

As they started to open their mouth to say more, Evie decided to be more explicit, picking up a fillet knife from the table and testing the bend with her finger, “Like a fish, please!  I haven’t had good sushi in forever.  Or I could definitely go for some barbecued eel.“

They huffed in offense, but the haughtiness in their words told her they weren’t taking her seriously.  “Happily, I shall report that I have lain with no such lesser creature.”

“Do you have, like, a menu I could reference?” she asked.

They stood and spun around their chair, crossing their arms over the top of it.  “How about a dragon?” they offered.

She gave consideration to the offer, exaggeratedly screwing up her face in thought.  In other circumstances, she’d have so many questions—pity they were such a vile asshole.  “Is that like alligator?” she questioned, actually wanting to know now.  “So, important question…  When you die, do you retain the form that you’re in or—”

Haarlep scowled—in a manner so similar yet so different from their master’s.  “I thought your sort was against such depravities.”  She sensed a crack forming.

“First time for everything, I suppose.”  She shrugged and swayed to the side to assess if there would even be any viable meat cuts on them.  Could devils be eaten?

In a stroke of timing that couldn’t have been better, her stomach chose to growl loudly at that moment.

They fled to stand behind Raphael and dipped forward over his shoulder to hiss, “Master, do you not consider it strange that this wretched creature is sitting right there sizing up your form to mince for a platter?”

Raphael was wearing a mask of stoicism but there was humor in his eyes and desire to play along.  “I would hardly consider it odd for one of her proclivities.”

Confusion swept over Haarlep.

Sitting back and playing with the knife in her hands, Evie smiled and flirtily snapped her teeth at the incubus.  “Oh, did he not tell you?” she repeated their words back at them with a flutter of her lashes.  “I’m the camp cook and butcher.  I have several mouths to feed, after all, so I have to get a bit creative with our food resources.  Minotaur, hook horrors.  The next illithid to try anything fishy is getting turned into calamari.  I’d try devil.”

Their scowl deepened in disgust and uncertainty.

Evie dug in.  “I think your tail would taste like alligator.”

“If you thought that mark was painful, ingesting a devil’s blood might burn a hole straight through you, foxy,” they quipped defensively.

“That’s what exsanguination’s for, silly!” she replied with cheer.  “Lots of things require special prep for eating.”

They blanched, curling tighter around their master.  “I’m certain there’s something around here that can be served up if you’re so Hells bent on eating a devil.”

“My appetite’s a bit more vindictive than that.  I played nice out of respect for Raphael,” she declared with more confidence than she felt.  “Don’t touch me again, and I’ll have no reason to rip your wings off and turn you into little fried devil nuggets.”

“Ugh, shoo, beastie!”  Haarlep swept their arm out at her.  “Send her back!” they angrily demanded.

She had successfully gotten under their skin.

Raphael lifted his hand and she expected to feel herself enveloped by his magic to return her to camp, but it was the incubus that disappeared instead.

An immense tension she didn’t know she had in her body left once they were gone.  Evie let out a breath and tossed the knife on the table.  Sliding down further, she stared at the ceiling.  She was gonna need another nap after this.

“I’m a little upset that you didn’t say I should add a clause about gagging them,” she grumbled.

“Much becomes obvious in hindsight,” he said with a smirk.

“Is there anything else that I should know about this mark?” she asked, sticking her arm up in the air.  She had thought she’d considered every angle she could of the contract and had still missed something.  It was best to figure out what else she may have missed before leaving.

“Those who are particularly sensitive to the properties of Infernal magic may be able to sense it, though the amount is minuscule.”  Not something that had occurred to her to worry about.  She’d have to figure out who to be cautious around…  “It will only activate at Haarlep’s touch to remove them from you and inform me of their breach of conduct.”

“Remove them, how?” she followed up.

“Forcefully,” was his simple response before he continued, “You got your desired terms through the contract but that does not mean that I am yet satisfied with Haarlep’s punishment.  They disobeyed me in their attempt to usurp my claim of your soul.  As you and I are now bound by contract, that mark will ensure that lesser devils will think twice about approaching you or accepting any pleas or bargains for help.”  It partially sounded like a threat to her ears, a reminder of what he was after and a potential narrowing of avenues for removing the tadpole, but she really didn’t have any intention of making more deals with devils.

She hummed noncommittally, a catchy song taking residence in her head.  “I like the rose.”

‘In a rose tattoo, in a rose tattoo.  I’ve got your name written here in a rose tattoo…’

Chapter Text

“Do sit properly, fox,” Raphael chided.

With a sigh, Evie pushed and pulled herself to sit back up in the tall-backed chair.

As she slid a bowl of fruit closer to finally eat something, the air shimmered in front of her, then ignited to reveal a scroll.  It unfurled enough for her to make out what was clearly the beginning of yet another contract.  Straightening enough to see the devil over it, she stared at him expectantly with the same enthusiasm owed opening a lunch bag and finding a moldy sandwich.

She didn’t want to return his hospitality with rudeness, but there was a crankiness leaching into her bones.

Raphael was, thankfully, quick to get to the point, “I thought it only appropriate to update the original contract offer given how our relationship has evolved.  After all, I would hardly consider us mere strangers or even acquaintances after the time we’ve spent in one another’s company, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her ears twitched, curiosity sparked.  She nodded with a little hesitation—it was too much what she wanted to hear.

“Allies…partners, perhaps.  …More?”  A foghorn was blaring in her mind.  That was moving too fast for where she felt they were just last night.  Though with what he had said then about coming to see her as more than just food, maybe it was an exaggeration of his shifting feelings.

Figuring she was suddenly going to be here longer yet, Evie grabbed the tea kettle to fix up another cup.

It was as she began to skim the beginning of the contract that her body decided to throw up a different urgent signal.

“Okay, this gets, like, two minutes, max, of consideration.  Then I gotta get back, ‘cuz I have to pee,” Evie warned, not mincing words.

He returned her unamused stare with an upturned scowl.  “Did that bump to your head addle your brain enough to neglect to address such needs while readying yourself?  You should be capable of waiting until we have concluded our business.”

“Waking up somewhere unfamiliar, falling off the bed…being attacked by your incubus,” she reminded him pointedly.  She shrugged with a dramatic bat of her eyes.  “All’s enough to throw a girl into a bit of tizzy, and she’d rather not soil her nice, new britches.  Though I am recalling a story about someone pissing themself in your office, so maybe it doesn’t bother you, y’know, for whatever reas—”

She blinked and found herself scrambling—and failing—to not fall on her ass.  Disoriented, her head whipped around in the pitch blackness of the place she’d evidently been sent to.  A bit of magic from her fingertips lit up the small space.  Though unfamiliar at first sight, her nose told her what it was despite the flowery perfume someone used to try to cover up the smell.

A latrine.

She supposed she could have just asked him where she could go to relieve herself and now felt a bit silly for both not thinking to and the brief panic.

Several minutes later of stumbling about to do her business, she exited the room and was then in another bigger one.  It appeared to be a powder room of sorts, lit by proper torches with walls covered in more paintings of unknown people and figures—one of these days she’d ask about them.

Spotting an actual, real-life sink, Evie bee-lined for it to wash up.  A pedestal to one side held a glass pitcher filled with water, a basin, a mix of products, and a stack of neatly folded cloths.  To the other side was a large standing mirror and a cushioned bench.

Evie scrubbed up and gave herself a once-over in the mirror, fixing a couple fly-aways and dabbing away small smears of makeup around her lashes.  She pressed fingers to the new rose on her wrist—freshly washed clean of blood residue—and noticed that it had stopped throbbing at some point.  While her tattoo ink was completely smooth, the blackened scars were slightly raised, setting it apart from the ink in texture.

The mark itself didn’t bother her—as long as she didn’t think about how Haarlep’s blood was used to make part of it—but she hoped the texture didn’t become a weird issue.  She supposed he could have made it so much worse, but before she could ruminate on it further and end up with a problem, she headed for the door.

It led to a short hallway that joined back up with the rest of the house, nondescript enough that it could be easily missed.  Even though she hadn't really been allowed to wander before and was never given a tour, she knew the main house to broadly be a circle, so she should just have to find one of the many entrances to the feast hall.

One direction looked more promising than the other, so she headed that way.  While Raphael wouldn’t be too happy if she wandered around instead of heading straight back, that didn’t mean she was going to rush and not gawk at all the things she passed on the way.

For a devil, Raphael was adorably fond of short inspirational messages here and there.  

While she had gotten used to souls drifting around, the hazy image of a glowy woman peering at her from behind one of the columns struck her as a bit…different.  She had the tell-tale glimmering of being illusory when Evie glanced at her from the corner of her eye.  But why, though?  Very curious…  The woman wasn’t dressed like any of the debtors or servants she had come across.  While she had looked back a few times, she didn’t want to scare her off the woman by directly approaching if she was timid enough to hide.

So on her little walk, Evie continued.  There weren’t many signs of servants in this area at the moment—she reckoned some were likely avoiding her—but she spotted someone up ahead near a big, golden statue she was excited to check out.

It became apparent within a handful of steps that there was something…off.  The man was filthy from head to toe—gaunt, wearing tattered rags, and smeared and spattered with an unknown brown substance—and there was now a stench in the air that hit her as though she must have crossed some barrier containing it.  It managed to be stronger than the latrine she had just come from and there was zero attempt made at covering it up.  The man was wringing his hands and watching a golden pot on the ground in front of the statue as though it would sprout legs and dash off at any moment.

His head suddenly whipped up as he noticed her presence.  “Away you!” he yelled, anxiously shooing her back.  “This is Raphael’s chamber pot and you shan’t have it!”

Stunned, she stood rooted in place with her hand over her nose to block out the smell.  He babbled on madly but she didn’t really hear the words.

The hand clasping the top of her head made her jump so badly she wouldn’t have been shocked to see her own soul vacating her body.

“Fox,” came the expectant, displeased hiss in her ear.  “I see you are dallying.”

Evie ducked out of his hold with a huff.  “I just fixed that!” she complained, running her hands over her mussed hair and fur.  Waving an arm at everything going on in front of the statue—including the debtor who had thrown himself on the ground with his arms around the chamber pot, warbling his thanks to Raphael for allowing him to guard his one true love—she demanded, “What is this?” then recovered her nose once the stench hit her again.

The devil chuckled, a disturbing smile crossing his face as he took in the scene with a hand to his chin as though admiring his handiwork.  “Merely a bit of crass humor.  Some with debts owed are serving punishments befitting of their pitiful lives.  Or do you not agree that those who broke the terms of their contracts deserve to be met with the fate of punishment within the Hells?”

“I don’t know how this all works,” she groused.  All her previous life, she had been preached at that sinners deservedly went to Hell where they would suffer for eternity, so was this really that surprising?  While it might not have exactly been the version of Hell she was familiar with, so far what was more surprising was that this was probably still more tame than what she would have truly expected to see.  Considering this was evidently the Hells’ equivalent of a noble’s house, though, this was probably merely the tip of that iceberg.  And thinking of her own fresh contract and the one Wyll had with Mizora, the agreed terms didn’t necessarily need to be something evil—she knew contracts existed for things like power and protection.  By sparing Karlach, Wyll received punishment for breaking an order from his patron as stipulated in his contract.

Glaring at corralling wings and the tail coiling around her waist as though leashing close a wayward, wandering toddler, she walked with him the rest of the way to the feast hall, taking long strides to keep up and not stumble or end up dragged.

“Avoid breaking the terms of a contract stipulating a punishment for doing so, and you’ve nothing to fear, my dear,” Raphael assured with all the charm due a devil that wanted her to forget that there was a bucket of his literal shit sitting in the middle of one of his halls.  “Hell has its laws, and it is my duty and pleasure to enforce them.”

That didn’t mean she was okay with this instance of how he chose to dole out punishment.  “Okay, but why is it in the middle of your hallway?”

“To serve as a reminder for others who may believe that they can best the devil,” he bellowed arrogantly, spreading his arms widely over her and brushing the tips of her ears with the gesture.  “He lives here, too, within my House of Hope—why deny him the privilege of walking its halls as he serves his shameful punishment?”

The end of his tail swayed entrancingly in her view and a burning need to know what it felt like snuck up on her.  Were his scales hard?  Was the skin rough?  Did it feel…reptilian?  Chance seized, her hand shot up to snag it.

“Utterly unhygienic,” she protested weakly of his explanation.  He clearly had no shame himself about this.  “But I guess I get it.”  She didn’t really want to think about it any more, as her focus was now on something far more interesting.

The ‘scales’ weren’t as hard as she expected them to be but rather like a combination of smooth and textured, ridged cartilage.  The underside had a slightly softer give where it lacked the thick ‘plating’ pattern of the topside.  Unbidden came a strong, strange compulsion to bite it.

The end of his tail snapped tightly around her wrist.

“Fortunately for you, I am in quite the gregarious mood this morn.  Ask sweetly and I may allow you to continue fondling me.” His grin down at her was all sharp teeth.

“Ah-heh, sorry,” she cringed as she eked out the apology, embarrassed now for allowing her curiosity to take over like that.  But it was only momentary as she remembered he started it.  “Though you’re taking an awful lot of liberty yourself hauling me around like this.”

“Now, I would never wish for a precious associate to become lost.  There are many dangers lurking in my House for little foxes that wander,” he chided, his tail flexing around her.

She wanted to point out that he abruptly sent her off with no directions on how to get back but held her tongue.  Just a little bit longer and she'd succeed in the feat of leaving here in one piece after all she'd been through.

They passed into the feast hall and Raphael courteously pulled out her chair with a theatrical bow.  She uttered her thanks as the contract scroll reappeared and he strolled around the table to brace himself against the fireplace mantle.

“Let us proceed again,” he said with a broadly sweeping hand in its direction.

She wondered what was in it that he was this adamant about her reading right now with him.  With the last version of the contract, he’d let her take a copy with her to go over on her own time…though that was only after she asked.

Unrolling it to where she had left off, she picked up her abandoned tea.  With a sad pout, she realised the beverage had already gone cold.  Far from the first time that that had happened.  She set it down, and on her palm drew out the motions for the minor heat glyph Gale had helped her practice.  With the aid of magic, her hands had begun reheating her beverages almost as often as they warmed her hands.

Cup back in hand, her attention returned to the contract.

It was suspiciously longer than the first version.  She didn’t get far before her face scrunched from having to unroll the whole thing to find a referred section.  “This has an appendix?”

“Would you prefer reading the passages in the original Infernal tomes?”  Her eyes followed the flourished gesture towards the direction of his office.

“I am appreciative of the reference material being added within the document. That was not the cause of my, erm, exclamation—more the fact that any appendix or outside reference material is required for this in the first place.”  She grumbled under her breath, “It’s so long.”   Had this now become ‘make it so long that she’ll overlook something’?

“They were made necessary by the updated terms, you understand.  As stated, I desired to make some changes based upon my growing fondness of you, Evie.  Are you intimidated by the size?” he questioned coyly.  While she still held no intention of signing, she could glean some machinations of the devil’s head from what had been added.  If he was feeling playful enough to be making dick jokes, she could try to wring a bit more out of him.

She hummed and shook her head.  “It’s just that this is less ‘light reading over tea’ and more ‘need to scour several times with a lot of caffeine’ kinda reading.”  

The original trade was still there—tadpole for soul—but a number of sections and clauses had been newly added or revised…

“Not just a trade for the tadpole anymore, huh?” Evie asked rhetorically.

He waved his hand absently.  “That little travel-along will be but a footnote in the far grander scheme of things.  I see potential within you.  Consider this an invitation to stay the course of greatness.”

“You still not gonna tell me why you’re involved in all this stuff?”  While he had made the same initial contract offer to everyone, what did he see in only her to now offer this?  Was it really about keeping her companionship or her knowledge or did he know something that he wasn’t divulging?  She had few doubts that if he was speaking with the others individually that they would have said something.  She kept them abreast of their meetings but she felt their general unease with them.  It was always possible that she was simply his first focus and would move on to the others.  Gale had once explained that devils would often keep making the deal ‘sweeter’ if you had something they coveted—and Raphael was quite happy to admit that their current contract would keep most lower ranking devils away.

“All in due time, my dear.  All in due time.  Patience!” he assured.  “We each have a role in this play, and we’ve yet to enter the final act.  Heed my guidance, and you and I shall both get what we desire in the end.”

Evie turned herself around in the chair to drape her legs over its arm and make herself more comfortable while she read.

All of her needs would be met as a vassal to her master, Raphael.  This was one of the sections that referred her to the appendix for a full list of duties under her obligation and his, though highlights had been provided.

As a vassal, she would be entitled to his protection.

Expected of her, was, of course, absolute obedience and loyalty to her master, Raphael.

There was a subsection with clauses regarding additional benefits and obligations of…being a pet.

It was surprising to her that there were entitlements at all, but she supposed there needed to be something to attract someone into agreeing to it.

She would be entitled to boarding, diet appropriate meals, and even a degree of ‘enrichment.’

There was a requirement to live in the boarding provided if under no other stipulations or orders.  Any and everything that was hers by right would become his - material goods, properties…her soul and body, including any magic and ability.

As her master, he would retain bre—she blinked in disbelief —breeding rights.  Ew.  No.

Evie wanted to reach for her quill to make strikes but didn’t want to signal to him that she was at all entertaining this and thus opening negotiations.

“I bet you offer this kinda thing to all the pretty souls that catch your eye,” she joked.

“No,” Raphael answered definitively.  “It is rare that anything catches my eye as you have.  You know me well enough by now to have learned that I strive for nothing short of perfection and the extraordinary.”

Evie snorted, biting back a giggle but crooking a brow and smirking as he sauntered leisurely around the table, the measured tap of his footfalls sharp in her ears as his hand slid over the back of each chair he passed.  “Hon, if you think ‘perfection’ is a beloved bucket of poop out in the hall and an incubus that needs reigned in, I might need to call an intervention.”  She wasn’t about to fall for that kind of flattery, but he was trying so hard with it that it was cute.

“I’ve even come to tolerate these charming bouts of insolence out of you,” he sighed with a shake of his head.

“Aww.  It’s because I care,” she crooned humorously.

“As do I!” he bid earnestly as he gripped the back of the chair she was in and stooped over it to peer down at her with a charming smile and yawning wings.  “Envision it: the House of Hope to call home!  A soft, warm bed.  Draped in the finest clothing—shimmering silks, pretty gossamers, gowns, jewelry.  Mornings filled with literature, music, art.  Evenings by the fire.  The leisure and excitement of grand parties and entertainment.  A centerpiece for others to behold, to look upon with envy.  A statement of my power!”  A trophy pet like he had mentioned last night.  Maybe similar to the kind of contract he had with Haarlep?  As far as she could tell, they mostly lazed about like an ornate, horny, pet cat.

It wasn’t the worst deal…so long as she remained in Raphael’s good graces.

If she ended up hating it, well, he owned everything her at that point and there was no going back unless he failed to fulfill his part of the contract.  With how extensive and nuanced it was, she supposed that was possible somehow in theory, but it wasn’t a spot she ever hoped to find herself needing to get out of.

“Well, you’ll be thrilled to know that I am up to date on all of my vaccinations, but as demonstrated, do have a history of biting when provoked.  And I am spayed, which puts a damper on any breeding aspirations.  Honestly, this almost feels like I’d be getting married with…more steps.  And fewer rights.”  Evie rolled her eyes, her shoulders heaving with her sigh.  “But I think what you want’s an actual dog, Raphael.  Nothing quite puts a damper on enjoying being with someone else like being contractually obligated to be there.  We can still hangout and go to fancy parties without a contract.  That’s what friends do.  You can even boast about knowing me!”

“Every master has his cherished few.”  He reached down and curled a strand of her hair through his fingers, his glowing eyes burning into her.  “Those that draw awe, envy, and inspire others to be their greatest selves.  Sign, and you shall become a member of my court, enjoying a freedom and luxuries few could ever have.”

Evie countered, “A freedom still owned.”

“Everyone is owned by someone,” Raphael reasoned.  “Why not have a benevolent, caring master such as myself?”

“And who owns you?” she threw back at him.

From the pursing of his lips, the straining creak of the wood beneath his hand, and the increase in heat wafting off of him, she knew she hit a sour spot.

“Consider my offer carefully, fox.  I may not remain of the gracious mind to keep these new terms on the table.”  His hand glowed with his final, parting words, “Return now, to your companions, but I advise you to be wary of what you speak.”

Chapter Text

Evie wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to being teleported.  The surge of power that overtook her every time Raphael summoned or dismissed her had none of the gentle push and pull of the ancient waypoint portals they frequently took advantage of during their travels.  Raphael’s made her feel like she was a piece of kindling being grasped and thrown about by an inferno.  Maybe she should’ve chosen her words better…

And that feeling didn’t dissipate this time when she got dropped back into camp, falling on her ass under the sudden gaze of so many of her companions.  Her heart thundered in her ears, momentarily frozen under their stares.  Of all the times in this journey that she’d been in the crosshairs of a predator ready to pounce, she had never felt more so than in that very moment.  Evie was starkly reminded of the change in proximity they’d taken up with being on the road and needing to stay in range of the moonlantern.

“Hi!” she chirped, squashing down her feelings of panic and disorientation to put on her courageous ‘all is fine’ leader mask as she mentally prepared for their questions.

“Ah, the brimstone whiff of infernal travel.  Nothing signed in blood, I hope?” Gale greeted, looking down at her with a curious smile.  “Glad to see that you’re all in one piece—at least as far as I can tell.  We were ready to scry.”

She scrambled to her feet—pulling her tail away from polishing Gale’s boots as she went—and put a few steps of more appropriate distance between her and the others she’d practically landed on.

Shadowheart snapped shut her book with a ‘thup’ that made Evie flinch.  “You’re late,” the other woman stated with an edge that demanded explanation.

But her words were drowned out by Karlach launching herself forward and lifting her into a scorching, bone-creaking hug.  “Soldier!” she exclaimed before Evie could get a word in.  “I thought we were gonna have to storm the Nine to rescue you from that bastard’s clutches!”

Evie flailed and yelped, “Karlach, hot!”   The tiefling sheepishly released her.  She raised her hands to placate her friend.  “I’m fine, I promise.”

Appearing behind her as silent as a ghost, probably to scowl and sneer at her up close, Astarion’s sudden presence startled her.  “And where in the Hells have you been?  Do you know how long you’ve been gone?”  The anger in his voice was knife-sharp around the teeth he gnashed.  She felt the stab of his disappointment.

“Same place as always,” Evie meekly replied, resisting the urge to gather her tail to herself but unable to keep from wringing her hands.  Hands!  Avoiding bringing attention to it, she deftly brought her right closer to her chest to hide the rose mark.

“Cute,” he said, unmoved.  “Clearly the time was well spent, what with those spiffy new clothes and smelling as though you’ve stepped out of a damned day spa!  I didn’t realise the devil was running a quaint little bed and breakfast out of the Hells.”

Her mind had been on how to get around any mention of Haarlep or her contract with them…she had completely forgotten in the midst of everything that her appearance alone was going to trigger a lot of questions.  It was a far cry from what she had been wearing last night.  Well, no duh, girl.

Her words hitched in her throat and she felt parts of herself threatening to collapse under the stress.  “You say that like that but I’m not sure he’d actually disagree,” she deflected with a nervous laugh.  Evie took a deep, steadying breath and, now that they were letting her speak, gave her apology and the briefest explanation she could muster that hopefully didn’t lead to too many questions.  “I’m sorry that I was gone so long and held us up.  I fell asleep and Raphael was kind enough to give me a room.”  She raised a hand to stop the attempted interruptions from the others who clearly found that very notion objectionable.  “Some stuff happened which he apologized for and he let me use his swanky pool and gave me new clothes for the trouble.”  Just a wee omission.

“You fell asleep?  In the home of the devil, Evie?” Astarion’s voice rose with his brows.  “Are you mad?”

“That’s not the devil being ‘kind,’ Evie,” Wyll refuted with a shake of his head.  “They hardly know the meaning of the word.  It’s just another nefarious ploy to sink his claws into you.  He could have sent you back here but didn’t because every minute you spend there is another chance he gets at swaying you into doing what he wants!”  His urgency and pleas to heed his warnings were colored by his own experiences.  “I thought I was smarter than Mizora and look where it landed me.  She didn’t need to steal my soul to carve away at my dignity.  The Hells are filled with fire, and one of these times, it will burn you.”

“Exactly—what he said.”  Nodding emphatically, Astarion flourished his hand toward Wyll.

“Best not to get yourself involved in the affairs of devils.”  Karlach crossed her arms with an uneasy sway.  “You know I don’t like all the time you spend with that creep.  Don’t give him another reason to think he needs to have control over you.  If you witnessed something he wants you to pretend you didn’t see, well…maybe you should.”  Karlach’s concerned gaze checked her over again.  “But you say the word and I’ll go kick down his door to deliver a proper ‘fuck you’ with my ax.”

Her chest clenched so hard she could barely take a breath.  If Karlach knew what all had really happened, she’d be trying to go there in a rage to burn the place down right now, and it hurt to feel like she was lying to her friends.  Though her memories of it were filled with holes and hazy, she’d never be able to just forget about last night and what almost happened.  Her trust was in Raphael’s own anger at Haarlep and how he lost control of something in his home.  She didn’t doubt that he would take measures to ensure it didn’t happen again—as with offering the contract with Haarlep—if only to keep control.  Evie had doubts that she would ever be left completely alone there again.

“I- Thanks, Karlach.  I did get the impression this morning that all this—” Evie gestured down herself, “—was a bit of damage control.  There’s no need to go kick down his door, though I’ll remember the offer.”  She hastily added on that last bit after realising how her words sounded.

Astarion found another opening to interrogate her.  “Damage control for what?  You did gloss over that little detail, darling.”

Lae’zel, who had taken one look at her when she’d returned and set about packing her things, called over with a frustrated growl, “She is in one piece.  We must keep moving.  Hurry up or I will take the lantern myself and leave you all behind.”

Evie nodded and took that moment to spur the others into getting to work, “We should still have some time to get a bit of progress in today, yeah?”  With any luck, the topic would be dropped, but she knew as she caught Astarion’s crimson gaze lingering unhappily on her that he’d be demanding a better explanation later.

Not fifteen minutes later, Halsin was helping her heft her bundled tent, sleeping things, and pack into their rothé-driven cart.  “I think you look alright, fox.  I believe you when you say that you are ‘fine.’  You’ve a good head on your shoulders.  But…I am here if you need to talk.”  With those simple words, the air around her felt less strangling, the worry weighing lighter on her shoulders.  

Her gratitude came sincere, “Thank-you for believing in me, Halsin.”

There was that little tensing in her shoulders as she instinctively waited for the other shoe to drop.  Another ‘But.’

‘But you should know better.’

He offered her a hand up to sit at the front of the cart where her maps and journal awaited, then patted the flank of one of the rothé pair awaiting the signal to depart camp.

The other shoe never dropped and the tension pinching at the nape of her neck softened as she rubbed it out with her hands.

Halsin, surprisingly, held one of the more supportive opinions on her camaraderie with a devil.  Going so far as to occasionally ask her about her time with Raphael, but in a way that didn’t feel judgemental or like she was about to be lectured at any moment.  She could share the same things—that he liked poetry and silly little stories, that he had a sweet tooth for things with cherries, that he kept up with neat advances in science publications—with Wyll or Karlach, even Astarion at times, and they would scoff or put it down.  Despite what they said of devils, their own words came across as dehumanizing, denying Raphael aspects of being a living person with agency to have the same wants and needs as ‘mortals.’  He couldn’t possibly truly enjoy those things, they’d said, he just uses them as avenues for devilish scheming, to lure in people like her, to be some disguise.

Such words only made her feel empathy for Raphael.  She knew exactly how it felt to be ‘othered’ and rejected for what you were.

The devil this, the devil that.

He was Raphael to her now; not just the facet, the caricature of that word.

It was far easier to be against something that you didn’t see like yourself.

But it wasn’t like her own hands weren’t dirty.  She wasn’t as Good and pure as her friends thought of her.  Could they have resolved the conflict with the goblins without so much bloodshed?  Did the Gur really need to die?  Could they have saved the trapped Deep Gnomes?  There were reasons for her decisions in the moment, but a better person would have tried.

She was their leader, but right now, she didn’t want to be and it twisted her stomach.  She wanted someone else to take the reins before she burned out completely.  They looked to her as one, but the further they journeyed, the more their questioning of her decisions scraped away at her surety and confidence in herself.

And yet, she was withholding things about last night that she wasn’t barred from talking to them about.  She didn’t want the questions, the concerned looks, the reminders that it was dangerous.  She already knew.

Out here, everything was a risk. Nothing anywhere was truly safe—but right now, the only risk that came with an opportunity of a few hours of not having to keep constant alert for something to come lunging at her was when she was with him.

There was an odd sense of relief that came with being under the watchful eye of someone much more powerful than everything else around.

He might have been after her soul, but he wasn’t going to lurch from around a tree to try to chew her throat out.  The danger was that those little comforts and moments of safety and control she was increasingly seeking— she would never claim to be cut out for the adventuring life —were the very things he knew to offer.  It was precisely the danger they warned her about without seeing her strategic use of him to keep her propped up on her feet to reckon with all the other dangers lurking around them.

Evie brushed her thumb over the crimson petals on her wrist.  The brand bound them, but just as Raphael saw it as her being bound to him, he himself was now bound to her.  She could play his game, and she could use it to her advantage.  It provided him benefits, but it also provided her benefits.  Her mind was becoming attuned to him and his ways, but she needed to learn more and be better.  The brand being a surprise?  Yeah, that was on her.  A now permanent reminder that even though she could read, she didn’t yet know enough about this world to know everything that was going unsaid and silently presumed.  She would be better.

.

.

With the camp full on a simple supper of flame-roasted fowl and foraged greens dressed with an herby, tangy sauce made from the drippings, Evie settled into her tent in the hopes of getting extra shut-eye that night—though she was finding she’d need the extra time simply to manage the invasively repeating music ricocheting between her ears and the jumbled thoughts keeping her awake.  Within moments of closing her eyes, however, the tent flap shifted and Astarion crouched to enter, shucking his shoes to sit upon his bedroll next to hers with his arms crossed and a pout.

When he didn’t say anything, she figured he was waiting to be acknowledged.  Throat dry, she croaked,  “What’s up?”  ‘Out with it,’ went unsaid.

“They may not know any better, but I am rather intimately acquainted with your art, darling.  That was not there before you left.”  He looked pointedly to her wrist.  “What really happened while you were off with you-know-who?  And spare me the vague platitudes.”

Evie rolled to her side and looked up at him, haloed prettily in the firelight that leaked in around the gaps of the tent.  With a resigned sigh, she started, “As I’m sure you noticed, Raphael summoned me earlier than normal last night.  He looked…tired, to say the least, when I got there.  A little lacking in his normal lofitness.  Kinda significant for someone like him.  We chatted, had tea.”  Definitely wasn’t going to tell Astarion that the tea was a new angle from Raphael.

“After a bit, his Archivist runs in and announces that a visitor from earlier has returned.”  Though her gaze had started wandering as she began her recall, her eyes then flicked up to catch his again, her face pulling in emphasis with her words through her exhaustion, “And Raphael was pissed about it.  Like, ‘out of his way or he’ll snap your spine in half before he ignites you’ kinda pissed.  Stormed off to deal with that and just…left me in his office.  I’m kinda paranoid about touching stuff there cuz…y’know, devil, so wrote a little until my quill went dry.  Paced around.  Stared out the window.  Tucked a few things for him to find around his office.  And yeah, fell asleep because I was bored out of my skull.”  

“An uninvited guest, you say?” Astarion’s brow arched. “How delightfully scandalous.  It is fun to consider that even the devil must deal with annoyances knocking on his door.  Did you happen to catch the name of this undesired intrusion?”

Her shoulder lifted and fell half-heartedly with the jerk of her head.  “I only heard them talk for, like, seven seconds in what I’m presuming was Infernal and then they disappeared off somewhere I couldn’t hear ‘em anymore.”

“Oh?”  Astarion leaned back, thoughtful. “Well, that certainly makes things more…interesting. A visitor powerful enough to put the devil on edge?  Quite a morsel worth savoring.”

“Right.  Someone who can rattle him must be pretty important and powerful,” she mused.

He hummed in agreement.  “While that may add a paint stroke to the canvas of who he really is, don’t think that I’ve forgotten you’ve more to share, darling.”

Groaning with reluctance, Evie flopped on her back.  “It gets a bit…complicated after that.  He said he sent me off to a guest bed, but that’s not where I woke up.  I can’t really say a whole lot about what happened after.  There was an incident.  Raphael stepped in before it, um…went further.  He let me use his bath, gave me new clothes, offered me breakfast.  The mark is for protection.  I’ll let you fill in the blanks a bit.”  Her teeth worried her bottom lip.  “I didn’t sign away my soul.  Before you ask.”

“Obviously this ‘incident’ got under his skin.”  His head tilted as he tried to look closer at the rose mark on her wrist.  He touched his fingers to his chin.  “But you are, too, and that’s useful.  Exploitable.  High risk…but high reward.  He isn’t as untouchable as he likes to appear.  But any being of power that feels they’ve lost control is dangerous when they attempt to claw it back.”  There was a dark flicker in his eyes that disappeared as fast as it appeared and Evie knew what was going through his mind.

With an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders and dramatic sigh, he continued, “Alas, if this kind of ‘incident’ isn’t enough to shake you from playing tea party with the devil, darling, there’s nothing I can say to change your mind that I haven’t already warned.  He’s going to keep dangling these little creature comforts in front of you, especially now that you’re under some sort of contract with him.  But he cares enough about maintaining that perfect, gracious host image, that we can use that.”  From concerned to schemer in true Astarion fashion.

“I don’t think it’s so bad to take advantage of them right now when we do need all the help we can get,” Evie mumbled.  “Would you actually be doing anything different if you were in my shoes?”

Astarion scoffed derisively, but they both knew the answer to that.  “No.  Well, yes.  I’d be fleecing that damned devil for everything he’s evidently feeling so generous to give."

She couldn’t help the laugh she had to stifle.

“Your little visits have been growing longer each time.  If he’s going to make such demands of your attention…perhaps you should try leveraging that for your own gain?" he slyly suggested. 

“Ah, maybe.”  Evie rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I’m serious, fox.  Just slip in a little ‘Oh, woe is me, I’m stuck wearing fourth-hand armor held together with twine and the prayers of so many cracked buckles!’  He wants to lift you up like a storybook hero, he should help make you look the part.”  He raised his brows pointedly at the pajama set she’d changed into—another full of holes, stains, and shoddily hemmed and tailored to fit her.  The shirt once could have fit an ogre.  “Gods know your clothing trunk requires dire aid.”

Evie put on her best dramatic whisper, “‘Oh, dearest devil, might I a pair of enchanted boots that truly fit?  And a bag of holding if you’ve one to spare?’  I’ll make sure to bat my eyes a lot.”

.

.

As Astarion settled back into his bedroll and closed his eyes to ease into his trance-state, Evie rolled away from him and pulled her layers of blankets and furs tighter, enshrouding herself in a cocoon of warmth.  The firelight was dimmed and chattering voices quieted.

But while she thought sleep would come more swiftly to her now that some of the guilt of not telling the others was assuaged by Astarion, the insides of her eyelids were plagued with images of the incubus she was forbidden from mentioning—crimson-skinned, twisted smirk, and the gleam of cruel intent in their eyes.  Her jaw clenched, a tightness constricted her throat and chest, as the heavy reality of what she’d narrowly escaped caught up to her.  The overwhelming feeling of powerlessness.  She could still feel the phantom touch of their hands, hear the lilt in their malicious words.  A chill settled over her, prickling her flesh.

Curling into herself, she hugged her tail to her chest and buried her face in it.  Raphael had saved her, but could he be just as cruel?  Would he be?  Was something warning her of what she was wading into by remaining close to him?  What would happen if she lost value in his eyes?  Wasn’t strong enough?  Or successful enough?

Her thumb rubbed circles over the lightly raised etchings of the mark, reminding her that she was safe from Haarlep…but also that that safety was fragile, and she hadn’t been strong enough to save herself.  The magic that shielded her wasn’t her own and Haarlep wasn’t the only dangerous thing in the Hells.  Or the Shadowlands.  What if something else attacked her?

She had books, she had Gale, she had Halsin—she had to prioritize controlling and strengthening her magic.  Her research into the mushrooms she’d found was proving to be promising after drying and grinding them into a powder.  She just needed to try a bit more tweaking and find a better way to keep the dosage measurements consistent across such small amounts.  It wasn’t perfect, but she had increasing hopes of it helping her keep focus on her spellwork without triggering certain side effects.

She would be better.

Chapter Text

His tongue ran slowly along the ridges of the roof of his mouth, invoking, savoring what had been but a cursory, sanguine taste of her.  Since she had graced that first contract with her signature, his mind was increasingly, maddeningly, on the fox.  In his bed, in his bath, in his house, in his head.

The aggravation she brought was vanquished upon her leave, yet…there was an itch to raise his hand and drag her back through the planes.  To make her see sense—all that he was offering!  Branding her brought with it an irritating, nagging possessiveness that had reared its head and revealed itself to her.  She had wriggled under his skin just as surely as he had carved and imbued her own with but a fleck of his power.

A distracted twitch and the quill tip snapped, sending spatters of ink blotting parchment.  With a growl, he tossed it away, the ruined document soon after mere ash.

Raphael ran his hands over his face before setting his chin atop them and staring down where moments ago there had been tedious correspondence he was too distracted to work on properly.  His eyes slid to the revised scroll rolled and secured with a tidy, velvet ribbon at the far edge of his desk.  The fox had a way of saying little things off the cuff that would nibble and gnaw at the matter of his mind until they created a festering gash that demanded attention.

Upon sending her back to her camp, he had read and reread the updated contract he had offered her, scouring and analyzing any possible language he may have used to indicate a subconscious desire within himself to wed the fox.

He should have laughed, shrugged it off.  But instead, here he sat—wasting away time better spent being productive—because her mockery of his offer was crawling through his marrow.  While he determined that it was simply yet another silly, thoughtless comment from the woman, that had not prevented his mind from further latching onto the notion, to begin weighing the optics and advantages of…infernal matrimony.

An Archduchess Consort.

The title was at once acidic, tart, saccharine.  A symbol.  Too final.  A leash.

What fool would stymie ascent by binding themself to another?  Yet still, did he not reach for the leash in spite of the damnable distraction threatening to slow his rise?

It was as he pondered his own musings that he had to face the realisation, the hideous admission…that he was not as against it as he initially presumed himself to be.

A confidant.  A gilded other.  One who shared in his ambition, vision, and goals.  The veritable ‘second half.’

Such an arrangement was primarily reserved for strategic politicking and the intention of bringing forth heirs.  But while the first step in the latter process had its appeal, he held no patience for the chaos of other courts created by broods incessantly fighting and being pitched against one another.  His father took an irksome degree of enjoyment in siring offspring purely for the entertainment of sewing discord and having them vye against each other.

Boldly self-volunteering admittance to her own barrenness, as the fox had in an attempt to devalue herself—in reaction to the clause regarding breeding rights?—held the plot twist of making her a yet more attractive choice, whether considered as a pet or more.  With the fox’s inability to naturally procreate, he would be free to take pleasure in her body without the worry of undesired progeny…or whelps sired should their diversions grow extracurricular.  That he may not be able to dictate any future contents of a womb non-existent was of no concern.  He need only conduct a private verification…

Was her assessment correct?  In his flaunting bid to persuade the fox to sign, he indeed had added a number of benefits not normally afforded to solely a vassal, pet, nor concubine.  Legally, the principal differences were in the responsibilities and freedoms afforded as his consort.  A consort would be trusted and expected to act in his stead when required for certain matters.

Had he not already determined and contractually enumerated a series of tasks that she would manage once under his dominion? 

He had shirked the tradition in the past—the closer one was permitted, the more of a liability they became.  Many courts had fallen to infighting and betrayal.  He had no need of a consort for keeping order in his House of Hope, but once he ruled the Nine…

Being ever closer to completing the Karsite Regalia, it was no longer a wholly disagreeable idea to install an Archduchess alongside his future rule.  His power, after all, would reign supreme.

The fox’s power—rather, lack thereof—was a source of hesitation.  There was no denying such a blinding shortfall.

Yet there was a glimmer.  Evie was self-aware of that shortfalling and making noticeable improvements in practiced skill, unmoored and directionless as it was.  With firmer guidance and upfront investment, he would see her further transform in the potential to be truly formidable.  Perhaps a taste of power was the push she now required at this step of their dance.  Should she stay within his sphere and continue to show promise, perhaps she could be consort material.

A vision then unfolded, draping his little fox in royal finery worthy of appearing upon his stage.  Proper attire—not the flour bags she deigned to wear, nor the modest ensemble he had provided to enforce a modicum of decorum.  He knew now the form, the canvas, that had been hidden.  What bloomed was a fantasy of infernal splendor.  Tailored, flowing silks in ivory and blood-red wine with curling embroidery stitching sins along the hems.  Glimmering jewels, sultry gossamer.  Delicate and refined.  Unmistakably his.  All polished grace and fiery defiance, poised at his side.

He could practically hear the whispers of critics—how they would scorn —had he ever bowed to their sneers and sniveling, he would be groveling at some baron’s feet, not shaping the future of the Hells.

Diligence decreed that he familiarize himself more thoroughly with the statutes and governance relevant to taking a mate and consort.

He stood and strode with determined purpose to an alcove of tightly packed jurisprudence.  The tome he pulled free was a thick, ornate binding that had been placed back after referencing it only the other day while drafting the present iteration of the increasingly nuanced soul-sworn contract offered to the fox.  It contained a meticulous account of nearly everything one may need to know of Infernal law and dominion surrounding those who fell under the shadow of a greater banner—the Head of Household.  Consorts, concubines, children, pets, vassals, sworn blades, servants, debtors, slaves…  A delightfully diverse taxonomy.

The binding creaked ever so faintly as he paged it open, as though the sigh of some slumbering beast begrudgingly awoken.  Unhurriedly, he continued through to the designated section on rituals of union under Baatorian statute.  Here laid the conditions for a legally recognised joining within the circles of the Hells, all tidy with its clauses and subclauses.  Constrained with courtly pageantry to a single contract between parties to be joined.

Admittedly, this was not a topic that he sought with any sort of frequency—perhaps here and there over the centuries in passing as he happened upon it.  As written, however, these were not the passages that had come to mind.

No, the rite that had stirred in the recesses of his mind was far more ancient.  A woven dance, a covenant complex in its lacing of fated threads.  A ceremony born before bureaucracy dulled passion into mere paperwork.  Crafted with intent and substance, it was a far safer, though tedious, option against the comparably modern version that, while able to be signed and bound in haste, could leave the joining parties vulnerable to…potential oversight.

The noble circles of the Hells, ever obsessed with legacy and lineage, had traded strong, meaningful union for simpler, colder constructs.  They were faster.  Deceivingly tidier.  Purely transactional.  Power was addictive and such contracts offered the quickest route to its amass—and to folly.  How often had he bore witness to their fallout, the destruction left in their wake when exploited?

They evaded the heavier obligations of reciprocal courting to create a truly unified bond, and with it, shirked greater, more stable power, for the short-term lesser.  A consort bound only by terms on paper was ripe for outside exploitation and betrayal.  As such, they had lost esteem, outpaced by the rise of concubines and breeding stock.

But he was nothing if not a patient devil.  Should Evie prove worthy of his efforts, he was certain that he could guide her through the necessary ritual steps.  The fox would, of course, expect to be courted for the prospect.

If the version he desired was not within this tome, alas, it surely resided within the shelves of his archive.

A summons of his Archivist and the tiefling was soon hastening away to fetch the desired text.

The book in his hand was pressed back into its spot on the shelf.  But as he turned to return to his desk, an oddity snagged his eye.  His brow furrowed as he stooped to the lowest shelf—there, between another pair of dense codices was something out of place.

He dragged both tomes free from the shelf and, now loosened from between them, to his feet fell a folded scrap of paper.

Suspicions further roused, he placed the books aside, forgotten, and his fingers tingled with a flicker of ward-sense as he reached for the paper.  But no, it wasn’t trapped, nor protected.  Nothing but mundane parchment.  Meant to be found.  He lifted the slip and unfolded it, eyes already scanning it as he strode to his desk without looking up.  How curious…

He paused beside his chair.  On first pass, it was filled with nothing but nonsense words…but he had become familiar enough with the fox’s hand that he recognised it as hers, and, therefore, worth closer consideration.

He sat, holding the scrap before himself, and stared at it.

Sea salt caramel smooth

Falling like petals in a gentle wind

Toffee melodies for candy fools 

Silly little pebbles blooming soft on skin

He read it again.

What meaning was there behind it?

Each reading taunted him with interpretations he could not settle upon.

She meant for him to find it.  Why?  A game, a tease, something more cryptic?  Was she mocking him?

If he had not perused her journal, seen her penchant for words of lyrical whimsy, he would have dismissed it outright.  Had she torn this from her journal?  She may not have removed or messed with anything during her unsupervised time within his office…though he had not expected her to instead plant something for him to find.

Sitting back, his fingers drummed across the arm of his chair as he contemplated the poem.  To what did it refer?

Himself?

Her companions?

Caramel, toffee, candy…sweet.

Sweet and soft things.

Herself?

She certainly was a sweet little fool.

Smooth and sticky…as one might describe a devil’s tricks.  He felt that he was on to the catch.

But perhaps it was not so deep.  A mere tease to cause him overthink meaning where there simply was none.

Warm with a sing-song cadence, he could almost hear her voice reading the lines aloud.  Lodging the words like a spell in his ear as she watched just to see what he would do.

He fought back the urge to crumple and burn the paper.  He did not care for the waste of his time…yet it could be the fox deliberately signaling her interest by leaving a playful puzzle for him.

…Had she left anything else behind?

Chapter Text

Raphael sat stiffly at the broad, polished table, each slip of paper arrayed before him like scattered game pieces—a puzzle that goaded him to seek a pattern he wasn’t certain existed.

He had scoured the room, each new fragment revealed flaring his frustration into ire.  Yet he had persisted, meticulously combing through the shelves, slipping fingertips between leather-bound volumes and beneath crystalline paperweights and infernal curios—effort more commonly owed to sweeping a sensitive space for spying spells, curses, and hexes.  One was nestled among a row of dense infernal contracts, another more brazenly propped against a bronze and bone hourglass.  Had she counted the seconds and minutes he had left her alone?  Or perhaps an invitation for him to measure out the time wasted seeking her hidden whimsies.

“‘All mimsy were the borogroves,’” he muttered, his lip curling with disdain even as he felt the sharp hook of fascination catch on his flesh.  Utter nonsense, surely?  And yet...there was an urge to cross reference it against various lexicons to be safe.  Would she embed veiled meaning into the bits of her left behind?

His eyes slid unwillingly back toward the chair where she'd slept, breathing deep the notes of honeyed sweetness to which he’d grown accustomed.  Her scent clung to the room like a taunting phantom.  The new scents she wore after using the soaps he’d had made for her that morning were quite a contrast.  The mix of tart apple and spice suited her, but they lacked the warmth of honey.  Distractedly, he picked up another slip, reading it for perhaps the fifth time.

‘If foxes wear threads and devils wear silk, then the moon must’

Raphael's jaw tightened.  A line without resolution, though it referred with clarity to both of their silhouettes.  It was found wound around a sprig of dried belladonna within the tight crevice behind a bookcase.  Was it a riddle?  Nightshade, as deadly as it was alluring…  A warning of herself or an observation of him?  He had doubts the flower and slip were as entwined as made seem.

He thought back to when he had read through her journal.  Many pages were torn from its binding, sections and corners torn and missing.  He’d no reason at the time to consider then that some of those missing lines were scattered around him like secreted petals, that he was sitting amidst the fox’s game.

Had she made any indication of her mischief after awakening?  No.  She had enshrouded herself with defensive composure.  As though some enthralled bumbling beast, he now chased after the breadcrumbs of a trickster’s capricious fancy.  He could feel her maddening glee, unheard but shimmering through the air as he worked to decode her game.  It seemed she knew him well enough that a clever little game would draw his attention.  But are you ready for more of my attention, little fox?

He tossed that one aside and snatched up others.

‘Error 204: No Content’ and ‘show int brief’.

The ends and edges were torn on each.  Were the scraps complete in themselves or bits of a whole?  Were they even related beyond being birthed from the fox's chaotic mind?

The first might be taken at face value—there was no content.  So useless that he nearly burned it away in his fist before thinking better of the impulse.  The second…show intelligence brief?  Intimate, integer, integrate, integral, introduction, interest?   Was it a command?  A demand to produce some sort of intelligence briefing?  To know more from or about him?

His fingers drifted to the odd, short phrase that had puzzled him most.  ‘lorem ipsum dolor sit amet’.   

Trying her hand clumsily with the Infernal language?  Was it a phrase imitated or crafted with him in mind?  He riddled through what she might have intended.  Pain itself…  A gift of pain…  Loved…

A proclamation for a love of pain?  She hadn’t seemed the sort, but she was brimming with pleasant surprises.

Another sheet—the largest of the lot—was neatly etched with fine lines of music notation and entitled in a rushed scrawl, as though an afterthought, ‘The Heart Asks Pleasure First.’  It had been found on the underside of his desk, stuck into a joining of the wood.  He hummed the short melody aloud, unsure of what meaning there was behind it.  Gentle, memorable, perhaps with the sway of a waltz…  There must be more to it.  Was it of her own composure or a remembered copy?

And yet…it may be but more crafted nonsense meant only to waste his time for naught but the audacity of her own amusement at his expense.

There was a set of four notes, discovered separately and just as scattered, that he determined were related, creating the flow of a poem when organised together.  All else aside, he believed that the key to it all was here.

‘One, Two, Three, Four
Along came a devil craving carrion scores

Five, Six, Seven, Eight
Rent and sundered bellies grow poppies on his plate’

‘Seven, Six, Five, Four
Lucky won’t be the plunder devoured to core

Three, Two, One, Zero
A feral feast dripping dressed to cinnabar marrow’

‘Vermillion vixen dancing on blundering feet
Four, Five, Six, Seven
Held hands step a warbling waltz beat’

‘Blood-silken lord of the damned lingers for lost rhythm
Four, Five, Six, Seven
Keen for carven slice slipped to sate sin appetites

Teeth spread wide in a moon-bright grin
Four, Five, Six, Seven
Keep up, keep up; again we spin’

Intriguingly more morbid and bewitching than any other creative endeavor of hers.  Above all others, however, it was what clued him to her having a deeper understanding of the chase than she let on...and was even enjoying it for what it was.

When considered with the music, there was a theme of dance, even using the word ‘waltz’ within her poem.  A tale of predatory thrill and darting between rhythms meant to keep each other ever so slightly off kilter.  But he had to hand it to the fox, amidst the lines deliberately wrenching the flow to and fro, were those that flit prettily off the tongue.

‘Blood silken lord of the damned,’ a line he relished, pulling his lips into a smirk as he reread the words.  How poetically the fox saw him!  Elegant and ruthless!

Had she at last come to her senses, realising that she harbored her own interest in him?  Was this all a coy admission?  A signal to engage him in more?

And then, hours after meandering around his office, she had looked upon the blood red rose he clawed into her wrist with not recoiling fear but an unexpected awe.

His script would require revision.  The first act had ended, heralding in the second, but he yet still could take advantage of this intermission to weave anew from these glinting threads she offered!

Raphael rose in a flurry of heat and embers, strides long and invigorated.  He halted pensively before the long windows overlooking the dusty, deeply scarred terrain of Avernus below.

A bold demand to show her more, a game to engage him and force him to piece together the answer while ignoring her red herrings, an attempt to learn his ways, a view of him through her eyes by way of riddle and rhyme, a tease to keep up with her candy-laced questions and ploys.

Did she know what she was instigating?  Did she care?  Was it a suitor she desired?  Or was she simply casting stones into the tide to see what stirred from the dark depths below?

Despite his irritation, his mind persisted in conjuring Evie as a mischievous damsel, fluttering about him and spinning riddles, trailing cryptic scraps for him to chase through the bramble-laden gardens that haunted his dreams.

He growled softly.  And like a lordly knight so gallant in his pursuit, he followed the paths, ensnared by interest and seductive prospect.

“Ah, little fox, so eager you have grown to play upon the devil’s stage!” he announced to the silent room.  “But do you grasp the true extent of the rising stakes?”

Gripped with possessive intent, he pivoted sharply on his heel to approach his desk.  He sat and set about enthusiastically penning a poetic response for his answer to this new thrill in their game.  She had made a grand move, but next the curtain rose, she would find him not merely willing to dance, but already in step—and the music swelling, summoning her to surrender.