The early mornings were never a kind thing to a man who had spent the night drinking. Any amount of light that managed to peak its head into the darkened room of such a man was liable to cause a surprising amount of pain and discomfort. The very act of moving in the wrong direction elicited a response from the Breton not akin to an ox with a nail in its hoof trying to walk. With great effort, the Breton managed to raise himself into a sitting position, cradling his head in his hands as he felt like his stomach was trying to wrestle itself out of him. He rubbed his eyes in small circles, tracing a ring of skull around the soft orbs in his head, which oddly made him feel a little better. His mind drifted to Vendel, wondering how he was holding up. He gained his answer when he heard yelling from down the hall that felt like whoever was doing it was instead punching his eardrums with an iron cestus. He let the yelling go on, thinking it might subside in a few moments, but he grew angry as it dragged on and on. He quickly rose to his feet, grabbing his dagger and poking his head out into the hallway to catch the full brunt of the blunt-force yelling match being held in the narrow space of the hall that the doors to all six rooms were attached to.
	
Francis’s squinty eyes squinted a bit more and a corner of his mouth raised in contempt at the obnoxious racket. It turned out a tenant refused to pay for his room yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. The man had apparently swindled his way through three days of free lodging and was now arguing over whether he could stay for one more day after the fact. Francis was about to leave his room, dagger in hand before he saw Vendel’s large frame loom into view. The broad-shouldered Nord pushed past the small crowd that had gathered around to watch the duel of raised voices. Needless to say, the noise quieted down when they saw the long-haired barbarian with angrily heaving shoulders staring daggers at the swindling patron. An outstretched Nordic hand wrapped its callused fingers around a Cyrod throat and the two disappeared behind the slammed door. Nothing could be heard for a few moments, and Francis remembered that choking a man to death could be surprisingly quiet. Thankfully, Vendel returned with four days’ worth of Septims and shoved it into the Tavern owner’s chest.
	
“More for us inside. Our friend tells me that he’s overladen with gold and simply must find someone to give it all to. Naturally, I nominated us as the recipients and he happily agreed” Vendel smiled at Francis’s smile before turning his head to the gracious man, “Did you not, friend?”
	
A simple nod from the man and Francis clapped Vendel on the shoulder before disappearing back in his room with a mockingly courteous bow to the gentleman. From his silks and splendor, Francis could guess he was a merchant. A good one. With coin. Lots of it.

============

Francis stepped out of his room feeling just a small bit better. He’d stepped down the stairs with no simple amount of care before plopping himself down in a chair next to Vendel and ordering a water. He was a bit surprised to find that the tavern owner would give them whatever they wanted for a bit of a discount. Francis nodded as he knocked back the liquid and wiped his mouth with a sleeve. He would be ready to search once again for Elayna and her friends once he was over the hangover he had been weathering for the majority of the morning.

“How many septims, my boy?” Francis asked, rubbing his eyes and taking a breath.

“Not enough. A lot, but not enough. We’ll be able to pay for our rooms here for a while, maybe afford a few drinks every other night. Nothing too grand, so let’s not depend on it too much, friend.” Vendel said, taking a gulp of mead, likely bought with their newly acquired funds.

“We’ll have to find a steady income then, my friend. We’ve already tried performing and it ended with us fighting some Dunmer bastard.” Francis snorted.

“I’m not one for menial labor, Vendel.” Francis grumbled.

“Neither am I.” Vendel agreed, taking a gulp of mead.

“Do you ever reach a point where you say to yourself, ‘I should stop drinking?’” Francis asked, looking at his friend.

“I did, last night, but it isn’t last night anymore, is it?” Vendel said before swallowing the last of the mead in his flagon.

“You are quite the man, Vendel.”

“Thank you.”

Francis nodded as he watched his friend place both hands on the counter and let out a loud belch. Being in the tavern made him miss home in Wayrest, as gritty of a town as it was, it was his town- his home. Francis looked about the tavern, wooden walls and a bead door at the entrance were the only thing keeping the outside outside. Sparse decoration, save for the fireplace of intricately carved sandstone, floor cushions and low tables for anyone looking to sit and chat, the bar for anyone looking to sit and drink. There was an unsurprising amount of people inside today, as is to be expected of a tavern in the morning, where the patrons were either still in their rooms or leaving hungover. This place wasn’t too different from the taverns he knew in Wayrest, perhaps not as violent but he could get used to that. He remembered one day in the [i]Dancing Dragon[/i] where he and his sister lived. A hedge knight had stopped at the tavern and bought a round for everyone and a room for him and his three mates, who looked to be his squire and two deserters from some army.

When Francis asked this man how he had earned all of the gold he had, because Francis knew it was definitely not made from the man’s time in whatever army he came from, the hedge knight simply told him that he had made it from holding a Pas d’Armes outside on the main road to Wayrest. He’d bested sellsword, hedge knight, brigand and baron alike and taken a portion of their gold for losing to him. The bandits, well, he had to kill, obviously. The sellswords, hedge knights and minor noble’s sons all gave him his due. Francis perked up with wide eyes and open mouth remembering that hedge knight.

“Vendel, I know how we can make a fair bit of gold.” Francis beamed.

“Oh?” Vendel asked, his eyebrows raised, waiting for the next half-baked plan out of his friend’s mouth.

“First, though, we need to go to the brothel.” Francis said, holding a finger up.

“Francis, what is the meaning of this? I may be handsome but I am not going to-”

“No, you idiot. We are in need of a damsel for any brave combatant to save.”

“I’m not following, friend.” Vendel said.

“All will be explained in due time, Vendel,” Francis said, bringing a small coinpurse into the air and back into his palm, “In due time.”