#also i. shouldn't have to explain this but raphael is a bastard. this isnt the open to a love story. mia recognizes the manipulation tactic

[cow-wizard]

A Promise of Things to Come

disclaimer: I am still technically in Act 2 of Baldur's Gate 3, because I am playing on xbox and am one of the unfortunate people to have experienced a total wipe of my saves. I've been careful about using cross-save and that has worked for the most part but it had a hiccup the other day so I am currently just waiting for a fix and not risking my 50+ hours into Mia's file. Anywho, here's Mia talking to the devil after saving the Grove because I'm a dumb bitch with terrible taste, I will never change, I will never improve, that is a promise

The sounds of the party gradually faded into the nightsong of crickets and wind through the trees as Mia made her way closer to the forest; the gentle rush of the nearby river grew more prominent, but it melded into the chirps and rustling of leaves, creating a soothing rhythm that urged her feet ever-forward.

It had been days since Mia had felt any sense of peace, and she knew she couldn’t stray too far from camp, lest she lose the protection of the prism — but the night wouldn’t last forever. She intended to find at least a bit of solitude before it was over.

The tieflings were fine people, but she’d felt more than a bit ill at their profuse thanks for ‘rescuing’ them. Mia hadn’t set out to do anything so selfless. She’d needed Halsin for a potential cure, and he’d wanted the goblin leaders dead, so she’d killed them. It was simple math, but the idea of explaining it to anyone left a pit in her stomach, so she’d swallowed the feeling and plastered on a sweet smile as everyone thanked her for being so courageous.

She shivered, pulling the shawl around her shoulders closer. Initially, she’d cursed the mind flayers for abducting her in such a state — in her short summer nightgown and heavy shawl, no robes to speak of — but to have even a small comfort in such dire times seemed a blessing now.

Suddenly, there was a shimmer in the air, and the faint smell of sulfur. Mia tensed, waiting for the hot flash of light that preceded the appearance of a devil, but as he materialized before her, she let out a small sigh of relief. Raphael. Not a concern, especially not if he was just showing up before her, rather than the group.

“Cold?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he glanced down at her nightwear. “Not surprising, given your ensemble.”

Mia barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “No, actually. Not now that you’ve shown up.”

Raphael started to smirk, very slowly, and Mia let out a huff.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant because,” she paused, waving her free hand in a vague circular motion, “you carry the fires of Avernus, or…something like that.”

He hummed, clearly not convinced, and once more looked Mia up and down. The hem of her nightgown only reached halfway down her thighs, revealing more than a few small patches of warped and discolored skin — burn scars, he was certain. Not as extensive as the one that nearly covered the entire left side of her face, but similar enough in color. “You know, you really shouldn’t wander into the woods alone like this. All manner of beasts prowl the night.”

“Like devils?” Mia asked in a deadpan tone, her face just as impassive. Her blind left eye made the expression more severe, somehow, though there was something bright burning behind her right eye as well, the brown prominent against white.

“I was thinking more along the lines of wolves, gnolls, owlbears, that sort of thing,” Raphael said with a flourish of his hand, and then gave her another smirk. “After all, you do look sweet enough to eat.”

Mia looked up at him, dumbfounded. She felt her jaw dropping slowly, but she couldn’t summon the willpower to stop it.

Raphael’s grin relaxed, though it looked no less dangerous for it, and he stepped closer. “It would be a shame to see you ravaged.”

Mia could almost hear something creak in her head as the gears of her mind finally started grinding together — the devil was…flirting with her.

She stood there silent for too long; she could feel the weight of it bearing down on her, drawing the blood to her cheeks and ears, heartbeat thrumming in her fingertips. Finally, she managed to swallow the lump in her throat, and asked, “Did you want something?”

Raphael cocked his eyebrow again. “An interesting moment to ask me that. Alas, a devil’s appetite is never truly sated, but I get the sense you’re still not ready to make a deal.”

Mia made a face. “So what, you came here to try and ‘whittle’ me down?”

Raphael’s grin grew amused. “You were paying attention. Good girl. But no,” he said with a sigh, “as enjoyable as it would be to watch you squirm, I merely thought you could use the company.”

Mia’s expression warped even further, implying that she didn’t believe his words for a second. “I’m sorry, you thought— you saw me leave a party held in my honor, with at least a dozen people clamoring for my attention, and your conclusion was that I was…lonely?”

“Aren’t you?” Raphael asked, and as Mia hesitated to answer, he continued, “Perhaps your tadpole-infected companions might have something in common with you, but the good people of the grove?” He paused, tilting his head slightly as his smirk grew condescending. “Now that I very much doubt.”

“You don’t know me.”

“And neither do they. But at least I want to know the real you.”

Mia’s frown pulled to one side. “Yes, so you can exploit my every fear and coerce me into signing over my soul. Do I look stupid to you?”

With the excuse to consider her appearance again, Raphael lifted a hand to his chin, crossing one leg behind the other. His eyes found the scars on her legs again, and he hummed. “You look as though you’ve poor aim with your spells.”

Mia flushed, and hurried to tug at the hem of her nightgown; her shawl slipped off her left shoulder, revealing a lightning-patterned scar running up her left arm. Raphael’s eyes narrowed while she wasn’t looking, but his features smoothed out again as he once more stepped closer, reaching for the edge of her shawl and tugging it back up.

He lingered there in her space, a thumb still hooked beneath the heavy wool, wondering how much wolf lay hidden beneath her sheep. The thought of her engaging in savagery was a brilliant one, shining like a star, and he inhaled sharply at the bloodsoaked idea. The smell of gin hit him, and he almost passed it off as the forest, but he'd not noticed many pines. It was coming from Mia, he realized, as he looked down and saw her staring straight ahead, at his chest. The blackened fingers of her right hand clutched her shawl closed, and he wondered what type of ice she'd fumbled, to have denied any type of healing. How many times had she hurt herself without leaving scars?

How many times had she hurt others?

She was almost shivering again, so he retracted his hand, only to lean closer.

“I could take it, you know,” he said, his voice dropping to a mere rumble from his chest, one Mia could almost feel with him so close. “The magic.”

She looked up in alarm, but soon her brow lifted, and her wide eyes searched his face for the truth. “You could?”

The desperation in her gaze nearly tore a groan from him; she looked so hopeful, almost trusting. It stoked a fire in his loins and a hunger in his gut, the sensations so heady and overwhelming that he decided right there, even if she somehow figured out a cure for the tadpole, he had to have her.

Mia was his; it had been terribly easy to shift her mind from suspicion to curiosity. It was truly just a matter of time — and how much he wanted to play with his food.

He resisted the impulse to lick his lips, and gave her an almost genuine smile. “Of course. But you’ll need it yet on your journey.”

“Oh. Right,” Mia said, and dropped her gaze, pulling her shawl tight around herself once more. Raphael mourned the loss of her pretty desperation, but smiled privately to himself, envisioning all the chances he would get to pull that look from her. His gaze shifted as he got lost in thought, slipping away from Mia and towards the forest floor.

“Not as sweet as you thought?” she asked, pulling him back to the present. Her mouth was twisted, not quite a frown, but her gaze was still lowered, and she held her shawl close with both hands. “You haven’t even seen the best scars.”

He pondered how to respond for a moment, letting her statement hang in the air, and in the absence of words between them, the chorus of the night grew almost deafening. The summer air seemed thick as velvet as it hung around them, heating the space between them as though there were no space at all.

Finally, he tilted his head, his expression almost serious. “Are you offering to show me?”

“No,” Mia answered too quickly and too loudly, and a rabbit or some other small animal must have gotten spooked by her voice, darting between bushes that rustled and shook with the movement.

An owl hooted, a few frogs joined in with the chirping of the crickets, and the wind picked up, blowing away whatever heat had been building between them.

“In that case,” Raphael finally said, “I’d best be on my way. Do enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He disappeared in a flash, leaving Mia standing alone trying to catch the breath she hadn’t realized was running from her, and wondering why in the world she had a sudden craving for cherries.