chapter six.
the devil you know

"What it is you ... have to offer?" 

Fallon's brow knitted together, speaking the words as if they held as much sense to her as a riddle. 

Her eyes rested on the man before her as she acclimatised to her surroundings. He was handsome certainly, sturdy with an air of elegance to his posture. Perhaps on the face of another, his jaw would have been a mark of heroism, but set below a pair of cold hard eyes it read more as a manifestation of malevolence. He wore clothes of a finery not unlike Astarions, the scruff of his white collar peeking out like the scalloped edge of a shell. Around his waist was a band of iron, emblazoned with the thorned heads of three devilish figures. Its presence was not lost on her, even as she forced herself to fully meet his gaze.

"Yes! Certainly it's something that you mortals are coy to ask, which is why I prefer that you cut to the chase. Your life is so little, a grain of sand awaiting your turn down the slender curve of an hourglass. Tick tock, let's make our moments together count."

Every inch of her skin crawled as though beset with the brush of a thousand insect legs. Whoever the man was, he possessed powers far greater than he had displayed thus far. Indeed, he had torn her through the material of time and space to supplant her before him. As much as he demanded her to ask something of him, the matter of cost burned in the pit of her stomach. She would need to tread deftly with her words if she hoped to keep her skin.

"I still ... I still want to know who you are. And where I am." Fallon said, watching as he paced deliberately around the exterior of the dining hall. She would let her back be turned to him again. "It would help to know how to address you."

He arrived wordlessly at the chair opposite her, curling his fingers around the ornate wooden backing. Slowly he seated himself, the coals of his eyes resting firm on Fallon as a crescent moon of white formed below. She had never encountered one who breathed wickedness before, yet that was what he was doing. The man reached out a hand to gesture towards the chair in front of her.

"Please. Sit."

Fallon hesitated. Moments later the chair shot out from the table, halting just short of her legs. She gasped, flinching as she took a step back.

"I insist."

"Will you tell me your name if you do?"

"I'll tell you anything your heart desires. But please, you're a guest in my most humble of abodes." He stretched his arms outward, gesturing to the cavernous room around them. Fallon blocked the urge to follow the movement. "It would be rude to refuse an invitation to dine with a devil."

She clenched her jaw. Was she in Avernus itself? A newfound dread gripped her and she stayed herself no further. With wooden movements, she eased herself into the chair, only for it to sharply pull inwards. The flat of her stomach flush with the edge of the table, Fallon was overcome with a sense of suffocation.

"Thank you. It's good to get started on the right foot, is it not?"

"I hardly think plucking me from the sky constitutes that."

"You had such a nice landing though, the envy of those who would otherwise walk these halls for far different reasons. I've treated you well, let me treat you better still." He paused, placing the points of her elbows against the table and folding his hands together. "But since you've been so patient, I'll grant you your request. My name is Raphael, and this is my domain. As you might have hazarded to guess, we are quite far from that pithy camp you call home."

Bile rose from her stomach, scalding the base of her throat. Fallon grit her teeth and steeled herself against the sensation. What could be worse than dining with a devil? Throwing up on his ruby stoned plates. Clenching fists by her sides, she drew a shuddered breath.

"I have no business with devils."

"Not yet, no. We can change that though, if you would allow me. You see, I've had an inquiry. Not about you, as disappointing as you might find that. I hear you have a stowaway in your midst."

Astarion. The man was proving troublesome company if he was stirring a devil, yet Fallon knew better than to take such obvious bait. She could hardly accuse him of summoning Raphael, it was counterintuitive to his plight. No, there were darker forces at play here. The answer did not take her long to glean.

"This has to do with Cazador."

"Aren't you astute? Your trade demands it, yet not a good word is thrown in the way of the thief, which is a tad naïve in my opinion. Every ecosystem needs a cockroach." 

With the appearance of his grin, Fallon was almost certain he had conjured the image in his mind, only to stamp it beneath the heel of his boot. 

"Why would he send a devil?" She replied sharply. "For all he knows, we're on our way back to Baldur's Gate."

"So you imply that perhaps you're not? That you might wish to change course?"

She could have kicked herself for not choosing her words more carefully. The truth was that she didn't know. Their plans had been hiccupped, if they meant to travel with Astarion then who knew how that would diverge their path. All Fallon knew was that Cazador wanted Astarion, and that Astarion did not seem to return the sentiment.

"I imply nothing," Fallon said, "only that his knowledge has no reason to be sullied."

"Hmm. Well, you aren't wrong. Cazador didn't exactly send me." 

Raphael spoke as he reached for a glass decanter. He began to pour a viscous red wine, the heady scent of its maturity flooding Fallon's senses. So strong was the smell that it threatened intoxication upon her. Her eyelids fluttered, biting back against the boozy sting. The devil paused the flow of wine, gesturing to the nearest goblet by her side. She shook her head, eliciting a sharp tut from Raphael.

"What a pity. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, you know? To drink with someone of the likes as I. Still, I'm not what you could call surprised. Such is the whim of an animal as sly as the fox. Skulking through the brush, searching for an unaware feathered neck to pull into the shadows. Darting, keen, opportunistic. Yet so fundamentally afraid."

"I'm not afraid."

"Oh but shouldn't you be? It's only the natural response of survival, the most base of instincts for a thief of threadbare origins. You may wonder how I know so much, and I would tell you that it is the entirety of a devil's job to hold a sheer pantheon of awareness. All the better to make sense of a world that houses so many souls brimming with desire." 

He swept a hand against the fringe of his hair as he grasped the goblet, bringing it to his lips. Fallon could taste the wine on his tongue, feel the heavy pull of imbibing. Warm as a blanket, the sensation constricted her like the hug of a snake, as a sweet hiss threatened to lull her into the blissful ignorance of death.

She jerked forward, as though she had resisted the pull of sleep at the very last second. It was not the wine, it was his voice, hypnotic and lyrical. As if he could read her mind, Raphael smiled.

"You see, opportunity is the name of my game. It's such a fickle thing, is it not? Invisible to most, obvious to few. Mortals wander a grove, prancing over glades of springtime grass only to misstep and find all that was before them is now bitter with frost. What previously sprung back against their greedy heels is brittle and cracks underfoot. The beauty of my work is that with the wave of a hand, I can melt away all that was lost."

"If you mean to tempt me with riddles and poems, I will make you a fool."

Raphael slammed down his goblet and the table gave a harsh shudder. She couldn't help but flinch, yet fought back any urge to react more than her instinct bid her to. She was not afraid, she would insist it so. Fallon held his gaze against the might of better judgement, her bottom lip curling beneath her teeth. 

"I would love to see you try." He threw his head back in laughter, the threat melting from his body. "I don't mean to tempt you with anything. Merely to present you with an assortment of facts that may better align your thoughts for the dreary road ahead."

"Why should I trust anything you say?" Fallon said.

"Why? Because I am nothing but an interested spectator, lauding my time in the annals of a lonely peanut gallery. Eternity is a long time, your precious cargo would know that better than most, I suggest you ask him about how he's spent it thus far. But I'll dally no further, sweet child. Your flame dwindles and the shadows move in with hunger. So I say to you once again. Ask me what I can do for you, and I will tell you plainly."

She could resist the question no more. With a deep inhale, Fallon tensed the core of her being.

"Alright. What is it that you can do for me?"

"Ah, such a fine question. I'm so glad you swallowed your pride and asked. What I can do for you is tell you this: if you mean doublecross Cazador Szarr, you will spend every waking moment of what's left of your wispy existence in constant threat. The spawn means much to his master. Don't let his silver tongue fool you. For all the drapes and whistles of the Upper City cannot hide his truth. He is a slave, and his purpose is in complete servitude to Cazador. An eternity, need I remind, is so very long. Would you make his affliction your own?"

Fallon knew the answer: of course not. It had become clear to her in the devil's presence that keeping Astarion so close would be inviting madness upon herself. Yet there was a twinkle in Raphael's cold eyes. He knew more, had more to say. Things would not be so simple.

"You sense it, don't you?" He said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that travelled through to the marrow of her bones. "The catch. I'll be honest, there are a few. The most boring of which is humanity. Delivering Astarion to Cazador would be forfeiting him to a fate beyond your worst of nightmares. I'll spare you the details, I wouldn't wish to take steal an opportunity for him to bare his wretched soul. No, I can see this would not be enough to sway you. So let's move on to the other: circumstance.

"For Astarion is no fool. He may have a worm wriggling around in his head, but setting foot in Baldur's Gate would be a death sentence to his sanity. No, he would need a reason, and what better a reason than revenge?"

"Revenge?" She cocked her head to the side. "Against Cazador?"

"Of course."

"If the man is as terrifying as you imply, such a feat is beyond my expertise. I am no assassin, and neither are my friends. I kill because I must. I know a scalable target when I see it. What little I know of vampires tells me that Cazador is a feat I do not wish to encounter."

"Exactly. Thankfully you have arrived in the good graces of opportunity. Divine timing has flowered its petals before you, velvet and a pollen. Do you dare pluck?"

"If I did, how would I?"

Raphael loosened his hand from his goblet, slowly bringing a single finger to his temple. Oh, he couldn't possibly mean ...

"Yes. Again, you're very astute."

"I'm not infecting myself with a tadpole." She could laugh if she'd thought herself capable of it. "You're mad."

"Oh, but am I? For what else is madness but a denial of reality? And I assure you, this is very real."

"It is madness. I would be insane to do such a thing."

"Under other circumstances. Here we have arrived at the crux of it all, the point of your conception, where all that delicious optimism is most potent. Cosmel and Virric, their unholy union in the dark of a non-marital bed. You, the bruised fruit, presented to an unsmiling god. The Mossdreamer estate, your father's crimson-lined legacy. Destruction, possession, disassemble: it matters not to me. What can I offer you? The branches of choice."

The dust of his words settled around them as Fallon took in his meaning. Her skin itched as though he had written the subtext on her skin with the nib of a quill. Revenge. He was offering her something she had denied herself to consider throughout all her years. For as much as Fallon squirreled away coin and sought to make herself acclaimed, prestige among the damned could only go so far. 

She walked the same passages as her father, yet their paths diverged. Dawn and dusk. Reverence and repugnance. Fallon was a cockroach, in the eyes of her father and those of his ilk. Yet festering beneath the surface, an urge. She wanted more.

"And how could I come upon this offer?" Her voice wavered only with the thin inhale of her breath. Raphael smiled wide.

"Bring the spawn to Baldur's Gate. Make him think he is the king piece on a board of your making. Then when the time is right, checkmate."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

AUTHOR'S NOTES

i. why did writing this scene make me wanna ship fallon with raphael? bc i have problems that's why