Sometimes he wondered if he was cursed. Sign of the Serpent, old man. Blessing and a curse, though you're only feeling it now.
Sometimes he wondered if he was being punished by the Gods or Daedra for the things he had done over the years.
And sometimes he wondered if she had any idea of the dangerous hold she had over him. She had to...didn't she? She wasn't an idiot, not like the majority of their colleagues...Or was she?
No. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew Gwendolyn Maullaine was no fool.
But it had been weeks. Weeks since he dropped that first hint after throwing caution to the wind. Weeks from when he tried to see where he stood...and nothing. Perhaps she saw what everyone else saw from him- stressed and constantly irritable. Perhaps she didn't like subtle, being around it day in and out in the guild? Or was it something else? Was she married- but that's not something that stays quiet for long, especially in Riften. Maybe she preferred the company of women over men?
"Thanks for taking the time for talking to me, Gwendolyn. I know it's silly but..."
Laurel eyes dart from the ledger the man was trying to read for the past half hour over towards one of the beds that dotted the circumference of the cistern- he had forgotten that Rarnis had crossed paths with her when he was being held captive in the Thalmor Embassy. Perhaps something blossomed between the two?
"As I've told you before, Etienne, like I've told everyone else: listening is free, advice has a price. But I do know what you're going through, so I don't want you to think you're being a bother. You were tortured- getting over that will take time, more time than you might be willing to put towards healing."
"Does it ever get better?"
"That depends on you and if you want to get better. I can do all the listening, but in the end, everything depends on you." He watches as she pulls the blanket over the younger thief's frame. "Try to get some sleep."
If the Breton in the bed said anything in response, the man across the room certainly couldn't hear it, but knew the conversation was done when the woman got up from the chair and started moving towards the ladder leading out to the secret entrance.
"Maullaine."
Metallic orbs, framed by wisps of brown hair, look from the ladder, towards him, then back towards the ladder. She seems to sigh in resignation, then moves towards where he was standing, coming to a stop just before the table. "Guild Master Frey. Is there something I can help you with, Sir?" Does the man not sleep?
The man makes his way around the barrier and leans against it, facing her with a blank expression. "I was wondering something, perhaps you could enlighten me regarding it."
A dark eyebrow arches slightly at order barely veiled as a request, a glint of intrigue flickering across her eyes. You don't normally lower yourself to talking to the rank and file members of the Guild, Frey- if your Second is to be believed. But I don't back down from a challenge, so I'll take the bait and run with it. "Perhaps I could, Master Frey, if I actually knew what you were wondering. I'm many things, but being a mind reader isn't necessarily an art I've mastered yet."
"I get a list, you know, from Mallory and Vex of the jobs taken and completed every week. Do you know what I've noticed, Maullaine?" Mercer studies the woman's face, looking for any break of composure. "You've taken four or five jobs a day from the both of them- more if you can somehow get them within the same hold. You've been doing it for weeks. Now, I could understand a newcomer to the Guild doing that in order to prove themselves capable, but eventually they'll tire out. You've been here for months and still going. That means you're hurting for money, you're looking for or running from something or someone, or maybe you're trying to get that high back that gets harder to catch with the more jobs you do. Maybe it's something I haven't thought of yet. So, tell me, why take on all the work?"
Gwendolyn glances over her shoulder at the main entrance to the cistern, as if expecting the door to open at a moment's notice. "Not here," she tells him quietly. "I know you're already well acquainted with both doors to my home, Guild Master, so I'm sure you'll have no problem letting yourself in...say about thirty minutes?" She notices a muscle twitch, a smirk crossing the man's face. So he is capable of something other than a sullen expression, I never would have thought it possible. Before he can say anything though, the woman turns and heads up the ladder, exiting the cistern into the Riften cemetery.
A predatory grin breaks out across the man's face as he hears the trap door in the ceiling slam shut. Challenge accepted, Maullaine. Just because we'll be on your own territory doesn't mean you'll be any more safer from me than if we spoke here...just less ears. One way or another, I'll get my answers- and my satisfaction.
You are such an idiot, Gwendolyn Maullaine. You can't expect to go into a battle- even of words- with the bloody Guild Master!
The woman in question huffs at her conscience as she removes her chest armor, dropping the buckle and pocket laden gear into an empty chest in her bedroom, then does the same with the leather pants. Sure, she had been told by most members of the guild that to challenge the moody Breton in any capacity- verbal or otherwise- was pretty much suicide. In for a septim, in for a gold bar, I suppose. Besides, he challenged me first! I have never backed down from a challenge, even if it meant surviving another day.
Are you that eager to die now that both Alduin and Miraak have been dealt with and the Civil War is over?
The war isn't really over. Sure, Ulfric won, but peace will take time, and then there's the elves... I guess I'm just bored. She reaches into her wardrobe and pulls out a pair of black linen pants. Besides, would you have rather I joined up with the Companions in Whiterun instead?
Why not? That set of twins that call Jorrvaskr home are good looking.
Whiterun's version of Brynjolf and Delvin. A boring and short chase plus a one time fur. Gwen pulls the article of clothing on, still mentally debating with her conscience. Besides, you have to admit Farkas is a bit...And do we really want to actually start performing in more...legal professions?
Fine. Be lucky I didn't ask about considering the Jester.
Cicero is odd, but decent company. And he's full of the most amazing knowledge regarding torture. His complete and utter devotion to the Night Mother is admirable but...
You could have married-
No.
But-
No!
Completely tuning her conscience out, the thief makes her way down into Honeyside's basement, into a side room, and down a hidden hatch into yet another room. The only source of light are two torches, one on either side of the far wall "Now, are you ready to tell me why exactly you broke into my home?"
A moan is heard from the body chained tightly to the wall. Their head looks up, and as they strain to see into the darkness, say "I heard the newest member of the Thieves Guild bought it. I was hoping to convince them to help me."
"Last I heard it was against the rules to break into a home of a fellow Guild member, as your armor states you are. Or is it perhaps were?" she snarks out, throwing one of the boots from the table beside her in front of the unwilling guest.
"I was getting desperate," the person goes with a cough, followed by "My letters to you were going unanswered."
"Well, you certainly caught my attention now, and you most certainly got caught. Now talk. What do you want with me?"
"Justice."
A snort, then "You came to the wrong person for that, your best bet would be Whiterun and the Companions."
"It was one of the Companions who sent me here to you. There's a message in my bag for you as well."
"Hircine take both those boys," Gwen mumbles to herself as she glances at the bag in question, then goes "Alright, I'll deal with that later when I'm not pressed for time. Justice for what?"
Before the person in the cell could answer, a soft creak could be hear on the floors above them.
"Ah, seems my guest has arrived. I do hope you being forthcoming with the information continues when I return. If not, I might have to resort to more...questionable methods, to obtain my answers. Either that or bring in a professional- and believe me, I have plenty of both at my disposal." Without another word, the brunette turns and, after removing the letter her visitor mentioned from the bag, climbs up the ladder quickly before any more pleas for help could be heard on the main floor.