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Teddy has always considered this sort of thing—nobility—to be beneath him. It’s a waste of time. Everyone dressed up, drinking expensive wine. Gortash says these sort of dinners are important for gathering information, and Teddy has to agree that they’re excellent hunting grounds.
But Gortash always makes him wear itchy clothes with tight collars. The only benefit is how excited he gets taking them off later that night.
“You look pained my dearest,” Gortash mutters, “Certainly your jacket is not that tight.”
“It’s itchy,” Teddy frowns.
“You are the only person in the world who finds silk to be itchy. That jacket cost a small fortune.”
Teddys foster family hadn’t been rich, by any means, but he’d been well looked after. There’d been enough to eat, a bed to sleep in. He understands that Gortash’s need for the finer things stems from a childhood of poverty and his time under Raphael’s thumb.
So he does mostly indulge him.
“Do you see the man over there?” Gortash asks, smoothing Teddy’s collar while he talks. Gortash has mastered the noble born art of talking about someone without looking like that’s what you’re doing. Teddy doesn’t understand situations like these. “The elf? Wearing purple?”
Teddy's eyes scan the crowd until they settle on the man in question. He’s quite good at picking out people from among a group.
“Would you believe it if I told you he insulted me? Called me an urchin masquerading as a noble? That I didn’t belong here. Me, of all people. No one wears fine things so well as me. The only reason I am not of noble blood is the small tragedy of my parentage.”
“That’s true.”
“I believe he’s going to try to dig up some of my childhood,” Gortash glances at the elf who is engaged in a conversation with two women, “I don’t think that’s any of his business. Certainly not when I haven’t had the opportunity to bury that information appropriately.”
Teddy considers the best way to kill the elf. A knife would be quietest, but it might cause a scene if he’s discovered.
And Gortash won’t be happy with him if he gets blood all over his clothes. So that’s off the table. Apparently it’s difficult to get blood out of silk.
“So I thought you might enjoy taking care of him for me,” Gortash says, “Would you like that?”
“Very much. Oh, very much indeed.”
*****
“Is this your attack dog?” the elf says, laughing, as if this is some insult. Terry knows that he’s not exactly an imposing figure, he’s too slight, not that tall. But he also knows that when he’s covered in blood and his eyes are reflecting the moonlight, he looks more animal than human. People should be scared of him.
Teddy heaves the man to his feet and holds him over the railing. It had been almost easy to get this man up to the balcony. Actually it was almost boring. He might have to go lurk in the lower city tonight just to get the rest of this out of his system. Especially so he doesn’t slaughter gortash tonight.
“Yes,” Gortash replies casually, “And he bites.”
“Only when I’m asked nicely,” Teddy says, and with that, he tosses the man over the balcony. He hears a quiet splash from the water below.
“Did it kill him, do you think?” Gortash asks, glancing down.
“Yes. I used a bit of force to throw him. I believe he landed on the rocks before the water.”
“Thank you,” Gortash says, “Shall we go back inside?”
“In a minute,” Teddy tugs him forward, “Kiss me first.”
“Well I can never deny you that.”
“You are going to have to do something about your parents,” Teddy says, when they pull apart. If Gortash seriously wants to hold political power he's going to have to find a way to keep his parents from talking-- some way or another. Teddy personally votes for killing them, but Gortash refuses, and so he doesn't do it. The very first time that Gortash had confessed about his life in the House of Hope, Teddy had been so angry that he'd stalked the streets for five hours, and he's almost certain he put such a dent in the underworld population that the Flaming Fists had to look into it. But then he'd come back home, and listened while Gortash talked, and held him, and talked softly, and felt almost like a real person, capable of love and affection. He promised that he'd never let anything like that happen again. He means to make good on that promise.
“I know,” Gortash shakes his head, “But what? I don’t want to kill them. I just- I don’t know what I want. I want to kill Raphael, I think.”
“I told you I’d do that, you just have to say the word.”
“I think it’s more complicated than that my dearest,” Gortash sighs, “And he is a devil. Do you think you could kill a devil?”
Teddy thinks he could kill anything and everything if Gortash asked him to. Gods, devils-- anything. He can’t kill the one person his father asks him to-- the man in front of him-- but Gortash need only say the word and Teddy will burn down the entire world for him.
No wonder his father is so disappointed in him.
*****
When the devil reveals himself, presents his offer, to Theodore and his companions, there is a surge of anger that ripples through him, and Theodore has no idea why. It’s not like the strange, violent urge that lurks in him-- whatever had caused him to kill that bard-- but it’s deep, real, hatred. He’s never seen this devil before in his life-- or perhaps he has. He can’t remember anything. But certainly Raphael would have mentioned it if they’d met before.
All he knows is he has no interest in making a deal with a devil. He has enough to handle with his newfound butler, the tadpole in his head, and whatever the fuck the Absolute is. He doesn’t need to sign away his soul.
When he tells Rapahel he’s looking forward to ripping out his mocking tongue he finds he really means it. He knows, deep down, that this isn't the first time he’s thought about killing this devil.
He’s going to do it one day. For whatever-- or whoever-- has made him so angry at him.
“I, for one, have no desire to make a deal with any devil,” Astarion says when they’re back at camp. Theodore pokes at the fire, “Especially one so… what’s a good word?”
“Obnoxious?” Shadowheart suggests.
“Gaudy?” Theodore suggests.
"Stupid," Lae'zel says.
“Arrogant,” Astarion decides, “I’ve quite enough of arrogant monsters.”
“I want to kill him,” Theodore says softly, so only Shadowheart can hear. He usually only confides about his missing memory with her, because he thinks she understands it best, “But I don’t know why.”
“Have you ever seen him before?” she asks.
Theodore shakes his head, “I don’t think so. I don’t know. But all I know is I hate him.”