A Bad Contract, A Pleasurable Deal

Melinoë wasn't sure what was irritating her the most about the contract she had signed with that devil. The fact that her companions seemed to think she was dumb enough to take Raphael at his word and not have a plan to get out of the deal, if need be. Or was it worse that that verbose motherfucker thought she was that ignorant to his word salad that she didn't clock the way he phrased the deal? Did he really think she would fall for that "won't use the crown to hurt a mortal being" shit? Really?

She flung herself on to her other side, completely oblivious to any noise she could be making that would wake her companions. She didn't really care at this point. She was irritated that everyone was so quick to treat her like a pretty idiot while forcing her to be the de facto group leader responsible for all the heavy choices. Even Astarion was getting more and more wrapped up in resolving his family drama, that he could be outright vile unless he wanted to feed on her.

No, she wasn't irritated about Raphael's deal. She was infuriated by it. He probably gave a more straightforward contract to Mol, she fumed as she sat bolt up in bed. A child! With a child's level of finesse! FUCK! She was actually growling while putting her boots on and heading out the door. She knew Astarion had been watching her the entire time. It didn't deter her from the path she had already committed herself to. If he followed her, then that was on him.

It didn't take Melinoë long to get to the Devil's Fee. Helsik just nodded at her as she headed up the stairs to the portal and walked straight into the House of Hope. Once there, she marched right to the boudoir where she knew Haarlep would be waiting.

"Little Thief, you came back," they purred as they got on all fours and crawled to the end of the bed towards her. "And on your own! Does this mean you accept my offer?" Their leathery wings fluttered with anticipation, tail switching back and forth quickly.

"Hold your tits, demon," Melinoë said, her hands up to get him to back off a little. "Before I agree to anything, we need to go over the terms of this offer, one sex worker to another. No bullshit word games the other can see through like a cheap pair of stockings." Haarlep cocked their head while a slight smile crept across their face. "We need to come to a mutually pleasurable deal. Do you agree?"

There was a pause. It stretched long enough to test Melinoë's patience, and just when she thought her eyeballs would pop out of her face from the pressure of the anger that had been building up in her since they had gotten into the Archives and she saw her contract on that pedestal, protected by an Impervious Sphere, label stating it was from Raphael's most precious client, Haarlep asked,

"What are your terms?"

It didn't take them long to come to terms both could agree to. Both having a petty streak that could rival the Great Avernus Road helped as, ultimately, they both had an axe to grind against the same target.

They shook on the agreement, and as Haarlep asked, "Shall we begin?" while their hands worked their way up her robes, Melinoë stopped them.

"One more thing," she said, brows furrowed. "Not in his form. Use your own. Please."

+++

As Raphael stepped through the portal and into the Chamber of Egress, he immediately could sense something was off. Nabaldin wasn't scrubbing the floors and it was unusually quiet. He walked out to the main corridor only to find it empty of the usual Debtors. As the sound of his steps echoed through the hall like explosions going off, he made his way to the boudoir doorway. There, he was greeted with a chamber pot overflowing with excrement and what appeared to be every quill and ink pot he had in his possession at that time. It was all placed neatly in the middle of the corridor, the overflow spilling out with an artistic flare. Before it could register with him that this was clearly meant to mean something beyond a bucket of shit in his hallway, he recognized a familiar scent coming from the boudoir. He turned on his heel and followed it into the room. A cool breeze off the Sea of Fallen Stars, carrying with it a hint of citrus and freshly cut wood, it was a scent so specific he would never mistake it for someone else.

The steam from the pool in the center of the room made it difficult to clearly make out the form on the bed, but he'd recognize that silhouette in the blackest pitch of the deepest part of the Underdark. The curve that softly started at the shoulder, dipped down to a tight waist, then swiftly back up and around a sharp hip, to finally slope slowly down a strong thigh and disappeared at a bent knee. When he met the expected silvery blue and blood red mismatched eyes, every freckle was scattered perfectly across her face like the multitude of broken ice floes of Stygia against her death white skin, marred only by the jagged scar running over her right cheek to the bridge of her nose. Oh, and that gods awful tattoo climbing up the column of her neck like a collar put there by someone else. He almost bought that it was actually her. His Little Mouse.

"You just missed her," Haarlep cooed out in perfect mimicry of her voice. "She's fun, that little mouse of yours. A real spitfire! I dare say, she almost wore me out." The figure rolled over on to their back provocatively, "Almost."

The installation art feature in the middle of his corridor suddenly made sense, and, much to his growing vexation with the actual drow in question, a smile spread across his face.