Guild Headquarters
Bruma
19th First Seed, Evening
As rain heaved and fell over Bruma, the late evening scent from within the sturdy walls of the guildhouse was peppered with petrichor and the rich hue of a rich vintage red, firewood, and burning herbs. A thin wisp of smoke circled the edges of the guild office and the window was propped open with two slender legs hanging out out. Skin the colour of a storm clouds that graced the sky were catching the cool heavy droplets before running and falling to the ground to sink through freshly turned soil..
“Close the window, you’ll catch your death doing that,” said Dro’Sintaba as he glanced upwards and observed her for a moment, hung upside down from the sill, her legs hooked outside. There was a curled pile of red hair like a pillow beneath her head. He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, magnifying his piercing eyes in the dim warmth of candlelight.
The Dunmer did not look back, instead she was shuffling through a pile of parchment placed out across the floor before her. “Death can’t be caught, my friend. She simply waits to embrace us when we’ve reached the end of our road.” Ivy responded calm as calm, drawing a finger underneath a line of cursive on the paper.
“This Sinalare, she’s interesting you know,” Ivy mused aloud, “Been a prisoner of war - she’s resilient then, been through a lot… Excellent skillset too I’d say. Wager she’ll be a fantastic hire, work her way up the ranks very quickly.”
Dro’Sintaba shook his head incredulously, sighing from his nostrils. The chair beneath his huge form creaked and his ears flicked back in response. The Khajiit placed an elbow on the table and ran a finger under his chin. “As long as she isn’t mouthy and doesn’t answer back. I don’t know if I’ve the patience for trouble, Ivy…”
“If you didn’t want trouble - ‘haps you shouldn’t have hired the Nord woman, you know… that one” Ivy said as she wiggled her toes. “Werebear… Could be a liability.”
“She wants to cure herself,” Dro’Sintaba answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “And besides from that she seemed dedicated, strong… Low maintenance…”
That made Ivy scoff, but there was no bad intent towards the girl. “Make your mind up, you pick and choose what you like, don’t you?” she laughed, at the hypocrisy.
“That I do…” the Khajiit responded before taking a long sip from his glass.
“It’s good that we’ve got a healer,” Ivy suggested - far from the window now. Cross legged in the centre of the Khajiit’s bed. The same parchments spread around her. Dro’Sintaba was still in his chair, unmoved. He shot a fierce glare in Ivy’s direction that anyone else might have balked under, but the Dunmer seemed entirely immune.
His voice was then a restrained growl, touched with impatience while he blinked slowly and tapped a finger on the side of his goblet. “No ideas,” he replied with a finality. They’d been over it already. Anyone else might have thrown a fit to hear the woman laugh after that, but as she was immune to him, he was immune to her.
“If nothing else, he’s older. Knows how to talk to the youth… He might in some way, assist in the disciplining should we need it,” Ivy said with a motion of her hand as she placed the parchment to the bottom of the pile.
Dro’Sintaba wanted to warn the Dunmer not to push her luck, but he thought better of it. The sound of rain and distant thunder was soothing to his ears as the rest of him enjoyed the warmth of the hearthfire, and the warmth of the wine even more so. The pleasant lingering burn through his chest to his stomach. “Maybe,” he shrugged.
After a longer while, Dro’Sintaba lifted his head slowly from the papers to glance at Ivy. “What of the young Nord? Of Megana,” his lips parted into a smile and there was a twinkle in his eye. “I like her, she’d make a good squire I think.”
Ivy frowned, “she’s not to be your little runabout slave - she’s a grown woman with ambitions and aspirations.” Suddenly, a bony finger extended to point at the Khajiit - who spread his arms under the accusation from the Dunmer. “If I’m not allowed to go about having ideas, nor are you. She’ll attend to jobs just as much as she’ll assist you.”
“La’Shuni….” Ivy breathed out, with a smile on her lips. She reached to a small copper bowl and plucked out a handful of berries, picking at them one by one as her eyes traced the parchment. “I like you, La’Shuni…” she muttered, feeling her cheeks pull inwards at the tartness of the fruit.
From across the room, Dro’Sintaba spoke up; “what was that?” he asked, a crease against his brow. “Did you say something?” he asked, reaching for his goblet again and finding only the last dregs of the red in a tiny pool at the very bottom. He sighed, feeling a heaviness in his chest that made him cough abruptly.
Ivy lifted her head at that, sour berries had her squinting as she observed the Cathay-raht clearing his throat before pouring out another glass. “Steady on Sinty…” she uttered, before looking back at the one named La’Shuni’s application. Intrigued, she added it to her small accepted pile. “I very much look forward to meeting another Khajiit,” she declared - loud enough for the guild leader to hear.
“Ah,” Dro’Sintaba said in a strained tone. “Yes, yes. The maiden historian, yes?” He added with a wave of his hand.
“Mmhmm,” Ivy replied with a nod - her lips stained vibrantly from the berries. “We shall need a scout, and a scholar of sorts is always useful to have around. If you have a squire… Perhaps she could be mine. I feel… I feel happy when I think of her, like there’s a nice pull between us…” Ivy explained happily.
Dro’Sintaba laughed.
He laughed hard until his chest swelled again and his laughter turned into another bout of coughing. “This…. Godsdamned dust in here,” he wheezed, rubbing his chest with the back of his hand, laughter fading away. “Lifts-Many-Boulders… We’ll see about that.”
“Don’t start with that,” the red-head replied. Rolling her eyes, a hand falling to her hip as she stirred the pot that sat over the open flame. A soup of some kind bubbled away filling the air with the inviting tang of onion, mushroom, and a bone broth. “He seems… Softer than he looks. He’ll be an asset to this guild - both in his strength and in his vulnerability. He’s a protector,” she added, looking over her shoulder at the Khajiit who was still hunched over his desk.
“Well,” Dro’Sintaba huffed - his chest suddenly puffing out as he shot her a cursory glance, a spark of anger flittered over his eyes. “What am I? Chopped liver?” he spat, offended.
Again, Ivy simply laughed.
“You’d rather sauce yourself and sign papers and you know it,” she shot back, lifting the ladle from the soup to point it in his direction, dropping a generous splash of the food onto the floor.
Dro’Sintaba didn’t answer for a while, simply shrugging at the soup strewn across the floor and returning to the last of the pages.
“This mage… Taril… He seems like trouble, like he’s some kind of flirt,” the Khajiit said with a raised brow and curled lip. He grumbled something under his breath, and Ivy glanced back again.
“Oh yeah?” she asked, a smirk on her lips. “Threatened are you?” she continued - pushing her luck.
He chose not to answer that. He chose to ignore it, but truthfully it did bother him. A reminder of his lost youth in the form of a young adventurer with the world ahead of him. The Cathay-raht turned his head to the window, sighing long at the obscured moon behind the clouds, nothing but a brightness was the indication that it was there.
“Well, we can always use another mage… The other Argonian seems interesting too. An apprentice smith. If we ever grow… We’ll need craftsmen.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes from under the frames of the spectacles. That was the last of them.
“Well, Ivy… Pin the names to the town notice board come the morning. We’ll see if they even still arrive…”
Ivy nodded, tucking a strand of unruly hair behind her ear as she poured out two bowls of the soup, the steam warmed her cheeks and was hot enough to make her blink. It had been a long night, and still there were some on the pile that perhaps one day would walk through the doors and be welcomed to Dro’Sintaba’s guild. But for now, just a small handful. She hoped that they would be comfortable. That her efforts to clean and make the guildhouse warm and homely had been enough. That they would like it just enough to stay.
“Oh they will my friend. They will.” 
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