[ It all comes to happen because she buys a newspaper from the square as they enter the city, and can't be bothered to correct the threats for gossip and misrepresentation. Bigger fish to fry, so to speak. She has shrugged it off, her reasoning a simple one: What's the Mouth going to do, talk about how I'm a horned devil?
That's her mistake, to think nobody in Baldur's Gate will know her enough to give a fuck about whatever the papers print about her.
It doesn't happen right away, of course. It's a few weeks into being back in the city, with several blades already at Ea's throat (Orin's taken that sweet young child hostage, Gortash wants her to ally with him, Karlach actually believes she will, Cazador's been preparing for his ascension, Mystra probably wants some fucking thing from Gale as if she wasn't asking him to blow himself and all of them up for her - it's always some fucking thing) when the poisoned dart hits.
It's a metaphor, by the way. The Blackbirds don't have that sort of subtlety - that was Ea, once upon a time, the sleight of hand beaten into her from a young age, until slipping sleeping draughts and poison into wine glasses and beer barrels had come easily to her; not the rest, though.
It's nighttime in the city, and she is on a walk with Nico (she'll hate herself for this later). He's been watching her with worry as of late, as if expecting her to be a powderkeg ready to explode at the merest inconvenience. She knows she's tense, and she knows she's become withdrawn (from him, from the others) as of late - well, as of Orin slipping so easily into the rooms at Elfsong Tavern and taking that child from under their noses - but there's a reason for it.
The truth is, Ea does not see a way forward out of this. She has always considered her death a very real possibility, but now? Back in the city, back where everything is familiar? It's become more likely. If it's not the Emperor who does it (and let her just tell you, she doesn't trust that fucking guy), it'll be Gortash, or Orin, or the massive brain threatening to turn them illithid, or Raphael, or - or, or, or. Bottom line: she's going to die. She's sure of it. She's trying to minimise the pain for those left behind, in the only way she knows how: by pulling away from them.
Of course, Nico's not having it. Of course, she's weak to the tug of her heart. Nico is a magnet, he is a flame and he draws her in, and she is powerless to say no for too long because he is the one perfect, wonderful, good thing that's happened to her in years and he loves her, so -
If it's a walk at night that he wants, to clear our heads, then that's what he gets. They're making their way to Elfsong's after dinner at the Mermaid, the streets empty and quiet, the stars glittering above them - it's a picture perfect date.
She's considering stopping them in the middle of the street just to kiss him, feel the feathers of his mask tickle her nose, smile into the kiss all smug because she knows what he looks like without it, and then hell breaks loose.
She hears the movement behind her too late, something sharp nicking her throat (just an arrow, not deep enough to cut an artery). Her eyes widen, she reaches reflexively out for Nico, and just in that moment she sees them. The arrow that nicked her, and five more, in quick succession and shot from different angles, all embedding themselves into Nico's torso and back right in front of her eyes. ]
No - [ She manages that much, before her mouth feels slack, tongue replaced by cottonballs, and she clocks it again too late. Poison? No. Sleeping draught. Son of a b -
She crumbles onto the street, the last thing she sees the blurry figure of Nico faltering and collapsing as well.
And then, someone throws a bucket of cold water at her face. ]
[ Clarity comes at the expense of safety; Nico, too, will look back on his offer for a walk and regret it, not for the sentiment but for the foolhardiness of it all. He'd known, he'd seen, and he'd still planned poorly beforehand, despite the looming shadows of the Dead Three, the illithid threat, the ghost of their collective pasts nipping at their heels.
He'd known. It'd hurt him to watch Ea navigate her days and nights, going through the motions of conversations like hiding an open nerve. You'll bleed out like this, he'd said.
He'd meant the warning to be metaphorical. Now, it's a real possibility.
Nico comes to after their assault, the matter of the pain he feels less about where it's coming from and more about the sheer amount of it; his entire body feels like one interconnected bruise. Shifting reveals that he's been bound, wrists at the small of his back and ankles restrained with rope, leather bindings around his knees to prevent kicking. The floor of whatever cellar or warehouse they've been brought to is cold, caked with a layer of dust and grime, and rasps uncomfortably against his scarred face―
―but he's still alive. Lucid enough to feel a cold wash of fear (Ea, where is she, is she alright―), followed by a colder wave of anger, so immediate and all-consuming that he thinks he might choke around it (if they so much as touch her, he swears to every wrath-coded God in every plane).
The second sentiment prevails, when he hears the distant, fuzzy outline of a man's voice saying demon bitch. Nico, on the ground, struggles to raise his head to see where the conversation is taking place in the room; he's dissuaded by a heavy boot to his head, the dirty heel of it grinding with intent into his silver hair. ]
Fuck, the freak can still move! Stay down, loverboy.
[ A weak writhe, molars gritting. Ea, he tries to say, but his breath is a whisper despite the simmering of uncontrollable cosmic rage blinking behind his pale eyes.
(Something strange and unknowable, angelic and vengeful, whispers in his blood. You can punish them all, if they lay a finger on her.) ]
[ Her surroundings come into focus in quick succession: how many people in the room, the weakest point of the ropes they've tied her arms behind her back with, the fact that they didn't find the thin but sharp dagger hidden into a secret stitch on the inside of her sleeve. She's sat on a chair, as if she's been left there for a show, arms behind her back, ropes restraining her into place.
The pain is a dull throb right now, ignorable for the moment while she tries to locate not who is talking (they are as good as dead now, and irrelevant) but Nico. Gods help these people if something happened to Nico, she will burn them all to a crisp. Not even their ancestors will recognise them from fireplace ashes.
Stay down, loverboy, someone hisses in the background, and the burn and panic inside her goes down to a simmer. Alive, good. ]
Good, you're awake. [ This from the guy with the bucket, a tall elf who looks at her with disgust. ] I have to say, Lowkey, ageing has not treated you kindly.
[ She doesn't bother with clearing her throat first, her voice raspy when it does come out. ] Whereas you still look like a pre-pubescent fuck, Elgar. [ As she speaks, her mouth fills with something - an excess of saliva? shouldn't be the case, the drow poison doesn't usually leave you drooling. Belately, she realises it's coppery in taste, and turns her head to spit out her blood at Elgar's feet. She must've bitten the inside of her cheek when she fell, or maybe her tongue. ] What do you want?
What I want is to be even, Lowkey. You took our Guildmaster and left, and in the power vacuum you left behind, there's been nothing but mess after fucking mess. Imagine my surprise when I get the papers and read about a tiefling matching your description exactly in Baldur's Gate. It took us a few weeks to track you down, but sure enough. I thought -
Ugh, sorry. Hold on. [ She spits again and pulls a face, before looking up at Elgar with a glare. ] Are you going to stand there and monologue at me all night, because I really couldn't give a fuck about what mess I made when I left the Guild. What do you want? An apology? Not happening. I am starting to regret not killing his honour guard while at it. [ A beat. ]
[ Whatever those arrows were coated with, it's done Nico no favors. It's a struggle to focus on any one thing in particular, frayed nerves made even worse with all of this rage that Nico doesn't know what to do with― it's new and frantic, something that Aylin might've called resplendent. A miasma, and the only thing that cuts through it is Ea's voice. He clings to it with mental claws and fangs, registering her cadence as music instead of words.
He thinks he understands her request, though, and tries to make noise. A soft, hoarse rasp, almost negligible and immediately punished by the boot on his head, its heel lifting only so it can lightly kick at Nico's jaw with its toe. ]
Don't get cute, Lowkey. You think you're in any position to bargain with us, huh?
[ The half-elf standing by Nico's prone body lifts his leg and digs his foot, this time, into the arrow wound he'd left on Nico's shoulder; Nico only registers that they've stripped his armor off when he feels the pressure of that dig directly against the thin fabric of his inner shirt.
He doesn't make a sound. They don't deserve it, and he doesn't want Ea to hear it. Instead, he curls in on himself, anger coursing through him like fire, making his ungloved fingers pulse blue. His assailant sees that faint glow, and spits at him― clearly unnerved by celestial traits, but putting on a brave face. ]
Hells, only a freak could fuck another freak like this. Now shut up and let Elgar finish.
[ It's been almost a decade to the day since she left the island, the Guild left in shambles in her wake. She's spoken little of it, ever since; maybe given people little bits and pieces of her story, but never really being honest with what had happened to her old gang.
To reveal that is to reveal that she'd been used. Picked off the streets and brought into the fold of a criminal world with promises of food and shelter, trained and groomed into becoming first a good spy, then a fucking perfect assassin. She remembers Elgar, ten years back, newly appointed to the guards that the Guildmaster kept himself surrounded by, his right-hand man where Ea was his dagger. She remembers how little Elgar had liked her at the start, and how she'd thought herself clever and kind when she'd left him alive instead of killing him and the others, the night she took the Guildmaster out.
What a dumbass she'd been. She could be kind to twenty-year-old Ea, maybe, but kindness for herself is a trait that's been chipped out of her with time. It's hard to feel anything but disappointment right now.
Except for the relief of hearing that grunt from Nico, and noting his location even in the dim light. They never account of darkvision, elves. Elgar especially thinks he's the hottest shit around, so he wouldn't bother with it.
She looks from Nico up to the asshole who kicks him, and her eyes narrow. Focus is sharp, a dagger in her hand. You're first.
The half-elf says shut up and let Elgar finish, and Ea gives him what would by anyone sane be described as a feral smile. ]
No. [ Elgar's talked enough. Separately from the arcane tricks she has up her sleeves are a few infernal legacy spells she can wrench out of herself at greater cost - expending some energy to the point where she can only do this once a day.
She has the room mapped out like so: where Elgar is, where the fucker who's dying first is, where Nico is. She casts Darkness, and slips her dagger out of her sleeve with deft fingers, working on her bindings while the others curse and panic. ]
[ It should never be a failing, to have not killed someone. Nico still only knows the outlines of Ea's history in broad strokes, having never found the right time to delve deeper into it alongside all the other dark corners they've had to navigate throughout their journey―
―and he resents, no, hates that this is how he's seeing more of the details of it. An unfamiliar emotion that sits on the opposite side of the coin, right behind the unwavering wave of love he has for Ea; Nico adores her, which has left him wholly unprepared for how much he would loathe anyone who does her harm. The emotion continues to burn him, so hot in his veins that it feels like the poison burns out from his blood, evaporates, lending him divine clarity even when darkness falls.
Especially when darkness falls. Heightened arcane awareness sings in the back of his skull, as powerful as his illithid parasite; magical synesthesia allows him to taste Ea's spellcasting in the back of his throat. Ea, Ea, Ea.
Nico barely registers the commotion happening around him. Someone trips over him and collapses on the floor, but it feels like it's happening miles away. Radiant energy pours from his fingers, and disintegrates the rope around his wrists.
When Nico sits up, all the fallen man sees of him are twin pale eyes like ghosts in the dark; he screams, but the sound is cut off by a hand against his mouth, glowing fingers searing into bare skin, silent and furious. ]
You should've left her alone, [ Nico says, no warmth in his usually-soft voice. His grip tightens, and another muffled yell rings above the general panic, adding to the chaos and confusion. ]
[ She sees everything within ten feet of her, which in this basement is pretty much everything and everyone. Sees the moment Nico's fingers burn through the ropes because it's when she finishes cutting through hers as well. With a swift move, she practically jumps out of the chair they had her tied to, grabs the back of it in both hands, and slams it sideways into Elgar - who stumbles in the dark and falls out of being caught unprepared.
The chaos continues. She is quick, side-stepping former guild-members left and right, and manifesting herself behind the half-elf who kicked Nico, just in time to hear that should've left her alone. ] This one's mine.
[ She jams the dagger in between the assailant's ribs, and twists, her gaze fixed on Nico in the magical darkness. This is why she learned this skill, to see him even in this environment.
She pulls the blade out, stabs twice more just to be sure, and then swipes the half-elf's sword out of its scabbard as he slumps lifelessly in Nico's hand. ] Here, take this.
[ They'll need to find his armor and weapon later. For now, she slips the shortsword into Nico's hand, squeezing it there so he knows it's her, she's fine, she'll be fine, and then steps into fighting range with Elgar. ]
[ Ea's presence is the eye of the raging storm; she approaches him, and the fury that clouds his eyes behind his mask abates enough that he stops blindly reacting to the things around him and concentrates, awareness dialed to her grip, her voice. Nico flings the dead body aside once she's done with it, feeling instinctively that his touch is better served for her, fingers around her wrists, searching for her pulse―
―but she's there and gone again, slipping gracefully out of his range and back towards her enemy, the one responsible for all of this, and the anger settles into his blood again.
If anything happens to her, he swears to the Gods.
The rest of his bindings are cut loose by the shortsword, knees and ankles; the vertigo that hits him when he stands up properly is mitigated by the blade-sharp focus that his rage affords him, physical discomfort shed in favor of pure fighting instinct. The next former-guild member to cross paths with him gets cleaved neatly in two, diagonally from shoulder to hip, bathing him in lukewarm blood.
Nico is a monster in the dark, a glowing outline that the rest start fleeing from. An angel's benevolence is only offered until they become vengeful; every child in Faerun should know that. ]
[ It all boils down to strategy now. The ones she has no beef with - she's been a lackey in a heist or a kidnapping, or even on one occasion a torture party, before and she knows that sometimes you're just a number - she takes out quickly. A small mercy, if you think about it.
Without the ability to see in magical darkness, or the space to exit it, it's all about picking them off one by one.
Elgar first, because the bastard is vicious and cruel and he will throw his underlings in front of Ea's daggers if he thinks it'll save him. She doesn't want him to think he's safe, she wants him to regret every remaining moment of his life, regret following her and holding onto the grudge, and mostly regret harming Nico.
None of this would've happened, if they'd just taken her out when she was alone. (Well, sure - they would've all died, but none of the suffering and the panic!)
The Knife of the Undermountain King takes out Elgar at the knees, the blunt of her other dagger taking him out of combat. She leaves him breathing, but barely - knocked out. She'll be back. He needs to learn his lesson properly before he dies.
While Darkness lasts, she goes after the others. Whoever Nico hasn't cleaved in half, she takes in two stabs per turn, until there's only one left. Then two more stabs, and the last one falls just as the magical darkness dissipates. ]
[ Darkness falls, and the room is carnage. A cellar somewhere, Nico presumes, though he's not paying attention to the details of the space as much as the bodies and blood painting it, the carrion of Ea's checkered past.
He finds that he feels nothing for them, the dead. Just the stillsame anger that he'd expressed in words before: you should have left her alone.
There are only three people alive now, sequestered by four stone walls and the grim silence of Nico's rage. Obviously, Ea isn't on the receiving end of all of this ire; Nico's attention flicks towards her, and it's pure relief that sits near his heart when he sees that she's still standing, red-stained but alive. Still beautiful, even in her ferocity.
It's the other one, the one that Ea called Elgar, who remains problematic. He watches the elf come to, groaning as he tries to drag his broken body over the dirt-covered floor, too close to Ea for comfort.
So Nico closes the distance, and steps on one outstretched hand, hard enough to feel bone yielding under his weight. The resounding sound of his screaming still barely registers; Nico tips his head to the side, as dispassionate as a hawk watching a mouse scurry by, and lifts his foot again.
This time, it lands squarely on Elgar's head, and the sick sound of his skull caving cuts off the last of the man's screaming. ]
[ The moment her eyes adjust to the natural light again, they focus on Nico. There's a whole room of bodies (and Elgar) between them, and the distance burns. She doesn't need more than a few seconds to quickly run the inventory. He's taken some damage, but the blood spattering his skin isn't his, because he is standing without any of the characteristic swaying of an injured person.
And then, she is locked into place as she looks at him crush Elgar's hand underfoot, her gaze on Nico rather than the ghost of her past. What does it say about her that she thinks he is hot as fuck when he does that dispassionate, predatorial head tilt?
She sees the foot rise again, her breath catching, and then - gone. Elgar is gone. They're all gone.
She sways on her feet a little, adrenaline rushing out of her in one swoop. She crosses the room over to Nico, her hand settling on his arm. ]
Hey. That's enough, don't turn him into juice. [ She's going to have to dig through some pockets to find a healing potion or two, by the looks of it. Her fingers graze a tear in his shirt, where an arrow had pierced him before, and she can't help the small, choked apologetic sound that escapes her. ] I'm sorry, I - I should've expected them to follow me, I don't know why I got complacent, and you're hurt, I've put you in harm's way, fuck -
[ There are injuries― pockmarks where arrows embedded into his back, when they were first ambushed― but the pain's been buried under six feet of adrenaline and fighting instinct, concern and confusion and anger. Nico is barely thinking about them, though, his brain rubber-band-snapping to Ea when she approaches him, her words a pleasant blur that cuts through the roar of his blood in his ears.
His hands are blood-slick; he wielded a shortsword like a broadsword in close range, and the aftermath of his violence is all over his fingers. Stepping away from the gore of what used to be Elgar, he pivots to face Ea, touching her bruised face with painful care, so at odds with all the dispassion with which he'd slaughtered half the room a minute ago.
He doesn't want her to apologize to him. Still masked and with his hands pulsing blue, he pulls Ea closer to him and presses his mouth to hers, tasting blood on her torn lip, cutting off anything else she has to say, because it hurts his heart to hear it. ]
You'll think about me, while taking off your armor and clothes. You'll think about my hands running all over your body, about my lips along the length of your spine, about my fingers getting you ready.
[ Oh!!! Guess he'll die!! Trying to talk to the innkeeper about getting a room proves to be the most challenging thing he's done all day, but he manages it and slinks into the safety of four walls and a ceiling.
He sighs, as he tugs at all the straps keeping his armor secured on him. ]
Oh, you really want me at your mercy tonight.
Yes, love. I'm taking everything off right now. Thinking of you, your pretty lips, your clever fingers.
[ She is BARGAINING for a proper harness and toy from bloody Figaro, who is trying to convince her to spend more money on a balm to maintain leather. It's taking a lot of patience, which she lacks, to keep a straight face for this merchant when she knows that Nico is at the Inn.
Getting undressed. And thinking of her.
Fuck it, she might actually go for the waypoints travel this time, instead of darting through the city. Or maybe she'll take up to the roofs and skip from rooftop to rooftop until she lands on the balcony outside the hallways in Elfsong.
All accoutrements purchased, she takes the path of least resistence: waypoints. ]
I'm almost with you.
[ She figures it's only polite to tell him, since she went quiet for an agonising twenty-five minutes! Seven minutes later, she is knocking on the door to the Elfsong Tavern's Best Honeymoon Suite. ] It's me, love.
[ Thirty minutes and change is a long time for a man with an erection to be kept in silence, especially given the order not to touch. Nico is a hazy mess by the time Ea announces herself at the door to their room, his hips pressed to rumpled bedsheets stained with his precome, clearly having rutted against it more than a few times as a loophole to Ea's command.
Sweating, with his usually slicked-back hair falling and sticking to his forehead, he manages a muffled: ]
Come in.
[ He wants to be good for her. Gods, he really does. So he sits up as best he can with his hands behind him, gripping the edge of the bed's headboard (a silent show of not touching himself), knees spread to present his flushed erection for his lover's scrutiny. Unmasked, completely naked. ]
[ She checks the hallway is empty of any other patrons, and slips inside, locking the door behind her. Back against the door, she takes in the view, and it feels like a punch to the stomach to behold him. Honestly. ]
Look at you.
[ She's already breathless. She takes her boots off, her armor - all on the way to the bed, dropping them on the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs. The parcel in her hands, wrapped in fancy silk by Figaro himself, she keeps a viciously tight grip on. ]
Oh, I really have tortured you with those messages today, haven't I?
[ She places the parcel on the bed, and climbs onto it, on her hands and knees, until she's kneeling between his legs. Her hands trace the corded muscle of his arms. She leans down and licks a bead of sweat that pooled at his collarbone. Then presses a kiss to that fissure just parallel of his nipple, exactly as she said. ]
[ Oh, it's an effort not to surge up and cover Ea with his body. Relief mixes with anticipation mixes with affection, finally ringing in his skull in different tones and patterns of urgency; she might even be able to feel it through the tadpole connection, that mind-meld knocking against her consciousness, unbidden and powerful. Nico's need, grown teeth.
He's white-knuckling his hands around the headboard, mindful not to touch until she's permitted him to despite all his wanting. It's embarrassing how his cock stiffens more and jumps just from the light kisses and the feel of her tongue, his simmering arousal hanging on on a knife's edge.
Can he come just from being happy that Ea's here? Maybe. He shudders, almost like a squirm, and arches his back an inch to meet Ea's mouth, hips moving restlessly on bedsheets. ]
[ All those fissures in his skin glow with magic, his desires manifested on the body, and she can't help but put her mouth to them.
Open mouthed kisses from his pectoral muscle up to his collarbone, a swipe of her tongue up to his jawline, her teeth at his skin there. ]
I know, sweetheart, but you've held back so well. Gods, look at you, you're so beautiful.
[ She wants to give him something nice, a release of sorts. It still comes with deprivation:
She has to shift back on the bed and take her soft leggings off, leaving the undershirt she wears beneath her armor still on. And her underwear, but at least her legs are bare when she settles in his lap. Knees bracketing his hips, her fabric-covered pussy pressing his cock against his stomach. She rolls her hips. ]
[ Her skin feels so good― he immediately chases it with a groan and a needy bump of his hips, sex-stupid brain focusing so closely on where they meet that he almost doesn't register the content of Ea's words when she murmurs them to him. But the sweet command is more than welcome, and he's ravenous for that, too: Nico tips his chin to find the welcome warmth of Ea's mouth, and crushes his lips against hers with near-feral intensity.
Finally, finally. He's so fucking hard to the point of hurting, hot where it's pressed snugly against her cunt and leaving precome stains on her panties. ]
Gods, I've needed you all day.
[ Muffled, greedy. His teeth scour along her bottom lip, trapping her for a moment to discourage her from pulling back; he layers another kiss on her, wet and sloppy, no finesse and all need. ] How much more can you ruin me?
[ The best thing about kissing Nico is that she can feel it. She can feel how much he has needed her, and there's a slight stab of guilt - she's wound him up, hasn't she?
She cups his face in both hands, and licks into his mouth, and rocks her hips back and forth, rubbing herself against the hard length of him. Angled just so, and every press rubs against her clit, sending little tremors up her skin. She is not that good of a stone-faced top that she can withhold the whimper she muffles against his mouth.
At the question of how much more she can ruin him, she nips the outer shell of his ear. ]
So much. [ There's a shuffling sound of parchment paper on bedsheets, as her mage hand drags the parcel closer. ] Got you a gift. Open it.
[ It's the gesture that counts, right? Her gift is a simple one: a harness made of leather so soft it feels like silk, equipped with a circular ring meant to hold a toy against her hips. The toy as well, shaped like a human cock (they can always upgrade if Nico's as much of a size queen as she is), and a vial full of lubricant oil. ]
[ Definitely not a size queen; he's never done this before. He whines a little when she pulls back, missing her the moment she pulls away, but how he can use his grip-numb hands to do more than stabilize himself against the bed.
Running a finger along the outline of the toy, he. Well.
He can't help but hike a brow. Listen, he's not going to complain about anything not being able to fit, given the size of his own cock, but this is very new to him. ]
Oh. [ Color rises to his cheeks; he suddenly feels somewhat timid. ] I... should probably tell you that this is new to me.
[ No one's been interested in him like this before. The harness is pretty, of course, and he thinks it'd look beautiful on all of Ea's lovely skin and curves. ]
[ This might be the stupidest excuse for a fancy dress party, but at least they're committing to the theme; the great Lorroakan has taken up a whole page in the papers to announce that he'd be holding this party, which was his mistake. If you want to plan a private, political, kind of fundraiser type of party you don't announce it in the papers and tell the plebs that only people with an invite can come.
Because these plebs, specifically, have ways of procuring invites.
The wizard has seemingly engaged a party planner for this, because the theme is quite well executed - Elysium and the Nine Hells - all things considered, so good for him. Or something. They've emptied the ground floor of Ramazith's Tower, transforming Sorcerous Sundries into a ballroom for the evening, and that is the exact reason why Ea, Shadowheart, Nico and Gale have procured themselves an invitation to this party.
Shadowheart's use of Pass Without Trace is what will keep them - or rather, keep Ea hidden, so she can make her way up to the librarian's office and find that key, that leads to the vaults below. All this, because Gale wants a book. ]
You know it's only reasonable that you do the schmoozing if anyone looks our way. [ She ushers Gale off towards the host, trying to pay Lorroakan as little attention as possible - the man is a blowhard, and he is apparently obsessed with the Nightsong. He has mentioned it, out loud, three times already - the third time, Ea makes eye contact with Shadowheart, and they share a little this bitch look, before looking away.
There is a downside - or up side? - to the themed ball, and that is the masks. In truth, nobody will know their faces and that is going to suit them just fine, because Ea plans to rob this wizard blind. But the added bonus is the view.
She stands where he left her, leaning casually against the wall, watching as Nico returns with two brightly coloured glasses full of wine, taking in the broadness of his shoulders in this outfit, the fucking delicious thickness of his thighs. ]
Do make an effort to control your face. [ That's from Shadowheart, suffering greatly standing beside her, keeping her eye on Gale as he speaks. (It's her concentration look, maybe she's cast Protection from Good and Evil.)
Ea absolutely keeps her eyes on Nico's approach, the tip of her tongue darting out to lick the corner of her lips. She pushes herself away from the wall and meets him with a hand held out for the drink. ] Good boy.
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timeasmymeasure
act 3; heads will roll
Date: 2024-07-05 02:01 pm (UTC)That's her mistake, to think nobody in Baldur's Gate will know her enough to give a fuck about whatever the papers print about her.
It doesn't happen right away, of course. It's a few weeks into being back in the city, with several blades already at Ea's throat (Orin's taken that sweet young child hostage, Gortash wants her to ally with him, Karlach actually believes she will, Cazador's been preparing for his ascension, Mystra probably wants some fucking thing from Gale as if she wasn't asking him to blow himself and all of them up for her - it's always some fucking thing) when the poisoned dart hits.
It's a metaphor, by the way. The Blackbirds don't have that sort of subtlety - that was Ea, once upon a time, the sleight of hand beaten into her from a young age, until slipping sleeping draughts and poison into wine glasses and beer barrels had come easily to her; not the rest, though.
It's nighttime in the city, and she is on a walk with Nico (she'll hate herself for this later). He's been watching her with worry as of late, as if expecting her to be a powderkeg ready to explode at the merest inconvenience. She knows she's tense, and she knows she's become withdrawn (from him, from the others) as of late - well, as of Orin slipping so easily into the rooms at Elfsong Tavern and taking that child from under their noses - but there's a reason for it.
The truth is, Ea does not see a way forward out of this. She has always considered her death a very real possibility, but now? Back in the city, back where everything is familiar? It's become more likely. If it's not the Emperor who does it (and let her just tell you, she doesn't trust that fucking guy), it'll be Gortash, or Orin, or the massive brain threatening to turn them illithid, or Raphael, or - or, or, or. Bottom line: she's going to die. She's sure of it. She's trying to minimise the pain for those left behind, in the only way she knows how: by pulling away from them.
Of course, Nico's not having it. Of course, she's weak to the tug of her heart. Nico is a magnet, he is a flame and he draws her in, and she is powerless to say no for too long because he is the one perfect, wonderful, good thing that's happened to her in years and he loves her, so -
If it's a walk at night that he wants, to clear our heads, then that's what he gets. They're making their way to Elfsong's after dinner at the Mermaid, the streets empty and quiet, the stars glittering above them - it's a picture perfect date.
She's considering stopping them in the middle of the street just to kiss him, feel the feathers of his mask tickle her nose, smile into the kiss all smug because she knows what he looks like without it, and then hell breaks loose.
She hears the movement behind her too late, something sharp nicking her throat (just an arrow, not deep enough to cut an artery). Her eyes widen, she reaches reflexively out for Nico, and just in that moment she sees them. The arrow that nicked her, and five more, in quick succession and shot from different angles, all embedding themselves into Nico's torso and back right in front of her eyes. ]
No - [ She manages that much, before her mouth feels slack, tongue replaced by cottonballs, and she clocks it again too late. Poison? No. Sleeping draught. Son of a b -
She crumbles onto the street, the last thing she sees the blurry figure of Nico faltering and collapsing as well.
And then, someone throws a bucket of cold water at her face. ]
Wake up, demon bitch.
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Date: 2024-07-05 02:44 pm (UTC)He'd known. It'd hurt him to watch Ea navigate her days and nights, going through the motions of conversations like hiding an open nerve. You'll bleed out like this, he'd said.
He'd meant the warning to be metaphorical. Now, it's a real possibility.
Nico comes to after their assault, the matter of the pain he feels less about where it's coming from and more about the sheer amount of it; his entire body feels like one interconnected bruise. Shifting reveals that he's been bound, wrists at the small of his back and ankles restrained with rope, leather bindings around his knees to prevent kicking. The floor of whatever cellar or warehouse they've been brought to is cold, caked with a layer of dust and grime, and rasps uncomfortably against his scarred face―
―but he's still alive. Lucid enough to feel a cold wash of fear (Ea, where is she, is she alright―), followed by a colder wave of anger, so immediate and all-consuming that he thinks he might choke around it (if they so much as touch her, he swears to every wrath-coded God in every plane).
The second sentiment prevails, when he hears the distant, fuzzy outline of a man's voice saying demon bitch. Nico, on the ground, struggles to raise his head to see where the conversation is taking place in the room; he's dissuaded by a heavy boot to his head, the dirty heel of it grinding with intent into his silver hair. ]
Fuck, the freak can still move! Stay down, loverboy.
[ A weak writhe, molars gritting. Ea, he tries to say, but his breath is a whisper despite the simmering of uncontrollable cosmic rage blinking behind his pale eyes.
(Something strange and unknowable, angelic and vengeful, whispers in his blood. You can punish them all, if they lay a finger on her.) ]
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Date: 2024-07-05 03:06 pm (UTC)The pain is a dull throb right now, ignorable for the moment while she tries to locate not who is talking (they are as good as dead now, and irrelevant) but Nico. Gods help these people if something happened to Nico, she will burn them all to a crisp. Not even their ancestors will recognise them from fireplace ashes.
Stay down, loverboy, someone hisses in the background, and the burn and panic inside her goes down to a simmer. Alive, good. ]
Good, you're awake. [ This from the guy with the bucket, a tall elf who looks at her with disgust. ] I have to say, Lowkey, ageing has not treated you kindly.
[ She doesn't bother with clearing her throat first, her voice raspy when it does come out. ] Whereas you still look like a pre-pubescent fuck, Elgar. [ As she speaks, her mouth fills with something - an excess of saliva? shouldn't be the case, the drow poison doesn't usually leave you drooling. Belately, she realises it's coppery in taste, and turns her head to spit out her blood at Elgar's feet. She must've bitten the inside of her cheek when she fell, or maybe her tongue. ] What do you want?
What I want is to be even, Lowkey. You took our Guildmaster and left, and in the power vacuum you left behind, there's been nothing but mess after fucking mess. Imagine my surprise when I get the papers and read about a tiefling matching your description exactly in Baldur's Gate. It took us a few weeks to track you down, but sure enough. I thought -
Ugh, sorry. Hold on. [ She spits again and pulls a face, before looking up at Elgar with a glare. ] Are you going to stand there and monologue at me all night, because I really couldn't give a fuck about what mess I made when I left the Guild. What do you want? An apology? Not happening. I am starting to regret not killing his honour guard while at it. [ A beat. ]
Nico, sweetheart, grunt if you're awake, yeah?
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Date: 2024-07-05 03:30 pm (UTC)He thinks he understands her request, though, and tries to make noise. A soft, hoarse rasp, almost negligible and immediately punished by the boot on his head, its heel lifting only so it can lightly kick at Nico's jaw with its toe. ]
Don't get cute, Lowkey. You think you're in any position to bargain with us, huh?
[ The half-elf standing by Nico's prone body lifts his leg and digs his foot, this time, into the arrow wound he'd left on Nico's shoulder; Nico only registers that they've stripped his armor off when he feels the pressure of that dig directly against the thin fabric of his inner shirt.
He doesn't make a sound. They don't deserve it, and he doesn't want Ea to hear it. Instead, he curls in on himself, anger coursing through him like fire, making his ungloved fingers pulse blue. His assailant sees that faint glow, and spits at him― clearly unnerved by celestial traits, but putting on a brave face. ]
Hells, only a freak could fuck another freak like this. Now shut up and let Elgar finish.
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Date: 2024-07-05 03:47 pm (UTC)To reveal that is to reveal that she'd been used. Picked off the streets and brought into the fold of a criminal world with promises of food and shelter, trained and groomed into becoming first a good spy, then a fucking perfect assassin. She remembers Elgar, ten years back, newly appointed to the guards that the Guildmaster kept himself surrounded by, his right-hand man where Ea was his dagger. She remembers how little Elgar had liked her at the start, and how she'd thought herself clever and kind when she'd left him alive instead of killing him and the others, the night she took the Guildmaster out.
What a dumbass she'd been. She could be kind to twenty-year-old Ea, maybe, but kindness for herself is a trait that's been chipped out of her with time. It's hard to feel anything but disappointment right now.
Except for the relief of hearing that grunt from Nico, and noting his location even in the dim light. They never account of darkvision, elves. Elgar especially thinks he's the hottest shit around, so he wouldn't bother with it.
She looks from Nico up to the asshole who kicks him, and her eyes narrow. Focus is sharp, a dagger in her hand. You're first.
The half-elf says shut up and let Elgar finish, and Ea gives him what would by anyone sane be described as a feral smile. ]
No. [ Elgar's talked enough. Separately from the arcane tricks she has up her sleeves are a few infernal legacy spells she can wrench out of herself at greater cost - expending some energy to the point where she can only do this once a day.
She has the room mapped out like so: where Elgar is, where the fucker who's dying first is, where Nico is. She casts Darkness, and slips her dagger out of her sleeve with deft fingers, working on her bindings while the others curse and panic. ]
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Date: 2024-07-05 04:32 pm (UTC)―and he resents, no, hates that this is how he's seeing more of the details of it. An unfamiliar emotion that sits on the opposite side of the coin, right behind the unwavering wave of love he has for Ea; Nico adores her, which has left him wholly unprepared for how much he would loathe anyone who does her harm. The emotion continues to burn him, so hot in his veins that it feels like the poison burns out from his blood, evaporates, lending him divine clarity even when darkness falls.
Especially when darkness falls. Heightened arcane awareness sings in the back of his skull, as powerful as his illithid parasite; magical synesthesia allows him to taste Ea's spellcasting in the back of his throat. Ea, Ea, Ea.
Nico barely registers the commotion happening around him. Someone trips over him and collapses on the floor, but it feels like it's happening miles away. Radiant energy pours from his fingers, and disintegrates the rope around his wrists.
When Nico sits up, all the fallen man sees of him are twin pale eyes like ghosts in the dark; he screams, but the sound is cut off by a hand against his mouth, glowing fingers searing into bare skin, silent and furious. ]
You should've left her alone, [ Nico says, no warmth in his usually-soft voice. His grip tightens, and another muffled yell rings above the general panic, adding to the chaos and confusion. ]
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Date: 2024-07-05 06:01 pm (UTC)The chaos continues. She is quick, side-stepping former guild-members left and right, and manifesting herself behind the half-elf who kicked Nico, just in time to hear that should've left her alone. ] This one's mine.
[ She jams the dagger in between the assailant's ribs, and twists, her gaze fixed on Nico in the magical darkness. This is why she learned this skill, to see him even in this environment.
She pulls the blade out, stabs twice more just to be sure, and then swipes the half-elf's sword out of its scabbard as he slumps lifelessly in Nico's hand. ] Here, take this.
[ They'll need to find his armor and weapon later. For now, she slips the shortsword into Nico's hand, squeezing it there so he knows it's her, she's fine, she'll be fine, and then steps into fighting range with Elgar. ]
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Date: 2024-07-06 08:48 am (UTC)―but she's there and gone again, slipping gracefully out of his range and back towards her enemy, the one responsible for all of this, and the anger settles into his blood again.
If anything happens to her, he swears to the Gods.
The rest of his bindings are cut loose by the shortsword, knees and ankles; the vertigo that hits him when he stands up properly is mitigated by the blade-sharp focus that his rage affords him, physical discomfort shed in favor of pure fighting instinct. The next former-guild member to cross paths with him gets cleaved neatly in two, diagonally from shoulder to hip, bathing him in lukewarm blood.
(Celestial blood says good, Oathbreaker ghost says oh well.)
Nico is a monster in the dark, a glowing outline that the rest start fleeing from. An angel's benevolence is only offered until they become vengeful; every child in Faerun should know that. ]
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Date: 2024-07-06 09:12 am (UTC)Without the ability to see in magical darkness, or the space to exit it, it's all about picking them off one by one.
Elgar first, because the bastard is vicious and cruel and he will throw his underlings in front of Ea's daggers if he thinks it'll save him. She doesn't want him to think he's safe, she wants him to regret every remaining moment of his life, regret following her and holding onto the grudge, and mostly regret harming Nico.
None of this would've happened, if they'd just taken her out when she was alone. (Well, sure - they would've all died, but none of the suffering and the panic!)
The Knife of the Undermountain King takes out Elgar at the knees, the blunt of her other dagger taking him out of combat. She leaves him breathing, but barely - knocked out. She'll be back. He needs to learn his lesson properly before he dies.
While Darkness lasts, she goes after the others. Whoever Nico hasn't cleaved in half, she takes in two stabs per turn, until there's only one left. Then two more stabs, and the last one falls just as the magical darkness dissipates. ]
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Date: 2024-07-06 10:05 am (UTC)He finds that he feels nothing for them, the dead. Just the stillsame anger that he'd expressed in words before: you should have left her alone.
There are only three people alive now, sequestered by four stone walls and the grim silence of Nico's rage. Obviously, Ea isn't on the receiving end of all of this ire; Nico's attention flicks towards her, and it's pure relief that sits near his heart when he sees that she's still standing, red-stained but alive. Still beautiful, even in her ferocity.
It's the other one, the one that Ea called Elgar, who remains problematic. He watches the elf come to, groaning as he tries to drag his broken body over the dirt-covered floor, too close to Ea for comfort.
So Nico closes the distance, and steps on one outstretched hand, hard enough to feel bone yielding under his weight. The resounding sound of his screaming still barely registers; Nico tips his head to the side, as dispassionate as a hawk watching a mouse scurry by, and lifts his foot again.
This time, it lands squarely on Elgar's head, and the sick sound of his skull caving cuts off the last of the man's screaming. ]
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Date: 2024-07-06 10:25 am (UTC)And then, she is locked into place as she looks at him crush Elgar's hand underfoot, her gaze on Nico rather than the ghost of her past. What does it say about her that she thinks he is hot as fuck when he does that dispassionate, predatorial head tilt?
She sees the foot rise again, her breath catching, and then - gone. Elgar is gone. They're all gone.
She sways on her feet a little, adrenaline rushing out of her in one swoop. She crosses the room over to Nico, her hand settling on his arm. ]
Hey. That's enough, don't turn him into juice. [ She's going to have to dig through some pockets to find a healing potion or two, by the looks of it. Her fingers graze a tear in his shirt, where an arrow had pierced him before, and she can't help the small, choked apologetic sound that escapes her. ] I'm sorry, I - I should've expected them to follow me, I don't know why I got complacent, and you're hurt, I've put you in harm's way, fuck -
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Date: 2024-07-06 12:27 pm (UTC)His hands are blood-slick; he wielded a shortsword like a broadsword in close range, and the aftermath of his violence is all over his fingers. Stepping away from the gore of what used to be Elgar, he pivots to face Ea, touching her bruised face with painful care, so at odds with all the dispassion with which he'd slaughtered half the room a minute ago.
He doesn't want her to apologize to him. Still masked and with his hands pulsing blue, he pulls Ea closer to him and presses his mouth to hers, tasting blood on her torn lip, cutting off anything else she has to say, because it hurts his heart to hear it. ]
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From:back on my 'make prestidigitation available, larian, you cowards' agenda
From:actually really weird that it isn't available tbh!?!?!
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From:the one where we don't apologise for who we are (filthy)
Date: 2024-07-15 09:21 am (UTC)meme continuation; improper use of stones of sending
Date: 2024-07-20 11:41 am (UTC)I don't want to come without you there to see it.
But alright. I'm almost at the inn. You'll know exactly what I'll be doing when I'm in our room.
among other innocent magical objects
Date: 2024-07-20 11:48 am (UTC)And not touch yourself.
1 (one) fear
Date: 2024-07-20 11:54 am (UTC)He sighs, as he tugs at all the straps keeping his armor secured on him. ]
Oh, you really want me at your mercy tonight.
Yes, love. I'm taking everything off right now. Thinking of you, your pretty lips, your clever fingers.
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Date: 2024-07-20 12:03 pm (UTC)Getting undressed. And thinking of her.
Fuck it, she might actually go for the waypoints travel this time, instead of darting through the city. Or maybe she'll take up to the roofs and skip from rooftop to rooftop until she lands on the balcony outside the hallways in Elfsong.
All accoutrements purchased, she takes the path of least resistence: waypoints. ]
I'm almost with you.
[ She figures it's only polite to tell him, since she went quiet for an agonising twenty-five minutes! Seven minutes later, she is knocking on the door to the Elfsong Tavern's Best Honeymoon Suite. ] It's me, love.
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Date: 2024-07-20 12:19 pm (UTC)Sweating, with his usually slicked-back hair falling and sticking to his forehead, he manages a muffled: ]
Come in.
[ He wants to be good for her. Gods, he really does. So he sits up as best he can with his hands behind him, gripping the edge of the bed's headboard (a silent show of not touching himself), knees spread to present his flushed erection for his lover's scrutiny. Unmasked, completely naked. ]
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Date: 2024-07-20 12:30 pm (UTC)Look at you.
[ She's already breathless. She takes her boots off, her armor - all on the way to the bed, dropping them on the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs. The parcel in her hands, wrapped in fancy silk by Figaro himself, she keeps a viciously tight grip on. ]
Oh, I really have tortured you with those messages today, haven't I?
[ She places the parcel on the bed, and climbs onto it, on her hands and knees, until she's kneeling between his legs. Her hands trace the corded muscle of his arms. She leans down and licks a bead of sweat that pooled at his collarbone. Then presses a kiss to that fissure just parallel of his nipple, exactly as she said. ]
Poor darling.
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Date: 2024-07-21 08:52 am (UTC)He's white-knuckling his hands around the headboard, mindful not to touch until she's permitted him to despite all his wanting. It's embarrassing how his cock stiffens more and jumps just from the light kisses and the feel of her tongue, his simmering arousal hanging on on a knife's edge.
Can he come just from being happy that Ea's here? Maybe. He shudders, almost like a squirm, and arches his back an inch to meet Ea's mouth, hips moving restlessly on bedsheets. ]
It's been agonizing without you, love.
[ Obviously. He's glowing, pent-up, sweat-slick. ]
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Date: 2024-07-21 09:03 am (UTC)Open mouthed kisses from his pectoral muscle up to his collarbone, a swipe of her tongue up to his jawline, her teeth at his skin there. ]
I know, sweetheart, but you've held back so well. Gods, look at you, you're so beautiful.
[ She wants to give him something nice, a release of sorts. It still comes with deprivation:
She has to shift back on the bed and take her soft leggings off, leaving the undershirt she wears beneath her armor still on. And her underwear, but at least her legs are bare when she settles in his lap. Knees bracketing his hips, her fabric-covered pussy pressing his cock against his stomach. She rolls her hips. ]
Come here, give me a kiss.
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Date: 2024-07-21 09:19 am (UTC)Finally, finally. He's so fucking hard to the point of hurting, hot where it's pressed snugly against her cunt and leaving precome stains on her panties. ]
Gods, I've needed you all day.
[ Muffled, greedy. His teeth scour along her bottom lip, trapping her for a moment to discourage her from pulling back; he layers another kiss on her, wet and sloppy, no finesse and all need. ] How much more can you ruin me?
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Date: 2024-07-21 09:32 am (UTC)She cups his face in both hands, and licks into his mouth, and rocks her hips back and forth, rubbing herself against the hard length of him. Angled just so, and every press rubs against her clit, sending little tremors up her skin. She is not that good of a stone-faced top that she can withhold the whimper she muffles against his mouth.
At the question of how much more she can ruin him, she nips the outer shell of his ear. ]
So much. [ There's a shuffling sound of parchment paper on bedsheets, as her mage hand drags the parcel closer. ] Got you a gift. Open it.
[ It's the gesture that counts, right? Her gift is a simple one: a harness made of leather so soft it feels like silk, equipped with a circular ring meant to hold a toy against her hips. The toy as well, shaped like a human cock (they can always upgrade if Nico's as much of a size queen as she is), and a vial full of lubricant oil. ]
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Date: 2024-07-21 09:41 am (UTC)Running a finger along the outline of the toy, he. Well.
He can't help but hike a brow. Listen, he's not going to complain about anything not being able to fit, given the size of his own cock, but this is very new to him. ]
Oh. [ Color rises to his cheeks; he suddenly feels somewhat timid. ] I... should probably tell you that this is new to me.
[ No one's been interested in him like this before. The harness is pretty, of course, and he thinks it'd look beautiful on all of Ea's lovely skin and curves. ]
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From:rrrr i thought the tag sent but it DIDN'T and then i closed the TAB /flips table
From:you say that but i am the LATE one, apologies!!!!!!!!!
From:it's forever okay
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From:i'm BACK
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From:act 3; we diverge from canon because we wanted a heist and a dressy ball
Date: 2024-08-13 03:29 pm (UTC)Because these plebs, specifically, have ways of procuring invites.
The wizard has seemingly engaged a party planner for this, because the theme is quite well executed - Elysium and the Nine Hells - all things considered, so good for him. Or something. They've emptied the ground floor of Ramazith's Tower, transforming Sorcerous Sundries into a ballroom for the evening, and that is the exact reason why Ea, Shadowheart, Nico and Gale have procured themselves an invitation to this party.
Shadowheart's use of Pass Without Trace is what will keep them - or rather, keep Ea hidden, so she can make her way up to the librarian's office and find that key, that leads to the vaults below. All this, because Gale wants a book. ]
You know it's only reasonable that you do the schmoozing if anyone looks our way. [ She ushers Gale off towards the host, trying to pay Lorroakan as little attention as possible - the man is a blowhard, and he is apparently obsessed with the Nightsong. He has mentioned it, out loud, three times already - the third time, Ea makes eye contact with Shadowheart, and they share a little this bitch look, before looking away.
There is a downside - or up side? - to the themed ball, and that is the masks. In truth, nobody will know their faces and that is going to suit them just fine, because Ea plans to rob this wizard blind. But the added bonus is the view.
She stands where he left her, leaning casually against the wall, watching as Nico returns with two brightly coloured glasses full of wine, taking in the broadness of his shoulders in this outfit, the fucking delicious thickness of his thighs. ]
Do make an effort to control your face. [ That's from Shadowheart, suffering greatly standing beside her, keeping her eye on Gale as he speaks. (It's her concentration look, maybe she's cast Protection from Good and Evil.)
Ea absolutely keeps her eyes on Nico's approach, the tip of her tongue darting out to lick the corner of her lips. She pushes herself away from the wall and meets him with a hand held out for the drink. ] Good boy.