Decadent Lemon CreamPies

“Enver! Make him stop!” Tav pleads, hurrying to his side with her pretty pout, a teary glare in her eye. Enver sighs, spinning himself on the stool he is using to pull Tav onto his lap, arching an eyebrow at his friend.

“What, pray tell, have you done to upset Tav?” Enver asks, admittedly more amused than actually indignant on his betrothed’s behalf.

“I have only been calling her what she is,” The Dark Urge defends himself, “Our pretty little mouse.”

“I am not!” Tav immediately argues, reminding Enver that she, in fact, doesn’t know that they call her that between them. She crosses her arms to sulk as Enver sighs, realizing just where the miscommunication is coming from. The nobles use mouse and rat interchangeably, without realizing that mice are much cuter looking and different from rats.

“Oh, my dear,” Enver coos as The Dark Urge strides over to the chair, “He isn’t referring to those bald-tailed creatures we see on the street. Instead, when you are being called a mouse by him, or even myself admittedly, we speak of the sweeter creature. A soft, sweet little thing with adorable squeaks, always scurrying about.” The look Tav gives him tells Enver that she doesn’t believe him, although it no longer seems to be accusing and more due to experience. She wants to, but she still isn’t sure she can.

“It’s true,” The Dark Urge agrees, “Our sweet little book mouse, always scurrying about and squeaking out orders. Soft and cute. And, oh so delicious.” He bends down to nip at Tav’s bared shoulder, chuckling at the squeak that escapes her. Enver smirks and nips at her other shoulder, making her squeak turn into a light shriek.

“Stop!” she pleads, more due to being flustered instead of actually upset, covering her face with her hands. The men share a look before playfully teasing her some more. Eventually, Tav raises her head to press a kiss against Enver’s mouth and tugs The Dark Urge to do the same with him.

“Fine, I will be your mouse,” she declares as they blink at her in surprise, “But only between the three of us.”

“Of course,” Enver agrees easily, recovering enough to settle her more firmly on his lap, “Only we can call you mouse, no one else will be allowed to.”

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Enver grinds his teeth in fury, staring down at the reports before him. Orin’s bragging about killing The Dark Urge was bad enough, losing Tav during the damned Nautiloid’s attack was somehow worse, but now someone was undoing all the work he and his fellow Chosen had put into creating the Absolute cult. The goblin camp run by Minthara and Gut has been destroyed and the survivors have already been taken to Moonrise Tower to be questioned. The worst part was the glimpse Enver got from the Scrying Eye before it was destroyed, the flair of hope he didn’t know what to do with. Despite the dirt and blood, the difference in clothing and use of armor, he saw on the screen Tav fretting over a dragonborn who looked so much like The Dark Urge. A pale elf and wizard had hidden with them, arguing as Tav handed the dragonborn a potion. The dragonborn had looked around and spotted the Scrying Eye, rising from his spot once the potion had done its job and snapped his fingers. The Scrying Eye ceased working, likely from thunder damage, another tick that the white dragonborn is, in fact, his beloved assassin. 

“Ah, poor little Enver,” a disgustingly familiar voice purrs, setting Enver’s teeth on edge, “I heard that you are missing a little bride. For shame.”

“What are you here for, Raphael?” Enver growls, turning to glare at the cambion. Even years out from under his thumb, Enver struggles to not lash out in fear. The demon may no longer have his soul in contract, but Enver is still mortal, still prey to the cambion.

“A funny little tale, in fact,” Raphael drawls, “I found an intrepid group of adventurers, all with little tadpoles swimming through their brains. I offered them salvation, only for a surprisingly familiar dragonborn to step forward with a snarl. His memories gone, but the body remembers what the mind forgets.” Enver freezes, realizing just what is being implied. The Dark Urge still lives, without his memory of Enver, with Tav by his side, both prepared to destroy the very plan they had spent so long preparing.

“I see,” Enver manages to say, “And what does this have to do with me?”

“Well, I found it peculiar that said dragonborn was so protective of a simple human within the group. Until I got a look at a sweet, little mouse,” Raphael purrs. Enver’s eyes widen before he snarls, his anger taking control as he presses a letter opener to the cambion’s throat.

“You don’t get to call her that,” Enver hisses, “She isn’t your mouse to toy with. She’s mine. My Tav, my mouse, my betrothed.” The look on the demon’s face is one of amusement, his hands up in surrender at the face of Enver’s fury.

“I see,” Raphael drawls, “My apologizes, oh Lord Gortash.” Enver scowls, knowing the cambion isn’t sorry at all. As if proving his point, Raphael grasps Enver’s wrist and pushes the blade away from his throat, turning the opener toward Enver’s own throat.

“But do remember who you speak to, whelp,” Raphael snarls, his temper shining through. Enver bares his teeth, dropping the letter opener and yanking his wrist out of the demon’s grasp.

“Are you done mocking me? Don’t you have some poor idiot to steal a soul from?” Enver asks, his own temper tucked back beneath an impassive mask.

“Indeed,” Raphael agrees, once again looking like a dandy bard, “Two souls in fact. Two souls that are close to your m- your bride.” Enver pauses, before snorting. Of course, today is Tav’s thirtieth name day, and she isn’t married to Enver. The souls of Roderick and Annabelle Ravencroft are now forfeit.

“Well, go get them,” Enver dismisses with a wave, “And let them know they sold their daughter to Bane’s Chosen. That they favored the wrong daughter.” Raphael snorts, amused.

“Ah, it is always delightful when we have a mutual fool to mock,” the cambion comments pleasantly. Enver doesn’t reply, knowing that this is the only time they’ve actually had a mutual anything, but he’s surprisingly not wrong. With a clearing of the throat, Raphael gives a sweeping bow, declaring, “Now, I must bid you farewell on this day, Lord Gortash.”

“Before you go,” Enver warns, “The next time you call Tav ‘mouse’, I will find a way to rip off your wings and feed them to some displacer beast.” The devil snorts in amusement, before flaring away, leaving Enver to contemplate this new information. His bride and his friend are dismantling the great plan of the Dead Three. A smirk crosses his face as he realizes where their journey will end.

“There are many things that I will overlook,” Enver starts, looking down at the trio of followers who tried to corner Tav in the streets, “But bringing my betrothed into a fold she shouldn’t know about until the right time? Forcing my future bride to kneel to you? Unacceptable.”

“She should be subjugated,” one of the fools snarls, “If you were a true Banite, she wouldn’t even thin—” The fool is cut off by an arrow in the eye, his mouth falling slack as his cohorts flinch back in terror, the body falling to the floor.

“Tell me, friend,” Enver drawls as he lowers his crossbow, “Would the Bhaal Temple take donations in the form of corpses for your followers to eat?”

“Sure,” The Dark Urge agrees with a shrug, “It helps the young ones learn what they can and cannot eat from the body without putting them at too much risk. A learning experience.”

“How delightful,” Enver comments, reloading his crossbow, “Is there a preferred spot to strike? I know eyes tend to be a delicacy to you and yours.”

“The neck or a similarly lethal place that doesn’t destroy an edible organ,” The Dark Urge offers, watching as Enver fires twice more, arrows now protruding from the other two fools’ necks.

“Could I ask for your help, my friend? I need to remind the rest of the delegation that I am Bane’s Chosen for a reason,” Enver requests, jerking his chin to the initial fool.

“And what do you plan to do?” the dragonborn asks as he lifts the corpse with the arrow through an eye by its neck.

“Tyranny often takes time. An iron fist must occasionally wear a velvet glove. But, that doesn’t mean the board is still,” Enver growls, “My Tav has managed to give me connections that will allow me to slip certain laws into place without causing a civil ruckus amongst the people, and she wishes to discuss ways to secure more profits without causing trouble over tea tomorrow.”

“Well, we can’t have you be too tired to enjoy tea with her,” The Dark Urge chuckles, “Just make sure to give her a kiss from me.”

“Of course, my dearest,” Enver agrees, “She is only my Tav until we can succeed in our plan. Then she will be our Tav.”

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Enver strides out of the mansion, into his own garden, and smirks at the sight of Tav looking over papers while a lovely tea set sits before her. A delicate pair of golden spectacles sits on her dainty nose as she taps at the table, her little habit to calculate something. His lovely mouse, a pretty bird content in her cage.

“Good morning,” Enver greets, striding over to the table. Tav looks up and she lights up at his arrival.

“Enver! Good morning!” she chirps, removing her spectacles as she stands to greet him. He gently catches and cradles her face, pressing his own kiss to her soft lips, then tilts her head to press The Dark Urge’s kiss to her cheek.

“From our mutual friend,” Enver purrs, grinning as she flushes dark enough to be somewhat visible under her tanned skin. Tav squeaks and fidgets with her dress, turning her gaze to the table.

“I… I see,” she stammers out, before desperately clearing her throat, “Well, we’d best get these numbers under control.” What followed was a surprisingly lovely hour of conversation, all around how best to keep the people who worked for Enver happy, while still cutting costs or bringing in more revenues of wealth. Tav pointed out how some of the ships are still being over loaded due to what was being revealed as smuggled items, costing Enver when they were found upon arrival to a harbor. Enver clicked his tongue, acting annoyed that someone was smuggling items through his ships while already planning how to get said items to where they are supposed to be without cutting smuggling entirely. She also brought up how the Guild had been harassing several of Enver’s workers for “protection money”.

“Now that sounds like a problem we have no answer to,” Enver reluctantly admits.

“No, there is a solution,” Tav waves off, “Namely, that the Guild isn’t supposed to be harassing such, and I quote, ‘low-paid peasants’. If the Guild is to harass someone, it should be the owner directly.”

“Thus these are upstarts,” Enver realizes, getting a nod from Tav, “We let the Guild know…”

“The Guild gets to deal with people ruining their reputation and your workers see you as caring,” Tav declares with a shy smile. Enver chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he sips at the tea in his cup.

“How did you get so brilliant, my dear?” he asks, “It makes it more obvious that your peers are lacking.” Again, Tav flusters, stuttering and fidgeting with her dress again. Enver smirks before cooing, “It seems almost unfair that I have the prettiest, smartest, sweetest woman on my arm, soon to be my wife. Honestly, the Gods were generous when you were made.”

Looking around the library, his eye is caught on Tav, sitting on the window seat, a book in her lap as the sun peers through. Enver pauses and takes her in, relaxing at her softness. This is his treasure, his future wife, so sweet and soft. Everything Enver deserves after being denied for so long. He strides over to his betrothed and leans down to press a kiss to her bared shoulder, so pleased that off the shoulder dresses are all the rage right now. Tav squeaks and jumps, slamming her book closed with wide eyes.

“Oh? Now, why did you slam the poor book?” Enver drawls with a smirk, peering down at the cover and spine. Tav starts to fumble with the book, obviously flustered at the fact he had managed to sneak up on her. Enver takes her fumbling as the perfect opportunity to swipe up her book, smirking as she squeaks again and reaches for the now revealed To Love the Royal Artificer.

“Is this truly that good of a read, my dear?” he teases.

“Enver!” she sputters out, pouting up at him. Enver flips to a random page with a curious hum, before laughing.

“Oh, and the author knows nothing of artificing at all,” he huffs, amused more than anything.

“You know that’s not why anyone would read that,” Tav mumbles, averting her eyes from Enver’s own amused gaze. He hums, flipping through the pages some more, before a rather lecherous smirk crosses his face at the filthy description on the page.

“Ho ho ho,” he chortles before clearing his throat and reading, “His hand trailed between her legs, finding a perfect pearl that begged to be teased. Her moans fell then, like a waterfall at each brush of his fingers.”

“No! Shush! Stop!” Tav shrieks, leaping up from her seat, reaching for the book desperately. Enver raises it above his head, still amused at how much shorter his betrothed is despite being just as human and only a few years younger.

“You don’t want me whispering such sweet nothings in your ear?” he teases, “Don’t you want me to follow such tantalizing rhetoric to its end?”

“I want you to stop being a jerk,” Tav huffs, rising on her toes to try taking back the book, even hopping cutely. Enver, however, decides he’ll take offense to being called a jerk from such pretty lips.

“A jerk?” he gasps, carelessly dropping the book to grasp his betrothed by her arms with both hands, and leans down to growl, “I’ll show you jerk.” He bites on her shoulder, right where he had kissed her before, relishing in the squeal she releases.

“Enver!” she cries out, laughing when he releases his teeth and blows a raspberry to her skin. He relishes in the silly playfulness that Tav allows him. His innocent Tav, free of his plans. His pretty bird, blind to her cage. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Enver is welding the last panel on this new version of the Steel Watch when The Dark Urge appears, his cloak bloody from likely hunting down another sacrifice.

“Are you here to see how sturdy the newest Steel Watch is, or are you here to stare at my arse?” Enver asks, peering at the dragonborn from behind his goggles.

“Can’t I do both?” The Dark Urge comments, tilting his head just so to peer at Enver’s arse. Snorting, Enver purposefully wiggles said arse, before activating the Steel Watcher he just finished.

“Then you can do both,” Enver declares, before ordering the Watcher, “Try to take down my friend here.”

“Affirmative,” the Watcher croaks out, moving toward The Dark Urge as Enver finds a relatively safe place to hide within the lab. He watches as The Dark Urge flings off his cloak with a wicked grin, lunging at the automaton with his blade outstretched. Each attack of the blade bounced off uselessly, barely chipping at the armor of the Watcher. The glee of a challenge is practically palpable from The Dark Urge as the dragonborn throws his dagger into a wall before attacking the automaton with various magical attacks. The ice did cause some slowing, but not enough to be concerning. The poison and psionic attacks practically bounced off the Watcher. The fire melted the ice and caused some parts that aren’t covered by the melt resistant metal to, well, melt. But then, The Dark Urge calls upon his most natural magic, the very lightening that flows through him, and the Watcher is truly defeated, slumping uselessly to the ground.

“Well, now I know what to work on,” Enver idly comments, quickly making notes as The Dark Urge pants from exerting his magic. He manages to place the last period on his paper before the dragonborn yanks him against a warm chest.

“You do,” The Dark Urge growls, “But I deserve a reward for my part in helping you figure out what you need to do.”

“… I suppose you’re right,” Enver agrees, shuddering at the feeling of the twin cocks against his hip, both unsheathed. Licking his lips, Enver slowly sinks to his knees and bats his eyes up at The Dark Urge, “Although, this might be more of a treat for me.”

“Run along, little fox,” the assassin growled, allowing him to flee. And even now, in this memory, this dream, he does. His legs pump as he runs and runs and runs and runs. Over stone, over steel, over disgustingly familiar tile and marble. Abruptly, his legs give out and he crawls, sponge in hand and bucket at his side. Washing at the floor, he peers around the column, spying Tav, small and oh so pretty, at the side of her noble parents. Her soft brown eyes raise to meet his, causing her to gasp and avert her eyes.

“A pretty bride. Not for me,” Rapheal had declared with an amused chuckle, the contract that promised a pretty bride for a street rat, an unwanted wretch, unfurling beside the demon. The contract gave him a reason to escape the House. Time and dream blurs, until this is no longer a memory, but a true fantasy. Tav, pretty and sweet and soft, crying out in bliss as Durge licks at her lower lips, his red eyes staring at him in an all too familiar hunger.

“Wake up.”

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Enver blinks, staring blankly at his canopy. On his left, Durge purrs in his own sleep, claws careful to not scratch Enver’s skin. On his right, Tav cuddles into his chest, her soft brown hair still upsettingly short from the little adventure she and Durge had completed barely two months ago. Enver closes his eyes for a moment, soaking in the warmth of his lovers, before starting the shuffling he’s had to do ever since the fall of the Netherbrain into the harbor. The struggle to escape his lovers’ grasp. Luckily, it seems that today is one of the days he doesn’t wake either lover, allowing him to get dressed while watching as they seek out each other in the bed. Durge practically wraps himself around Tav, as she cuddles their dragonborn partner with a happy sigh.

“Cute,” Enver allows himself to coo mockingly, smirking when Durge cracks an eye open enough to aim a middle finger right at him. Tav makes a soft noise, pressing herself even closer to Durge, which allows Enver to watch as Durge’s pupil widen and round in adoration. Huffing, Enver finishes clothing himself and spares a moment to brush a kiss over bother of his partners’ faces.

“I’ll be in meetings all morning,” he quietly tells them, “However, we shall have lunch together.”

“Love you,” Tav mumbles softly, her eyelashes fluttering softly as a small tendril of her shadows reaches out to lovingly curl around Enver’s hand.

“Don’t let them be dicks,” Durge orders, tilting his head just enough to stare Enver in his eye, “We still need them to put more money into the rebuilding of the Lower City housing.”

“Of course,” Enver agrees, reluctantly leaving the side of the bed, “Although, I am going to be an arsehole myself. Some of them don’t recall kicking me when I was forced on the streets some nights. I recall.”

“Get their asses,” Durge yawns with an unenthusiastic fist pump, something Enver knows he picked up while traveling with Karlach. Enver snorts, but finally leaves the room.

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Arriving at the meeting room, Enver sits at the head of the table, his mouth fighting to stay neutral as a good number of nobles slink in, sweating. While his own coffers are fairly depleted due to being used to rebuild, Tav had instructed him on just where to put his money to look above reproach while still manipulating the entire population. A nice chunk went to several nobles, with a reminder that he may ask for either a favor or interest in the future.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he drawls as Ulder reluctantly sits at his side, “Thank you all for joining our meeting. Now, we need to discuss how to rebuild the Lower City now that the Upper City is more than stable.”

“Why should we?” Lady Ambrose sniffs, even as she fidgets with her hands nervously, “They are merely peasants, not people of importance.”

“Lady Ambrose,” Ulder warns, “They are people all the same.”

“And they are the majority of the work force,” Enver points out blithely, “Should word get out that the patriars aren’t helping, I wouldn’t be surprised if most of them leave without even declaring that they quit.” Many nobles balk at the reminder that they must rely on the lower classes for their income. Enver sees Ulder twitch, likely annoyed that they have to plead to pragmatism rather than goodwill to all. But, Enver doesn’t particularly care either way, as he had to argue with both Durge and Tav yesterday about taking the day off of helping the Lower City, missing his partners far more than he will confess to in public.

“Well, what are we to do?” Lord Irlentree asks, “I’ve already sent out most of my fleet to gather materials and other necessities, but many peasants don’t have the money to pay for the items.”

“Sell at a lower price,” Enver answers, slipping the Lord a sheet Tav had written up with possible temporary prices that wouldn’t net a loss, but not obtain as much of a profit as usual, “These are temporary prices that should allow for many peasants to be able to make their purchases. Some necessities might need to be sold as a loss that can be covered with some coin from coffers, but these are the best numbers that were thought up to allow you to still do business.” The Lord hums and nods, looking over the numbers himself while a few other nobles crane their heads curiously.

“Most of the major buildings have been either rebuilt or properly reinforced,” Lady Vanthampur declares, crossing her rather burly arms, “Thanks to your coffer, we’ve been able to provide the majority of citizens with housing, with those in the minority either being too stubborn to ask for help or were of the lucky few whose homes were not nearly as destroyed.”