Jubilations and Reprieve
4th Midyear, 4E208CE
Three Crowns Inn, Conference Room…
A spoon rang out against a glass in the domed room, where the companions were gathered, milling about wondering what the note they had found on their beds was about. It read, in urgent lettering,
HEAD TO THE CONFERENCE ROOM IMMEDIATELY; THERE IS NO TIME TO EXPLAIN, and true to its prose, absolutely no elaboration was made. Other than the oil lamp lighting in the room, there was little to suggest what it could have been about. As the last of the group finally made their appearance, Daro’Vasora made her appearance from a side entrance holding the glass, dressed in a red and black dress without shoes, electing to let her bare feet touch the warm tile.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to face an uncomfortable truth; you’re all a bunch of tight-asses and probably haven’t relaxed since we landed in Gilane. So, in light of this urgent matter, Latro and I have agreed that we were in dire need of a course correction.” Setting the glass down, she clapped her hands and through a curtain came a number of catering staff, bringing out all manner of drinks and food, from ales and rums to fine wines and cheap grog, lobster and trout, salmon and oysters, cheese and breads, fresh fruits, nuts and dates, and an entire cooked pig. Some pastries existed for desert, such as baklava and pudding, but the main attraction was certainly the amount of chilled liquor sitting on frost salts. Daro’Vasora smiled at the staff and thanked them as they filed out of the room, she clapped her hands together, picking up her glass and filling it with a champagne and began to hand it out, repeating the process for each person in attendance.
“I know things have been tense since we got here, and especially after our assignments turned into a shit show that have us all on edge… Calen, I’m glad to see you’re on your feet again, this one’s for you. At least you’ll have some inspiration for a new song, eh?” the Khajiit said with a wink. Calen gestured back to her with a wink of his own and raising the glass of champagne she had just filled for him. Her expression softened as she looked each member of her group in the eyes, seeing how much so many of them had changed in such a short amount of time. “For those of you wondering how such a banquet and feast is possible, well, let’s just say I’ve spent time with our dear Poncy Man and maybe made him have a change of heart about us. We’ve been through a lot, and we are strangers to his land who were asked to do extraordinary things at great risk to ourselves. I might have suggested that helping sponsor a night such as this might be beneficial for all of us in the long run, and well, you see the fruits of that particular talk.” Daro’Vasora said, sweeping an arm across the tables and everything within them.
“You know, it’s been an incredible journey, and for the new faces in the room, I’m glad you’re here with us, and I hope you’ve felt welcomed. So many of us have been together since an ill-fated expedition in the Jerall Mountains where we were hired on by Rhea Valerius, a woman who was so full of excitement for the world and the people in it, she did everything in her power to keep us safe when our lives were in danger. She stayed with us all the way from the expedition, intending to pay us for our services, and of course shortly after Imperial City became under siege and we’ve been on the run since, fighting battles against the Dwemer, surviving a refugee camp, and ultimately escaping a Dominion ambush in Anvil.” A frown covered her face as she looked down and somewhat crestfallen.
“I am not proud of how I conducted myself towards Rhea in those final days, and her last memories of me were of this ingrateful shit that cursed her out for only trying to keep everyone alive at any cost. Her intentions were always pure, even if her actions left a lot of questions in their stead. It took me too late to realize that everything she did was always to try and make sure that we were safe, and it was at great personal cost. I’ve only shouldered a portion of the responsibility she did, and I can feel its crushing weight.” she shook her head, a slight morose smile upon her countenance. “And I think I finally understand. I just know that in her final moments, she looked so happy to be accepted by all of us that having us all together and not casting her aside meant everything to her. Having us all stand here now, together, would have made her contented. And with that said, that’s just what we’re going to do; we’re going to celebrate so hard tonight for her, for us, for everyone we’re fighting for, the Aedra are going to hear us and tell us to shut the fuck up.” The Khajiit grinned, holding her glass high. “To us!” she cheered, taking a drink from the glass and setting it down.
“So, for tonight, let’s just forget about tomorrow and yesterday and focus on the here, and now. Let’s celebrate each other, our friends and companions, our loved ones,” She said, looking towards Latro with a wink. “And let’s celebrate life itself. We’ve all been through a lot, we’d be idiots not to take a few moments to appreciate the fact that despite everything, we’re still here and we’re not going to go quietly into the night.” she said with a smile towards everyone. Turning back to a table, she picked up a practice lock and a set of lockpicks, holding it up for everyone to see, along with a small leather pouch.
“Before I lose you all to the drink and gorging yourselves stupid, allow me to set the mood; this here is a lock I’ve been cracking open nearly every day for four years, and I’ve taken it everywhere with me to keep my skills sharp. The first person who can open it and bring it to me gets a bit of moon sugar to really party hard. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been talking too much and I need to drink so much I forget half of it. Thanks for coming.” she concluded with a wink, heading over to the wine tray with measured strides that were sure to become much more chaotic as the night went on.
“I’m not sure which is more concerning; that Vasora was acting so happy or the Poncy Man is actually pleased with us.” Calen commented with a humored quip. “The drinks and the food might just be poisoned.” Truly, it was a rather macabre comment to be making given the recent events, but it was likely due to such recent events that Calen had resorted to gallows humor -- he probably had more reason to than anybody. He was only seen as fit enough to be moving around since this morning, and it showed. His face still beared the visage of an exhausted man with half the vigor he usually had, and the loose, flowing, and silky Hammerfell garb exposed the upper half of his chest while the lower half was still wrapped up in clean bandages. A little bit of the local perfume was used to try disguising the smell of the antiseptic ointments, but it just gave the herbal fragrances a medicinal undertone to them. Still, redness had returned to his cheeks, and a weary smile was a smile nonetheless.
"I s'pose then at least we'd have full an' happy stomachs. Dyin' hungry sounds terrible." Megana lifted her glass and took a gulp of her drink, enjoying the different taste of ale that wasn't like any she'd had in Skyrim. A party was the last thing she had expected after reading the urgent sounding message on her bed, but she couldn't say she was disappointed. All this delicious food and drink was just waiting to be consumed- pardon her blasphemy but it reminded her of the tales she had heard about Sovngarde, except of course that this was something she could actually touch and smell and eat without needing to die first. There had been the slight temptation to have a go at Daro'Vasora's lock rather than partake in some of the delicious pastries she had semi-consciously made her way to, but Meg let it be for now. She knew she'd probably be able to open it with minimal struggle, but even then she wasn't one who fooled around with moonsugar despite having been around it on many occasions. Alcohol was her vice when she wished to indulge, and over and above that, it was her sweet tooth she was planning on pampering right now. The others could have the victory of picking a lock.
“Moon sugar? I’ll try anything once,” Mazrah said as she got to her feet with a grin and made her way to the lock with a swagger, dressed as scarcely as she always was. She’d already started drinking before Daro’Vasora had even finished speaking. The towering Orsimer picked up the lock and the tools necessary to pick it, starred uselessly at them for a few seconds and after gingerly fiddling with the lockpicks for half a minute, broke out into laughter. “Does it count if I simply smash it apart against the ground?” she asked loudly and shook her head before putting the whole thing back down on the table. “I have no idea how that works,” she admitted sheepishly and sauntered back to her seat, winking to everyone that made eye-contact with her. “If anyone wants to share that moon sugar with someone and go on an
adventure together, you know where to find me.”
Gregor watched the proceedings from the back of the room, close to the bar, with a lazy smile playing around his lips. After he had discovered that the invitation pertained to a party and not an enemy invasion, Gregor had dressed into his black clothes, sans cloak; the high-collared, long-sleeved black turtleneck and dark breeches were closer to formal wear than his Hammerfell linens. Raelynn was on his arm and he turned his head to plant a tender kiss on her cheek after Daro’Vasora finished speaking. He was done hiding their relationship from the others, and immensely enjoyed being able to show his affection in public. “Quite nice of the Khajiit to repair our relations with the Poncy Man after… well, you know,” Gregor said in a low voice and squeezed Raelynn’s hand while he idly fiddled with the embedded ruby in his silver ring. His gaze found Calen, much closer to the center of attention, and he took a deep breath. The young Nord looked terrible, even if some life had returned to his cheeks by now. “He looks better. I suppose I should go and speak to him in a bit. I never visited him while he was in the infirmary. Couldn’t muster the courage,” Gregor admitted, repeating the words he had said to Jaraleet a few days before. “Well, either way, this is quite nice, isn’t it? A real change of pace. I dare say it reminds me of the parties back home. How does it compare to High Rock?”
Her blue eyes traversed the room lazily. It had been quite some time since the entire group had been together - it was nice to see them all, especially Calen. Raelynn had listened intently to Sora’s words, they hit her hard for some reason this evening, and she took a shallow sip of her wine as the Khajiit finished - raising her glass only slightly as her response. She eyed Sora up and down in her pretty dress, and it made her feel a slight sadness. She hadn’t changed at all - still she was dressed in the same black dress from the evening prior. It was hardly formalwear - not by her standards, but it allowed her to blend into the background - or at least it would have if Gregor was not by her side. He looked so handsome in his own outfit, and he commanded their corner of the room with his powerfully intense aura, even when he was relaxed she could sense his energy. She smiled.
“Oh it doesn’t compare at all,” she began with a playful smirk, “for a start we wouldn’t have an Orc around - or Khajiit’s in frocks. I wouldn’t be wearing Mage armour to a party either. Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way tonight,” she said quietly in earnest to Gregor, taking another relaxed sip from her glass, squeezing his hand right back.
“Oh yeah,” Alim agreed, referring to Raelynn’s comment on the comparison between this parties and get-togethers in Highrock. Apparently, Alim had managed to infiltrate the room and get behind the bar counter. As much as it seemed like he appeared out of thin air to most. He really just climbed into the window through the kitchens and made it past the barkeep without the man noticing. Alim was pouring himself a drink now right between Gregor and Raelynn, announcing his presence with his casual comment. “They are quite different. Then again, if they’re in high society they’re not as fun. Then again, there’s nothing like taking an aristocratic woman home at night.” He winked, and took a shot.
They hadn’t spoken since their tense confrontation on the balcony, and Gregor eyed the sudden appearance of Alim with a perceptible measure of wariness before he chided himself and let his guard down. It was a party -- let bygones be bygones. “I’ll take one of those, thank you,” Gregor said and pointed at whatever it was that Alim was pouring for himself, and then offered the Redguard his most winning smile. “My apologies for our last conversation, by the way. I meant less than half of the things I said. As for aristocratic women,” he continued and looked back at Raelynn with warmth in his eyes, “they are in short supply around here. I wish you luck in your endeavor; you shall need it.”
She raised an eyebrow in curiosity - Alim and Gregor had talked? Alim and Gregor had a conversation that had warranted an apology?
Curious. She let her hand fall against Alim’s arm as he poured a drink for Gregor, gently squeezing it; “you should give us a song my friend - get us started off, High Rock style… What say you to that?” She looked up at him with wide eyes, and a glint of mischief. “I know someone who might enjoy the caramel tones of a rogue like you…” She moved her head to look over at Anifaire in the distance, and then back at Alim.
Alim poured Gregor his drink, sliding it to him easily. “Oh, believe me. I never need luck in such a task.” he said, clinking his own glass with Gregor’s before the man even lifted the drink up to his lips. He patted Gregor on the shoulder to show he felt no hard feelings, though Alim knew if he stuck around there would be hard feelings again and he would have a difficult time not making quips so instead he decided to enter the party proper. He gave a laugh at Raelynn’s comment, giving a sly look back. “Oh you think so?” he asked, refilling Raelynn’s glass with a wink. He vaulted over the bar counter on the Knight’s left side and slid into the party proper.
“I would but I’m just not prepared, honestly.” He scoffed, reaching into his vest to pull out a flute. The instrument looked earthy in color and archaic in design, with bronze rings around it. He’d won it recently and had gotten somewhat good with it. Though he’d keep it simple. He found his way toward a stool at the fore of the room, placing a foot on it as he cleared his throat and began to play. He thought for a moment of what song to begin with.
Red Diamond was too solemn, and
Sway as We Kiss was for later in the evening. He’ll go with an old High Rock favorite of the lower classes,
Mystic Touch. It was far more catchy and less provocative than the title suggested, though if the words were sung it would have a few steamy phrases. As it were he just played the tune.
Calen, from across the room, seemed to almost immediately recognized the tune. Even in his state, he found himself bouncing up and down with excitement -- he hadn’t heard this song in a long time! How did it go again? Even though he was slightly unsure of himself, it didn’t seem to be enough to cause hesitation, for his voice cut into the song and in tune with the flute.
“O, magicka bleeds from the stars above,
and through them Aetherius shines!
I’ve no need for diamonds and silks, my love,
‘cause I’m caught by your spell,
and tonight you’re looking so fine!”
Having excused himself from Raelynn to go catch up with Calen, Gregor alerted the Nord to his presence with a gentle touch on his shoulder before pulling up a chair and sitting down across from him, a sincere expression on his face that could be construed as both reassuring and somewhat guilt-stricken. “Calen, my friend… it’s good to see you out and about again,” the Imperial began. “I’m sorry I didn’t come and visit you before. You were in good hands and I thought you needed rest, but… well, the truth is that I did not want to confront my failings.” He smiled a weary smile and dropped his hands in his lap, waiting for Calen to render his judgement.
“Sir Gregor, my friend, I did not realize you were the one who shot me!” Calen jested, followed by a chuckle which he chased with another sip of champagne. As he caught his breath, he looked at him once more, winking, and said, “If you did not want me talking to Raelynn, you need just ask.”
Gregor laughed. “Yes, it was quite a difficult angle from the interrogation room, but I managed,” he said, going along with Calen’s jest for a moment. “And I shall have to take that offer into serious consideration, young man. I fear you will steal her away if you speak more than two words to her. Seriously though,” he continued and cleared his throat while combing his beard with his fingers. “I should have been there with you when the Dwemer attacked. Instead, I was with Nblec and I could not even save him. If you had… you know, died, it would have been for nothing and it would have been my fault. So for that, I am sorry. You were right when you protested.” He shrugged. “Hindsight, right? If only it was so easy for all of us to judge these things in the heat of the moment.”
“Yeah, I
was right wasn’t I?” Calen said nonchalantly as he leaned back in his chair, then draping one of his arms over the rests dramatically as he tilted the glass back and slowly slid what was left of his champagne down his throat. It was obvious that the gesture was overplayed and done for comedic effect than anything, as if to accentuate the cockiness of his words, but as he returned the glass to the table, so did his typical demeanor. “But, hey, nothing we can do about that now, right? We’re not Psijics, what’s done is done. This has given me plenty of restoration practice, though.”
To show what he meant, he planted a hand over his bandages, and his brow furrowed in intense focus before a soft, warm (albeit dim) light. It had a fraction of the same intensity Raelynn’s magic had, and it only lasted a few seconds before the light dissipated in the air. Calen let escape a sigh of minor relief. He looked back up and said, “Ah, well, at least it’s kept Raelynn from having to baby me.”
“Very good,” Gregor said with a nod and a smile. “I always preach that self-sufficiency should be every man’s goal out in the field. Well, I say that, but to be honest I learned that from the Vigilants and from my father, before he died. He was a Legionnaire when I was but a child and taught me everything he knew as I grew up.” He looked up as one of the waiters passed by and quickly snatched two glasses of champagne before handing one to Calen. “There you go. To your health and prosperity,” he said and raised his glass in a toast. “By the way, Calen, I heard that there might be something between you and a very pretty girl named Rhona. Is there any truth to that?”
“Man’s trying to get me drunk before the party even begins…” Calen muttered humored quip under his breath, though it was in good nature, before accepting the glass and taking a small sip. He smiled at his company and said, “Gregs, you shot me over one woman, why dare I introduce you to another? Have you no sense of irony?”
Holding his hand to his heart like a man gravely offended, Gregor tutted and took a sip of champagne. “My friend, you wound me so. I am fully satisfied with my companion -- you need not fear any of my lethal reprisals over another.” His voice had taken on an unmistakable faux-dignified air as he acted along with the little play they were concocting, but his ability to stay in character left something to be desired and he broke into a smile. “I really am very glad that you will recover, Calen. All jests aside, however, I am genuinely curious about this woman. I’ve only ever seen her in passing and I haven’t forgotten the mother-bear stare I got from Brynja when we were sailing on the
Intrepid whenever I looked at Rhona. What’s your story together?”
“Hm, well, let’s see…” Calen began, leaning back into his chair as he began wistfully recounting the beginning of his journey from Skingrad. “Well, I just so happen to be a homewrecker. She ran into me first, away from her… husband? Ex-husband? I’m not really sure. Anyway, he… he wasn’t a pleasant man. I didn’t know any of that at the time, I just helped hide her from whoever was chasing her back in Skingrad. Threw Cezare off her trail. Took her to a nearby lake -- well, she took me, I don’t have a sense of direction -- and, uh, we ended back up at my wagon. Had a few drinks, one thing led to another…”
The warm smile on his face was telling as he fell into silence.
“Very romantic,” Gregor said with a pleasant twinkle in his eyes. “Saving the damsel in distress. I should have seen that coming.” He hid behind his champagne glass for a moment while he tried to forget the fact that a romantic outing for Raelynn and himself consisted of sacrificing a defenseless elf’s soul to the dead gods of a dead realm. He admonished himself mentally -- there was no sense in thinking that way. He should be glad that she was so accepting of his methods, not ruefully wish for things to be different. They weren’t.
Calen laughed and said, “Yeah, I’m living every Nord’s dream aren’t I?”
“Actually, I think that might be more of a Breton ideal,” Gregor replied, having recovered from his moment of doubt. “You’re a little light on the weaponry, blood and glory for a traditional Nord. Right?” He stared at Calen and slightly tilted his head, as if he was seeing him for the first time. Perhaps that’s why he had immediately taken to Calen so much the very first time they met back in Skyrim: he wasn’t like the rest of them.
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Calen grumbled as he crossed his arms on the table and hid his face in them. After a brief moment and lifted his head back up and admitted, “Honestly, I might just be the worst Nord from Skyrim. I don’t have a fightin’ bone in me, I can’t help it! That’s just more of my elder brother’s speed, I guess.”
Gregor blinked. “I wouldn’t say that. You threw yourself in front of Latro with nary a second of hesitation, the way I heard it. Courage is the first step towards martial prowess.” He finished his glass of champagne and gingerly put it down on the table, staring at the way the manifold lights around the room refracted in the crystal. “Tell me about your brother,” the Imperial said softly and looked back up to meet Calen’s gaze.
“His name is Murtagh,” he replied, “so far as Nord names go, he already had me beat. He joined the Legion army and trained at Castle Dour, but when the civil war broke out, he felt that the dishonor of desertion was preferable to having to fight fellow sons and daughters of Skyrim. He ended up travelling between smaller villages like Rorikstead; did mercenary work, helped them build their defenses, and their militias in case of bandits or dragon attacks. Never fought one, I think, but I’m pretty sure he helped evacuate Riverwood at some point.”
“Hmm. You know, I was in Skyrim during the civil war and the dragon crisis as well and I traveled those same roads, just with a different purpose, defending the people against a different evil. There were a lot of opportunists during that time, simply looking to make a quick septim on the back of innocent people’s misfortunes, but I remember the people like your brother more. He sounds like a good man. Maybe our paths even crossed,” Gregor mused and smiled at the thought. “Makes me wish I kept a journal or something. Alas, I didn’t, and I don’t remember any of their names now.”
“He's a good man.” Calen agreed with a nod. “He was kind of my inspiration for seeing the world in the first place. And I, his, for spending a little bit of time at the College to learn the arts. I have to admit, I envy him.”
“I was already a grown man for many years before I picked up a blade,” Gregor admitted, took off his silver ring and held it out for Calen to see. “This is my handiwork. Feels like a lifetime ago now and I doubt I have half the skills I had back then, but I was a jewelsmith before I was any kind of fighter. You never know, Calen. You still might grow to become more like your brother.” With a final smile and a nod, Gregor put his ring back on and got to his feet. “Excuse me, my friend, I have taken up enough of your time, and I am sure there are others who wish to speak to you and wish you well. That, and I’m hungry,” he said and grinned.
“Take care,” the Imperial said and squeezed Calen’s shoulder before setting off for the buffet.
Mazrah raised her glass in appreciation of the music being played and turned her head to talk to the people sitting closest to her; Daro’Vasora and Shakti. That was no accident. Mazrah was a brash woman who could absolutely not be described as shy, but even she enjoyed sitting near the people she knew best. “This is nice, isn’t it?” she asked and winked at the young Redguard girl. “I’ve never been to a party like this before. Have you? Probably not, right?”
Shakti had left her outer robes in her room and sat next to Mazrah, wearing only her dark, earthy tunic. She did however, keep her sword strapped to her belt, even as she sat nursing spiced wine. The aftertaste was horrible, but Shakti found that if she kept drinking she would never hit the aftertaste part of taste. “Yes, this is quite the gathering. The last place I saw so many people drinking and eating together was with my tribe back in Alik’r.” The Redguard girl said cheerfully, a look of flushed happiness on her face.
“That must be extra special,” Mazrah commented and downed her drink in one go. It was the strongest stuff she could find; Stros M’kai rum. “To have a party surrounded by nothing but desert. The Ornim of Orsinium also know how to throw a party, make no mistake, but it’s a much more… turbulent affair. It is tradition to boast as much as you can and to fight whoever calls you out on your stories. You eat and drink whatever you bring with you and if the chief’s longhouse is still standing at the end of the night, something went wrong. It’s quite a sight.” Mazrah laughed to herself at the memory. “But this is great, Daro’Vasora,” she added quickly and flashed the Khajiit an earnest grin. “I’ve always thought that fighting is unnecessary for having a good time. Thanks for inviting me.”
“It was no party, only dinner. Most days the whole tribe eats and talks together around a fire.” Shakti explained while watching Mazrah down drinks in single gulps with wide eyes.
The Khajiit was contented to listen to Mazrah and Shakti talk among themselves, listening to their individual cultural flavors of celebration with interest and amusement. When Mazrah turned to address her, Daro'Vasora was busy chewing a date to reply immediately, thankful for the interluding bit of words Shakti said when the Redguard noticed her Khajiit companion was verbally incapacitated. Washing it down with some white wine, Daro'Vasora composed herself before speaking.
“It's my genuine pleasure; just because you two are new to this lot doesn't mean you aren't a part of us. We've all gone through quite a lot the past couple of months… Shakti was briefly a, ah, guest to our Dwemer friends and you've been on a bit of a quest yourself in occupied lands, Mazrah. We all have a story to tell, it's important that we all take time to listen to them once in a while and celebrate what we do have.” she smiled behind her glass, setting it down. “And I for one am grateful for my two new and very colourful friends, a lively and wild Orsimer with entirely too much spirit and drive for one body, and a young but headstrong Redguard who is just starting to explore the world. Reminds me of a certain Khajiit that left her home to chase down stories and myths because her city wasn't big enough for her dreams.”
“If only I had another body to share all that spirit with,” Mazrah said in a sultry tone and glanced as seductively at Daro'Vasora as she could manage. The Khajiiti body was too alien for the Orsimer to be attracted to but she admired her willpower and quick wit, and that counted for something too. She laughed, giving Daro'Vasora an easy out, before pouring herself another shot of rum -- she'd immediately confiscated an entire bottle from a young Redguard waitress who was far too timid to tell her off.
That prompted a reaction; Daro'Vasora choked mid-drink and covered her mouth with her hand to prevent an eruption of liquids at the Orc's sultry suggestion. The Khajiit wasn't unnerved by the request, quite the contrary, she just didn't know if she liked women or not, but there was a much more important factor to consider. She recognized the implications of Mazrah's tone immediately; she'd used it many, many times. “Well, kind of you to offer, but I think my Latro might object to you carting me off to bed. I don't think he'd be fond of sharing.” Daro'Vasora grinned sheepishly.
“Who is this other Khajiit you are mentioning?” Shakti asked innocently, in between sips of her wine. Suddenly she realised. “Oh! Nevermind.” Giggling, Shakti looked in her cup, “Sorry, I don’t drink much.” Perhaps the wine was stronger than she thought. Or she had drank more than she had thought. Was this her first glass or her second?
Mazrah laughed again, at Shakti’s expense this time, and reached over to give the girl a reassuring pat on the arm. “We all have to start somewhere. Don't worry, you'll be tossing them back like nobody's business in no time,” the Orsimer said and turned her attention back to Daro'Vasora. “Your Latro? The scrawny thing? He's prettier than me, I'll give him that,” she sulked, but the amused look in her eyes betrayed that she wasn't being serious. “Shame. It's true what they say, the good ones are always taken.”
A smile crossed Daro'Vasora's lips. “I don't know if I'm one of the good ones, I did break that man's fingers for you, but flattery will always get you far.” she said, her tail flicking mischievously behind her. She finished her glass, deciding it was a much more entertaining conversation if inhibition was gone. “I do love my scrawny man, he's got a good heart and I always had a thing for soft, soulful eyes. A lot of muscles and the ability to crush watermelons between thighs was always an eye catcher, though.” she said, winking at Mazrah. Topping up her glass and Shakti's, she looked to the Redguard. “The important thing was you caught on in a timely fashion. Let's see how much it takes before you don't.” she said impishly, sliding the girl's glass closer.
“Now, now, let's not pretend I'm all muscle,” Mazrah said with an insidious smile, shifting in her seat to emphasize the natural curves of her body. “But fair enough. I don't know him at all but I believe you if you say he's good people.” She downed her shot, smacked her lips loudly and set her sights on Shakti; the more Mazrah drank, the more intense and piercing her gaze became. “Yes, Shakti, let's see what you're made of. You said that you're not a girl anymore -- prove it.”
“Alright-” Shakti said, closing her eyes and puffing out her chest, ‘-you’re on!” The young Redguard grabbed her glass and easily slammed down the rest of her drink, and before the glass had even hit the counter she was pouring herself another. Soon she had drank that one as well. And another, and another! The world was getting a bit wobbly and slightly fuzzy, everything sort of looked like a mirage. “I can… drinksh ash well ash anybody here!” Shakti declared victoriously.
Wordlessly, Daro'Vasora plucked the wine bottle from Shakti and walked away for a few moments, returning with a pitcher of water and a loaf of bread, along with a platter of other things to munch on. Setting it down in the table, she began to nonchalantly fill Shakti's glass with water and serving her slices of bread. “Easy there, cub; you don't want to vomit out all of that good wine.” she said with an easy smile. “Eat something, you don't want to pass out early, do you? You'd miss all of the fun.” she reached over, patting the Redguard upon her shoulder. “You certainly proved that you can drink Mazrah under the table. Are you sure you aren't your tribe's champion?” she asked playfully.
Shakti watched blearily as Sora replaced her wine with water and gave her some snacks to munch on. Perhaps she had drank a bit overmuch.
Mazrah burst into a raucous fit of laughter and nodded vigorously in agreement with Daro'Vasora's words. “You beat me, that's for sure! Well done.” Subsiding into amused chuckles while staring at Shakti's unfocused eyes, Mazrah thought to herself that she couldn't let the Redguard girl stay ahead for too long and threw back two more shots of rum. “This stuff,” she said and looked at the now half-empty bottle of rum, “is good.” She produced another shot glass from one of the tables and handed it to Daro'Vasora, topping it up with a mischievous grin. “Now, Shakti, you stick to water for the time being, alright? Maz wants to see how much the cat can drink.”
The Khajiit shot back the rum easily, although the sudden sting at the back of her throat made her eyes water momentarily. “Oh, not much, I assure you. I rarely find myself in situations where getting thrashed on the drink is neither safe nor particularly wise. We'll see what tonight holds, yes?”
“Bah,” Mazrah scoffed dismissively. “You're safe now, so let's find out. We've assembled the most dangerous people in Hammerfell into one room. If the Dwemer surround the hotel and attack us now, that would just be convenient. We could advance in any direction!” she added with bravoure and downed yet another measure of rum before giving the Khajiit another shot.
“Oh. Did you see that? I did it anyway. The boasting,” Mazrah said and laughed sheepishly. “Old habits die hard, I guess. One second,” she said suddenly and disappeared for half a minute before returning with at least a quarter of the roasted pig, skewered on a stick. “Anyone want a bite?”
Daro'Vasora giggled, putting up a polite declining hand. “I'm good, I want to try a bit of everything before I forget what taste is.” she said, knocking back the second shot, prompting a sudden cough that she covered with a cloth. “My word, how on Nirn do you drink this shit!?” she exclaimed, her throat burning.
“Yesh, sticking to water sheems wise.” Shakti rubbed her eyes and gulped some water down. Everything was so fuzzy! She rubbed her eyes again. If she squinted right, the people across the room looked like dunerippers. Most troubling. She took a bite of the bread Sora had so kindly brought her and looked over at the other two women. “Are all of theshe people friends of yours?” She asked, surprised at the amount of humanoid shapes she saw mingling in the room.
Daro'Vasora grinned, running a claw around the rim of her glass, causing a pleasant sounding ring to escape from its mouth. “In a way, yes. We've been through a lot together, and some of us became very close. I wasn't expecting near death experiences to help me find love, but I’m not complaining.”
Emerging from behind the rapidly diminishing shishkebab of pork like a predator looking up from a kill, Mazrah swallowed hard and wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand. Her tusks remained greasy, however. “One of my friends once told me that ‘all is fair in love and war’. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that those words follow one right after another in a common Redguard proverb,” she said and belched. “Oof, that one came from all the way down in my toes,” she chuckled with a smirk, looking at Shakti, wondering if it would amuse or offend the young woman.
Shakti threw back her head and laughed at the Orcish woman, “Everything you do is so loud!” For some reason, the sheer volume of her burp was highly amusing to the young Redguard, who kept giggling into her glass of water even as she drank.
“That’s right!” Mazrah said and thumped her clenched fist to her chest twice before joining Shakti in laughter. “Claim your space and own it, Shakti. I’m here and I’m bigger, better and badder than anyone else, and I intend for them to know that.”
The booze had hit Daro'Vasora's bloodstream now and she had a hard time maintaining her carefully managed air of indifference she usually kept her gaze as; she found it hard not to smile. Downing another shot of the rum, she poured two more glasses of wine, offering the other to Mazrah. Holding hers aloft, she cheers. “Well, here's to love and war, then,” she purred.
The Orsimer took the offered glass of wine with a grateful nod and raised it to join the Khajiit in her toast. Her golden eyes, positively radiant in the soft lighting of the reception area, met Daro’Vasora’s gaze with warmth and she giggled. For all her bravado, the rum was getting to her and she couldn’t muster the will to pronounce the Khajiit’s entire name, honorific and all.
“To love and war, Sora,” she repeated softly and with feeling.
Shakti too raised her glass, but said nothing and instead gulped down some water and hopped off the stool from which she was seated, legs still a bit wobbly. “I’m going to shay hi to the others!” She declared, waving her hand as she swaggered away into the crowd.
Judena astutely recorded Daro’Vasora’s small speech to her log book. Catching the tray of champagne before it passed for a glass of her own. When she finished Jude shuffled the book back into her shirt, gently tinking the glass with her nail in approval of the jovial idea. She looked left and right, eying the food with a little excitement. Such extravagance! Jude only hoped she could manage to keep up with all the youthful attributed group members. She shuffled over to the steaming platters of fish.
“Yes… yes this will do.” She said happily.
"Looks like y'had the same idea as me!" A laugh left Meg as she approached Judena, cheeks flush from having had a little more drink than she would on a normal day. The pastries she had picked off the platter had pretty much been inhaled by the Nord, and now that her sweet tooth was satisfied, she was looking for something with more substance so that she didn't fall prey to drunkeness too soon.
"An' a good idea," she added, looking at the argonian with a smile. "I've been missin' you! How're you findin' Hammerfell? I forgot... have y'been here b'fore?" She knew Judena was much more travelled than her, but the last time she had asked about it was in Imperial City. Even as she spoke, her hands moved to one of the platters, ready for a fishy snack.
Humming through the various options she replied to Meg, her vigilant dear friend. “Why yes I have! Only the Alikir Desert could have given my tail such patchy scars from the heat and sand. Gilane is a city
rich with Dwemer history and artifacts. As we have properly found out.” She held up a nail, “How have you found Gilane my youthful friend? Found any success in writing letters home? I have been down to the ocean during the hot days, teaching Anifaire some magika lessons. She is quite the astute student!”
She loaded up her plate and beckoned Meg to join her at one of the tables, which she did, after filling up a plate herself and abandoning her glass for a bottle of ale instead.
Gregor, who had been filling a plate of his own, wandered within earshot as he inspected the buffet table, selecting a meal fit for a king. He looked up to find two people he hadn’t talked to yet, Megana and Judena, and smiled at them both. The champagne (and whatever it is Alim had poured him a glass of) and the affable admosphere had put him in a good mood and he felt like making friends, even if one of them was a towering Argonian. He noticed how Judena invited Meg to sit with her and cleared his throat. “Good evening, ladies,” he said and offered a slight bow. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. My name is Gregor. Do you mind if I join you for a spell?”
Judena looked to the imperial man and gave a shy wave. “How polite! Please do join us, Gregor. My name is Judena Callisar.”
Meg looked at Gregor, who she only knew from a distance, and nodded. She had been thinking of talking to this man in the near future- while she didn't think that future was quite right now, there wasn't any harm in learning more about him. "Sure thin'!" she replied enthusiastically, giving him a grin as she plonked herself down on a chair. "Me an' Jude were just talkin' 'bout Gilane, I'd asked her if she'd been 'roun' here 'fore, an' aye she has! My first time... findin' it real hot here." She tapped at her head. "Even got m'hair chopped short t'combat the heat." She ended that with large gulp from her acquired bottle.
Her enthusiasm was infectious and Gregor found himself grinning like a young lad as he took a seat next to Megana and across from Judena. Gregor knew her accent, but it had been a while since he’d heard anyone talk like that. He associated it with simple people and his first impression of the girl did nothing to disprove that notion. No matter; there was nothing wrong with that. “You know, I agree,” he said conspiratorially and tugged playfully at the collar of his black shirt. “It’s far warmer than I’m used to, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. There is something to be said for rolling out of bed and not being cold.”
"Huh, never though' o' that," Meg replied. It was indeed true that she didn't have to shudder at the thought of stepping on cold stone floor without boots, like back home. "Don' really even need t'use a blanket here much at night. The mornin's nice 'nough as well... midday though." She grimaced to show exactly what she thought of that, though it ended in a giggle.
“Quite right,” Gregor said. He grabbed his cutlery and cut off a slice of chicken, his brows furrowing in appreciation as he chewed and washed it down with a sip of wine. “Say, how did you two end up with this fine group of people, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Meg took another long sip from her bottle before setting it on the table. "Hmmm," she intoned before actually replying, "joined 'em at the Jerall Mountains... first time goin' to a dwemer ruin." She poked at her fish as she thought of
that disaster. "Seems like
ages ago." Her voice trailed to a stop as she finally took a nibble of her food. It was tasty, perhaps a little spicier than she was used to, but she welcomed the taste- it went well with her bottle of ale.
Jude replied, neatly tucking some vegetables onto her fork. “Correct.” With her opposite hand she pulled out her logbook flipping through checking some of her facts - reading the date, “15 of Rain’s Hand, a month and one half ago.” She nodded solemnly, reading her own words aloud, “‘The green menacing shaft of light seemed to reach far and high into the night sky. The disaster it wrought on the expedition hung over our heads like that of a hundred souls lost to the mountain side’s collapse.’ It is too bad that was your first and possibly last chance to see a Dwemer ruin as it was Meg. The pieces brought out from any one of the ruins was unique!” She pointed to her companion with her fork, “What an exciting time it was! Hatching new theories on their culture and way of life, plotting out how old a piece could be...”
Meg was dubious but she remained quiet, nursing the ale bottle in her hands as she listened to the argonian scholar speak.
Judena sighed wistfully, a mix between a hiss and a throaty rumble. “Gone are the days of academia for the Dwemer.” She took a generous few bites. “What brought you around Graccus?” Bright golden eyes turned to the Imperial man, her bristly ‘beard’ wrinkled against her neck. “I am ashamed to admit, I have not made time to meet with every new face of our diverse group.” Her tone apologetic.
“Graccus…” She tested out his name, unsure of how it sounded. “That cannot be right.”
"It's Gregor," Meg supplied with a little giggle.
Judena squeezed her eyes shut sheepishly replying, “Thank you Meg. I am very sorry Gregor for mistaking your name. My memory slips so easily when I am distracted.”
“That’s alright,” Gregor said, a little too quickly. He could feel the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end when Judena forgot his name -- it was awfully familiar, and the way the Argonian closed her eyes in embarrassment caused him to see, vividly and life-like, his father doing the same thing in his mind’s eye, years ago. He took a deep breath and conjured up a smile. There was no reason to assume that her forgetfulness was anything special; while Gregor was far from an expert on Argonian physiology, Judena looked old enough to be suffering from the simple and inevitable effects of age. “I have heard some things about this expedition you went on, but not much. One day, I should like to hear the full story, but something tells me that it is not suitable content for a jovial party. As for myself, I merely happened to be on my way to Skingrad in search of work when the Dwemer invaded Cyrodiil. I signed up with the Colovian Rangers at the first opportunity. And the rest is history,” Gregor explained and took another measured, civilized bite of food; very different from the Orc he saw gorging herself from the corner of his eyes.
“Of course, things did not go entirely according to plan, and now I find myself much farther from home than I would have wished,” the Imperial continued. “The company is good, though.” He smiled and something twinkled in his eyes when he cast a glance in Raelynn’s direction.
Judena followed his line of sight and saw Raelynn, the Argonian mage as always was none too subtle. She paused for a second, realization coming over her, “You and Raelynn are together! That is very sweet, is it not Meg? I could not be more proud that not only can we, as a group, trust and rely on one another but also…” She patted her chest, unknown to most where her wedding band sat on a necklace, “Find love.”
She smiled a gummy smile at Gregor. “That is wonderful, truly. I would toast to it.” She raised her glass gesturing to Raelynn and then to Gregor.
“To love.”
Normally, Gregor would have been embarrassed, but he did not care in the slightest right about then. He returned Judena’s smile and clinked his own glass against hers. “To love,” he echoed. He did not fail to notice that she had remembered Raelynn’s name correctly and that put him at ease. Hopefully Judena wasn’t suffering from dementia or amnesia after all. Gregor did not like the idea of having to confront his greatest fear while he was having such a good time.
“Calen and Rhona are an item as well, did you know that?” Gregor asked casually, glancing sidelong at Judena to gauge her reaction.
Jude gasped, turning in her seat to eye the bard and enchantress. “What other relationships have been blossoming right beneath my nose? Would you believe that I used to have a real nose for the certain goings on where group relations diverged?” She laughed with delight pulling her goblet of wine close for a few sips. “I wish I knew how to express how happy that makes me. Bards nurture their talents to give our world and our emotions artistic meaning, taking these things to another tier of understanding. The only time I have experienced the level of liberation is communing with my family’s Hist.”
She sighed with content, “Actually that is not entirely true. I have felt the liberation love has afforded. I may not recall but I know in the marrow of my bones what it is to feel when one is in love.” Patting her chest once more. “Love,” She gestured to the room “Is such a wonderful thing.”
Love, Meg muttered inaudibly in her mind as she lifted the now near empty bottle to her lips once more.
Been only waitin fuckin' years
for tha' shit. Her drunken state knew she was feeling what people would describe as sour grapes, but she didn't particularly care at the moment. How long had she worn Mara's symbol on her chest, both in hidden and open? At this point she was convinced the gods had contrived to keep that sort of fulfilling feeling away from her.
Gregor did not even notice Meg’s change in mood; he could not look away from Judena, even if he wanted to. “You can’t recall?” he asked, uncertain, and swallowed hard. Why was he so scared of this? It’s not like whatever Judena had was contagious. His own amnesia lay more than a decade ahead of him yet. He had time, the means and the resources to prevent it. And still… to see it in another person filled him with fear. “What happened?”
Judena turned back to Gregor and cocked her head, “Oh! I presumed you to know, I was once married but it was after my accident. Some a little over thirty years ago I had suffered a tremendously damaging head injury from…” She paused trying to remember exactly she flipped to the front of the logbook reading the list of facts, they were old but relevant points, “Ah, yes of course. The swinging boom of a sail struck me. Without a proper healer on board to fix such an advanced injury my memory retention had been permanently altered.”
“Each night I almost completely forget the day and struggle to remember new things throughout the day.” She explained, pointing to her logbook. “I write everything down to refresh myself.”
Perhaps aided by the effects of the alcohol, Gregor’s fear became mixed with equal parts pity and sympathy, and he fell silent while he picked away at his food. Someone that had lived this way for more than thirty years probably didn’t need his pity, though. Gregor had learned that from other people with disabilities. “I am glad you have found a way to live with it,” he said at length and looked back up to Judena. “Your perseverance is admirable. Funny thing, I was talking to Calen earlier and mentioned how I wish I had kept a journal while I was in Skyrim, but I never did, and now I don’t remember the names of the people I met. And here you are, a woman who keeps a meticulous journal because otherwise… she’ll forget. There’s poetry in that.” The Imperial smiled and took another sip of wine. This stuff was making him strangely sentimental.
Her bottle now empty, Meg stood up, leaning against the table to keep herself steady and off the floor. As much as she wished to stay by the argonian, the talk of love and relationships had her feeling a salty. "I- I'mma go take a li'l walk," she announced. Without warning she leaned over and gave Judena an out of the blue hug, squeezing hard before letting go and stumbling back. "See ya both later." A guilty grin crossed her face as she gave an awkward wave and turned away to walk off. Jude patted Meg’s arm before she let go.
Judena felt the mood inexplicably shift between Gregor and Meg, was it something she said? “Before I was rather flippant with proper notation, categorizing artifacts by word was always a chore especially when I could not record in my native language. Cyrodiilic is clunky you see. All my logs are in Jel, naturally.”
She observed Gregor, commenting, “We can certainly talk about something else, I understand the curiosity of my condition, however I can see it has made you somewhat uncomfortable.” She offered instead a way for Gregor to decide what they speak of next, “I can speak volumes of Argonia, I imagine Jaraleet has been particularly guarded against sharing secrets of our culture.” She said looking to her fellow Argonian now approaching Raelynn, “I have always maintained the mystery of Argonia fades with the more the outside world understands of our people, the same applies to
Argonia understanding others whom we share the continent with.”
“Or we can continue gossiping about others in the group.” She added playfully.
“You’re right, Jaraleet has been very secretive,” Gregor said absent-mindedly as he watched Meg get up and walk away. He looked back at Judena and fiddled with his cutlery for a second before he laughed uncomfortably, sheepish and self-conscious. “I’m sorry, Judena. My father died from an illness that made him forget who he was in the final months of his life, and... “ he trailed off, averting his gaze again. “It’s not your fault, honestly, I think it’s the wine, but you reminded me very strongly of him, and I just -- I need to go clear my head. I’m sorry. I hope you have a good evening.” He got up, grabbed his plate, gave Judena a respectful and apologetic nod and walked away to find a different place to eat. He took a deep breath -- his heart was racing in his chest.
Oh, papa…Frowning she watched him go, sneaking in bites at the side of her mouth trying her best not to take the sudden departure of her company too personally. After clearing half of her plate she wrote down their conversation - short as it was. Topping off her goblet of wine and setting to finishing her meal, not putting a single scrap to waste.
Raelynn sat and watched the goings on with a glassy expression from the outskirts of the room, one leg crossed over the other, wine glass in hand. She tapped her foot against the floor in time with Alim’s music, and enjoyed the revelry from the comfort of her seat. For a moment, she brought her thumb and forefinger to the the bridge of her nose and rubbed gently, snapping her back into the moment, a sigh escaped her lips before she took another sip from her glass. Curiously, she found herself raising an eyebrow again - she was sure she had drank more of her wine, yet the glass was still full.
Oh well, down the hatch it goes…“Enjoying yourself Raelynn?” Jaraleet asked as he took a seat next to the Breton woman, holding a glass of rum in one hand. The announcement of the party had surprised him, especially the fact that the Poncy Man had agreed to it, but in the end the Argonian assassin had decided to relax after a few moments of inner debate. It would do him some good to relax, and this little social evening that Daro’Vasora had organized gave him an opportunity to talk with Raelynn, something which he had wanted to do once he had noticed her disturbed state after the 3rd. “How have you been holding up?” He asked quietly, sipping his drink as he waited for a reply.
Jaraleet's sudden appearance took her by surprise, she had been deep in thought until that point - just quietly observing, not expecting to be bothered. Jaraleet didn't strike her as a social butterfly, however, so it was little wonder he joined her now. “Jaraleet… I have been well!” she replied, lying through her teeth as she took a sip from glass. She turned to face the Argonian and gave him a polite half smile, “and you?”
“I have been well, thank you. A chance to unwind would do me some good, though I expect that is true for us all.” The Argonian replied, letting the Breton’s lie slip by for a second as he took a sip from his glass as well. “I'm not dumb, you know?” He replied half-absentmindedly, taking in the sight of the other members of their group enjoying themselves, before letting out a sigh and turning to look at Raelynn. “When did it happen? The second?” He asked softly, taking another sip from the contents of his glass. “And don't play dumb either, I can tell what happened.”
Wow. It was just like an Argonian to be so crude about it.
Dumb? She became so tense that her leg began to shake with it - whether it was anger or embarrassment that it was so painfully obvious, of course it was to him. Her jaw clenched and she dragged the silence out until she felt that she could speak, turning to him with an emotionless gaze but a wretched smile, “this conversation is done, kindly get the fuck away from me.” She straightened herself up in such a way that it pulled her from Jaraleet - a wall building between the two of them. After mulling it over for a stretch more, she turned back to him, the smile gone, and her voice more stoic, “you don't get to call me dumb, Jaraleet. Not anymore, not now…”.
“Not, it's not.” The Argonian replied calmly, unperturbed by Raelynn’s angry outburst towards him. “You are angry, I know that. Probably not at me, not truly, but I do make a convenient scapegoat towards which you could direct it, no?” The Argonian said, taking a sip of his rum. “I also know that this...fear, this anger, coiled up inside of you won't just go away by pretending that everything is fine and by drinking luxurious wine.” He said, pausing for a second to contemplate. “But such luxuries weren't available to me when I was interrogated, only choice I had was to confront what had happened to me.” He finished, shrugging slightly and drinking from his glass again.
She laughed dryly at him as he continued to try and steer her to talking to him, the nerves of her hand ringing out in pain and so she breathed through it while she thought of a response - knowing he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. “So I suppose I just roll over and listen to you talking then because
you had it worse.” He wasn't wrong, the anger was misdirected - but to just openly approach and ask her about it, at a party of all places. “Look at them all Jaraleet,” she motioned out to the group - watching them have their fun with their bonding, drinking, and eating. Smiling. “If you think I'm pretending everything is fine, you're very, very wrong about it.” Her lips pursed and she looked him straight in the eyes, hers watering in the corners. “Everything is not
fine, and really Jaraleet - you're the last person I want to discuss this with.” She placed her wine on the table in front of her, afraid she might shatter the glass with her tightening grip. “Afterall, he fucking used your methods - do you know that? Oh yes Jaraleet, we left
quite a mess…” she hissed, sounding like a coiled and angry snake.
“Not because of that, no.” The Argonian began, having fully expected another outburst from Raelynn. “But because, much like you, I've went through the same pain as you, I
understand what you went through.” The assassin continuing, swirling the contents of his glass before taking one sip. “Because I'm the only one with such knowledge? Do you think I'm the only one who knows how to pull the nails off of someone’s hand?” He said quietly, not breaking eye contact from Raelynn even as her eyes watered at the corners. “We both know I'm just only one among many in the face of Nirn who knows, and employs, such methods.” Jaraleet spoke, unperturbed by the mounting anger that the Breton woman was displaying. He let out a soft sigh, shaking his head slightly as he contemplated what to say next. “It's not something that goes away, not truly.” He said quietly, his eyes taking on a far-off quality as if he was witnessing something that had happened a long time ago. “You just learn to live with it.” The Haj-Eix said, taking another sip of his rum as he waited for the outburst that was surely to come.
“It makes me feel so very relieved that you and your ilk are just… one of many.” Sarcasm rang out on her voice as it snuck through gritted teeth. The way he spoke about pulling nails off of hands made her ball up her fists and cringe. “Jaraleet, please. I'm not ready for this. If this is your way of asking me whether I said anything then you can sleep easy tonight knowing that you were not named…”
“I can’t talk about this, not right now. I'm sorry…” She took another large sip from her glass, giving a little cough afterwards. Was he trying to comfort her? In his own unusual methods? The thought of
this being the Argonian’s way of comforting her made her laugh softly. “When I'm ready, we can talk.” With a wavering smile on her lips, she pressed the edge of her glass to his. “I'd like to try and forget it tonight, even just tonight.” There was a mild forgiveness in her voice - she couldn't blame him for asking and wanting to speak, maybe under better circumstances she would have shared. “Enjoy the party Jaraleet - I'd tell you to let your hair down a little but…” her voice tittered into a girlish giggle as she made a joke. She was trying to warm into that party spirit.
Anifaire’s eyes widened as her gaze wandered from platter of food to piles of bread. Her stomach rumbling, she tried to appear nonchalant as she made her way over to fill a plate the moment Daro’Vasora had finished speaking. She hadn’t eaten a feast of this caliber since she’d left home.
She piled the food onto her plate higher than she would’ve deemed acceptable once, but food was no longer a matter to skimp out on. Selecting the choicest seafoods, she made her way over to a table where she sat alone, an empty glass in front of her. She delicately set the utensils next to her plate, ordered as well as she could. Truly, no one outside Alinor had any class when eating. It had been true culture shock at first, but now she filled her own glass with wine despite how strange it made her feel. She couldn’t escape the feeling that she was never supposed to do that. The Altmer day straight backed and carefully selected her utensils one at a time, taking small, polite bites. She revelled in the opportunity to savour the meal.
A short while later, unexpected company sat across from the Altmer. Daro'Vasora, freshly tipsy from her encounter with Mazrah's terrible influence, set herself down with surprising grace considering the situation. She smiled at Anifaire, arranging her own utensils properly as she spoke.
“You strike me as someone who has seldom enjoyed an evening out in her life. You are always so guarded, so proper. You are sitting here alone looking lost and miserable, you know. Did I ever tell you I come from a fairly high born upbringing?” she asked the Altmer in a posh tone of voice, finishing arranging the utensils just so. It was an exaggeration, but she had to learn proper court etiquette when she served in castle Leyawiin and her mother was in a fairly lofty position. “One thing I have discovered in my travels is that being proper is boring, and frankly, quite useless out in the world. You need to learn to express yourself and discover who it means to be Anifaire.”
The Khajiit plucked a trout delicately with her utensils, cutting into it with disciplined precision. It hopefully conveyed to Anifaire that she wasn't the only one with an air of sophistication.
Anifaire watched the Khajiit with wide eyes, surprise showing itself on her face. She opened her mouth to speak but wasn’t sure what to say, pausing with her mouth agape.
“Useless?” she repeated. She stopped, stunned that someone might think such a thing. “It’s… it…” she frowned. “It’s comfortable.”
Without breaking eye contact, Daro'Vasora placed her arm on the table next to the plate and carelessly brushed the utensils off of the table, crashing them across the floor. She repeated the gesture on the other side, another loud symphony of clattering metal filling the air.
“How clumsy of me.” she said, picking up the plate and settling into a comfortable slouch, tossing a chunk of the fish between her pointed teeth. She gestured with a pair of fingers towards Anifaire. “You say you're comfortable, but you're sitting board straight and you can't even enjoy your meal without going through some stuffy ritual that was drilled into you since you were a girl. Look, you're a sweet, but terribly naive person who was way too sheltered. Look around you, look at everyone.” the Khajiit said, twirling a finger above her head. “Tell me what you see.”
Anifaire stared down at her half-empty plate, utensils gone. She considered picking up the food without them, or retrieving the utensils, but she couldn’t bring herself to do either. Grudgingly, she listened to the Khajiit and peered around the room.
What did she see? A few phrases came to mind. She saw people eating and drinking. She saw people who were intimidating. Some who she thought of warmly. But it was a simple conclusion.
People who are capable.
People who aren’t like me. She thought the words with sadness. She had no idea how to fit in with this situation. A party, it was, more than a dinner. The Altmer couldn’t find the words to answer the Khajiit, uncomfortable looking down at her plate. She felt a mild urge to scoop up potatoes with her hand.
The Khajiit smiled, reaching over to put a hand over Anifaire's. “I know that look, you don't need to feel left out. Tonight's the night you get to be who you want to be, we're all friends here, right?” she said, removing the hand to jut a thumb towards where Alim was urging on other musicians.
“Y'know, I see the way you look at him. He's a lot of things you admire but are too embarrassed to admit out loud. He's exotic and lively, outgoing and courageous, someone who has an easy charisma and an impulsive and spontaneous personality. You know he's a thief and he's been a naughty shit, but it makes you feel a part of something adventurous by association. Why don't you tell him how you feel?” the Khajiit asked, placing the plate down and leaning forward on an elbow, her chin resting on a palm.
Anifaire’s face reddened by the word as Daro’Vasora spoke. She couldn’t bring herself to look over at Alim, either. She opened her mouth to utter some kind of lie but deflated a bit. Her stomach was urging her to continue eating, so she finally picked up a drumstick and attempted to take a bite without getting grease all over her face.
“He’s just friendly to me,” she muttered.
“Uh-huh. Let's find out, shall we?” Daro'Vasora said with an impish grin. She turned around in her seat, cupping a hand to the side of her muzzle to amplify her voice.
“Hey, Alim! Come here a second!” she shouted.
When the Breton-Redguard swaggered over a few minutes later, Daro'Vasora leaned back with an elbow on the back of her seat. The other hand tapped along to the music that was still playing, claws dancing along the table. “Anifaire here was just telling me how cute she thinks your butt is and is too shy to ask you to dance. Would you care to show her the ropes?” she asked sweetly, giving a wink that only Anifaire could see when she glanced over.
Anifaire sat, mouth wide open, cheeks red, staring resolutely at Daro’Vasora in shock. She held the turkey leg in her hand, using it to almost hide her face. Alim wouldn’t believe that… would he? She hoped not.
Alim had been playing for a solid chunk of the party at this moment, and he had been running out of songs that fit the mood so in a way he was thankful that he’d been called over. Everyone seemed to be engaged in talk even without his musical support. But when he stepped over, even Alim was halfway shocked. The adventurer laughed. “Really?” he asked, wondering that if this was true, how drunk Anifaire had to be. Of course he knew a thing or two about lying, so he doubted it. But…
He ‘sheathed’ his flute onto his sash belt and held a hand out to Anifaire. “Well she can tell me all about it.” he said, offering to dance.
“Uh,” Anifaire coughed, trying to swallow the bite of turkey and struggling to drop the leg back to her plate. She scrambled quickly for a napkin, trying to wipe her face and hands as quickly as she could. Some distant part of her considered kicking the Khajiit under the table.
She glanced at Alim’s offered hand, though she couldn’t quite look him in the face. The truth was, she’d always sort of liked dancing at her father’s dinners. She hefted her glass and finished the last of her wine, the only glass she’d had and the only one she intended to drink, never having drank for pleasure in her life, before grudgingly standing up from the table. She glared resolutely at the ground.
Hesitantly, she spoke up. “I would.. um, I… do like dancing. But, now that Alim’s here, there’s no music.”
Alim was usually sly and flirtatious with about any pretty woman, but with Anifaire it was different. He felt like he was far younger and less...dishonest wouldn’t be the right word. But he didn’t need to put on a persona of any kind. “I didn’t know you could dance.” he said.
Anifaire shrugged a bit. “Well, probably nothing like… this. I was used to, erm.” She wasn’t sure of the word. “Dinners.” She wrung her hands uncomfortably.
“I’ll let you guys figure out the rest, try not to have too much fun.” Daro’Vasora said, briefly placing her hand at the small of Anifaire’s back and meeting her eyes with a reassuring smile and a wink before taking off to rejoin the rest of the festivities.
Shakti managed to find her way to a table and fumble her way into sitting down next to a man she didn’t know. Her brown skin looking more red than any other colour, she smiled at the friendly-looking lad and offered a greeting, “Hope you don’t mind if I sit down next to you, I think I’ve had a bit much to drink.” She giggled at her own overindulgence before continuing, “Wait, I saw you in the infirmary, when I was getting my arm healed!” Gesturing first at the scar on her arm and then at the bandages on the man’s chest, she went on. “I heard your wound was grave! I am glad to see you are still among us!”
For the last minutes, Calen had spent some time on his own and watching the others enjoy themselves until a young Redguard woman had found herself next to him. Indeed, she was quite tipsy, but nonetheless exuberant as she invited herself to sit down next to him. Then she seemed to recognize him, prompting Calen to look self-consciously down at his own bandages. He said, “Oh yes, well, let’s not buy the pig while it’s still in the bag -- the night’s still young, yeah? Can’t spell grave without rave.”
“What is a rave?” Shakti inquired sincerely, never having heard of the term before, “Is it some sort of gathering?” That much she could infer from the rest of the joke. Shrugging off the conversational misstep, she hopped over to a new topic. Keeping her voice somewhat low, as if a bit embarrassed she had to ask, Shakti leaned in slightly, “What happened to you?” She hoped it wasn’t too rude to ask. In Redguard culture wounds and such were seen as a brave and respectable, and meant that the wounded had faced down Death itself. However, Shakti also knew that other cultures were different and did her best to tiptoe around the subject for fear of upsetting this obviously still wounded man.
Calen looked thoughtful for a moment as the events replayed through his mind, bringing on a bit of a shiver, but as he looked at the intoxicated Shaki again, a curious little smile was brought to his face. Normally, this would’ve been the perfect opportunity to spin one of his tall tales and sensational stories like he was prone to doing so often. Perhaps another one of those for old time’s sake would be nice to cut back the edge a bit, and entertaining people while they were drunk made it about twice as fun. For what felt like the first time in ages, he put his acting chops to the test, and looked around the room suspiciously before leaning in close to Shakti’s ear.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He said, hyping up the anticipation as the corner of his mouth curled up a bit. “Are you sure you want to know? Even talking about it could be risky.”
Shakti’s eyes gleamed in the light at the prospect of being privy to some eldritch information or story. She was a dunerabbit who was firmly in the sights of a desert fox. “Of coursh! I will not tell anyone else!” Her voice was struggling to keep quiet, her excitement causing it to involuntarily raise in volume. She practically bounced her seat as Calen displayed juuuuust the right amount of wariness.
“I was part of
a covert operation.” Calen whispered, his eyes growing as wide and gleaming as Shakti’s. “I was
the architect, actually. To capture and ensure the safe return of a
high-ranking administrative official of the dwemer forces on behalf of the insurgency.”
“One of the other missions? I was rescued in one of them!” Again her voice became much louder than she had intended through sheer excitement and energy. Calen was quick to hush her and look around the room, his eyes darting in all directions before looking back at her and nodding.
“One of the very same.” Calen confirmed.
“So did something happen? How did you become injured?” Shakti asked, fully hooked into the tale from the first sentence.
“Well, it began with my associates and I, Latty the Blooded, the Last King of the Reach, and… Captain Casimir af-Shadda keeping watch outside of the safehouse after the successful capture the administrator. Then out of nowhere, an explosion tore Captain Casimir asunder, leaving nothing behind but a fine red mist. Latty and I ran for cover, giving the Dwemer time to advance on our bunker -- they knew they wouldn’t be able to get anywhere close to the building with
us guarding it. Latty the Blooded held off dozens of armed and armored soldiers at a choke-point with just his bare fists while I prepared our secret weapon…”
“You were on a mission with a King?!” The shock in her voice was almost enough to sober her up. Despite Redguard culture having a strange relationship with nobility in general, royalty was still held in high regard.
As Calen was telling the story, he made sure that Shakti was sufficiently distracted so that she didn’t notice him untying the red sash from around his waist. From seemingly out of nowhere, raised it into the air and tied it around his forehead, before drawing two finger guns from his sides.
“Whoa!” Shakti exclaimed, having been too drunk and enraptured by the tall tale to have noticed the simple sleight of hand trick.
“Two completely automatic Dwemer cannon prototypes. One in each hand. Latty jumped out of the way while I unleashed
Oblivion on them. Bang, bang, bang, bang! Each explosion sounded like Mehrunes Dagon himself, laughing -- but there were more soldiers than there were mini-cannonballs. I tossed the empty cannons aside and retreated with Latty.”
Calen took a brief break from his bullshitting to take a quick sip of champagne, but now caught up and invested in the story himself, he was eager to continue and caused a bit of the champagne to drip from the corner of his mouth.
“We rejoined our comrades inside the bunker. The battlefield was perfectly evened out with five on our side and ten on theirs… but my one failure was that we didn’t know that they had brought with them a full sized cannon. They fired at Latty the Blooded, but I pushed him out of the way, and took it to the chest. It broke my sternum, both of my clavicles, every single one of my ribs, and part of my spine. I was technically dead for two minutes. The administrator who we had captured? The force of the impact alone was enough to travel through the air behind me and kill him. I’m only alive because of… the healing powers of
Rae-- uh,
Raediant the Aedra.”
The whole story sounded like something she had heard when she was merely a child at her mother’s knee, listening to tales of ancient Ra Gada heroes and their flight from the mad King of Yokuda. She sat and listened with bated breath as Calen wove his tale of devastation and heroics (on his part, of course.) She had no idea what a cannon was, but guessed it was some kind of magical weapon that could kill scores of troops with a mere glance just based on the picture Calen was painting in her mind. She ooooh’d and aaaahhh’d at his twists and turns and sat, gasping when he described what had wounded him so badly and killed the Dwemer administrator.
Shakti gestured to the group at large, “One of them is an Aaedra?” This time, her voice was kept very low. If there was a divine being among them, there was no telling what could set it off and cause it to destroy her puny mortal form on a whim.
“So they say,” Calen whispered back in a hushed voice, “but some speculate that Raediant may just be the survivor of an ancient human civilization, and that she has such an extensive mastery of restoration, that she was able to prolong her life for
thousands of years -- and she only looks to be in her
mid-twenties. Her blood might just be closer in relation to the Divines than anyone else in the world.”
“Wow…” Shakti had no idea what to say. In her alcohol addled mind, she was slightly fearful of the idea of working with a creature of the divine persuasion. She really did not have much knowledge of the gods of Cyro-Nordic culture. Most of her spiritual life was spent with the ancient gods of Yokuda that her tribe had worshiped since they had come to this land thousands of years ago. There was one thing she hadn’t quite figured out yet.
“W-Why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” Calen began, “unlike my injuries, the mission that
I had personally concocted to free you was no mistake. There’s something special about you.
I believe that you can help me save the world!”
“
You concocted the mission yourself? Save the world? From what?” Shakti’s bullshit alarms finally started kicking in and she began to sound a bit doubtful of this whole thing.
There was a short moment of awkward silence and a look of confusion that had at first frozen Calen’s growing grin in place, but slowly melted it away. He raised his eyebrow and tried to recover, “Uh… really? The dwemer. You know, the whole… invading force threatening all of Tamriel? Toppled an empire? Occupied Hammerfell?”
Shakti tapped her chin. “I understand that they are invading Tamriel, but the whole world? And me being important to that?” Her voice trailed off as she tried to piece his story together. Redguard culture was full of heroes, but it was also very much focused on Knightly orders and brotherhoods and all of that. Single men don’t win wars by themselves. Well, unless your name is HoonDing.
“Allow me to let you in on a secret,” Calen started, trying to regain steam, “no one else knows about this. I’m not a brilliant tactician because of my brains. I wasn’t the architect of those missions because of years of battlefield experience. If I have one power, any power at all… it’s
clairvoyance. It doesn’t help me
all the time…”
Calen glanced down at his chest, but his eyes slowly crawled back up to meet Shakti’s.
“But I have a very strong sense of intuition. The Dwemer aren’t going to stop at Tamriel, they’ll always want more. I don’t know what it is about you, but
you’re special. Don’t ever underestimate yourself. As long as you believe in yourself like
I believe in you, there’s nothing you can’t accomplish.”
Shakti followed his gaze down to his chest and then met it again with a quizzical look. This truly was an odd man. She supposed being clairvoyant would do that to a person. “I guess I’ll have to believe in myself then.” She didn’t sound fully convinced, but if her years of studying sword-fencing and the ancient Ra Gada texts about it had taught her anything, it was that you had to throw yourself fully at things, even if you don’t understand them at the time. Mastery was a journey. She shrugged as a conversational semicolon and nibbled on her piece of bread. “I do not think you ever gave me your name. I am Shakti of the Alik’r.” She inclined her head slight in a pseudo-bow.
“Calen,” he replied, mirroring the bow of her head, “of Solitude.”
Finally, the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile; a shit-eating grin, really, and he leaned back into his chair as he said, “So did you like my story?”
“S-Story? Did… did you make all that up?” Shakti said, slightly incredulous, her eyebrows arched in puzzlement.
“Only some of it. I embellished.” He admitted with a flushed grin. “Honestly, I’m just a bard. I’m just supposed to entertain people… but that mission and the dwemer? Me getting hurt? Most of that was real, I just… well, it was fun while it lasted, yeah?”
Shakti let out a groan and flopped her face into the table to disguise her even-brighter-red-than-before cheeks. She really had just let this man give her a run around. She felt like a goat being herded back into its pen at dusk, something she had done a million times. Now she knew what the goat felt like.
Shakti wished she had more wine.
“Hey, hey, hey… don’t feel too bad, Shakti.” Calen said, leaning in and placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all in good fun, right? We’re having a party. It’s okay to have fun. Besides… how do you think we managed to trick the administrator into following us?”
Shakti sat back up, her brown freckled cheeks still flushed red as the dunes at sunset. “But you said… and I believed… I cannot... “ She groaned again at her own foolishness. “I suppose you were not doing it to be mean. You do tell a good story, you must be a very skilled bard.” She had to admit that it was pretty easy to fool her though, so perhaps he wasn’t
that skilled.
“To good stories, then?” Calen suggested, then wincing from the pain in his chest as he reached for a bottle of champagne at his table and pushed it into Shakti’s hands. He grabbed his own glass and continued. “To defeating the Dwemer… and to you too, Shakti. You may be drunk and gullible
now, but you’re a survivor. You fought long enough to stay alive and
be saved and I reckon you kept on fighting. You’re one of us now, aye?”
“I guess I am one of you now.” She affirmed as she poured some of the champagne into Calen’s glass and, finding she had no glass of her own, taking a sip of the liquid out of the bottle. “To good stories, and to your recovery!” She declared after noticing his wince.
Seeing Anifaire and Alim thoroughly invested in one another, Daro’Vasora made like a thief and slipped out quietly from the scene, letting their mutual affection do the rest of the work. She was feeling pretty well, all considered. Most of her friends and companions were relaxed and jovial, but one caught her eye who seemed to be somewhat despondent. The Khajiit frowned, looking towards Raelynn, who sat alone and was making no effort to join in the revelry. She’d only heard rumours and second hand what the Breton had endured, and her mind wandered briefly to the day she spent in each other’s company, meeting Salosoix and Governor Rourken in a single day. A lot of the light and pride was gone from Raelynn’s countenance, and Daro’Vasora felt she needed to do something to try and reach it.
Walking over and clutching a bottle of champagne, she stood a few feet away from Raelynn and gestured to the seat next to her. “That spot taken?” she asked kindly.
“It’s not, I suppose you’re going to fill it though?” she asked with a wry smile, her conversation with Jaraleet had poked at her wounds a little, so she was glad to have company to take her mind off of it. She tapped the cushion of the seat with her hand. “You look nice by the way, I’m surprised that you know how to scrub up so well…” normally it would have sounded malicious, but this evening it was some friendly sassy patter to start their conversation.
Following the accepting gesture, Daro’Vasora sat down as gracefully as she could, although her extremities were beginning to feel a bit numb. She smiled sincerely at the complement, fixing a stray strand of her mane behind her ear. The compliment was backhanded, she knew, but it was still from a good place, the Khajiit decided.
“You are too kind. You should have seen me back in Imperial City, when I actually had something of a wardrobe. Believe it or not, I am quite the cosmopolitan woman.” She said, taking a drink of the champagne straight from the bottle before offering it to Raelynn. “Your attire is quite striking, yourself. It is something I would likely find myself wearing on a trip out of town but not expecting anything too rough and tumble in my day. It makes me realize that we haven’t really had much of an opportunity to get to know one another, and you looked a bit lonely, if you’ll forgive my saying so.” he face turned to a frown, her eyes glanced away for a moment. “I just thought you needed space after you returned, and I wanted to make sure that you didn’t feel pressured into talking. I’m not really good at this sort of thing, but… well, I always admired you and I genuinely enjoyed that time we spent together. Hopefully my being here can bring some of that back for you.”
“Do I really look that sad?” she asked, her voice low as her eyes fell to the ground. “It’s written all over me isn’t it?” The Breton sighed and took the bottle from Daro’Vasora, drinking straight from it too. She changed the subject, not wanting to hear the answer to her questions. “Actually my Mother made this, it’s nice to wear something that makes me look… Less like a princess, from time to time.” She handed the bottle back to her companion. “Thanks for doing this, by the way. I might not look all to thrilled…” she placed a hand on the Khajiit’s arm gently, “but it really is nice to have this time together. I barely know them all, and yet I do at the same time.” She let her eyes gaze over the room again, and to see everyone happy - to see Calen out of his bed, even Latro. It made her laugh - or perhaps the laugh came from the mouthful of bubbles she had consumed. Nevertheless, she enjoyed the feeling of warmth, good and honest warmth that was spilling through the room - intoxicating everyone.
“Maybe when all of this is said and done, I will have to commission her to make me something. I quite admire her craftsmanship.” Daro’Vasora smiled, taking the bottle back. She listened to Raelynn’s gratitude, a surprisingly genuine sentiment, and she looked to the hand on her arm with surprise; it was a rather intimate gesture she never expected to receive from the Breton. She placed a hand on top of Raelynn’s, offering a slight squeeze. “I knew I had to do something. After everything that’s happened, well… you heard my speech. How was it, too much? Off the mark?” she asked, chuckling while shaking her head. “I’ve never been good at the damned things and improvising with my oration, but as long as the sentiment is there, that’s what matters, right?” she asked.
“It was a little heartfelt - I was quite shocked you found the words actually. I’ve heard your other emotional outbursts a lot more.” She smiled, and drank a sip from her glass - which was still strangely full. “I liked it a lot though.”
“I think we all needed to remember what it is to just live and remember who we are when we’re taken away from this war, this invasion. I think about Zegol and Rhea all of the time, how I feel like I failed them both. It’s a strange sensation for me, I’m not used to feeling accountable for people and their well being, or being attached to them. I guess a lot has changed lately.” she looked across the room at everyone with a smile and a light laugh at some of the antics. It really felt like a group of friends who’d been together for years. “I just wanted to remind us all, including myself, that things aren’t always going to be going the way they are. Nights like this will become the norm, at least that’s what I’m fighting for. For us all to live, not just survive.”
Raelynn had simply been nodding along to the Khajiit in intervals of acknowledgement while she had shared her thoughts, listening to her made her feel better inside - she was right after all, and just hearing Sora reaffirm all of these things made her feel less isolated and alone. “Speaking of living - how about you give me a go with that lock of yours? I wouldn’t mind a pinch of that Moon Sugar…” She smiled and drank again - she knew that she didn’t want to get too heartfelt with Daro’Vasora - as nice as it was, it would only bring her mood down, and she wanted to have fun. Everyone else was.
“Back in a moment. Don't let anyone take my seat.” the Khajiit spoke, standing up and heading to the table where the lock was sitting.
While she waited for Sora to hand over the trinket, she lifted her hands behind her head and took out two hairpins to use as lockpicks, letting some strands fall loose around her face, literally letting her hair down at last.
A few moments later, Daro'Vasora returned, nodding appreciatively at the new hairstyle Raelynn sported. She handed over the lock and took her seat, scooping up the bottle. “It's a good look. You should try it more often.” she said, drinking heavily from the champagne. “So, am I wrong in assuming you've locked yourself out a few times?” she asked.
She smiled playfully and took the lock, feeling that the wine had sufficiently gone to her head she placed the lock into her lap and tucked the strand behind her ear before placing the two clips into the lock slowly. “Put it this way, I was a very naughty student at the College who just wanted to read all the books in the library…” a low giggle was heard as she twisted her fingers against the lock.
As she tilted the lock she was hit by a sharp pain through the fingers of her left hand as they seized up spontaneously. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip - unable to move her fingers around the hairpin. She breathed slowly, making her mouth a soft ‘o’ shape as she let go - the hairpin didn't move and she was able to flex her fingers free of the paralysing effect. “Heh, I guess my nerves are still somewhat frayed…” her voice was soft, but defeated. Still, she went back onto the lock and with a few more deliberate clicks, twists, and shakes, it finally opened and she beamed at Sora. “Too easy friend, too easy!”
While Raelynn’s hands worked, Daro’Vasora took note of each of them, the bruising and the puncture wounds, the difficulty the Breton had manipulating the small and fine objects. She didn’t try to stop her, because to offer help or to tell her she shouldn’t do it would be to rob her of her own self-determination. Instead, when Raelynn popped the lock, Daro’Vasora put on an exaggerated pout. “Oh, beginner’s luck. I suppose I have to live up to my end of the bargain…” she said, untying the small pouch from her waist belt and offering it over to Raelynn with mock pageantry. “Raelynn Hawkford, for overcoming my devious challenge, I present to you the spoils of your labour. Please take it from my humble hand before I decide I want it instead.”
She took the bag with delight in her eyes, and then grasped the Champagne, taking another big gulp from the bottle, finding that it was the very last dregs. “It seems we got through that a little too quickly - and in a not so ladylike fashion at all. I’m half-scared of what will happen when I stand…”
“I think I might see if our green friend will enjoy indulging in this Moon Sugar later. Something tells me she will oblige…” She slouched back in her seat - more relaxed now than before, she even found herself leaning closer into Daro’Vasora, her mind carrying her to a memory of her companion from only days ago. “You know Daro’Vasora… Gregor is indeed dangerous.” She looked down, in a forlorn fashion, taking a meek sip from her wine glass - chasing down the champagne bubbles and giving the Khajiit a moment to consider her words, before pulling her head back up with an exceedingly kittenish smile, “dangerously good in bed,” she couldn't help it and she started laughing - and loudly, from deep down in her stomach, immensely proud of herself.
The bait and switch caused Daro’Vasora to groan, although not entirely put off. “Oh trust me, I know all about you two…” she muttered, noticing that the room was starting to blur when her eyes darted around. The fact she maintained a fairly robust vernacular surprised her, she decided. It had been quite a long time since she had this much to drink.
To be fair, you’ve been keeping food down and doing the rounds with the others… she thought, suddenly aware of how close Raelynn had leaned towards her. It was a very accepting gesture.
“You sure you don’t want the sugar for yourself? It’s always so fun to see the uninitiated hit their first euphoric wave… you’re quite agreeable when you’ve been drinking, you know.” the Khajiit said, shaking her head with a slight upturn of a smile. “So, Gregor’s treating you right? I hope I was wrong about him… he just, well, gave me the chills when we spoke in Anvil. Maybe it was just fatigue.” she murmured, her mind not quite as quick as usual to draw the connection between him and the death of the administrator. She’d already given Jaraleet an earful, it was enough, right?
“Pardon me, but you're the one who loosened me up with the champagne…” she said with a wink. “I think I owe Mazrah some fun after our first meeting. I'm in the mood for fresh starts and new friends tonight - for once I shan't be greedy.”
Her eyes found Gregor in the room and she focused on him from a distance, admiring him longingly as an audible sigh of infatuation slipped out. “He must be doing something right, I'm falling in love with hi-" she cut herself off before she could finish, but she knew Sora had heard, “don't you tell anyone I said that… Or I'll off you…” there was no malice in her tone, but a little embarrassment. She was in too good a mood to let it foul the meeting and so she opted to playfully nudge Sora with her elbow.
Daro’Vasora began to giggle before it turned into a much more hearty laugh. “Oh, there’s the Raelynn I know. Tough on the outside,” she poked the Breton over the heart. “Soft on the inside.” she enjoyed her companion’s more human side, the one that wasn’t prim and proper and a bit stuck up. “I guess that makes two of us,” she said, nodding towards Latro, who was strumming away at her lute. “I suppose we’re both a little… ah…”
She raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “mmmm, he’s a real gentleman Sora.” It was the first time she had used her name so casually, and she placed her lolling drunken head onto the Khajiit's shoulder. “I like him a lot. He really… Was there for me, he has a great heart.”
Without thinking, Daro'Vasora rested her head atop Raelynn's. “More than I deserve.” she replied with a sad smile. “So, what about you and I? Are we friends?”
“You have really cheered me up tonight, Sora. I think for that alone then yes, we are.” She sighed contentedly.
“Tonight's for everyone. It broke my heart to see you weren't quite a part of it yet. Friends…” she tried the word on her tongue, deciding she liked it. “It's been a while since I really had any of those. Tonight's just full of surprises.” she purred.
As Daro’Vasora made her exit, Alim glanced her way to make sure before turning back to Anifaire. He seemed more casual and caring than anything. “You know, we don’t need to dance if you don’t want to.” he said warmly.
She glanced around at the present company, suddenly feeling a bit more self conscious. “Maybe,” she started. “We could dance. Or.. eat. Or drink.” She paused, her cheeks still hot as she remembered something Daro’Vasora had said. A look of shock crossed her face and she fumbled to speak. “She said- When she was- She- You know- She was lying right? About- um- About your b- not that it isn’t- I mean- no- wait.”
She gave up.
“Slow down, slow down,” Alim said, unable not to smile. He held his hands up. “I know she wasn’t telling the truth. You didn’t look drunk enough for that.” He decided not to make a big deal about it to save her embarrassment. “Why don’t we grab something to eat, and then if we get drunk enough I am sure we’ll dance then.” He winked.
Anifaire nodded slowly, thinking she could definitely go for seconds. “Alim, I’ve never been drunk.”
Alim blinked, unable to think of a response to that. “Really? You just never had the chance to or did someone keep you from not?” he asked her, guiding her over to one of the tables and hailing one of the waiters for some food. “That’s not a bad thing, I’ve just never met a high class person that hadn’t been a drunk deviant when they had the chance.”
“In Alinor, I spent most of my time with people my mother’s age. I didn’t really get along with the other students. I was different,” she admitted. She’d started avoiding the term ‘Alinor’ once she’d gotten settled in the Imperial City because it seemed to make people uncomfortable, but somehow she didn’t think she needed to be careful around Alim.
“What was it like in Alinor?” Alim asked, honestly curious. He’d traveled the breadth of Tamriel, but not too far outside of it. His time as a sailor was mostly skirting the southern coast of the continent. He sat down across from Anifaire at their table. When he spoke of the city, he seemed almost like a young boy that hadn’t gone outside of his own town yet. He kicked his feet up on the back of another chair, placing his hands behind his head as he thought of it. “I always figured I would go someday. The war sort of saw to that not happening yet, but I’m sure I’ll get the chance. I heard it’s very wonderful.”
“It’s beautiful,” Anifaire agreed with wonder. She thought of her home. “My favourite thing was the architecture. It’s.. warm there, but it’s a different warm than here. We lived in a villa, in the capital. The city is massive. I’ve never seen anything like it, really, though Gilane is fascinating.” She paused for a few seconds, hesitating on her words. “I found Cyrodiil a bit drab.”
She picked up the empty tankard in front of her and looked from it to Alim a bit questioningly.
She really spoke like a high class, he realized. He suppose he should have noticed earlier. “Cyrodiil can be drab, definitely. Near the coast it’s more exciting, I find.” He turned to her. “Did you tell me before? I forgot why you left Summerset…”
“To go to the university in Cyrodiil. It took nearly fifteen years to convince my parents.” She realized she didn’t know similar things about Alim. “Where are you from?”
Alim called the waitress over, asking to pour them both some mead. “Don’t worry we’ll start small.” he told her, and smiled. “It’s sweet too.” After that Alim picked up his mug and took a sip. He hadn’t had mead in awhile. Might not be as good as Skyrim mead, but it wasn’t bad at all. “I grew up in Highrock, and for the latter part of my childhood I was here. Or, in Skaven. It’s a city north of here. I think you’d like there as well, though it’s a bit more cutthroat.”
He placed his mug down and leaned back on the chair. “After that I went everywhere except Morrowind and Summerset, pretty much. I sailed off the coast of Blackmarsh for a short time.”
“I think I like Hammerfell,” Anifaire said. She lifted the mug and took a hesitant sniff before trying a mouthful. She looked at Alim in surprise. “It’s good.” She took another couple of sips, surprising herself with her eagerness to drink the honey-ish substance. “Is it all this good?”
Alim looked at her. “...eventually.”
“Oh,” Anifaire said. She had no idea what the meant, but she forgot about it and took a few large gulps of the mead. “I want to try others.”
Feeling suitably in the party spirit now, Raelynn stood at last from her chair - and had to wait a fraction of a second for her head to catch up with her. The wine had
really gotten to her head. But yet, she was on a mission - and sauntered across the room to where Mazrah was sat, laughing and making herself at home. With her own glass in one hand, and a bag of Moon Sugar in the other, she slid behind the Orsimer woman, tapping her lightly on the shoulder, her own legs wobbling slightly under the weight of wine and champagne on an empty stomach.
“Mazrah,” she began quietly - holding out the bag in her hand in front of her with a spirited smile. “Consider this one a warm apology for a frosty introduction…”
Now this was a surprise. Mazrah looked up to find that it was Raelynn, of all people, who had picked Daro’Vasora’s lock, obtained the moon sugar and decided to give it to her. “Fuck me sideways and call me Latro,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “How did a proper lady like you know how to pick that lock?” The Orsimer accepted the offered bag of narcotics, got to her feet and wrapped her arms around the petite Breton in a fierce bear-hug. “Thank you, Raelynn. Consider yourself forgiven!” Mazrah squeezed a little, laughing at the sensation of Raelynn’s back popping, before letting go and putting her hands on her shoulders. She tilted her head as she looked down on the Breton, who was eye-level with the Orsimer’s cleavage, and squinted mischievously. “What say you and I share this sugar, eh?”
“How else can one access the best books in the library if one cannot sneak their way in with a few choice tools?” she said in a sing-song voice, flipping and flicking her hair in an arrogant fashion - proud of her accomplishment. She laughed, and also shrieked a little too loudly when Mazrah hugged her so violently. After she put her back down, Raelynn patted her arm gently, averting her eyes from the large breasts in front of her face. “You are… Welcome!”
“Share it? You want me to indulge in the Moon Sugar?” Raelynn blinked, partly in shock, partly from intoxication as she steadied her gaze. “That sounds like a recipe for disaster…” She pursed her lips into a pout, and moved her eyes back and forth, really considering it - for less than one second. “Let’s do it!”
It seemed impossible at first, but Mazrah’s grin managed to occupy even more real estate on her face as Raelynn agreed to share the moon sugar. “That’s the spirit,” she said, sat back down and motioned for Raelynn to join her. “Now, let’s see here,” Mazrah mumbled, slightly slurring her words as her large fingers clumsily undid the straps holding the bag closed. She found herself staring at a pile of small, white crystals that looked like unrefined sugar -- hence the name, Mazrah figured. She fingered one of her tusks while she picked up a crystal with her free hand and held it against the light, wondering what to do with it. “It looks… it looks like you’re supposed to eat it?” she half-said, half-asked, and glanced sideways at Raelynn. “What do you think?”
“Yes, I believe so. You know that this is a holy substance for the Khajiit, when they consume it - to them it is like they are consuming portions of their God’s very souls… It’s very special to them, Mazrah. Really quite fascinating.” Raelynn took a reasonable pinch from the pile in the bag, and sprinkled it onto her tongue. She nodded at Mazrah, encouraging her to take the rest of it. She didn’t immediately feel any different for taking it - yet.
“That’s fucked up,” Mazrah said and laughed. “Who in Oblivion eats their gods? Alright, whatever, I shouldn’t judge. Cat gods, here I come!” She tilted her head back and simply upended the bag of moon sugar over her open mouth, catching the crystals with a surprisingly long and dexterous tongue -- though perhaps not that surprising, all things considered. She could immediately feel the crystals begin to melt and disintegrate in her mouth and decided against chewing; something told her that it was supposed to do this by itself. Eventually she swallowed the remains and looked at Raelynn with excitement in her eyes. “And now we wait.”
Only a few seconds from taking the Sugar, and feeling it melt into a syrup down her throat did Raelynn begin to feel tingling through all of her limbs - tingling that immediately made her giggle in shock, her eyes wide as she allowed the sensation to wash over her. “Oh… hoo… ho… ha..” she began to speak in non-words, and just sounds. The portion she had was far less than Mazrah, and even taking into consideration their size difference there was only one thing that she could think to say - “oh my Mazrah, you’re about to get fucked…” which was followed abruptly by hysterical laughter.
“Oh, good,” Mazrah practically moaned as a honeyed warmth and numbness came over her like a blanket. “It's been too long since I've had a good shag.” She grinned but her mouth almost immediately went slack and she sank against her chair. “Woah,” she managed through uncooperative lips and frowned, before quickly deciding not to worry; she didn't want to be afraid of something while she couldn't move. That would only lead to panic. Quite the opposite happened, in fact, as an overwhelming sense of joy and amusement bubbled up from her gut and rose into her chest. She began to giggle, drool leaking from the corner of her mouth, and managed to raise her hand with great effort in order to wave it uselessly in Raelynn's direction. “Hi,” she slurped and bust out into a tremendously loud belly laugh.
Raelynn watched as Mazrah sunk into a blissful state of euphoria - wondering if she too would have the same reaction. She continued to giggle and enjoy tingles across her body she waved back at Mazrah, “hullloooooooooooo…” she slurred, drawing out the last syllable and finding it hilarious to do so. Unfortunately Raelynn was not quite as lucky as Mazrah to have a chair, and when the Sugar really kicked in, it was like being wiped out by a wave on the beach and she tumbled to the floor on her back, arms outstretched. “Wow....” she whispered while staring up at the ceiling, she swore she could see the stars.
Her sense of humor soared to new heights (or lows, depending on how you looked at it) and the sight of Raelynn falling spread-eagled on her back was the single funniest thing that Mazrah had ever seen. She laughed so hard that she turned silent, merely gasping for breath between bouts of cramp-inducing fits, and slid off her chair as if she had turned into a liquid. She joined Raelynn on the floor and managed to grab her hand, interlocking their fingers. “Mhmmm,” Mazrah whispered, her voice husky and breathless, before she was beset upon by another wave of giggles, tears of hilarity streaming down her face. It was like her whole body had become an erogenous zone and the sensation of Raelynn’s small, dainty fingers against her own was divine. Mazrah closed her eyes and was immediately treated to a spectacle of fractal light and shapes, twisting and turning haphazardly into infinity. “I can see forever,” she managed, and squeezed Raelynn’s hand.
“I can see a big black cat dancing in a hat!” she roared in response to Maz, giving her hand a squeeze back, feeling her tiny fingers be enveloped by the hand of the green giantess beside her. She moaned aloud in bliss as the room seemed to fall silent around her, everything crumbling away except the sporadic laughter erupting from Mazrah, and her own delighted purrs. “Ohhhhhh yes, now I can see forever too, it's so pretty. Almost as pretty as you my new friend!” She opened her eyes and looked at Maz on the floor - she was so vibrantly green and shiny and sparkling and all manner of things. She began running the fingers of her free hand over Mazrah’s bare stomach, before poking gently at her breast - the ones that had been so close to her face moments ago. “That is a magnificent rack you have, Orsimer,” she cooed dreamily, admiring the physique of her, and enjoying the colours she was displaying.
Shivers ran up and down Mazrah’s spine when Raelynn touched her stomach and and her eyes shot open after the Breton pressed her finger against her breast; her skin was far more sensitive than it normally was, even through the fabric of her top, and she looked at Raelynn with a heavy gaze. “Don’t tease me like that,” she said in a low voice and placed a hand on Raelynn’s bare thigh, her fingers drawing shapes on the pale skin. “You might get more than you bargained for.” Her lips split into a lazy grin upon receiving Raelynn’s compliment on her bosom and she looked down at her own cleavage. “Indeed. I grew them myself,” she said and immediately broke into hysterical laughter at her own joke.
“My word, what is going on here?” Gregor asked as he approached, a glass of wine in hand and an awfully amused look on his face. He had seen enough to know he did not have to worry about the fact that Raelynn lay giggling and stupid on the ground. Moon sugar wasn’t something he had ever partaken in himself, nor was he likely to, but he had seen the effects and knew that, in moderate dosages, it was harmless enough. Gregor was very much enjoying his own buzz at this point and shamelessly sank down on his rear next to Raelynn, adopting a relaxed posture, one knee propped up for him to lean his arm on. “It looks to me like you made a new friend,” the Imperial said to his lover and he gave Mazrah a polite nod, raising his drink in greeting. “Pleased to meet you, Mazrah. My name is Gregor, but I don’t expect you to remember that now.”
“Mmmmmmmmmazrah, this is
my Gregor…” she whispered (not very quietly) against her ear, before blowing a little air on her neck joyfully. “Gregor this is Mazrah, I was just telling her that she has beautiful, bouncing, bubbly, big, bountiful, blossoming, bosoms!” she chortled at her own alliterative description of Mazrah's body. The blonde Breton grinned up at Gregor from the floor, catching his eyes with her own - under the influence of the moon sugar they were more beautiful and haunting than ever and she bit her lip at the thought of being close to him later. “Mazrah, Gregor is my… he’s my…” she thought long and hard about how she would describe him, eventually propping herself up onto her elbows and declaring, “he’s my handsome Prince!” She smiled from ear to ear, poking her tongue out in an adorably dorky fashion, before turning back to Mazrah happily, “don't you think he’s handsome?”
Gregor had to admit that Raelynn was right about Mazrah’s breasts, but thought it wise not to speak on that subject himself and took a sip of wine instead. He laughed, sincerely and openly, when Raelynn called him her handsome prince and stuck out her tongue at him, and his dark eyes were filled with love and desire as the crow’s feet by their corners became more prominent than ever; such was the totality of his smile. He had not felt such simple, wholesome joy since he was a young man without wrinkles of any kind.
“No,” Mazrah said with a smirk, and rolled on her side to press herself against Raelynn and wrapped a long, powerful leg around her, pulling her in closer. “But that’s not his fault. I don’t swing that way, princess. I like
you much more,” she added and nibbled on the Breton’s ear before remembering that her lover was quite literally right there. She pulled back a little but remained close to Raelynn and traced the outline of her jaw with a finger. “You’re a lucky man, Gregor,” Mazrah said and looked at him, meeting his gaze.
“I know,” Gregor said softly and took Raelynn’s free hand in his own.
She quivered at the pleasurable sensation of Mazrah nibbling at her ear, a burst of laughter followed and she slapped Maz’s thigh. The pint sized mage twisted her body around so that she could see her new friend and look upon her eyes. “If I was to swing in
your direction, and if I were an Orsimer warrior like you then I would happily remain here and we could tie ourselves in knots under the stars…” she dragged a finger over Mazrah's lips, down her chin, then her neck, to her collarbones until she finally found her breasts again - and this time she gave one a hefty squeeze. “But as it stands - I'm certain that your… that your jubbly bits are bigger than my head. You are simply too much woman for me!” She giggled joyfully at Mazrah before turning back to look at Gregor. “But this one…” as she spoke, her smile faded as she looked deeply into his eyes - entranced by them, “he is my perfect storm… and I daresay that I… that I-" Before she could finish speaking, she spotted the long, powerful thunder thigh propped over her and burst out laughing again at the sight of it before giving it one more hearty slap for good measure.
Gregor’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of what Raelynn might have been about to say, but he resorted to having another sip of wine when she was interrupted by the realization that Mazrah had caught her in the iron vice of her legs. Their level of physical intimacy had now reached a point that caused him to raise an eyebrow and clear his throat loudly; though there was something to be said for the sight of Raelynn entangled with another woman. He blinked a few times and cleared his head of the thought. “Alright, let’s get you up,” Gregor said and moved into position to help Raelynn on a chair. “You’ve teased our new friend here long enough. I fear that if you touch her any more, she will not hesitate to steal you away from me.” He glanced at Mazrah, smiling to show that he meant her no ill will.
She nodded. “Quite true,” the Orsimer said casually and acquiesced to Gregor taking Raelynn out of her embrace by untangling their limbs and rolling onto her back once more. Raelynn staring into her eyes and squeezing her breast had almost made her abandon reason and abduct the Breton then and there. She was going to need some time to calm down. “Oh, you’re right, I can see the stars too,” Mazrah added softly and stared up at the ceiling, her breathing slow and deep.
While Gregor was glancing at Mazrah, his back turned for merely a split second - Raelynn bounded onto her feet and began weaving her way drunkenly through the party, deciding upon who would be the next friend she would make while her spirits were still high.
“What the--” Gregor began and whirled around to see Raelynn disappear into the midst of the party. He took a deep breath and sighed before looking over at Mazrah and raising his arms, palms-up, as if to say ‘what gives?’
The Orsimer laughed and clutched at her abs. “Ouch, this is really starting to cramp now,” she groaned and tried to relax.
It was probably the first time Meg had had
so much to drink, but she wasn't about to stop now. Cheeks as red as apples, she had found her hands on yet another bottle of ale -why fix what wasn't broken and chose something else to drink?- and decided to sit back and relax in a corner while attempting to think over a very crazy idea that wouldn't stop dancing in her head. Looking around, she caught sight of a familiar face; a dopey grin came to her face as she attempted to rush over.
"Jara- ahh!" In her inebriated state, she tripped over her own feet; instinctively she hugged the bottle as she fell to her knees. "PHEW." At least it was protected! Still on her knees, she giggled as she waved at the argonian. "Hiya!"
Jaraleet was about to speak when he noticed Meg tripping over and falling to her knees. The Argonian quickly stood up and went to check on the fallen Meg, the reason behind why she had tripped quickly becoming evident as he noticed her reddened cheeks. “Hey to you too Meg.” The Argonian said, shaking his head slightly albeit he was smiling nonetheless. “Want me to help you get up?” He asked, deciding to not comment on the bottle of ale that she was currently holding between her hands, offering one hand to the kneeling form of the Nord woman.
Meg thought about the simple question for much longer than it warranted thought before nodding emphatically. "Aye, thansh!" She took hold of Jaraleet's hand and managed to pull herself up with one hand, the other refusing to let go of her precious bottle of ale. Still a little weak in the legs, she fell face first into the argonian.
"Ow," came her muffled voice.
Jaraleet had noticed the unsteady wobble to Meg’s leg and, as such, had moved his second hand to support her while she regained her balance. Unfortunately, it seemed that he was a second too late as the Nord woman came crashing face first on top of him; fortunately he managed to regain his balance and stopped them both from falling into the ground. “It seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, haven’t you?” The Argonian said with a light chuckle, having placed one hand on Meg’s waist to help steady her up and, hopefully, stop her from falling again.
"Too much? Nooo..." Even as the words left her she knew he was probably right. A sulky look on her face and her lips pouting like a child, she nodded in agreement. "My legsh, they jus' don' wanna work, silly things." She was lucky she was being helped up, it gave her the chance to find a chair without falling to the ground yet again.
"I'mma sit!" she decided, her free hand waving at the chair as if trying to summon it over. "I'm- I'm o... kay." She spoke the words slowly, not really for Jaraleet but mostly for herself so that she could understand what she was saying- the words seem to be slipping from her mouth before she could even think about them. "I... I wanna tell y'somethin'. I got... an idea!" She gazed up at the argonian, green eyes glazed and shining.
Jaraleet couldn’t help himself and chuckled when he noticed the sulky look and pouting lips with which Meg was regarding him with, a fond smile drawing itself on his face once he was done chuckling. He helped Meg move towards the direction of the chair she had been waving towards and, once they got there, to sit down. With that done, the Argonian pulled a nearby chair and sat in front of Meg. “Hmmm, if you say so.” He said, unconvinced, when Meg muttered that she was ok, moving one of his hands towards the bottle that she was still clutching. “Hmmm, and what idea is that?” He asked her, still smiling at the Nord woman. “By the way, would you mind sharing?” He added nonchalantly, gesturing at the bottle of ale. It’d probably be a good idea to get that out of her hands.
For a split second Meg was about to refuse- it was
her bottle!- but even drunk she was reminded that he had generously shared his drink when they had been no more than strangers. Feeling slightly ashamed of herself, a sniffle escaped as she nodded, holding out the bottle for the argonian to share.
"Sharin' is carin'," she reminded herself, her sulking expression changing to one of pride. She then took a deep breath before leaning in conspiratorially, hand up to her mouth to whisper. "I- I think I know it! Who dunnit!" Thereafter she jerked her head comically to the side, as if to see if anyone was eavesdropping on their conversation. When she saw everyone was too busy in their own conversations, she turned her head back to continue her whispered conversation. “It… it came t’me when I was gettin’ m’hair chopped off. It’s… gotta be them. Or him.” She put a hand to her chin, finger tapping against her lips as she made a show of thinking.
Jaraleet smiled as he took a hold of the bottle, taking a swig of its contents before he turned his attention once more towards Meg. He listened in silence as she continued speaking, a mounting feeling of dread welling up within him as he started to piece together what Meg was talking about. “
By the Hist, please no.” He thought inwardly, taking another swig of the bottle’s contents. “What are you talking about Meg? Who did what?” He asked her quietly, his mind desperately trying to think of a way to shift the conversation away from the topic he thought it was heading towards.
Meg started at the argonian as if he had grown an extra head. Her head tilted to the side as she narrowed her eyes. "You
know," she replied, adding emphasis to the words before she scooted forward in her chair so that her knees were nearly touching his legs. "'Bout the ... " Even in this state she knew better than to speak out loud, simply mouthing the word "dwemer." Her eyes widened and her eyebrows rose, hoping he got what she was saying. "Thinkin' 'bout it, pretty sure t'was 'im..." Once again she mouthed the name of her prime suspect, Gregor, and then waited, seeming almost puppy-like as she waited for approval at having hopefully solved the mystery.
“
Sithis damnit all.” Jaraleet thought as Meg began talking, just like he had guessed, about Nblec’s death, his worries increasing as Meg mouthed off Gregor’s name silently. This was bad, he knew that Gregor was a dangerous man and he was afraid of what might happen should Meg start snooping around and unintentionally, or even worse intentionally, set off Gregor. Despite the arrangement that the Haj-Eix had managed to strike with the Imperial, truth was that the former still didn’t knew too much about the latter’s situation particularly when it came to what might drive him to take desperate actions.
“Yeah, of course I remember.” The Argonian said quietly, leaning forward slightly. He placed the bottle of ale at a nearby table before he placed both of his hands on Meg’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it Meg, I’m already looking into it. But, you are right, Gregor
is someone that I suspect.” He said quietly, his mind racing to try and find a way to diffuse the situation. “But I’m already looking into it, it would serve no purpose to go throwing off accusations against each other right now, correct? We can only rely on one another right now, and driving wedges inside of the group could be dangerous, no?”
"Uhmm... I guess?" Meg blinked up at Jaraleet, slightly confused as she had thought he'd be more pleased or relieved. Maybe she really was a little too drunk and not thinking straight? The last thing she wanted was to do or say something that would ruin their group. But then, what about just dumping the blame on the argonian for something he hadn't done? "But- but it's- it'snot fair... you're not- you didn'- everyone thinks..." She let out a huff and crossed her arms over her chest, irked that he was probably right and that staying shushed was for the best. "Not fair. I don'- I don' like it. At all."
“No, it’s not fair.” The Argonian conceded, regarding Meg with a small smile. “But it’s just the situation I have to deal with it.” He said quietly, falling silent for a second as he thought about what to say next. “However, I do appreciate that you are worrying about….all of this. Really, I do.” He said, smiling at Meg and giving her shoulders a light squeeze. “But, like I said before, I’m looking into this, alright? Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to make things right. But, I think, that right now we should let things lie down for a bit.” He said, moving one hand to take the bottle of ale again and taking a swig of its contents before offering it to Meg again.
Meg's let out a breath before finally nodding. At least he knew then, right? That had to be enough, right? It didn't feel like it to her, but she couldn't blatantly go against his wishes... right?
Taking the bottle from him, she put it to her lips and took a long swig before setting it back down against her lap, though she pushed it to the edge so that the argonian could take it if he wished. "Fine," she finally intoned, falling silent for a good few moment before speaking once more. "We... we're friends. 'Course I'mma worry. Y'need t'get used t'it."
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Jaraleet replied, smiling at Meg. “I’m just worried as well, is all. I don’t want any trouble breaking up within the group and you getting hurt, that’s all.” He said, taking the bottle from the spot that Meg had placed it and taking a swig. “Just like you tell me to get used to you worrying over me, well, you get used to
me worrying in turn.” He said, chuckling softly. “Seems fair to me at least, doesn’t it?”
Meg flushed, scowling a little before giving way to a guilty giggle of her own. "'S'pose y'got me there," she admitted, feeling embarrassed but flattered at the same time. "Fair's fair." Hands now free, she brought them to her face and rubbed her eyes, trying in vain to clear the fuzziness that invaded her mind. "Y- you keep the bottle... don' think I need more. I'mma go wash m'face an' get some water."
Jaraleet laughed slightly when Meg conceded her defeat, smiling contently at the Nord woman. “Exactly, fair’s fair as you said.” The Argonian said, happy that Meg was willing to let the topic of his unjust accusations lie low for the moment and thusly evading the possibility of Meg inciting Gregor’s ire. He nodded when she told him to keep the bottle and that she was going to go and wash her face, but a frown appeared on his face when he remembered the state in which he had first seen her. “Hey, do you want me to go with you or something?” He asked her, a note of concern in his voice. He could tell that Meg was in a much more sober state but, even so, a small part of his mind worried that she might wind up tripping again and hurting herself.
"Hmm..." Meg carefully stood up, testing her weight. She was still intoxicated, but she didn't think she'd be falling over anytime soon. "I'm thinkin' I'll be okay." She took a step to the side, testing her theory, and it seemed for the time being she was right. "Aye, I'm good!" She flashed a grin in the argonian's direction, hoping to shoo his worry away. "I'll b'fine!" She reached out with a finger and poked his face to emphasize her point. "See ya later, Jaraleet!"
