Hide in plain sight.

“Is that some sort of Bosmeri joke? I’m not having you follow me about like a rotten mutt. This is Thalmor business, and if you have any concept of respect in that shrunken, malformed head of yours you would leave, immediately.”

He scowled, thoroughly unimpressed with the persistent rodent halting him from his duties.

          Shrunken, malformed head.

          Did Aicerion have a list of different ways he could           possibly insult Alligal? They were definitely getting           moreout there, and certainly working.

          Alligal, however, like a stubborn dog, stayed where           he stood, grumbling.

It was that bad.

Aicerion could smell the overbearing stench of ale and sweat, the retch-inducing belches of drunken patrons, watching Alligal slam his tankard down onto the table, his sensitive hearing jarred as his gaze slid closed in a desperate effort to escape the problem at hand.

“I would like you to know that truly, if it came to it, I would not spare a moment’s hesitation to bury you alive under the floor of this wretched place.”

Loathe he was to admit, but Alligal had a point made. Aicerion’s duties as a spy kept him from throttling the bastard.

          “R... Right. Let’s not do that, yeah?” Alligal wheezed,           drooping, shifting in his seat. He had looked around at           his surroundings, observing the people in their drunken           states, before gazing back at Aicerion, chuckling.

     he shouldn’t,  but he did, anyways.       fingers twitched around the handle of the mace       when questioned, an abhorrent bloodlust clouding       his mind. for the sake of everyone, it passed——       the dunmer would turn on his heel, gritting his teeth.

      “oh. i didn’t.”  his grin was harsh. “but it wasn’t appreciated.        although, i’ve never had a chance to see it for myself.”

          There was undoubtedly a certain air about this man.           The way he had grinned at the Bosmer was unnerving           at best, and Alligal had not failed to notice the twitchy           fingers by the man’s weapon. But like most criminals in           Riften, shady figures were hardly anything new to see.           If anything, it was an opportunity.

          “Relax! Ain’t that bad!”

          Alligal had plopped himself down on the           wooden chair, stretching his legs as he           slammed the tankard down in front of           Aicerion, harsh enough to be heard among           the loud voices in the tavern.

Aicerion was repulsed by the gesture, fighting the urge to set the sorry creature on fire, have him sit and burn like kindling. But he refrained, offering Alligal a heartless scowl instead.

“Could it be perhaps that I am patrolling? As most Justiciars in Skyrim do? Move along, you are interfering with official Thalmor business. Any hindrance further on and I will be forced to kill you where you stand.”

Though it did not feel forced, Aicerion reveling quietly in the idea of such an opportunity.

          Alligal had simply pouted at the comment, having           hoped that he'd have caught Aicerion in a better           mood --- although he certainly had to wonder when           that had ever been the case.

Starter call :; @dolose

“Ah. For each time I feel as if I had rid myself of you, you spawn right back up. Like mould, or a disease.”

Aicerion had looked down his nose at the thief, seeing little more than a rat with long hair and a wavering stride, irked by the mere presence of the Bosmer.

“Tell me, do you take pleasure in finding me?”

          It would be a lie to say that Aicerion didn’t feel           intimidating each time Alligal saw him. It was           his presence, his height; the way Aicerion looked           down at Alligal with a gaze colder than the undead.           Yet, Alligal’s gaze had warmed, smiling as he           greeted the man in front of him.

ALLIGAL IVYBLOOM; CONT. FROM HERE

   “MHM. Exactly as it should be.” So the elf was a WITTY thief, too; not that Svenntir should have been surprised, for most thieves did certainly possess some level of wit. Was that not how they became THIEVES in the first place? The plated warrior did not care to think on it, in truth, as he crossed his armored arms over his chest in DISAPPROVAL.

“DO you know what happens to BAD thieves where I am from, elf? They lose the hand that they stole with.”

          “Oh, really?” Alligal grinned. “Where I’m from,            bad thieves get their rings taken away from            their hands. And then we steal new ones.”