It was dark by the time he managed to swing himself down the old rickety ladder, heading through the all but empty cistern into an equally as deserted Flagon. Jobs were plentiful these days, the gold flowing: it was a pleasant sight, even if it was strange. There was a lone man at the table, a few bottles littering it, and Symon headed over to him.
" Wondered when you were gonna show up."
Brynjolf grinned from the table, swigging from a tankard of what he presumed was mead.
" What's that supposed to mean?"
" Nothing lad, I know how busy you are these days, Guildmaster an' all."
Symon rolled his eyes, taking the seat opposite him, folding his arms with a chuckle.
" It was family time, not guild time."
" There's a difference?"
" I try to make one."
He pulled the spare bottle of ale sitting at the edge of the table towards him, cracking it open with a content sigh.
" That reminds me, got a bone to pick with you."
" Aye, lad?"
He cocked a finger, waggling it at the red head.
" Just what have you promised to teach my daughter?"
Brynjolf snorted a laugh, taking a sip of his drink before giving him his best grin.
" Can't imagine what you are talking about."
" Oh, come off it. You nearly got my head taken off by the wife. Between that and teaching Samuel to shoot a bow, I'm going to end up getting left."
" Nonsense, lad. She'd never do that."
Symon laughed as he took a drink, shaking his head, as Brynjolf leant on his elbow, chin in his hand.
" Can't be the daughter of the guildmaster and not know a few tricks!"
" She's a child, Bryn." He groaned, looking at him. " She has plenty more years before she has to worry about anything like that. Besides, she'd be far more suited to follow her mother. Ysolda already takes her on her trading trips to the caravans, she's quite the little haggler. You should hear her barter for more playtime before bed."
" Is that you speaking as a thief?" Brynjolf cocked an eyebrow, watching him, tankard paused at his lips.
" That's me speaking as a father. I'd like better for my children."
" Aw, no love for the ol' Ratway, huh?" Brynjolf chuckled, downing his tankard, as Symon laughed.
" It's not like that and you know it. I'd just like to not see either of them behind bars, or in the hands of one of the guards. A decent, honest living." He looked across at the red head, who was grinning at him, humour dancing in his eyes. " What?! You're a bugger, you really are, Bryn. So what about you huh?"
Now it was time for Brynjolf to look puzzled, cocking his head to one side. " What about me what?"
" When are you gonna settle down? Get some brats of your own?"
He snorted, as Symon grinned at him, tossing the cork from his mead at him. " Enough of your smug face, lad. I don't need no brats, I'm bad enough just looking after me."
" And to think, little red headed children to run around and pick pockets for us."
Brynjolf shook his head, pulling the second bottle of mead to him, flicking the cork at him again, as the dark haired nord chuckled, reaching over to tap bottles, with a gentle 'cheers'.
" Now that's something world sure don't need."
" Yeah… now tell me, just what did you promise to teach my daughter?"