Work Text:
Like any courtesan worth their salt, Haarlep had a plethora of entertaining skills. Singing, dancing, painting, playing musical instruments━ anything that could entertain both entire audiences and individual nobles was quickly mastered by the incubus, eager to smoothly integrate into Mephistar's royal court as they were. The actual reason for Mephistopheles employing them being espionage, Haarlep let the infamy of their species precede them in lecherous whispers, blinding nearly everyone outside the archdevil to their true purpose. Given The Cold Lord's predilection towards unique and rare beings in both professional and personal capacities, only eyebrows were raised rather than arms at having a demon in his court. It was a razor-thin line to toe, how often they could be outside of Cania gathering intelligence before their cover was questioned, but Haarlep was of the opinion that if death wasn't a possible outcome, was it really something worth doing?
But perhaps their reckless belief had tempted fate one too many times, for Haarlep's latest assignment involved integrating themselves into the household of Mephistopheles' youngest: the prodigal son Raphael. Ostensibly gifted to the cambion as a consolation prize for the seizure of the Crown of Karsus, Haarlep would warm Raphael's bed in his House of Hope and ply his soft, half-human heart until secrets spilled forth like wine. As confidante, Haarlep would become privy to his every contract and political dealing, his goals and the designs therein. The incubus would hoard his secrets like they were soul coins, only to shamelessly lay them at his father's feet when The Cold Lord called Haarlep home to roost.
Having only crossed paths with Raphael once before when he had paid his father a rare visit, Haarlep had an idea of just how hot-blooded the cambion could be. Said visit had explosively ended in a shouting match and a banquet's worth of cutlery embedded in the walls and any staff who were foolish enough to hover nearby. Rather than intimidated by the recklessness, however, Haarlep had been looking forward to toying with someone so tempestuous, so mercurial. It had been a long, long time since any of their assignments had been a challenge, after all, and Haarlep had been eager to cut their teeth on something just as likely to bite back.
To their utmost, exasperated dismay, Raphael was not only an incredibly terrible lay, but so incredibly fastidious in dealings both inside the Boudoir and out that he was, in truth, excruciatingly boring.
Haarlep could forgive lackluster performance and abysmal stamina━ Raphael was far from the first two-pump chump the incubus had laid with and had the advantage of at least being more than willing to lie back and be admired as they got off. Haarlep could forgive the non-existent aftercare━ far be it for them to judge how someone recovered and recuperated after even the roughest of play, and there was a restoration pool in the Boudoir, besides. Haarlep could even forgive being stuck in his form━ it was fairly close in shape to their true visage and the incubus was even enjoying the extra height and magnificent rack of horns. But what Haarlep absolutely, categorically could not forgive was how mind-numbingly tedious their tenure in the House had been so far.
The cambion may have an ego larger than the tower of Khin-Oin, but at least in the matters of running a tight, close-lipped ship it was well deserved. Even when clouded by the warm haze of lust, Raphael was more than adept at running conversational circles around them, capable of speaking for hours while saying nothing at all. Which was no exaggerated turn of phrase: the cambion loved the sound of his own voice and Haarlep had been near tears with ennui more than once as he spent entire evenings blathering on and on and on. Frankly, Haarlep would admire the discipline needed if it wasn't making their job that much more difficult, as they were reluctant to Charm him while Mephistopheles still bid for their cohabitation.
In his absence, the House and its other inhabitants were no help, either. Raphael's staff and debtors were, on the whole, too loyal or too terrified to snitch. And the debtors who were reckless and resentful enough to speak with them━ namely, the ones trapped in circuitous compulsions━ rarely had anything juicy to share but were, at the very least, good for commiserating. Which left Haarlep at loose ends most days, the well-oiled machine of the House's affairs planned down to the minutiae and near impossible to sabotage in any meaningful way. Near impossible, because Haarlep's normally impeccable ability to find and exploit weak points had not failed them in this, at least. Unfortunately, even punishment for their attempted destabilization was predictable and rather tame compared to the horrors Haarlep had seen other cambions capable of, to say nothing of Mephistopheles' creative tortures.
In short, Haarlep was excruciatingly bored and spent most of their time cursing the terrible decision of trying their luck in the Hells rather than carving out a life in the Abyss. The only consolation to be found was that Raphael didn't mind Haarlep wandering the grounds when their services weren't needed and there were no guests about. A leniency the incubus gleefully exploited as often as they could, even knowing it was offered as a length of rope to hang themselves with. Haarlep's current attempt at staving off boredom was walking the full, treacherous perimeter of the shard of earth the House was situated on. With wings there was no real danger of falling, but the portions where the rock sharply dropped off and Haarlep had to slither across a sheer cliff face foothold by precarious foothold still gave the delicious rush of adrenaline they craved.
They were currently maneuvering one such section, sharp claws easily finding purchase in fissures for leverage as they hauled themselves up towards the base of a balcony. If Haarlep's mental map was correct, this one should be connected to the Archive, an area they generally avoided due to the Archivist's anxious hovering. Hoping to sneak behind the tiefling and steal some books to throw off the edge, Haarlep clambered up and over the railing. Their roll over the banister was flawless, but rather than falling into a graceful crouch, their legs inelegantly folded beneath them, shoe treads squeaking across the marble floor. For there, seated before an easel with a brush in hand, was a half-orc━ a debtor, if the ragged clothes and expression of abject misery were any indication.
Upon Haarlep's sudden appearance, the woman had also startled enough to nearly fall out of her chair, only the sheer power of her compulsion keeping her seated. The two regarded each other in uneasy silence for a moment, both waiting for the other to make a move. Eventually, the compulsion was too great for the half-orc and she returned to painting with grimace, watching Haarlep out of the corner of her eye.
"Terribly sorry for dropping in without even a word of warning, pet, but what are you doing out here?" Haarlep broke the silence, slinking around the woman to see the canvas, "Not that this isn't a stunning depiction of being drawn and quartered, but I know a compulsion when I see one. Tell me, you poor thing: are you a new soul added to the menagerie, or did you do something naughty?"
Eyes firmly fixed on the canvas, the half-orc let out a quiet, relieved sigh, "You aren't Raphael, you're his incubus. I forgot you looked like him."
"Ha! As if that spoiled brat would ever do something as undignified as crawl around the base of the House or wear something as practical as leather armor. No, I am, as you say, the incubus Haarlep." They replied with a shallow, mocking bow.
"You're right as well," she conceded while mixing a darker shade of red, "I've been here for quite some time now. A few decades back I was caught admiring an art folio rather than cleaning; Raphael said if I liked art so much, who was he to get in my way? I've been cursed to paint ever since. Every time I finish a painting, the canvas clears itself somehow, and I'm forced to begin again and again and again.
"And he was right: while I was working on that very first painting, it was the happiest I'd been since I died. But the moment I felt I had finally finished it after a year or so, the paint just━ it all just melted off the canvas and turned to ash. And, and while I was just staring at it in shock, this horrible, all-consuming feeling came over me. As if I absolutely had to continue painting or I would die. So I did. I do. Even though my hands are cracked and bleeding from overuse and I'm filled with mind-numbing dread whenever the end of a painting approaches, I paint."
Sighing, Haarlep draped themselves over the back of her chair, hovering their head above her own, "Oh, poor little songbird in your golden cage. It's such a terrible thing, getting what you wish for, isn't it? Other devils might disparage Raphael for his leniency in punishments, but he's peerless when it comes to choosing the perfect just desserts."
"Justice? There's no justice in this." The woman huffed a laugh that was closer to a sob than an exaltation of joy.
"You're the one who made a deal with a devil, little songbird." Haarlep chided lightly as they lightly drew one claw across her shoulder and down her arm, the impulsive beginnings of a plan starting to form in their mind, "But far be it from me to ignore someone so━ dissatisfied, so wanting. How about a little deal of our own? An enthrallment to have you sitting pretty, resting those weary hands, while I toil in your stead? My ability to Charm others is more than able to override a compulsion and it's been centuries since I last had a chance to put pigment to parchment."
Twisting around in her seat to give the incubus a dubious glare, the half-orc cautiously ventured, "Why would you propose a deal distinctly weighted in my favor, on top of inevitably drawing the master's ire? What's really in it for you?"
Haarlep backed up even more to give her a wolfish grin and an outstretched hand, "A little excitement, a little death, a little chaos. A wrench thrown into the gears of the flawless machine that is the House of Hope. It was the straw that broke the camel's back, after all, not just its larger burdens. And Raphael would know, between the two of us, who the fault truly lied with. So say 'yes', my sweet songbird, and let me give you blissful respite, if only for a little while."
Lit from within by victorious fire as a bloody hand━ still clutching her paintbrush━ rested in their beseeching grasp, Haarlep felt their power flow from them into the half-orc. Locking eyes with the woman, they could see true clarity return as their Charm swaddled her in its magical embrace. A tremulous sigh fell from her lips as the compulsion faded to naught but a faint whisper, letting the incubus guide her up from the seat and bid the release of her brush and pallet into their care. Haarlep settled on the chair in her stead with a satisfied sigh, appraising the half-finished piece with a critical eye.
They had not lied when they'd said it had been literal centuries since they'd had a chance to truly paint; while certainly an impressive talent, it was a costly and protracted one when compared to the immediate gratification of singing or dancing. As such, it was not a specialty Haarlep was called upon for very often, let alone one indulged in their free time. But the debtor had completed a fair amount of the piece and Haarlep was confident in their ability to replicate what had already been done to complete the vision━ mimicry was what they excelled at, after all.
"Thank you." She whispered, afraid to speak too loud lest her compulsion take back over, "I know you have your own reasons for doing this, but I've been so terribly afraid I would come to hate painting. It was a solace, something that allowed me to broach topics with others I was too fearful to speak of on my own. Such a foolish mistake to give into weakness like I did, when I've seen how so many others here fell into the same trap and were punished the same way."
Still riding the high of undermining Raphael, Haarlep was in a good enough mood to humor the woman, "As an incubus, I can hardly blame you for chasing pleasure, especially those fleeting and ill-advised. Personally, I think everyone should wring every last little bit of bliss from this wretched existence that they can, while they can. It's one of the reasons I adore mortals so: devils are far too focused on playing the long game, while you, spurred on by your short lives, take what you can by the handful and damn the consequences."
"Some elves and wizards can live for thousands of years, I wouldn't call that a short life."
"Fiends don't have natural ends to their life spans, pet. What's a few millennia compared to the ceaselessness of eternity? Sometimes, I envy how quickly change happens for your lot." Haarlep countered as they carefully added faint strokes of white to a patch of spilling fat near one of the ruptured arms, a bright spot of quivering gristle in the harsh chiaroscuro. Though she didn't verbally reply, from the corner of their eye the incubus saw her thoughtfully nod and settle against the wall to watch them work.
And so Haarlep found not only an effective distraction from their dragging ennui, but something approaching a friend in the half-orc debtor. Every day the incubus was left to their own devices, they would slip over the balcony of the Boudoir and fly the short distance to the one branching from the Archive, painting and chatting until Haarlep sensed Raphael return through one of the House's portals once more. The months turned to years and the portraits of grievous torture turned to an immortal's memories of places lost to the sands of time. Haarlep had forgotten how satisfying it was to fully realize an idea in such a manner, to see places from their long past just one more time, even if only in simulacrum. It calmed the tempest of emotions within the incubus, their frustration and boredom, the restlessness inherent in all creatures of the infinite, ever-changing Abyss.
While Raphael was clearly suspicious of the lull in their destructive antics and goading, Haarlep had been an agent of espionage far longer than the cambion had even been alive; hiding in plain sight was their job and they did it well. Haarlep let him keep his suspicions, his belief that they had done something he just hadn't ferreted out, yet, as cover for what they were truly doing. For one so dogged and meticulous as Raphael, presenting him with an unknown quantity was a far more effective tactic than endeavoring to fully conceal their activities. Though, there were days when the incubus almost wished he would discover their hiding spot, if only to see the look on his face at the odd pair they made: an illusion of Raphael clad only in a silk robe and a middle-aged half-orc in clothing that looked more like cleaning rags than vestments, arguing over brush techniques.
"But the texture a dry brush gives you is so tactile, so deliciously visceral." Haarlep entreated as they pried the brush and pallet out of the woman's hands.
Relinquishing the tools, the debtor threw up her hands in exasperation, "Which is all well and good for expressionism, but we're going for a more classical portrayal."
"It's a landscape, my cantankerous songbird, texture is half the draw!" Haarlep playfully shoved the half-orc with their left wing, settling onto the seat with an exasperated huff and agitated swing of their tail.
"You say that for every painting, Haarlep."
"And every time I'm right━" They had started to argue, but choked on their words as a warm roil of magic and embers swept across their right side. Haarlep nearly dropped everything in shock as Raphael planeshifted directly to their side rather than using an established portal, a heated speech of his own tumbling from his lips before the embers had fully dissipated.
"It's utterly inconceivable to me how you can voluntarily work for that abominable wretch. What use does he even have of you outside tormenting me, when he cares for naught but his frivolous, useless experiments." The cambion ranted, hands already reaching to undo the clasps of his doublet. Upon registering that he was not safely within the confines of the Boudoir but on one of the House's far balconies, however, the tempestuous wind seemed to be knocked right out of his sails in favor of confusion. While Haarlep was glad to know his expression was as humorous as they'd hoped, the incubus hadn't actually wished to ever witness it when they were on the back foot as well. Deftly turning the motion of unbuttoning to smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, Raphael took in the guilty tableau before him with raised eyebrows, "Ah, so this is what has tempered your impetuous behavior, Haarlep. Birds of a troublesome feather flock together, it seems. Perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised━ never have I seen a better bloodhound for the burgeoning roots of discord than you, my precocious courtesan."
Regaining his composure, Raphael slowly approached the easel to properly look at the painting, "Well, it's quite the artistic team the two of you make; I've made very profitable contracts off those who would possess even a fraction of this talent."
Tail curling into a wary spiral before Haarlep forced it into a more neutral sway, the incubus replied, "Just one of those many reasons I drew the continued interest of The Cold Lord that you were just pontificating over. I'm not just a pretty face."
"No, you are not," Raphael slowly confirmed, his considering gaze a heavy weight upon their shoulders. Eyes briefly flicking over to where the debtor had practically flattened herself against the wall, scarcely breathing, to avoid his ire, the cambion clutched Haarlep's chin in a bruising grip. Lifting their head to deliberately strain their neck, Raphael forced the incubus to meet his stare. Another fraught moment of silence passed, only the wailing souls and laboring debtors further within the House breaking the quiet. Rather than being cowed, Haarlep steadily met his searching eyes with a challenging look of their own, daring him to do something less predictable than torture. Finally coming to a decision, Raphael spoke up once more, "In fact, I have a most generous proposal: paint for me what I desire, whenever I so wish, and I will magnanimously turn the other cheek in regards to this flagrant treachery. I'll even let you keep whatever quaint little deal you two have, since it apparently keeps you from petty, wanton destruction so well."
Haarlep let a teasing grin pull at their lips, surprised but pleased he had risen to their silent challenge, "Most generous, indeed, master."
And so Haarlep gained yet another activity to fill their days: Raphael disliked how bare the walls of the House were, so Haarlep was to forever immortalize his achievements in oils and canvas. As a first test, they were bid to paint still lifes of his oldest debtors still in possession of a physical form. The incubus gleefully plucked worn skulls right off rickety, skeletal forms in order to lovingly arrange them in small tableaus before Haarlep's brand new easel on the Boudoir's balcony. They included vases of wilting flowers, guttering candles, putrefying fruits, and, on one adventurous occasion, a snake fully in the throes of rigor mortis. All things beautiful to behold at first that were unforgivingly fetid the more one looked, a vision of conquest and a word of warning to those who looked upon them. With disembodied moans filling the air and the tantalizing taste of despair lingering on their tongue, Haarlep imbued the endless suffering and hopelessness of the debtors into every languid stroke of their brush.
It wasn't often Raphael oversaw their progress on the paintings himself, busy on the Material Plane as he was, but he did make a point of observing their progress at least once or twice with each artwork. Being the sole object of attention while having to focus on painting was somewhat unnerving, but Haarlep wasn't one to quail under a voyeuristic eye, even if the activity wasn't as stimulating as they'd prefer. Less speaking with than speaking at the incubus, Raphael would fill the open air between them with idle musings or impassioned rants, seemingly using Haarlep as a sounding board to work through his thoughts. At first, they had endeavored to tune out Raphael's near-ceaseless, poetic prattle━ the cambion loved the sound of his own voice and nothing of true strategic value was ever said━ but somewhere along the way, they found themselves actually engaging. Slowly, the monologues evolved into a true conversation. The long-winded answers Raphael gave to their leading questions became a pleasant background noise as they worked, Haarlep's own speech a welcome break for their tired hands when they had been toiling for too long.
Even more surprising to the incubus than mere existence of their conversations was how much Haarlep had, in fact, begun to look forward to them. Perhaps it was because, unlike when he made use of their more carnal talents, Raphael only took most of what they said as probing, provocative banter, rather than every little thing that spilled from their mouth. In these quiet moments, the cambion actually made an effort to answer their questions and indulge their curiosity━ to an extent. He, as always, skillfully danced around explaining his plans and prospective contracts in full, instead expounding upon more personal topics such as opinions on poetry and plays and his own attempts thereof. Haarlep was hardly surprised to learn he fancied himself something of a bard, but there was still something endearing in how eager he was to recite original works to a willing audience all the same, enough that they hardly minded anymore how useless these talks would be to Mephistopheles. As such, they only poked a little fun at the embellished autobiography.
"Ever the humble devil, master," Haarlep said, tilting their head towards Raphael just enough to give him a knowing look as they drew the last swipe of varnish over their newest piece. The latest installment of his play was as amusing as the last━ a scene wherein he masterfully spun a web of concealed truths to ensnare his latest contract and ensure a firm foothold in the burgeoning mortal city recently dubbed Baldur's Gate.
"It smarts of false humility to downplay one's achievements." Raphael snipped back, laying a proprietary hand on the base of their neck as he leaned in to get a closer look at the painting, "As flawless as ever, Haarlep. For your next piece, I was thinking of something a little more… impressive."
Leaning back into the hand, they gave a facetious flutter of their eyelids, "My paintings aren't impressive, yet you still give them pride of place in the House? Such a soft, charming thing you are, dear master; I'd almost think you were trying to court me."
Pulling away with a disgruntled sneer, Raphael approached the balcony's railing to look out upon the jagged, ruinous mountains, "My dear, a politician could only hope to twist words the way you so masterfully do."
Having seen the beginning of an embarrassed blush on his crimson skin before he'd turned away, Haarlep simply laughed at his bluster. Raphael only deflected so obviously when they'd hit too close to the truth, after all. Knowing the cambion was finding similar fulfillment in their conversations lessened their own feelings of disquiet at how much they'd come to enjoy his presence. It was hardly something to be embarrassed by if they both felt the same, not that Haarlep would relieve Raphael of that harmless anxiety if he hadn't figured it out already. They weren't that nice, after all.
Raphael's trust in their competence solid, Haarlep moved on from simple still lifes to true portraiture. The traitorous, unlucky souls drawing Raphael's ire enough to be granted to the incubus as food were now given a second purpose in death: dressed in finery and posed like dolls, they were immortalized as warnings for those who sought means of outsmarting the devil. Haarlep would spend months perfecting expressions of doomed hubris, the arrogant set of self-conscious shoulders, all modeled after Raphael's own mannerisms; an inside joke just for the incubus. They were even given permission to shapeshift once more, if just for the express purpose of using their reflection as a reference once the real bodies decomposed past viability. With these added liberties, Raphael's lingering presence morphed from one or two times a piece to nearly every time they broke out the paints. Though it was almost certainly eating into his working time, the cambion would wile away the hours with Haarlep, their discourse verging on companionable banter rather than the tense, passive-aggressive arguing that had colored the beginning of their cohabitation.
Like clockwork, as soon as the smell of paint began to overshadow that of spent passions, Haarlep heard slow, deliberate footsteps approaching from behind. They allowed themselves to smile at how reliable his company had become, secure in the knowledge that he couldn't see the expression from his position. Ignoring the cambion in favor of blocking out shapes on the large canvas, Haarlep settled into the familiar rhythm of their work as they waited for Raphael to break the silence.
"Were you truly so eager to begin," he finally spoke, voice dry yet not harsh enough to disguise his own fond amusement, "that not one thought was spared towards even the sorry excuse for clothing you prefer?"
With the majority of their attention focused on the corpse posed before them, Haarlep barked out a laugh and replied, "Don't act like you aren't enjoying the show, Raphael; asceticism isn't a good look on you."
"And nothing is a good look on you, as you well know." Raphael bit back just as playfully, coming to a stop at their left shoulder. Out of the corner of their eye, Haarlep could see him cross his arms and turn his attention to the corpse as well, both parties ostensibly ignoring each other even as they stood close enough to share body heat.
Picking up a smaller brush to add more defined edges to the body, Haarlep chuckled, "Hm, well, in my expert opinion, you look rather good on me."
"Do I, now?" They knew Raphael's full attention was back on them, his golden stare a searing brand on the side of their face, tone losing most of its mirth as his sincerity bleed through. Raphael had always known Haarlep's placement within his House was less than voluntary on their part, how they'd resented the captivity despite it being their sworn duty as a spy of Mephistopheles to pretend otherwise.
Perhaps they had done too good of a job concealing how their feelings had changed beneath teasing flirtations. Perhaps they had played hard to get too much. Perhaps it was finally time to throw their cambion a bone.
Not too big of a bone, though━ they still weren't that nice, after all.
"You're an acquired taste, my dear Raphael, though certainly not the worst I've even had the pleasure of partaking in. I don't quite mind the stinging bite, anymore, when it's surrounded by your soft lips."