bad habits rose to fashion

“You could start by standing right there and waiting for a moment.” Her attention was on the injured man, trying to encourage him to let her see the wound. She was no healer, but the only other ones in the inn other than the two mer were the innkeeper and an old man whose mind did not seem entirely there.

After she had a look, she frowned and turned toward the other Bosmer. “I am going to need some water and a clean rag. If you want to help, go ask the innkeeper for those, as well as some bandages.”

He approached the inkeeper, demanding a rag, which he was handed. “...And some clean water, too,” he added, though he had doubts about how clean the water would actually be. A nearly empty inn had to be empty for a reason. The innkeeper left for a moment and returned with a jug, full of slightly dirty water, just as he thought. Maedis returned to the other mer’s side, and slid the items her way. 

“Can you hear your people cry?”

“I have nothing I can give but this chance that you may live.”

“Sleep and remember my last lullaby.”

“How would you like to see your face carved on a wall?”

“You don’t suppose we’ll get in trouble for this?”

“But one weak link can break the chain of a mighty dynasty!”

“Why is that whenever you start something I’m the one who ends up in trouble?”

“Don’t worry, nobody will even notice us coming in.”

“Are you going to let her talk to you like that?”

“But I am showing you all the respect you deserve – none!”

“Do you want us flogged?”

“I knew you cared about our freedom.”

“They never told you?”

“You will regret this night.”

“Surely this is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Tell me you didn’t do this.”

“They were only slaves.”

“Is this where you found me?”

“Now you know the truth love, now forget and be content.”

“Fate has turned our little misadventure into a great opportunity.”

“You saw what happened, I just killed a man!”

“Nothing you say can change what I’ve done.”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

“Aren’t these your camels?”

“That’s why Papa says she’ll never get married.”

“I’ve done nothing in my life worth honoring.”

“Dance with me!”

“What do you want with me?”

“You’ve chosen the wrong messenger.”

“What on earth are you dressed as?”

“So you have returned only to free them.”

“Or is it thanks… to you?”

“How does it feel when you get struck to the ground?”

“I didn’t see because I did not wish to see.”

“Still gnawing at that bone, are we?”

“It’s… blood.”

“Until you break, until you yield.”

“This was my home.”

“How could you have come to hate me so?”

“Something else is coming, something much worse than anything before.”

“And I think it’s time I finished the job.”

“You bring this upon yourself.”

“Though hope is frail, it’s hard to kill.”

“Now I’m standing here, my heart so full I can’t explain.”

“Don’t just stand there; kill them!”

“Kill them all!”

Lleryn made a sound of gruff acknowledgement, only affording Maedis’ scar a brief glance. “They’re s’wits to anyone,” he muttered, refilling the Bosmer’s bowl. “I would much rather argue with an ice wolf than with one of the Stormcloaks. An ice wolf’s got a sharper mouth, but fewer people ask questions if you skin one.”

He sat back a little, vindictive half-grin still lingering as he stretched his stiff shoulders. After a moment he grew serious again, and keeping his eyes on the fire, said: “I trust this “job” you came here for did not involve the Quarter? There are many who have conspired in the past to make sure various…misfortunes befall us. We are increasingly unwelcome and our hosts are well-connected indeed.”

Maedis snorted at the analogy, accepting the refill with a nod of thanks. He’d spooned some into his mouth during Lleryn’s next question, and had to swallow before answering.

Lleryn gave a snort at this remark, lip curling in a humourless half-smile as he rested his bowl upon his lap. How precious. “Did you come here expecting sun and sand? Saints, thief-boy, it’s news to no one. I have known this icebound midden for decades, and complaining about it won’t make you much warmer.” With one long-fingered hand he loosened the row of buckles along his right boot, gradually working his leg free with a light grunt. In the warmth of the fire he retied the trailing footwrap, pausing to stretch out long, bony toes that had been numb all day.

“I certainly do not live here by choice, if that is what you wish to ask me without sounding too interested. I live here because like most of the Grey Quarter I fought hard to be here. Some of us crossed the mountains together, and have seen things that have damaged us irreparably. We…function better if we are still amongst our brethren. Besides, holding onto our hard-gotten houses in this city seems to be another netch-barb in Ulfric’s behind, which is all the better.” Lleryn extended his leg a moment, feeling the tightness of cramped muscles and inwardly cursing the decline of his flexibility. While he was technically still able to sink himself down with his legs splitways if the need ever happened to arise, every harsh winter seemed to bring yet more stiffness to his sinews. What he needed was an almost-boiling bath, and some fine stoneflower oils to ease knotted muscle…but of course, a mer needed gold for that. Gold that kept finding new ways to slip from his fingers all the time, including via young Bosmer thief.

Lleryn picked up his spoon again to pensively ladle more stew into his mouth. “I’d imagine the roads of Skyrim are full of wolves and bears and soldiers at this time of year, anyway. One has to wonder why a mer would brave them to try his luck with Windhelm’s frosty pockets.”

Maedis scooted closer to the fire, listening to Lleryn speak. To be honest, he had never given much thought to the Gray Quarter. Or any city beyond Riften. He preferred to have less things to worry about. He had known that the dunmer refugees existed, but knowing that he was taking to one was...odd. He didn’t quite know what to do with that information.

He’d heard a lot about Ulfric, however. The slightest smile appeared when Lleryn mentioned how the presence of mer in his city bothered him, but Maedis kept his face in check. He finished off the last of his stew.

The hall of the dead was a rather humdrum venue, but she had to admit it possessed a certain degree of eerie charm for their meeting. Perhaps it was actually a bit too much, too ominous for a simple meeting between potential associates, but the perfect site for something just slightly more nefarious. Maybe, if she was lucky, they would turn out to be an assassin of some sort.

Narcisse was not a woman to be late by matter of accident, nor did she allow herself to be lured into secret meetings with naught but an uncertain offering from an uncertain identity. Fortunately, she had her means of researching this mystery contact. Nothing was ever truly a secret, after all, not when there were eyes and ears everywhere. One only needed to know who and what to ask.

They had promised information on Guild activity, a tantalizing offer if it was one made in earnest. Skyrim’s foremost crime syndicate had more fingers in it than it had fruit to be plucked, but insight into their operations was doubly valuable if one learned to read into their motivations and the demands of their backers. She did not doubt she could put this informant to good use, even if their business proposition was dubious at best.

As much as one could, she tried to keep her hands clean of the drug business on principle. The skooma trade was beneath her reputation, and ordinarily any pleas to her to aid in moving such cargo would have gone ignored, but this little affair, she had to admit, had caught her interest. A little guild-mouse trying to make something extra by inserting themselves in the jungle of drug trafficking? She had to admire their enterprising nature, if not their smarts.

Speaking of which. Her presumed contact came into view as she wound about the corner, though she kept herself carefully cloaked in invisibility. Sight, sound, and even the scent of perfume were obscured as she approached, drawing her weapon and loading a bolt in total silence.

“Now you’re dead,” the woman assessed in a lighthearted, sing-song tone. Her spell fading, she appeared before the elf with a gray cowl pulled over her visage, her weapon trained on his chest. After a moment, however, the crossbow was lowered. “And I’m woefully unimpressed. Not the most glowing of first-impressions, dear, but I’m sure you’ll sway me with this wonderful proposal of yours. At least, I do hope so, for both our sakes.”

“What the-” he started, taking a step back and backing up into the wall. Had he gotten this all wrong? Maedis hadn’t expected a crossbow in his face from this meeting. For a fleeting moment, he began to think the Guild was a step ahead of him, and his stomach dropped- but then the woman lowered the crossbow. 

So, she had just been messing with him. But Maedis couldn’t help the twinge of irritation at her jab.

“So, a glowing first impression is t’ wave around my fucking bow like I’m in the Brotherhood?” He snarled, a slight Nordic accent apparent in his voice. He normally tried to suppress it, but he couldn’t help it when he was angry. Maedis lifted up the hand that held the papers full of the information he promised. “I thought we had a deal that didn’t involve someone getting killed,” he said sharply.

“I had to risk my ass to get this information. The Guild isn’t the nicest to traitors, and I want to keep this quiet. So if you can give me some contacts, you get these papers.” He unrolled one to show her that there was, in fact, writing on them, and that they weren’t bullshit. Some of the papers were barely even worth a glance, but there was for sure some valuable pieces of information in there. All he had to do was to pass them all off as worth her time.

Frankly, a lot of the shit written on there he didn’t even understand. But that had to be good. “These were locked away tight.” It had certainly been a pain in the ass to unlock the strongbox that held the papers. “There’s even some unopened letters here. Sealed with family crests. Probably intercepted. I even stole a few of these myself,” he remarked, noticing this for the first time. He certainly did recognize one or two letters that he’d been tasked with taking from a courier.