#i have one type and its murder wife

[plethomacademia]

Update: this is now chapter 2 of my fic that lets me roll around in the concept of the bard urge, sorry and/or you're welcome

Original post: I had this idea and it came out. I guess I'll have to finally make an ao3 if I keep this up huh. Tweaked a touch from my original posting to make it about planning the House of Wonders heist instead of the crown heist. Content: fem Dark urge (based on my high elf bard) and Gortash have their first one on one chat to plan the heist on the Hall of Wonders. 1700 words of Gortash being thrown off when the vicious Chosen he's seen leading a murder cult takes advantage of a rare excuse to listen to an orchestra. This is the song I listened to while writing this:

When the Chosen of Bane had asked the Chosen of Bhaal for an in-person meeting, he had expected her to decline. Up until that point, they had communicated solely through coded letters. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her in person, each from a distance while she was leading her followers through some kind of slaughter. So when she had not only agreed to the meeting, but suggested they pick a neutral ground not owned by either party, he had been stumped. Where did one take a woman who was usually covered at least partially in blood?

In the end, he had picked his box at the opera house. It was more secure than a random tavern room by far and he often brought guests to it, so a mysterious woman would not bring any kind of notice. Not to mention the entertaining room behind the actual box had plenty of space to lay out a few maps, maybe even enjoy some wine at the same time. All he could hope was that she remembered the clean the blood out from under her fingernails.

He arrived ten minutes to curtain while the orchestra was warming up in the pit. He had expected some kind of guard for her to already be present, but the door was unattended. Perhaps she wouldn't show after all, he thought before gesturing one of his guards to their post. His other guard stood behind him as he knocked on the door, which was promptly opened by an older woman he kept in his employ.

"My lord, the lady arrived some time ago. She is in the box seats." The servant swung the door wide to allow his entrance.

Sure enough, there was a figure seated out in the last row of the box seats. She did not turn despite having to have heard the noise of his arrival. He took that moment to look at the dark brown hair piled on her head, the long column of her neck, the point of her ears. He had seen her before, of course, knew that despite being a Bhaalspawn she was a surprisingly fragile looking high elf. An attempt at Bhaal for once to maybe have a bit of subtlety in his progeny, he thought. But from this angle, she truly could have been any other tryst, whisked up to be ruined in the opera box of a lord.

He dismissed both the servant and his guard with another gesture, walking the short distance to the box. He sat down beside her, expecting her to look up then, to acknowledge that he, the host of this evening, had arrived. But she continued looking down at the paper in her hand. That's when he realized it was the playbill for the opera that would be starting shortly.

He waited a moment. When she didn't look up from her playbill, he cleared his throat. "I wasn't expecting --"

"Have you seen this one before?" She turned toward him finally.

He could see that it was her, of course, the Chosen of Bhaal that he had seen disemboweling a person while leading a congregation in ritualistic chant. The hands that he had seen several times up to the wrist in dripping blood, now holding a playbill. Her head that he had seen held back as she shouted about the ecstasy of murder to a rapt audience, now looking up at him expectantly. But at this distance, in this place, all he could think was how had he never noticed before that her eyes were silver. He realized after staring for a moment that not only had she asked him a question, but that the question had been of all things about the damned opera.

"I don't tend to pay much attention to them."

She smiled. "No, I imagine not. I've heard what you tend to get up to in this box." Before he could ask what she meant, she continued. "I haven't seen this production, but it's supposed to be good. The Gazette had a write up about the conductor, apparently he has quite a way about him."

She had already turned her attention back to her playbill and he found he missed it. "And how is it you know what I do in my opera box, Miss … ?" He actually didn't know her name. No one did. She was simply the Chosen or the Slayer to anyone who even knew of her. It was any wonder his first missives even made it to her in that temple at all.

Her nose wrinkled. "Maeve will do. Not a lot of use for formality where I come from." She put the playbill in her lap, folding her hands over it before looking at him again. "You have to know I have people watching you, of course. Just as I know you've been watching me."

"Is that why you brought no guard?"

She shook her head. "Lord Gortash, of course I have a guard. You just didn't see them. That and I know you wouldn't jeopardize our future alliance, of course."

The lights began to dim in the theater as the ushers began to douse the candles. That's when he realized the orchestra has stopped warming up quite some time ago. In all honestly, he hadn't had many expectations when he left for his evening with a Bhaalspawn but this, well. Who could have ever expected this? He found himself on the back foot and yet somehow enjoying the sensation.

"I know this is a business meeting, but I hope you'll indulge me the first song. I promise it's worth it."

He found himself whispering as the crowd settled down. "And you aren't worried about --" He gestured to the crowd.

She shrugged a shoulder. "They'll think I'm like the other women you bring here, I'm sure. Nothing worth noting at all."

Before he could reply, the first note rang out. It was a slow song, starting with just a few instruments, but building until it was thick and full and rich with dissonance. He was hardly a musician, but he had been to enough of these to know that she was right, it was quite good. The song seemed to ebb and flow, swell and retreat, building up the tension only to sigh in relief as the chords resolved. He made an effort to look at the conductor for a while, but in the end his gaze drifted to her.

She never took her eyes off the orchestra, her hands remaining together in her lap. As the song continued, he noticed that she had started to move just slightly in time with it, her shoe slightly moving with the beat without a sound. He saw her hands clasp together in her lap, her fingers tightening together, her throat working as she swallowed, her eyes eventually closing so she could focus solely on the sound. She was absolutely transfixed on the music and he was absolutely transfixed on watching her.

After the last note, the audience broke out into applause. Lord Gortash snapped his face away as Maeve came back to herself, seemed to even remember where she was. There was a flush on her cheeks that felt almost indecent to look at. He made a show of turning towards her, hoping she had been distracted enough to think he had been looking at the show the entire time.

She sighed. "Almost like it had magic in it," she said to no one in particular, before finally turning toward him again.  "Thank you. It's been years since I've heard that."

He nodded. "Happy to oblige. An unexpected surprise, really, that some like you actually enjoys the opera."

If he hadn't been a practiced politician, a person that had scraped and fought his way up the political ranks, he would have likely missed the way her expression changed. He could see the mask sliding in place, her eyes turning distant,  her smile turning sharp. "I've always thought it would be a beautiful thing, to lull so many people into the warm embrace of a song like that, then end all their lives at once. But we're here for business, of course. To discuss our heist."

The moment had been dismissed. And it was for the best, the crowd was settling again and the opera was about to begin in earnest. When they stood, the long slit of her moving skirt caught his eye, along with the flash of a dagger strapped to her thigh. He had seen that dagger before, plucking out a man's eyes as he screamed. A reminder that this woman, despite her pleasure in song, was dangerous.

They retired to the entertaining room, sending all the other people outside for complete privacy. After all, there was no need for security since neither of them would benefit from starting a scene in the middle of an opera house. Not yet, anyway.

The opera was a long one, he had picked it for that reason, and they spent that time pouring over maps, discussing the guard schedule at the House of Wonders, going over the broad details of where the Bhaalists and Baneites would position themselves. She sipped his wine and ate the finger foods left by the servant. But for the subject matter, she truly could have been any kind of tryst.

"That's the last song starting."

He looked up from where he had been gesturing at a diagram. He hadn't been paying any attention to the music at all. "My guard --" he started before being interrupted by a knock at the door. As he had been about to say, he had instructed his guard to let him know when the opera was coming to a close. "Good ear," he conceded.

She stood, smoothing her skirt, making sure her blade was not visible. "Well, Lord Gortash, the plan is sound. You have our thanks for helping us take back what was stolen from us."

He couldn't help but smile. "Splendid. I'm happy to have convinced you to take our aid and, of course, to have finally spoken to you in the flesh."

She nodded. "I expect another letter with details, soon, of course." She was already at the door, opening it, leaving this bizarre evening behind her.

"Maeve?"

She turned, looking at him through the half closed door, her eyebrow raised in question.

"Feel free to use this box any time. I'll send those instructions along as well."

Her eyes rounded a bit in surprise and he caught her looking just to her right, to somewhere he couldn't see. To someone he couldn't see, more likely. But the mask was back on after a moment.

"How generous, Lord Gortash. I may take you up on that." And with that, she turned and left his sight.