Chapter Text
“I will let you have the Crown of Karsus on one condition.”
Raphael’s lips curled into a knowing grin, “Oh? Do tell, little mouse. I am curious as to—”
“I want a full-time job.”
The words landed with the grace of a thrown brick against the half-devil’s ears.
“Pardon?”
“A paid, full-time job,” you clarified, as though negotiating with a particularly dense hiring manager. “As your resident secretary. With benefits, of course. Healthcare. Regular, decent edible meals. Clothes that fit well and are comfortable. A roof over my head and a comfortable bed for the end of the day. Oh, and a matched retirement savings account, ideally. But you don’t get my soul. Unless I like my job that much post retirement. Which I currently set to be… 25 years from now.”
Silence.
Raphael stared at you, mouth slightly open, expression shifted from confusion to feeling slightly insulted.
Of all the things mortals had ever asked of him—power, immortality, wealth, revenge—it was never this.
Had he known that it would be this easy, he wouldn’t have wasted all his time writing and rewriting that offer of his. He should’ve just rented a slot under the ‘jobs’ section of Baldur's Mouth!
“Well then,” Raphael said, smoothing a hand down his doublet, tone finally steadying after he forced some composure back to his voice. “I suppose… that can be arranged.”
You smiled, looking far too excited for someone who had just pledged to work for the devil himself. “Great! When can I start?”
His eyebrows knitted together. “Excuse me?”
“Actually, based on how deep your eyebags are,” you cut in, “I will start tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning here!”
And before Raphael could object, you turned on your heel and left.
The next morning at the Devil’s Den, Raphael found you already seated behind the desk.
His desk.
Somehow, you had managed to cover the surface with various stacks of parchments, each of them covered in various bright colourful clips.
He stopped in the doorway.
“…What in all the Nine Hells,” he asked slowly, “…have you done?”
“Good morning!” you chirped. “I reorganized your soul contracts alphabetically, then by benefits on your end. Do you know how many of these have clauses that cancel each other out? Also, you are double-booked to see a client and Mephistopheles today. Why did you do that?”
“That was intentional,” he said stiffly.
“It shouldn’t be.”
You handed him a neatly written itinerary.
Raphael stared at it. It looked like a schedule, of sorts. Colour-coded with stickers and pastel highlighters. Filled with time slots and breaks.
“Lunch,” he read flatly. “You have scheduled lunch for me.”
“You get cranky when you don’t eat.”
“I do not get cranky.”
You offered him a grin.
“Listen here, pipsqueak," Raphael scowled, his tone was one of annoyance, "This arrangement does not grant you authority over me.”
“Oh, of course not!” you noted cheerily, waving your hand non-chalantly, already sorting more papers into their respective stacks. “But it does grant me authority over your calendar, though. Your first appointment is in ten minutes. A private meeting.”
“…With whom?”
You looked up at him pleasantly.
“Why, with Haarlep, of course!”
Raphael blinked. Exasperated.
“I have no need for my incubus this early in the morning!”
“Yes you do. You reek with pent up need. If you keep ignoring yourself you will be in the worst shape you’ve ever been when it’s time for you to receive the crown. Try not to be late. They’ve been waiting.” You winked, “Have fun!”
It was truly a pleasant surprise how the unexpected visit to see Haarlep had improved his mood significantly. It didn’t matter that the two of them practically shared the bed the night before, tail curling against one another as if they were otters who were afraid that the other was going to float away.
Perhaps you were right. He had been neglecting himself.
Or—
Raphael's eyebrows knitted suspiciously.
—this was a long haul war to overthrow his entire plan to get the Crown in the first place—
—which was entirely possible. Why else would you ask for such an absurd request?
What’s better than defeating him? Well, to infiltrate and to ruin his system to the point where he would be at your mercy, of course!
...He needs to end this before it gets any worse.
“Oh Raph! There you are!”
Raph?!
The cambion clicked his tongue. First it's his calendar, and now it's his name. “It’s Raphael. You should know that I do not take nicknames kindly.”
You shrugged, “Raph sounds nicer though. Anyway, you’re late. You have a meeting with your father in an hour.”
“The one I double booked with the fellow from Waterdeep?”
“Yes,” you said, already flipping through your notes. “Rescheduled. He cried about it, but in a ‘gods-please-no-i-need-to-see-my-family’ kind of way, but it will be fine. What can I say? Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”
Raphael opened his mouth—determined to put an end to your funny business of meddling with his life—when the door slammed open.
In strode Korrilla, boots clacking against the marble floor as she walked past him before handing a parchment to you.
“I need this signed.”
You scanned it. “Vacation request form. Great! How long?”
“A month. Maybe two. Depends on how long Helsik has our honeymoon booked.”
“Her what?” Raphael interjected.
“Vacation!” you repeated, smiling brightly at him. “You know, the thing that people get after working hard? Or should be able to get, at least, if the system is fair."
That earned you a frown instead. “My warlock does not get vacations.”
Korrilla shrugged. “Already packed. Tav will be covering my duties in the meantime. Besides, you were at the wedding. Shouldn’t it be obvious?”
“A wedding is one thing. But let me graciously remind you that I am your boss here, the patron of your powers. It is my decision to decide whether you get to leave or not,” Raphael’s voice was stiff, frustration from your overindulgence in his business slowly letting itself known from his tone.
“Look," Korrilla sighed, "I have been your warlock for decades. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a good boss and I respect you for that. But, if I don’t get a vacation soon, especially for my own honeymoon, I’m defecting to be a paladin instead out of spite.”
“Also,” you chimed in, completely oblivious to Raphael’s demeanour, “Happy employees are productive employees. Productive employees are the key to your success, Raphael. Miserable ones either sabotage you or die burning out. Both inefficient!”
With a confident hum, you ended your statement with a loud stamp of the form. “Approved! Tell Helsik I said hi!”
Raphael yanked the parchment away, perhaps a bit too harshly for his liking.
“I need you to listen carefully, you insolent creature,” he leaned in, eyes glinting with threat, “You have no right to undermine my decision about my clients, let alone my warlock!”
The raised voice made you pause. Your eyes looked at him, shocked.
Raphael clicked his tongue and stared at Korrilla. A part of him didn't want to let the warlock leave, but you did make a compelling argument. The last thing he needed right now was to have to deal with a burnt out warlock by the time he received the crown.
"You may go, a month, tops. No extensions."
Korrilla nodded before excusing herself, leaving the Den to only the two of you once more.
“Raph—”
“You need to leave," Raphael interrupted sharply, still not looking at you. “I do not need your assistance, or whatever this self-imposed employment that you have done here. We will discuss the matter of your own contract later. For now, you are a thorn by my side, and I need you out of here.”
Your hands tightened around your notes. “But, I just thought—”
“I did not ask you to think.”
Your shoulders dipped.
“Right,” you muttered, eyes on the floor. “I’m sorry.”
When he didn’t respond, you quietly gathered your things and slipped out, quiet as a mouse, leaving the door clicking shut behind you.
Raphael exhaled sharply and dropped into his chair, all huff and still simmering with annoyance. Finally having the office he rented all to himself again once more.
“Preposterous,” he cursed. “Who do they think they are? Waltzing in and making decisions about my employees and my plans.”
His gaze slid to the desk.
On it were the stacks of contracts, ledgers, all perfectly arranged.
It was then when Raphael noticed little squares of colourful parchments stuck to each pile.
He frowned and picked one up.
Red clip – souls with high risk and high rewards. Need to make sure Raphael checks in with all the clients personally.
Blue clip – long-term contracts, decent return. Low to medium risk.
Green clip – contracts with issues. Need to make sure Raphael is aware of it. All loopholes are highlighted in yellow.
Another.
If ill or unavailable: The daily and weekly tasks are written in the blue notebook that can be found on the drawer of this desk. Urgent tasks for the month are circled in red.
Another.
This time, it was stuck on his diary where he had left it.
Dear Raphael, please see page 3 on the blue notebook for a template of your daily schedule should you find me unavailable. Try to not overbook yourself again. – Tav
He stilled.
There were still dozens of similar notes all around him. And every single one of them was filled with neat handwriting, and each of them were thoughtfully written.
…What is that feeling that sat low on his stomach?
Annoyance. Anger. Frustration. That must be it.
Because one thing that he was for sure about was that you did mess up with his plans of avoiding Mephistopheles. Which may or may not cause problems with his grand plan with the Crown of Karsus. The last thing Raphael wanted was to be on his father’s radar, and actually showing up when summoned was not the way to do it.
The half-devil clicked his teeth, there was no time available to mull over his options, not when he has a literal timer to resolve issues that may arise because of your over-indulgence in his life.
With a snap, he let the spits of fire and smoke take him where he needed to be.
The sun had set by the time Raphael was back in Baldur’s Gate. Once more, to his surprise, the meeting with Mephistopheles was surprisingly peaceful. Apparently showing his face on the Eight Layer when summoned had actually raised less suspicions rather than if he were to continually avoid the Lord of Hellfire entirely.
It was yet another unexpected outcome of your meddling with his plans.
However, that win didn’t make the cambion feel any better.
In fact, he felt worse. That feeling in his stomach returned.
Raphael frowned. Regardless of what he felt, he knew one thing he was sure about: with Korrilla away, he undoubtedly did in fact need someone to help hold the fort down. His choices were either Yurgir or Haarlep.
Employing his orthon as his secretary was most definitely off the table, and he was for sure not going to appoint Haarlep for that. (No one would get anything done at that point.)
With the hammer now on hand, Wyll and Shadowheart taking most of the lead on this crucial moment, you and your companions should be ready to take on the Elder Brain when the time comes.
Interestingly, they didn’t ask how you managed to get the hammer. Perhaps seeing you return in one piece was enough for them to accept that part was done, especially after seeing how you managed to persuade an orthon to kill himself a couple weeks back.
Or, perhaps it was from relief that none of you would have to return to the House of Hope to try to rob the devil. “…because that would be ludicrous!” You remembered Wyll’s words chiming in your head when Astarion had offered to try to steal it.
So, for now, all that was left was to sit tight until everyone’s unfinished business in the city was taken care of.
In the spirit of efficiency, the rest of your companions decided to split up to tackle them.
Lae’zel, Karlach, Shadowheart, and Jaheira had gone on to save Halsin. While Wyll, Astarion, and Gale were busy running around the city to find ways to save Duke Ravengard.
You, on the other hand, had volunteered to take care of Yenna and hang out with Withers, because someone has to. It would be terrible to leave the traumatized orphan alone at night, and for Withers to be all lonely, now wouldn’t it?
(Withers neither agreed or disagreed. But Yenna seemed grateful.)
With the moon high in the sky, and the child now tucked in bed, you quietly packed away the soup she made for the rest of your companions to enjoy when they would return at dawn...
...it was then when the stench of smoke and sulphur caught your attention.