PRETTY BOY.

          “ IS THERE A DIFFERENCE? ” as if how pointed his voice becomes is a compensation for where the receded, pallid gumline the color returns, the flesh relaxes, for where between the sharp pronunciation of his consonants the tell-tale signs of his affliction seem to nearly vanish entirely. it seeps towards the rest of him in equal slowness, as diffusing ink in water — how visible it is that the skin returns to flush, the razor’s edge of where skin stretches tight against bone as a canvas on its frame rounding itself out to a healthy complexion.            “ you see, ” vicente continues, gentle tone in stark contrast to iron grip, “ he has never really been the sort who has many friends, especially not ones he sees more as meals. you can pardon me if i find myself a bit skeptical.  then again, perhaps it would have made sense, then, why he seems to have failed to mention anything about you. you must understand my concern. ”           no, there’s really no time for ‘later.’ the spike of concern ( for jak? no, it had to be for the rest of them -) feels like metal in his chest. the pressure of it all only superheats it.            “ you still have the daylight hours, for now. it would probably be better we get this over with sooner rather than later. after all, we do have a mutual acquaintance. ” a nod of the head to the corpse below - “ he won’t be going anywhere soon, either, but perhaps this is better suited elsewhere. if you plan on leaving, rest assured, i do have time, but it’s much easier for us both to stay put. ”

        THERE’S NO HIDING THE FEAR NOW. the way his body lightly quivers, the breathing he’s struggling to keep steady. at the nod to the corpse he gasps, imagining his own body in lieu of the man’s, a burned hand unwillingly moving to cover his mouth. it’s a moment before he can will himself to speak again, regaining enough of his wit about him to begin to formulate words.

              ‘  no, no, of course, good sir. i understand, of course, i really do-- i’m not sure how to prove it, you see--  ’ he stumbles over his own words, as careless as a dumb & dumbfounded child. ‘  i could tell you one of his stories? he told me of when he was turned- in a place called taren’s crypt, of when he was a graverobber, ambushed-  ’

              val wonders if the other is able to hear just how loudly his heart beats, threatening to flutter out of his chest at any moment.

          “ THERE’S NO REASON why you still can’t. ” he speaks more suddenly than he realizes, the though spilling out unbidden like an overflowing goblet. it’s quick, like a halting, like an arm outstretched, like the snapping of a trap — the question of who the prey truly was, however, keeps its answer elusive as if to mock the nature of its options. oh, countless times he’s run into strangers in the night ( and some of them with far better outcomes, ) but in this there’s a caveat previously unaccounted for:                                                          that this isn’t an ordinary thief.            it’s not the cowl that takes him off guard. a bit, perhaps ( he’d not assumed the gray fox to be mer, but that’s awfully presumptuous, ) but vicente has too much experience with what ought not to exist. it’s shocking, and it’s not expected in the least, but it doesn’t cause the reaction looking down necessarily does.            “ if there’s any sort of problem being caught, at least for this short while, rest assured that can be easily dealt with, ” he says, the smile sudden, “ but it’s better advice to keep for a more appropriate time, hm? ”           for a moment, the corpse ( still needing to be processed, still around three bottles left in it, he’d wager, ) is left forgotten, and focus is on the nearly predatory way his idle pacing comes round to the thief’s back, gaze never breaking as it clouds from rose and white to something muddier, higher contrasted, almost green-and-black as life floods back. the hand, come to rest gently on valirenn’s shoulder in an overfriendly gesture, is almost hot through its glove.            “ feel free to introduce yourself. i know this isn’t the most convenient of meetings, ” the assassin lilts, a bit too chipper, “ but i would love to know how you know jak. ”

        SOMETHING TWIRLS DOWN HIS SPINE,   an  instinctive  shrug  of  his  shoulder  to  get  whatever  sun  had  settled  onto  his  arm  off .   what  a  strange  mix  of  abject  warmth    &   frigidness ,    that  chilling  display  of  joy ,   that  heat  radiating  off  of  his  body .   valirenn  realizes  this  all  must  have  been  one  very ,   very ,   grave  mistake .

      ‘  jakben ? ‘   he  asks ,   voice  unwillingly  wavering  in  the  face  of  such  great  anxiety .   ‘  or  are  we  talking  about  the  real  jak ?    he’s  a  friend .  ‘    valirenn  does  not  carry  sword  nor  dagger ,   instead  armed  with  nothing  but  his  wit .   if  the  need  arises  he  can  see  how  easily  this  man  would  end  him--   how  he’d  be  left  like  the  body  below ,    nothing  more  than  fodder  for  some  creature  beyond  such  petty  things  as  morals !

          IT HAD BEEN A POINT OF CONTENTION A FEW CENTURIES AGO, if he’s being honest. something about lacking finesse, lacking subtlety — he’d argued to the point of something about getting the job done properly and the issue would fall flat. centuries later, very little has changed. or, to put it simply: perhaps vicente has never been keen on expending more effort than absolutely necessary. perhaps he’s simply stubborn. that he still lives and that the man does not wake when he catches the edge of the door quickly with outsretched hand before it clatters on its hinges : these he points to as proof of the method.           then, had he been aware of the company, he may have taken more care initially — it isn’t as if it happens often. frozen figure illuminated by the shafts of moonslight where decadent curtains part, popped jewelry boxes serving as telltale signs of a purpose. it’s a rare occasion, sure, but it’s a lovely cover when it happens — disappeared homeowners with their property looted speak of burglary gone terribly wrong, and if the thieves get paid, well, it’s really none of his business.            and that this one would stop before inevitably turning tail, that this one would have half of a clue what was going on and have the gall to let his other half be friendly about it! two hundred years in the business and it seems vicente can still muster the effort to be surprised. with the way he blinks — rapid, sudden, and too obvious in the way his bloodshot eyes catch the light and reflect it doubly bright — perhaps there was a case to be made for his lacking subtlety after all.           call it an echo of that strange amiability; the tilt of the head as a half-bow of greeting. in fluid motion he steps forward, heavy wood swung backwards with a flick of the wrist and a too-loud click of the door in its jam. the tip of the head towards the windows is his first indication. for fear he’s not been clear, he gives a second; with a gentle smile and freakish strength that does not match his frame, a motion of his hand high on its hilt waves the edge of his blade — outstretched now as an extension of the arm — in the same direction as his head : leave, it says by glint of silver in moonlight, before this gets messy.           the quiet where the doomed man’s snores once were indicates that it’s perhaps too late for that.

            valirenn returns the half bow, nodding in understanding & perhaps awe of the fluid way this man gestures with his sword. truly an extension of the self. but he must reject this humble proposition for escape as he signals to the quite impressive armoire, simply dangling with jewels & fur-lined robes. he can’t afford to leave quite yet. later the house would be swarming with guards & mourners & valirenn can’t risk getting caught in that web.

             he smiles, holds up a finger in some half-hearted plea for a second more, & dashes over to the wardrobe. he starts stuffing all he can into his satchel, packing it full with obnoxious displays of wealth. once it’s at capacity, he turns back to the killer & extends a hand. he dares to break the silence with a barely voiced whisper. 

“I will not cower like a child!” he spat, refusing to let the rocks block his robes.

These men would know who he was, and they would face him as such or they would die. He pushed past his pesky shadow, intent on revealing himself before the saw him, but he was yanked by his sleeve - an annoying nod to how they first met.

“Vali-” but any protest died around the same time Valirenn’s lips slammed into his.

A moment passed where he was frozen, eyes wide and body stiff and totally unmoving. In that moment, the Stormcloaks passed - a snicker under one’s breath. And then Ondolemar shoved Valirenn away from him.

For a moment he only fumbled dumbly for words - trying to will the scarlet burn in his cheeks to turn to anger. But he could only splutter - the feeling of lips against his scorched into his memory.

“Why-?”

        VALIRENN FUMBLES FOR BALANCE ,    managing to steady himself against a tree against the force of ondolemar’s shove .  the untouched side of his face boasts a similar red ,    the mark of one still so sheepish with his affections .    he wipes his lips with the back of his sleeve in the interest of appearing like he didn’t enjoy the kiss ,   and waits until the stormcloaks are out of ear - shot to reply .

His lip curled, distaste evident on his features as two long steps brought him to the mer. A hand snatched his sleeve, yanking him into a standing position so that they were more or less eye-to-eye. Ondolemar elected to ignore that the other had at least two inches on him. 

“Fool,” he hissed, spinning on his heel and dragging the elf behind him. “Have you no idea where you are? This is Skyrim, boy, not the isles - show some dignity.”

VALIRENN LAUGHS ,    attempting  to  shrug  off  ondo’s  hold  on  him .    the  sleeve  that  pulls  him  along  is  mentally  damned ,    as  he  attempts  to  calculate  a  way  out .   would  this  thalmor  really  jail  him ?    would  he  risk  the  common  criminals  of  skyrim  knowing  how  a  precious  altmer  could  fall ?    he  keeps  up  his  smirk ,   a  slight  bounce  in  his  step  as  he  allows  himself  to  be  dragged  along .

              he  was  careful  as  he  flitted  through  the  house ,   collecting  trinkets  here  or  there ,   his  satchel  near  overflowing  as  he  reached  the  bedroom .    he  used  the  man’s  own  snores  as  cover ,    making  his  way  to  the  wardrobe .    it  was  only  then  he  heard  the  distinct  sound  of  something  coming  up  the  stairs ,    &   all  too  quickly ,   the  door  flew  open .    valirenn  stared  at  the  stranger  for  only  a  moment  before  noticing  the  corpse - like  visage ,  the  dark  clothes ,   the  claymore  at  his  hand .

           a  fellow  outlaw .   a  criminal .   now  to  decide  if  he  was  friendly  or  not .

           awkwardly ,    yet  with  great  care ,   valirenn  motions  in  a  pitiful  half - wave ,   a  suggestion  of  a  smile  on  his  lips .    he  points  to  vicente’s  sword ,   then  to  the  man ,   drags  his  finger  across  his  neck ,   &  shrugs ,   his  way  of  asking  if  he  was  to  murder  the  sleeping  man .   

              how  comforting  it  is  then ,   when  he  sees  him .    to  know  of  another  elf  gnawed  by  the  crooked  teeth  of  fate    &   spit  out  still  breathing .    the  scar  across  the  dunmer’s  cheek ,   mirroring  his  own .   the  mangled  arm  still  persisting  despite  its  withered  appearance .    it  is  then  that  valirenn  stops  tracing  his  own  wounds ,   &  instead  smiles ,   deciding  to  approach  the  dark  elf . 

      ‘  i’m  new  to  windhelm ,  ‘    he  says ,   shivering  somewhat  in  the  biting  cold .     ‘  my  name  is  valirenn .   i  was  told  you  were  a  healer ?  ‘

                 ‘ IMPLYING I OWE YOU ANYTHING AT ALL !  ‘    he  laughs ,    altmeri  easily  rolling  off  his  tongue .    he  notices  the  slight  twang  of  the  mage’s  voice ,   &   decides  to  play  up  his  own  coastal  accent ,   hoping  it  will  inspire  some  form  of  trust .     though  with  his  appearance ,   &   hulkynd  status ,   still  masked  by  a  large  hooded  robe   &   the  careful  placement  of  his  hair ,   he  remains  safe  for  now .    he  perches  happily  on  a  chair  in  the  lobby  of  the  newly  formed  mage’s  guild ,   giddy  to  be  back  in  firsthold ,    &   returns  to  bartering .     ‘  you’ve  said  this  is  a  place  where  one  can  find  magic  trinkets .   i  wanna  buy  one .   i’d  think  the  concept  is  rather  simple !  ‘