#two snakes perhaps alike in dignity

[pcktknife]

the weird (maybe coincidentally) shared design choices between sampo and jade

[theincompetentgenius]

Plz make headcanons for Sirius and Edgar with s/o that outsmarts them

“Hello! Can I request headcanons for Ikemen Revolution Sirius Oswald of what would happen if MC was able to outsmart his strategies and made a better strategy by herself???”

Alrighty, after 1000 years I have finally risen from the dead. Now, I decided to combine these 2 requests because they’re pretty similar and ask for the same suitor. Hope that’s ok with you!

Sirius Oswald

Outsmarting Sirius is hard. This man is the closest mankind will ever get to perfect, so you’re going to have to be the next Albert Einstein to pull one over him. The only times you’d really need to outsmart him is when you really want to help him, but he’s being stubborn again (and giving you baby tasks).

If you’re clever with a conscience, then you’d probably think of a bunch of fickle excuses to avoid Sirius’s enjoyable busywork. Maybe you’d even be able to outwit him into bringing you along onto one of his missions (this is highly unlikely, but not impossible).

If you’re more mischievous, you’d probably trick some of the other Black Army officers to do all the busy work for you. It’s as simple as saying, “The Queen of Hearts has requested for you all to do such-and-such.” They wouldn’t doubt you because you’re Alice-- one of the Black Army’s closest allies. That leaves you with all the time in the world to get into the real action.

For a more dangerous task (like fighting on the front-lines or doing espionage), you’ll have to sneak out and follow Sirius. Try gathering intel from before, so you have a general idea of where you need to go (reach certain stops before he does and wait for his arrival). Don’t tail him for the entire trip because he will find out within an instant. Also, don’t leave any footprints, wear perfume, or do anything that could give you away. Sirius already has heightened senses, so you want to minimize your presence as much as possible. 

When he inevitably finds out that you tailed him into the middle of a war-zone, he’s going to be upset. Not only are you going to get hurt, but you also don’t understand the consequences of your actions. If you kill someone (or let someone go), you could significantly change the outcome of the battle. Every life matters here.

However, he’s also slightly impressed that you followed him without him knowing. When talking about this in the far future, Sirius might chuckle and note that he was too tensed to notice (but all the other officers will attribute it to his old age). It gives him a little more hope that you won’t get hurt. After all, if you were able to evade his sharp senses, then perhaps you can handle a little bit on your own.

His surprise increases by 500% when he sees you plotting with the other soldiers on how to maneuver around the opposition, surrounding them to give the illusion that there are more Black Army soldiers than there truly are. He had a different plan, but your’s seemed pretty solid too. 

In fact, it was good enough for him to put to the test. As the opposing army prepared for battle, Sirius’s men crept up on them slowly from each corner. What was merely 500 soldiers, seemed more like 1000. The opposition ended up retreating, earning a solid victory for the night.

From then on, Sirius never underestimates you. Whenever he’s planning a new tactic, he’ll come to you for your advice. If the two of you ever engage in combat, he’ll be paying extra close attention to your movements. And when it comes to a little romance, he never teases you without preparing for another type of war in return.

Flirting becomes much more fun in that way. Just when Sirus thinks he has you wrapped around his finger, you manage to flip it back on him. He’s absolutely tongue-tied and stunned, with heat rushing to his cheeks. If you play your cards right, you just might trick him into confessing first. But be warned: you’re going to pay for that.

Edgar Bright

............

You’re kidding me, right? Outsmart the biggest snake in the entire history of the Cradle? Good luck with that. He probably knows your parent’s name, your favorite book, and your credit card number just by looking at you. You breathe and suddenly he can write a whole analysis about you and probably get 95% of it correct.

Ok, I might be exaggerating a little, but Edgar is probably the only person that is even harder to outsmart than Sirius. You’re going to have to play your cards correctly 100% or else you’ll be caught in something much bigger. If he finds out you’re scheming something, there’s no guarantee that you’ll come out of this with your dignity intact.

However, it’s not entirely possible. The best way to go about this is to get off his radar: make yourself as uninteresting and boring as possible. You could play dumb, pretend to be emotionless, or just keep yourself out of his distance. When you do interact with him, try not to act too suspicious (or stupid) because that will send off the red sirens in his head. Instead, just be a meek (or loud) ditz who seems to get flustered easily. There’s gonna be a lot of acting, so make sure you do it right.

Now you can’t stay invisible forever: he’ll find you scheming at one point. While he might not have every detail planned out, Edgar knows that something’s a little off about you. He’ll turn the tables and begin pursuing you. Whether it’s spending more time around you, asking about you to his friends, and even spying on you, Edgar is willing to go all-out to figure out what’s going on.

This gives you the perfect opportunity to create a diversion. Whether it’s flirting or being a chaotic dumbass, you should try to take advantage of the situation. See how much you can get out of him. With more time, he might spill something that gives you your missing piece (while he’s out here thinking that he big-brained you).

But make sure your guard is up in the process. The Jack of Hearts has an incredibly slippery tongue. All he needs is a small reaction out of you, and he suddenly has all the information that he needs. Your brain and nerves need to be made out of steel-- or else your entire plan is going to collapse on you.

After all this toiling, you finally manage to get to your goal (before he does). You can’t wait to rub it in his face and go around screaming about your 12000000 IQ play. But when you do, he just gives his usual sly smile. It’s just a punchable face, but you’re not going to let his headass ruin it for you. You’ve finally outsmarted the world’s biggest rat and there’s nothing in the world that can change it.

As you rejoice with the rest of the Red Army for your accomplishment, Edgar watches you with an amused smile. But on the inside, his ego is hurt. He’s surprised that you managed to outwit him, even though he knew there was something strange going on. After sipping on his drink, he’ll get up and congratulate you on your win. He’s proud that his little Alice has gone from a sweet ditz to a conniving fox. Perhaps you two are more alike than he thought.

Then, he grabs your arm and pulls you towards his chest. Edgar places his lips against your ears, whispering so low that you can barely make out the words he’s saying.

“This is only the beginning. I promise you that you will never win again.” 

He lets you go, giving the sweetest smile. No one would have any idea that he just whispered the world’s biggest threat in such a sweet voice.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                                Kim Hyojong, who is known by no other name;                                                        a 23 year old son of Set.                                                       He is a bartender at Minx.

FC NAME/GROUP: Kim Hyojong // Pentagon CHARACTER NAME: n/a AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 23 // june 1, 1993 PLACE OF BIRTH: vienna, austria OCCUPATION: bartender @ minx HEIGHT: 174 cm WEIGHT: 60 kg DEFINING FEATURES: pitch black & emotionless eyes, dark under eye circles

PERSONALITY: hello, welcome to the worst person you’ll ever meet, following closely behind his own father. kim hyojong is a lovely young man with a penchant for…dark habits.

detached, cold, emotionless ━ except when he isn’t. silver tongued with equally velvet fingers, the son of chaos has a talent of playing the role of any character to get his victims anyone to bend to his will. mask after mask, he slips them on and off with ease. if you manage to look past the seductive smirk and wandering hands, and find the flicker of pure void…well, sweetheart, you won’t be alive for very long.

just enough to see him tower over you with the only flicker of true joy in those pitch black eyes as he watches you writhe on the floor in terror and pain until you pass out from shock. it’s as if he feeds on the fear. makes him stronger.

he feels no remorse, and doesn’t care to think about it. why should he? everyone is below him. worthless. trash. just play toys for him. hyojong wants everything in the world, and he will do anything to get that. to him, he’s a god. he plays with mortal lives as if they’re nothing, as if the people around only have one purpose: to serve him.

hyojong’s done terrible things; torture, murders of varying styles and i wouldn’t put it past him to force himself on one or two people. a short and very general list of things that he is quite proud of.

personal relationships are nonexistent in his world, simply a waste of his time. anything resemblance of one is either a ploy to get what he wants, or ━ yeah, no, that’s it.

he thinks he is a god. he is a god. he is the one true god. all other gods are weaklings that he could crush in a matter of seconds.

this is a lie. hyojong is spiraling down into insanity that worsens with every second that he uses his powers. he’s dying, and he doesn’t realize it. the son of set is an immature, foolish child that parades behind a facade of confidence and the cool venom of a snake. if a single thing doesn’t go his way, hyojong will throw terrible fits that are not unlike a two year old. he’s exceptionally physically weak, and it’s easy to scare him off.

a wilting and rotten rose hidden in the mottled husk of a snake.

HISTORY: (tw: murder, animal abuse, torture, mentions of rape)

I. a mother weeps as she holds her child for the first time. it is a sob of a despair, drops of bitter salt at the sight of the creature in her arms. it stares at its creator silently.

his name is hyojong, and he is a curse. the ever present reminder of a stroke of black ink across her past.

he does not release a cry, nor does he reach out for his sobbing mother. the infant simply stares.

he knows of his purpose.  

II. the son of chaos is three years old when he makes his first kill. it’s a small, sad pathetic thing that hangs lifeless in his hands. a kitten, he thinks. the incessant sounds it made had irked him to no end, and hyojong found a solution. he does not understand why his mother is screaming. he wishes she would shut up.

III. gabriel schmidt is his name; the man that manage to charm and seduce his way into the bed of hyojong’s mother. in some way, hyojong can understand why his mother is so willing to drop her panties for the first man that gives her any attention. it’s been ten years since the last time she got fucked. ten years since he’s been born.

he hates him.

he hates everything about him.

how dare he insert himself into hyojong’s life? without his permission.

hyojong would have preferred if the man got his dick wet once and walked away without a regret. the loud sobbing of his mother would be a grating sound, but the bitter scent of despair and sadness would be intoxicating. instead, all he could smell was the sickly sweet syrup of love.

the pile of dead animals in the backyard grows larger each week.

IV. he sees the way his mother stares at him.

MISTAKE MISTAKE MISTAKE

hyojong stares back with eyes that speak of chaos and darkness and death. he smiles.

EVIL EVIL EVIL

his mother does not look him in the eye.

V. mina schmidt is her name; the squealing red-faced thing that apparently shares blood with him. hyojong looks at it with disgust, sneering down at the wriggling baby. he doesn’t know why his mother looks at it with such adoration; she’s never looked at him that way.

the next day he writes out his sister’s name on the side of the house in the blood of mutilated birds. love thy family.

hyojong laughs at the screams that erupt from his mother and her husband as they discover the bloody message on their home; he savors the fear that seeps from their souls. the boy finds that it is the most delicious thing he has ever tasted.

he decides that he wants more.

VI. the sight of the girl curled on the floor before him is the greatest he’s ever had the pleasure to lay his eyes on. tears are streaming down her face, expression twisted in agony as she screams out. she’s begging him for mercy, and hyojong simply smiles at her.

lifeless, pitch black eyes suddenly come to life.

he would be lying if the waves of pure terror rolling off the girl didn’t turn him on. the tightness in his pants give it away as he watches her claw at his feet, offering up anything to make him stop. it’s pathetic, how people are willing to give away their dignity in order to save their own skin. besides, hyojong knows that he wouldn’t be able to stop; the swirls of chaos around him have already latched on to the girl and they’ve tasted the first blood. it’s too late.

it’s oh so easy to slip into the depths of her mind and bring out the deepest fears and sins to light. claws prod and poke at her thoughts, suffocating her until all she can breathe, see, and hear is fear.

hyojong twists and squeezes her mind to his will, melting it into putty until finally his grip on her lets go. she’s laying in a puddle of her own piss and tears. he cocks his head to the side, lips curling into a smirk.

❝ do you fear me now? ❞

she vomits and passes out.

and hyojong ━ a realization dawns upon him. he has the power to do what he wants; to terrorize and raze the earth. take and take and take until everything is his, because who can stop him? he is god.

thus begins the fall.

VII. hyojong is eighteen now.

his body count: 12

those were only the ones who weren’t strong enough to make it through the enlightenment. that’s what the son of chaos calls it ━ diving deep into mortal ears and twisting and turning and feeding on their terror until the only thing they wish for is death, and the only person who can give them that sweet mercy is him. until he becomes both their savior and greatest fear.

❝ do you fear me now? ❞

THE ENLIGHTENMENT.

A GOD.

OBEY.

VIII. his family is next. hyojong can barely scrounge up any love for them; it’s a disgusting concept: love.

it’s all too simple.

gabriel, with his mind so easy to mold and play with. he whispers to the man in his sleep, sleek claws sinking into the brain of a pathetic mortal.

KILL KILL KILL

hyojong goes deeper.

MURDER MURDER MURDER

and everything snaps.

IX. BREAKING NEWS ; MAN MURDERS WIFE AND DAUGHTER IN RAGE

this is channel ten with breaking news. police reports have confirmed that forty three year old gabriel schmidt went into a flying rage and brutally stabbed his wife and eight year old daughter twenty times each. afterwards, he took his own life.

we have updates that there was a single survivor.

his stepson, hyojong kim.

X. it has been five years. he’s fucked and killed his way to the top, manipulating everyone around him until he’s filthy rich and swimming in luxury. chaos has unfurled from deep within, taking root as a deep and vile disease. the son of chaos has long been rotting from the inside out, doing as he pleases as a modern god.

he’s traveled the world, leaving a wake of sin and utter wickedness ━ and he can’t get enough.

hyojong has just been reaching the peak of boredom, until he finds a particularly interesting new victim friend. in a state of panic and desperation, the boy quickly calls himself a son of aphrodite. hyojong pauses in curiosity; a demigod? he’s heard of the myths, but tossed them as frivolous fairy tales.

another prod of the sniveling boy’s brain confirms the truth; a whole island full of….immortals and half-immortals alike. for the first time in a very long time, hyojong finds himself excited. fresh meat.

and perhaps a way to get himself truly enlightened.

LOOK TO YOUR KINGDOMS

I AM COMING FOR THEM ALL

PANTHEON: egyptian CHILD OF: set POWERS:

chaos manipulation : the power to manipulate the chaotic forces of the universe

001. chaos inducement: cause chaos in any scale, from minor disorder, confusion and/or disobedience, up to causing massive storms, destruction, loss of laws and order to cause mass panic, etc.

002. chaos empowerment: become stronger, faster, more durable, etc. by/from chaos

emotion manipulation: the power to manipulate emotions

001. fear: manipulate the fear of people, animals and other creatures, whether by increasing, causing or otherwise channeling fear

002. anxiety: manipulate the anxiety of people, animals and other creatures, whether by increasing, causing or otherwise channeling anxiety

003. insanity: manipulate the insanity of people, animals and other creatures, whether by increasing, causing or otherwise channeling insanity

mental manipulation : the power to manipulate thoughts, mindsets, and upper brain functions of others.

001. this ability is highly limited, and only applies to his before mentioned abilities. he is able to slip into the minds of others to see their deepest fears to manipulate them to his will; though if a mental barrier is too strong, he will not be able to invade the mind. if that is the case, hyojong is able to cause and manipulate fear, but isn’t able to see what exactly his victim’s fear is.

002. by slipping into their mind, he is able to whisper certain encouragements amongst other things to toy with his playthings

STRENGTHS: + eloquent and charming + highly manipulative, he’s able to smoothly exploit and control almost anyone + quite the actor, hyojong can put on any mask to play whatever game he wants to achieve the end whatever the means

WEAKNESSES: - falling into a spiral of insanity that will soon make him lose his grip on reality - terribly power hungry, which may be his downfall - an immature child that throws fits whenever things don’t go his way

[gothic-chicanery]

Two Towns, Both Alike In Dignity

Parts: 1/?

Pairing: Cecilos

Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth, and this is no exception. A radio host and a scientist, separated by the enmity of the towns they live in, fall in love. A Cecilos Romeo and Juliet AU.

Warnings: Fighting, blood

Wordcount: 2,515

Dedication: To  @ass-gardiann and @xaandiir for wanting to read this, and listening to me scream a lot about Kevin.

Tags: @my-niece-janice 

A/N: So this is a thing, I hope you guys like it.

Two interns walked down the street. They had names and lives, people who they loved and who loved them, and stories as rich and varied as the one presented here could be told of them. But we do not have the time for their story and in this one, they have but passing importance. They walked down the darkening street and as they walked, they began to speak to each other.

“Who’s dead this week?” one asked the other. The other remained silent and merely shrugged. They had been at the station for a month now. Interns died and were replaced with new interns the next day. That was just how things went.

Discouraged by their lack of response, the first intern tried again. “Is this...normal? The death rate, I mean.”

The second nodded.

“Oh..,” said the first intern, as the pair walked past the school board compound and in unison, offered their praises to the almighty Glow Cloud, to whom all our problems are but dust under its completely metaphorical airy feet. All hail. ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD.

They walked in silence for a while longer before the second felt a shred of guilt. It had not been so long since they had started and asked the same questions. “It could be worse,” the second one offered. “We could live in Desert Bluffs.”

“Oh yeah, that would be way worse,” the other agreed. “Desert Bluffs…ha! I would fight every single person in Desert Bluffs if I could and win too!”

The second smiled at their enthusiasm. “I’d join you in that, they need someone to fight them.”

Just then, by coincidence, conspiracy, or the strange ways Fate has of playing with the lives of mortals and breaking her toys, an intern from Desert Bluffs came into view. She had bright sunshine-yellow clothing, only slightly bloodstained, and a smile too wide to be genuine. Her name, if you follow the definition that a name is what people call you, was Vanessa. “Hello friends!” she said, her smile lighting up the street like a searchlight.

The here nameless Night Vale Community Radio interns looked at each other with the same thoughts in their minds. The citizens of the Strex Corp owned town had been coming here with disturbing frequency and acting like they owned Night Vale as well. This state of affairs couldn’t continue. “Will the Sheriff’s Secret Police be on our side if there’s a fight?” one asked.

“Most likely,” the other whispered back. “Laws tend to be somewhat arbitrary here.”

“I am no friend to you,” one intern yelled into the slowly lightening darkness.

“But that’s not true!” the intern who was called Vanessa exclaimed. “All of you are my friends!”

The intern, which one is irrelevant, swung a fist at Vanessa, who seemed not to even notice though a bruise began to blossom on her face. She retaliated in an instant, scratching at the interns arms and face, but still she smiled. The other intern joined the fight and though there were two of them to only one of her, it was clear who was winning. Her nails were unnaturally long and sharp, and the pair of interns were already sporting cuts and slashes on their skin. And throughout the whole fight, she never stopped smiling. One of the interns glanced around frantically, looking around for anything that would help them. Winning seemed out of the question now; their only goal was to survive. A neon sign hovered at the edge of vision: Dark Owl Records. The intern ran into the store, and gasped out an incoherent plea for help. Michelle looked up, annoyed. “If you’ve come about the new Taylor Swift album, why are you even still talking about that? She hasn’t been good since World War II.”

“No,” the intern gasped. They pointed wordlessly towards the door, hand shaking slightly. Blood stained their sleeve and began to drop onto the store’s floor.

“Help,” they pleaded.

Michelle sighed, but left her normal spot from behind the counter to go see what was happening. Outside, the other intern was still furiously engaged in battle with Vanessa, and getting the worst of it.

Michelle took one look at the situation, and then went back into the store. When she came back moments later, she held a record labeled Best of Queen with razor sharp edges. Michelle looked at the title and shook her head in annoyance. “Why does everything I own end up turning into a Best of Queen album if I leave it in the car too long?” she muttered to herself before turning back to the scene. Intern Vanessa, or so she was called, had frozen and was staring at the weapon. The atmosphere was tense as both parties waited for the other to attack.

“Dark Owl Records, my name’s Michelle Wyn, how may I help you? And by that I mean go away so I can listen to this new band I’ve just discovered who are only halfway in our dimension at any given time. You’ve probably never heard of them.”

Vanessa’s eyes darted to the bleeding interns, then to Michelle and the razor sharp record she held in her hand. Slowly, but surely, she began to back away, her smile flickering  a bit, but not falling yet.

The interns collectively heaved a sigh of relief. It seemed that they had won that day. However, what seems to be is rarely what is, and their victory was disrupted when a voice familiar to everyone in Desert Bluffs came out of the darkness. “Vanessa?” Kevin asked, “Is everything alright?”

Michelle said nothing, but her hands gripped the record a little tighter than before and she let out a soft gasp as the edge cut her hands. Kevin’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly when he saw the blood on her hands, as well as the blood staining the sleeves of the two interns.

“What’s going on?” he asked, still seemingly in the same chipper radio announcer tones. However, one of the interns noticed that he seemed to be straining to keep himself under control.

“Nothing,” Michelle replied. “It’s the Sheriff’s Secret Police’s night off, so I’m helping to keep the peace.”

Kevin laughed, a high pitched we-both-know-that’s-absurd kind of laugh. “Keeping the peace with a weapon drawn seems rather contradictory, don’t you think? We had a company seminar on just that subject. Mixed messages can be such a huge problem in the corporate world,” Kevin said. “Say, for example, that I said that you are a great person and then I did this.” Kevin moved like a striking snake and grabbed one of the interns, twisting their arm back at an unnatural angle, farther than any limb was meant to bend. The bone finally let out a sickening crack and the intern screamed from the pain and fear.

“See?” Kevin said with a glistening smile that looked like it had been painted on. “Wasn’t that confusing for everyone? Now if I say you’re a great person, and then do this…”

Kevin wrapped his arms around the other intern in a friendly hug as they froze in terror. When he pulled away from the embrace, the intern was covered in blood that had transferred from Kevin’s clothes to theirs.

“Then there’s no miscommunication! I said something and my actions matched my words! Of course, I’m paraphrasing rather badly. Lauren sounded so much better when she did the seminar,” he paused briefly and looked at his own arm, which sported a stitched-up cut running down the length of it. “She said I was a great help with the demonstration!”

Michelle took the brief break in Kevin’s concentration to throw the record at him. His slim hands snatched it from out of the air, seeming not to even notice that the edges had sliced open his skin, sending tiny crimson rivulets cascading down his palm. After a moment of quiet contemplation, Kevin opened his hand, letting the record fall to the ground, and lapped up the blood up in a catlike motion, savoring the metallic taste of his own blood.

The odds had shifted again and everyone knew it. The interns met eyes, and clasped hands, focussing on each other’s presence warmth rather than what they knew would come next. One could barely think straight, the pain in their broken arm was a howl in their thoughts, drowning out everything but an incoherent jumble of terror. The other was frozen to the spot, lost in a featureless sea of paralyzing panic. They had expected death to come; interns, as a rule, did not live long, but they had not prepared for this. They had not prepared for the feeling of seeing their smiling murderer stand before them, the knowledge that any second could be their agonizing last, and knowing the pleasure that Kevin would take in it. No, this was not something they had prepared for at all.

Suddenly, there came a thunderous noise and the sky lit up with incandescent purples and greens. “All hail the mighty glow cloud!” the interns said with more praise and thankfulness than had ever been felt before in their lives. “All hail.”

“SILENCE,” the roiling mass of colors said from above as dead animals began to rain from the sky. “THE GLOW CLOUD CARES NOT FOR YOUR PATHETIC HUMAN CONCERNS. YOU ARE LESS THAN THE DIRT BENEATH MY FEET. BUT, MORTALS OF NIGHT VALE, MORTALS OF DESERT BLUFFS, THIS IS THE THIRD TIME YOU HAVE DISTURBED THIS TOWN WITH YOUR FIGHTING. THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF TOWN I WANT MY SON TO GROW UP IN. GO HOME MORTALS AND IF I CATCH YOU FIGHTING AGAIN, I WILL END YOUR PUNY EXISTENCES.”

“Thank you for your benevolent mercy, almighty Glow Cloud,” everyone chorused in perfect unison, dodging the rain of dead animals. Kevin didn’t move fast enough, perhaps fascinated by the swirling rainbow that had become a familiar sight to everyone in Night Vale, and got hit in the face by a platypus.

“DISPERSE,” the Glow Cloud ordered, and without another word, those present did so.

It was early the next morning when Michelle, cleaning the last droplets of blood off of the floor, heard the chime that heralded the arrival of another customer. She looked up, surprised. Two people visiting in as many days  was a rarity; well, apart from Maureen who came there all of the time. Maybe this could be her, Michelle speculated, as a rarely seen smile snuck onto her face. The visitor wasn’t her, however. “Hello Leonard,” Michelle said to Night Vale’s retired, sometimes permanently so, radio host. “Alive again today I see.”

“What do you mean? I’m always alive,” Leonard said, puzzled.

“Of course you are,” said Michelle, and then, cleaning duties and store of small talk both depleted, retreated back behind the checkout counter. A few moments later she realized that she hadn’t asked Leonard why he had come into the shop. People normally had a reason, whether it was to talk to her about music so that she could find out what had become too popular for her to listen to anymore, or if they were being attacked by a smiling horde of radio interns and needed her help to not die or whatever. She asked Leonard his reason.

“Well, you see, I’m worried about intern...I’m worried about Cecil,” he explained.

“Cecil?” Michelle asked.

“Yes, he’s a fabulous radio host, I am proud to have trained him as my successor,” Leonard continued. “But I do worry. He’s shut himself in the studio all day, I mean, there is dedication, and then there is isolation, and I fear he’s gone too far into the latter. Even the most committed radio host needs a life outside the station. Would you mind going to talk to him?”

“Yeah sure,” Michelle agreed resignedly. “But I’m not the best at being social either, so I don’t know how well I’ll be able to bring someone out of their shell…” Michelle paused and looked around, noticing that Leonard had blinked out of existence again.

“See you around, I guess,” she said, waving an apathetic hand at the empty space where Leonard was standing just moments before.

After that night’s broadcast, she made her way down to the radio station, honoring the reluctant promise she had made to Leonard. She lingered by the door a little while, waiting for Cecil to come out, but he didn’t. Well, there goes that, thought Michelle, better just go back to the store. However, she didn’t go back, but found herself walking into the depths of the Night Vale Community Radio Station. Michelle walked past the door to Station Management’s office, thinking that the unearthly howls and shrieks might make a good mixtape, before arriving at the door to the recording studio. As she pushed the door open and saw Cecil, Michelle could see why Leonard had been worried. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days, maybe even weeks. Cecil’s head snapped up when he saw her, but then relaxed. “Hello Michelle,” he said with a visible effort to form the words, “I’m just looking for news to report on the radio tomorrow. Did you listen to my show?”

Michelle nodded. “Of course I listened to your show, Cecil, you did a great job.” Privately she was wondering how Cecil had been able to coherently broadcast at all. “Ummmm...Cecil, quick question: how long has it been since you slept?”

Cecil looked confused. He began counting back under his breath, losing count a couple of times. “About two weeks?” he said, unsure of the answer. “But I take naps during the weather, so..that’s good, right?”

Michelle shook her head in disbelief. Looking around, she noticed dishes scattered across the floor and a trashcan overflowing with Moonlite-All-Nite Diner take-out containers. “Have you been in here for those entire two weeks?” Michelle asked. Not that she was exempt from that problem, as sometimes she hadn’t left the store for days on end, but it had never been this bad.

Cecil shrugged guiltily. “Maybe?” he admitted.

“Cecil…” Michelle said, understanding now why Leonard had made her do this. “Ok, we’re not doing this right now. Go home, get some sleep, and then tomorrow, I don’t know, Maureen and I will find something for you to do. You can’t just spend your entire life in the radio station.”

“Watch me,” Cecil mumbled, before his head dropped to his chest and he fell asleep.

“Idiot,” Michelle said under her breath, before dialing the number on her phone for the Sheriff’s Secret Police to come drag him to his house by his ears if need be.

[dailybiblelessons]

Monday: Reflection on the Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

This week's blog post is here.

Complementary Hebrew Scripture from the Latter Prophets: Zechariah 6:9-15

The word of the Lord came to me: Collect silver and gold from the exiles—from Heldai, Tobijah, and Jedaiah—who have arrived from Babylon; and go the same day to the house of Josiah son of Zephaniah. Take the silver and gold and make a crown, and set it on the head of the high priest Joshua son of Jehozadak; say to him: Thus says the Lord of hosts: Here is a man whose name is Branch: for he shall branch out in his place, and he shall build the temple of the Lord. It is he that shall build the temple of the Lord; he shall bear royal honor, and shall sit and rule on his throne. There shall be a priest by his throne, with peaceful understanding between the two of them. And the crown shall be in the care of Heldai, Tobijah, Jedaiah, and Josiah son of Zephaniah, as a memorial in the temple of the Lord.

Those who are far off shall come and help to build the temple of the Lord; and you shall know that the Lord of hosts has sent me to you. This will happen if you diligently obey the voice of the Lord your God.

Semi-continuous Hebrew Scripture from the Writings: Esther 4:1-17

When Mordecai learned all that had been done, Mordecai tore his clothes and put on sackcloth and ashes, and went through the city, wailing with a loud and bitter cry; he went up to the entrance of the king's gate, for no one might enter the king's gate clothed with sackcloth. In every province, wherever the king's command and his decree came, there was great mourning among the Jews, with fasting and weeping and lamenting, and most of them lay in sackcloth and ashes.

When Esther's maids and her eunuchs came and told her, the queen was deeply distressed; she sent garments to clothe Mordecai, so that he might take off his sackcloth; but he would not accept them. Then Esther called for Hathach, one of the king's eunuchs, who had been appointed to attend her, and ordered him to go to Mordecai to learn what was happening and why. Hathach went out to Mordecai in the open square of the city in front of the king's gate, and Mordecai told him all that had happened to him, and the exact sum of money that Haman had promised to pay into the king's treasuries for the destruction of the Jews. Mordecai also gave him a copy of the written decree issued in Susa for their destruction, that he might show it to Esther, explain it to her, and charge her to go to the king to make supplication to him and entreat him for her people.

Hathach went and told Esther what Mordecai had said. Then Esther spoke to Hathach and gave him a message for Mordecai, saying, “All the king's servants and the people of the king's provinces know that if any man or woman goes to the king inside the inner court without being called, there is but one law—all alike are to be put to death. Only if the king holds out the golden scepter to someone, may that person live. I myself have not been called to come in to the king for thirty days.” When they told Mordecai what Esther had said, Mordecai told them to reply to Esther, “Do not think that in the king's palace you will escape any more than all the other Jews. For if you keep silence at such a time as this, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter, but you and your father's family will perish. Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.” Then Esther said in reply to Mordecai, “Go, gather all the Jews to be found in Susa, and hold a fast on my behalf, and neither eat nor drink for three days, night or day. I and my maids will also fast as you do. After that I will go to the king, though it is against the law; and if I perish, I perish.” Mordecai then went away and did everything as Esther had ordered him.

Complementary Psalm 5

Give ear to my words, O Lord;  give heed to my sighing. Listen to the sound of my cry,  my King and my God,  for to you I pray. O Lord, in the morning you hear my voice;  in the morning I plead my case to you, and watch.

For you are not a God who delights in wickedness;  evil will not sojourn with you. The boastful will not stand before your eyes;  you hate all evildoers. You destroy those who speak lies;  the Lord abhors the bloodthirsty and deceitful.

But I, through the abundance of your steadfast love,  will enter your house, I will bow down toward your holy temple in awe of you. Lead me, O Lord, in your righteousness  because of my enemies;  make your way straight before me.

For there is no truth in their mouths;  their hearts are destruction; their throats are open graves;  they flatter with their tongues. Make them bear their guilt, O God;  let them fall by their own counsels; because of their many transgressions cast them out,  for they have rebelled against you.

But let all who take refuge in you rejoice;  let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them,  so that those who love your name may exult in you. For you bless the righteous, O Lord;  you cover them with favor as with a shield.

Semi-continuous Psalm 140

Deliver me, O Lord, from evildoers;  protect me from those who are violent, who plan evil things in their minds  and stir up wars continually. They make their tongue sharp as a snake's,  and under their lips is the venom of vipers. Selah

Guard me, O Lord, from the hands of the wicked;  protect me from the violent  who have planned my downfall. The arrogant have hidden a trap for me,  and with cords they have spread a net,  along the road they have set snares for me. Selah

I say to the Lord, “You are my God;  give ear, O Lord, to the voice of my supplications.” O Lord, my Lord, my strong deliverer,  you have covered my head in the day of battle. Do not grant, O Lord, the desires of the wicked;  do not further their evil plot. Selah

Those who surround me lift up their heads;  let the mischief of their lips overwhelm them! Let burning coals fall on them!  Let them be flung into pits, no more to rise! Do not let the slanderer be established in the land;  let evil speedily hunt down the violent!

I know that the Lord maintains the cause of the needy,  and executes justice for the poor. Surely the righteous shall give thanks to your name;  the upright shall live in your presence.

New Testament Epistle Lesson: 1 Peter 1:3-9

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who are being protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith—being more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

Year B Ordinary 26 Monday

Selections from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings, copyright © 1995 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Unless otherwise indicated, Bible text is from The New Revised Standard Version, (NRSV) copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All right reserved. Image credit: Escape or Salvation? by Anders Sandberg, via flickr.com. This image is used under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 license.

[myszkina]

Shadow and Steel - a Skyrim Fanfiction

FF.net

Archive of Our Own

Chapter 1 - Gone Fishing

Candlehearth Hall was full to bursting, crammed with townsfolk eager to escape the first snows of early Frostfall. Smoke swirled around the rafters, disturbed occasionally by cool winds sneaking in alongside the coming and going townsfolk, its odor mixing with the stench of cheap mead and clung to every stone and patron. Merchants and smugglers, farmers and soldiers alike swapped stories and called for their favorite songs. Here everyone was equal as they drank themselves into oblivion and gambled on rigged games of cards. Light-footed serving girls easily maneuvered the chaos, rushing to fill orders as they dodged flailing hands and drunken gropes that the circling whores fell into with coy smiles. The innkeeper eyed the room, seeing only damages to be dealt with in the morning and patrons who wouldn’t pay their tab.

Nearly all of the patrons were familiar to Luaffyn, having made her home here for the past five seasons. But as she strummed the first notes of a raucous tune, her inquisitive red eyes rested on a newcomer.

She had arrived day before last just before sunset, alone. After a quick conversation Elda gave her the best room at the Hall - the one usually reserved for the rare visiting noble or merchant not important enough to stay at the Palace - and didn’t seem at all bothered by either the heavy, hooded cloak the stranger wore or the many weapons on her long, lean body. Not when the pouch she'd tossed onto the bar with a casual flick of her gloved hand had landed with a heavy, clinking thud.

Luaffyn had been watching the enigmatic woman from the hearth - if only because strangers were rare in Windhelm this time of year, and this one had arrived with an air of something nearly imperceptible, easy brushed off by the less intuitive; something under her charming smiles and honeyed words, something dark and dangerous as the forests by night that she wore as easily as her cloak.

The bard had seen all kinds in her travels, and she knew how to put together a story, even with so little to work with. A Nord, with hair the color of honey that snaked over her shoulder in a long braid. She wore close-fitting, worn leather armor under a fur-lined cloak, both well maintained under the fresh dirt. The cloak was strange, dark but mottled with shades of grey. An adventurer, a hunter perhaps, hired by a noble and headed into the mountains before the snows settled? Or a mercenary, judging by the comfort with which she carried her weapons.

Luaffyn shrugged to herself. Whatever her line of work was, it had better pay well enough to cover her monstrous tab, or Elda was going to kill her.

Zarja Goldshadow slammed her mug on the table hard enough to make the gold on it rattle, letting out a satisfied “Hah!” and wiping her wet mouth on her sleeve as the gathered crowd roared. She grinned at her dumbfounded challengers as she swept her winnings across the table towards her. Gold changed hands around them, and more than a few, now richer, patrons clapped her on the back. Her smile grew, pulling at the scattering of old scars on her nose and right cheek, and she half rose from her chair in a shaky bow.

With how often drinks were spilled and splashed in the tavern, and that half of the patrons were already well into their cups, no one thought anything of the puddle around Zarja’s mug, and the tiny hole she’d drilled into the bottom of it went unnoticed. She knew how to play the part of a drunk having the grandest time in the world. After nearly ten years’ practice in the Ragged Flagon, she played the part very, very well.

No one knew that the woman falling giggling back into her seat was the most notorious thief this side of the Jerall Mountains. She couldn't imagine anyone would believe her even if they did know - the woman who was half legend and half ghost story was here in the middle of a crowded bar, drinking herself into a stupor with the rest? Half of Skyrim didn't even believe she existed, that she was just a rumor conjured up by the struggling Guild to maintain some semblance of their once fearful reputation. The rest knew her reputation, but not her face.

She’d been here for two days now—two days spent in either one of the city’s drafty inns that stank of sweat, stale mead, and foul smoke, or out in the miserable, freezing city, searching for her mark, a former Guild contact who'd broken the rules and gone rogue.

Considering their collective occupations, that was sinking very low.

But finding one man in miles and miles of forests and mountains was difficult, even for her. After losing days chasing false leads halfway across the province and almost two weeks to travel alone, and with her last solid lead only getting her as far as Kynesgrove, Zarja had been forced to resort to petty rumors and half-blind guesswork to pick up his trail.

Sitting through two agonizing evenings of listening to farmers complaining about skeevers getting into their stores and petty rumors from the local guards ("I’m tellin’ you, some strange shit’s been going on by that old greyskin shine.") for some shred of useful information had gotten her nothing but a headache and a foul mood. She deftly cut the purse of a passing well-to-do patron with a quick flick of her wrist. It and her tiny punch dagger disappeared into the folds of her cloak before it fell an inch, and she felt marginally better.

The crowd dispersed, and Zarja raised her hand, signaling for the barmaid.

"Another round, gentlemen?" Zarja cried, reshuffling the deck. She fought a smirk as bets were made before the cards were even dealt, each man hoping to one-up the others and all trying to win back their gold - and dignity - from the smiling minx.

“And you’re sure it’s them, Haksvar?” A passing guard said lowly as he sat down at the bar behind Zarja.

“Third one with all their valuables stolen.” Another, Haksvar, answered. “Just like Torsten’s daughter.”

Zarja casually flipped the barmaid a septim as the woman refilled her mug. The thief's practiced ears focused on the muttered conversation as she dealt the cards. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the second guard look around. He paused, quieting almost immediately after one look at the dark-cloaked stranger closest to them. Zarja didn’t react, turning instead to the barmaid Susanna and resting her chin in her hand, her eyes heavy lidded and mouth easily curling into the practiced, innocent smile of a drunken flirt. Susanna fell into it instantly.

Deeming the apparently heavily intoxicated woman no threat, the second guard turned back to his partner.

“Think it’s the Thieves Guild?” The first man asked, signaling Elda for drinks.

“Those sewer rats? Even if they had the balls to come this far north," Zarja's grip tightened fractionally on her tankard as she eyed her cards, "it’s not their style." Haksvar leaned closer to his partner. "Apparently," he said in a conspiratorial whisper that Zarja strained to hear over the barmaid's babbling, "Torsten got something out of the one he caught. Knife-eared bastard gave up the name of his boss, said there's a whole group of them holed up in the hills in the south. Call themselves the Summerset Shadows."

His partner snorted disdainfully into his mug. "Damn elves. Should'a known they had somethin' to do with this."

The second guard nodded knowingly and took a swig from his tankard.

"Torsten's tryin' to get the Jarl to do something about it." Haksvar continued, motioning to Susanna for a refill.

The barmaid gave Zarja a coy wink and a promise to return before she sashayed off, not noticing the brief glint of her gold bracelet as it disappeared into Zarja's pocket.

"Problem is," Haksvar grumbled. "The bastard died before he told us where they are."

Perhaps you shouldn't have been so overzealous with your interrogation then. Amateurs. Zarja sighed through her nose as she rested her chin on the back of her card hand, tracing the rim of her mug with the other. She stared unseeing into the murky depths of it, racking her brain for a solution.

Someone had to know where the Shadows were. Every organization left a trail, a mess in their wake - something she knew all too well, as she was usually the one who had to clean up after the Guild.

The finger on her mug stilled as a thought struck her.

"Looks like it’s your lucky night, beautiful." Susanna smiled, leaning over Zarja's shoulder as the blonde played her winning hand.

Zarja smiled crookedly at the barmaid. "You have no idea."

The city on the frozen coast was alive with the hustle and bustle of the late morning, the first dark reaches of an incoming storm obscuring the watery sun not enough to scare its inhabitants back into their homes.

Niranye watched it all with a practiced eye. She knew the city and its people, and was comfortable in this land that had been her home for the better part of three decades. Around her, voices were raised in anger or amusement, calling to one another over the din, trading jokes and insults alike. Townsfolk milled through the main square as merchants and craftsmen, fishermen and farmers set up their stalls and called out their goods and prices. The air was heavy with the smell of the coming storm and smoke from the forge, the salt of the sea drifting over the stench of the lower city. Over the eastern wall she could see the docks were crowded with ships, their masts rising in a forest above the icy waters of the bay.

But even in the crowd of the market, the townsfolk kept to their own groups. All non-humans were uniformly distant to humans, who repaid the sentiment in kind. Neither group mixed among themselves. The Altmer looked down on the Dumner, who barely tolerated the Argonians. The resident Nords cared little for the Bretons and Imperials who also called the city home. The farmers and beggars looked at the nobility with open scorn, and the nobility acted as if the lower class didn't exist.

Niranye’s eyes passed over them all, Dunmer too poor and too proud to approach her and the Nords too distrusting, and she sighed. It wasn’t looking like a good morning for her.

“So what do you sell?” A voice, cool and cultured like her own, from very close by snapped her out of her reverie. Niranye straightened, startled by the sudden appearance of an unfamiliar Nord woman.

Niranye jumped immediately into her sales pitch, gesturing at the various items as she named them, and studied the Nord curiously. So this was the one Ambarys had talked about. She didn’t look like much. But there was something about her that seemed almost familiar.

“Is there something on my face?” The woman’s cool voice cut in suddenly.

“What? No. Why do you ask?” Niranye frowned, confused by the change in topic.

The woman raised a dark brow as she looked up from the arrows she was inspecting. “You’ve been staring at me since I walked over.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Niranye smiled awkwardly, silently kicking herself. Had she really been that unsubtle? “It’s just…. I swear you look familiar somehow.”

The woman relaxed and smiled crookedly. ”I seem to get that a lot." She said, replacing the arrow and reaching for her coin purse. "I have no idea why, since I usually work out of Riften.”

“Mercenary work?” That would make sense, considering her weapons and gear.

Just for a second, Niranye thought she saw a flash of something beneath the woman’s calm demeanor – something cold and dark as the Sea of Ghosts that turned her smile into that of a wolf and her eyes to amber shards – as she replied, “Of sorts.” Just as soon as it appeared, it was gone, so fast Niranye wasn’t sure if she imagined it or not.

“If you don’t mind my asking...” The Nord began, setting the purse on the table. It hit the wood with a satisfyingly heavy thud.

Intrigued and sensing an opportunity, Niranye leaned forward, her hands on the high wooden counter. “Not at all.”

Zarja recognized the gleam in the Altmer’s green eyes. Perfect. “It’s been some time since I’ve been in Windhelm, and I couldn’t help but overhear some rather ghastly rumors.”

“Ah yes,” Niranye nodded knowingly, suddenly very much in her element: gossip. Many mercenaries paid for information, and in her experience, they paid well. “It’s all anyone in the city’s been talking of as of late. ‘The Butcher’, I believe they’re calling him.”

Zarja grimaced. “Descriptive.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Niranye glanced up, scanning the crowd for anyone who might overhear. Satisfied that everyone was occupied and utterly uninterested in them, she relaxed, and leaned on her forearms closer towards the Nord conspiratorially. “They found the poor girl not far from here.” She said lowly. “Hacked to pieces. I saw it myself.”

Bile rose in her throat at the mere memory of it -  the stench of blood and bile and the vomit of at least one guard; all the blood, so much she could hardly believe it came from only one person, shockingly red against the grey stones and white snow; the limbs – the ones still attached anyway – bent and broken at sickening angles; bloody bone piercing through the flesh where they were broken or scarred where the muscle and skin had been flayed from it; what was left of the woman’s face twisted into an agonized scream.

“They didn’t even find all of her.” Niranye breathed. “Some parts of her are still missing.”

“Holy Mother Mara.” Zarja didn’t need to fake her revulsion; she’d seen the bloodstains in the alley the other night, and with all she’d seen – and done – over the years, it wasn’t hard to imagine the scene. “Do they have any idea who’s responsible?"

“None at all. The guards are frantic.”

“Aren’t you worried?” Zarja asked, feigning concern.

Niranye scoffed, and Zarja raised a brow incredulously. “Of some prowler in the streets? Not at all.” She was no simpering flower like the victims; she could very well defend herself.

“No, I mean about the rumors coming out of the barracks.” Zarja said lowly. She turned her attention to the purse, fishing a coin out.

“What rumors?” A confused line appeared between the elf’s brows. Not much happened in this city that she didn’t know about. Her eyes unconsciously went to the glittering coin tumbling back and forth over Zarja’s gloved fingers.

Zarja leaned on the table, mimicking Niranye’s stance as she continued playing with the coin. “I overheard some of the guards in Candlehearth Hall last night." Zarja began, eyes locked on Niranye's face. "Some of them are saying it was a robbery gone wrong. They’re saying an Altmer was responsible."

"Now where would they get such a notion?" Niranye was good, Zarja would give her that; anyone else wouldn't have heard the slightest twinge of anxiety in her voice, and her face was still a mask of calm.

"They caught one. Very talkative he was apparently. He said there's more of them. A whole group of them in fact, calling themselves the Summerset Shadows.” The coin stopped moving. There was a dangerous edge to Zarja’s voice now, her act starting to slip away. "He even gave up the name of their leader. Linwe, I believe his name was."

Niranye’s blood ran cold, her heart in her throat. "Sounds like the guards making up stories again." She said, feigning nonchalance.

Zarja smirked. "You can drop the act now, Niranye. You're not very good at it." The coin started moving again. "Out of practice, I suppose.” Zarja cocked her head to the side. “Then again,” she drawled, “you've been very busy for a supposedly retired fence. Or is it just us you won’t work with anymore?”

Niranye swallowed nervously. “You’re from the Guild.”

“Got it in one. Give the woman a sweet roll.” That wolfish smile was back. It didn’t come close to reaching her eyes.

“What do you want?" Niranye glared at the thief, anger replacing her fear.

"I want to know what in Nocturnal's name you think you're doing." Zarja snapped.

"My job." Niranye shot back. "I have nothing to do with you people anymore, and since I'm free to do as I please, I owe you nothing."

Zarja barked out a humorless laugh. "If this was just about a little Guild debt, Mercer wouldn't have sent me."

Niranye's brows furrowed as she turned over the meaning in Zarja's words. It struck her suddenly, and she paled. "You... You're...." Oh Auri-El. She hadn't worked with the Riften thieves in almost two decades, but everyone in Skyrim's underworld knew of the Sword of the Thieves Guild.

"I could tell the guards who you are." Niranye straightened and crossed her arms. She now towered over the thief, whom she watched through narrowed eyes "The bounty on your head is worth more than half the city."

"Fine." Zarja snapped immediately. "Why don't we both go up to the Palace together? I'm sure the Jarl would be just as interested in your illegitimate activities as mine. Dealing in stolen goods, forgery, smuggling, aiding and abetting murderers and thieves in his own city. Perhaps we could add 'spying for the Thalmor' to that list."

Niranye flinched like she'd been struck. "You would dare accuse me of being one of those monsters? I've been here for years; no one would believe that!"

"They would, if they found the right evidence."

Niranye froze. This woman would do it, she knew, and she had no doubt it would succeed, even with the connections she had built over the years.

But that would also take time. Time she could use to escape with her life, which is more than she would have if Linwe found out she'd betrayed him.

Zarja watched the silent war raging in Niranye's eyes, and her own narrowed to dangerous slits.

She flipped the coin in her hand into the air with a quick flick of her fingers. The Altmer's eyes unconsciously followed the movement of it as it fell and hit the table with a dull rattle. Then, in the fraction of a second her gaze shifted, she heard a dull thud that went unnoticed by the raucous crowd around them. She looked for the source, and paled when she saw the point of the woman's dagger - where had that come from? - now embedded deeply in the wood of the counter. It had passed clean through the middle of the coin, shearing it in two.

Two thoughts occurred to Niranye at once: the gold must be very pure to cut so easily, and the blade must be frightfully sharp to do so. She looked up into the eyes of the woman in front of her.

The woman's deadpan expression hadn't changed, but there was an air of menace that surrounded her, radiated off her and cut deeply into the Niranye's animalistic danger sense. In her bright eyes there was no mercy, only fierceness and a spark of anger, a threat and a promise all in one. Niranye realized that she had grossly misjudged this woman, and why she had seemed so familiar. She had felt this sense before, this cold menace, years ago when she had still worked with the Guild. She swallowed, only to find her throat too dry to do so.

Zarja read the fear in her eyes, satisfied.

"I only fenced for them! Under threat!" Niranye cried, regaining her voice suddenly. Her head jerked up, searching the crowd for signs that her outburst had been heard. Thankfully, it seemed their entire exchange had gone unnoticed in the market chaos.

"You think Mercer cares?" Zarja said harshly, yanking Niranye's attention back to her. "You betrayed us and sided with a rival Guild. The details don't matter." If the Nord's voice was cold before, now it was glacial. "If I don't kill you now, Mercer will just send me right back here when I'm done with the Shadows" She paused. "Unless you give me a reason to let you live."

Niranye didn't answer, staring at the dagger still firmly embedded in the wood.

"Did you ever join in?" Zarja sneered. "Or did you just clean up their messes like the vulture you are?"

"I never killed anyone." Niranye glared at the woman across from her. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

Zarja coolly ignored the jab. "But you did fence for them." She straightened, releasing her grip on the dagger to put her hands on her hips. The blade didn't move.

"I didn't have a choice! They would've killed me otherwise."

"You could've sent word. You were one of us once; you would've been heard."

Niranye sneered. "And what would you have done?"

Zarja's deadpan expression didn't change. "Niranye, you know who I am." She said after a moment. "And you know what I do for the Guild."

Niranye's eyes dropped from Zarja's cold, steady gaze. "If I help you, you have to promise your protection. I'll rejoin the Guild, start fencing for you again."

Zarja nodded impassively. "Where are they?"

"Uttering Hills Cave."

"How many?"

"I don't know." The thief didn't answer, but the tension shifted dangerously. "I swear it! I only worked directly with Linwe, and never went to their hideout."

"Rough estimate, so I don't have to maim you." Zarja growled.

Niranye paused, considering. "A dozen." She said after a moment.

Zarja nodded again. She ripped her dagger free of the counter - Niranye's eyes widened slightly at the deep scar it left in the wood - and sheathed it in one smooth motion. She gathered up the handful of arrows she'd come for and tucked them into her quiver with a bright smile. Niranye gaped at the speed at which the Nord's mask fell back into place.

"Thank you so much for your help." Zarja said, before turning on her heel and disappearing into the milling crowd behind her, leaving the stunned Altmer feeling like she had just escaped the lion's den, and wondering vaguely if she hadn't been better off taking her chances with Linwe after all.