#patchwork plots

“I read this all used to be green?”  Sitting in the nook of the window with her tea in hand, Evie looked out upon the crimson lands, much torched and barren from the constant onslaught of war.  The skies were occasionally punctuated by bright balls of fire crashing to the land.  A land she may never have the ability to set foot on despite now calling it home half of the time.

Raphael leaned on the wall behind her and followed her gaze.  “Mm, as it was first created by Asmodeus, before the Blood War.”

She tipped her head back to look up at him.  “And how do you see Avernus?”

“However we like, sweetling.”  His hand rose to run his knuckles over her cheek.  “Once the Blood War is curbed here, it may return.  Is that how you desire to see Avernus reborn?”

She leaned into the warmth of his touch.  “I think it’s more poetic for the Hells to greet with temptation.  Potentially more effective if you can smack them with the disparity of beauty and brimstone.”  Evie knew his priorities weren’t in how the Hells looked - yet - his focus on reining in the other layers under his - their - rule.

His eyes narrowed on her as he leant forward but there was a spark of humor in them.  “Are you certain it isn’t simply for a better view?”

“That, too,” she giggled.  “Speaking of beauty, I have to go visit the Underdark to see how my fishies are doing.  Depending on that, I’ll probably spend the rest of the day working out of the warehouse.  Or…hm.”  Evie touched a hand to her chin as she rethought that.  “No, I’ll stop by to pick stuff up and then go home.  I feel like I’ll need the sun and fresh air.  And a shower.  I need to have that seasonal room built.”  The research on the Underdark waters was well under way.  The first step towards identifying the sources of rot and pollution.  Her Kuo-toa could live in it but they were far from thriving - she wasn’t entirely convinced the rotting foods weren’t making them ill, but determining that was its own project as they insisted otherwise.  She couldn’t command them to not eat rotting foods until they had stable sources of fresh foods.

Where did she put her menthol rub?

“Be back for dinner,” Raphael commanded.  She knew better than to think it was a request.

Her brows rose in interest.  Dinner together was proving to be a very occasional luxury with how busy they both were.  Many contracts were struck over the evening hours - mortals wooed with the ol’ ‘wine n’ dine’ - keeping him out until the wee hours on the clock.  The rest of the night was typically paperwork and strategizing for a devil that needed far less sleep than she did.  Breakfast was their time together before meetings upon meetings ruled their days.

“Any occasion or simply dinner?”  Necessary to ask in case they were hosting someone she hadn’t been aware of.  He’d thankfully adopted her vastly more organised agenda system, so it was rare that such things surprised her.  Either way, by telling her, he was also saying that he was expecting her to be presentable, so she’d need to cook in time to get back and prepped.  She just needed to know what kind of presentable.

He took her hand in his own.  “Simply dinner with my Archduchess.”  Lips pressed to her palm with a look that promised more than ‘simply.’

She hid her mirth in her mug.  “Don’t you have a meeting?”

Raphael's smile turned dark and he hissed, “He can sweat.”

Uh-oh.  Someone was getting fired.  Quite literally by the look on his face.  She’d check the name again later to make sure it didn’t affect her own affairs.  Hers weren’t terribly entwined with his yet, so it was doubtful outside of a handful of people.  Raphael held very little patience for failure among his rank and file but there was always someone else itching and clawing to take a vacancy.

Evie turned and slid from the settee, then downed the last of her tea.  Time to get the ball rolling on the day.  From the perpetually bright fire and brimstone of Avernus to the cool darkness of the mushroom forested Underdark.  She had come to find a comfort in the latter as she tended to her piscine worshipers - perhaps one day she’d find the same here.

Reaching up to snag his collar before he turned away, she pulled him back down to press a peck to his cheek.  “See ya later!” she bid with a wave as she made to leave the bedroom, not missing the way his fist clenched against his urge to pull her back.  If he did, they wouldn’t be leaving the room for some time.

Now she just had to make sure time didn’t get away from her again.  The bruises on her ass had only just disappeared from the last time she hadn’t been paying attention and came home late without checking in.  ‘To serve as a reminder each time you sit,’ he’d said.  They’d probably last twice as long if she was late again…  Assuming he didn’t get creative with his discipline.  It was best to try not to find out.

Astarion halfheartedly flipped through the cookbook that Evie had set out on one of the tables near the main campfire that she used to prepare meals for the camp.

“You wanna learn?”  From prior conversations, Evie knew he knew absolutely nothing about cooking or much of anything food-related that wasn’t blood.  Aside from fancy factoids gleaned here and there to impress others - a number of which she had challenged for accuracy - it simply wasn’t information he had needed to know since becoming a vampire.

But he desperately needed another damn hobby out here.  Or he could at least busy himself helping her out if he was just going to hover.

He pulled back with a scoff - the cover of the heavy, worn book closing with a thud - and looked down his nose at her as though the very idea was preposterous.  “I don’t eat, so why would I?  It would be a waste of my time, darling.”

Maybe a change of perspective would work?  Appeal to a certain…homicidal side of him?

She turned and leaned her hip on the table as she slowly ran her finger up and down the dull back of her chef’s knife.  “‘Cuz it’s fun.  You get to stab things.  And beat things.  And play with fire.  And there’s often lots of cursing.  And begging.  And it can be messy.  And sometimes you get to be artsy with it and make it look all nice.  I don’t eat even half of what I make, but it feels nice to have others eating what I make.  It’s cathartic!”  Looking around the ingredients she’d gotten out to make a hearty stew, Evie grabbed a tomato to demonstrate.  “Here, this needs to be stabbed into small cubes.  Ish.  Shape doesn’t really matter.  It just needs to be small pieces of tomato, so how it gets there doesn’t really matter since none of us are fucking Gordon Ramsey.”  She set the tomato on the cutting board and started going through the motions to dice it with her knife.  His eyes followed the motion of the blade.

He might have been uninterested at first, but she saw the subtle changes as he crept closer while she began prepping that night’s supper.  She re-opened the cookbook to the recipe she wanted to reference and he scanned over it.

When he was leaning over her shoulder to watch, Evie asked, “You wanna try?”  She set a large tomato on the cutting board and offered up her knife.

He stared at it for a long moment and then hesitantly took the blade, inspecting its shape and weight in his hand.  Taking her place, he stood over the fruit and moved it this way and that to determine the best way to start.  A couple minutes later, it was finely diced in a fashion that honestly looked better than the somewhat careless, rough-shod job she’d done - it was going into a stew after all, it didn’t need to look even or nice, she justified.

“Good job!  Wanna do another?”  She swept the cut tomato into a bowl off to the side and set another on the board.  His eyes widened at the praise and he hastily grabbed hold of the next one to cut.

.

.

Gale, who had been silently watching the last several minutes, stepped up next to her with his arms crossed as she prepared the stew base and quietly asked, “What magic is he under for you to have pulled this?”

She turned to Gale and whispered back, “Kinda thought he’d go a bit more wild with it, to be honest.”  Astarion was most certainly playing with the food given the unwavering, fixated stare as he leaned closely over the fruit - the occasional flash of a smug smile gave that away.  With dextrous precision, he carefully and very quickly had turned several tomatoes and an onion from whole to perfectly shaped, identical cubes and slivers.

Evie grabbed the rest of the large tomatoes and placed them on the edge of the cutting board for Astarion.  The diced tomato cubes were unceremoniously swiped into a bowl as his eyes fell upon the new fruit.  He happily plucked one up and his knife drew across it.

Pulling over another pair of large bowls, she tossed another onion and a bunch of potatoes in one, silently setting it within his reach, and set the other on the other side of him empty.

“Think I could get him to help me?” Gale grinned with a chuckle. Evie hushed him - the last thing she wanted was to pull Astarion from the little slice-n-dice fixation he was in while there was still so much that needed cut up.  “Baby steps,” she warned, plucking sprigs of herbs from her supply to chop up and add to the stew pot.