Because Wednesdays are the busiest day of my weeks ^^;
Exciting things happening with Plots & Prosody! Chapter 23 will feature Raphael's reaction to finding more of the bits and things Evie left for him to find around his office. Shouldn't have left the fox unsupervised~
And I am working on a short side story for Prosody that will take place post-game (Raph has the crown but has not yet taken over Avernus). Raphael goes with Evie one day to check on her tribe of fishies in the Underdark, but oops, by way of a found cursed artifact that is offered to her, Raphael finds himself swapping bodies with Pooldripp, Evie's Kuo-Toa high priest. There's a way to fix it but Pooldripp's feeling a bit more confident...more dapper in this new devilish body he's found himself in. After getting a bit of a taste of the infernal power and finery now at his fingertips as an archduke of the Hells, Pooldripp's decided he doesn't wanna swap back. This new body will let him worship Evie, his glorious fluffy sunbeam, all the more devoutly!
And all the while, Raphael is having an existential crisis in the body of a Kuo-Toa. He will have to work together with Evie (who's trying so hard not to panic while secretly managing Raphael's affairs for him in the meanwhile) to get back to normal lest all of that hard work over the past millennia be for naught! His biggest saving grace is that Evie actually likes him and would prefer him to be back in his proper body. Many shenanigans ensue.
This will most likely be posted separately from Prosody on AO3, so keep an eye out! This fever dream is brought to you by my cursed knowledge that Raphael and Pooldripp are both voiced by Mr. Wincott. :]
I hope others can see my vision lmao
Raphael sat stiffly at the broad, polished table, each slip of paper arrayed before him like scattered game pieces.
He had scoured the room, frustration spurring anger each time another folded fragment had revealed itself. Yet he'd persisted, meticulously combing through the shelves, slipping fingertips between leather-bound volumes and beneath crystal paperweights—effort more commonly owed to sweeping a sensitive space for spying spells, curses, and hexes. One was nestled among a row of dense infernal contracts, another more brazenly propped against a bronze and bone hourglass. Had she counted the seconds and minutes he had left her alone? Or perhaps an invitation for him to measure out the time wasted seeking her hidden whimsies.
“‘All mimsy were the borogroves,’” he muttered, his lip curling with disdain even as he felt the sharp hook of fascination catch on his flesh. Utter nonsense, surely? And yet...there was an urge to cross reference it against various lexicons to be safe. Would she embed veiled meaning into the bits of her left behind?
