Prompt (2011/11/25): ""PC/Guard - Stop right there criminal scum!
"The PC is a thief in Riften and the guard has seen them one too many times. No more bribes, no more 'I'm the Thane!' and such. Only one sort of payment is left to get out of this mess and avoid prison - the sexy kind. No violent rape please, though dub-con is okay. Don't care about the gender or race of either the PC, but I'm thinking of the guard as a male.
"Brownie points: work in the glorious past lines of the Oblivion guards during the sex and win my undying devotion."
A/N: The original LiveJournal meme is dead, or I would've posted this there too. The current/new one is at Dreamwidth, where I yesterday posted a slightly less proofread (damn!) version of this.
There's at least one ton of other things I want to elaborate on, but let's just skip that . . . this time. Feel free to ask me anything, though, ideally by PM. Short elaboration: Yet another experimentation/writing exercise. I tried to focus on character and personality stuff. I also made up a ton of minor characters (in the game they'd be named NPCs ), and a tavern, which makes this slightly AU, I guess. I've been so busy lately I probably won't do a second draft of this (whereas I definitely should of "Goodsprings Scorpion Scramble").
Please tell me what you think of this! The only reason I post things here is for feedback.
AD INTERIM
I: Caught Off Guard
Middas, 10 Midyear, Year 202 of the Fourth Era
Tluldir, guild master of the Thieves Guild of Skyrim and the last Dragonborn, picked yet another person's pockets—this time netting about 12 septims from a purse on a woman's belt and a plain silver ring from one of the woman's fingers (damn fine grab, that, even if it was worth nothing)—probably the thousand-and-five-hundredth time she'd successfully stolen things right off people without their noticing. All was well—
Then disaster struck: Tluldir heard the tone and presumed authority of some city guard's voice before she saw him. Luck was still hers—women guards were sometimes difficult to make go away, but men were easy, easier than pickpocketing. The disaster was that she got caught. That was professionally humiliating and annoyingly inconvenient enough to ruin Tluldir's afternoon.
Oh, right, it was broad daylight. That had been a poor choice of environment for picking pockets (and/or fingers), one she'd made without thinking. The location had been solid, though; Tluldir had been following the woman for a few minutes—she was alone, and worse than that, for her (better for Tluldir), chose a desolate residential side-walkway for a shortcut around the market's lunchtime crowds. The city had been getting more and more populated lately, Tluldir would give her that much; the rest, Tluldir would take. The woman held herself like royalty, but she was clearly poor. Malnourished. Tluldir doubted anybody cared about her. So she'd have no one to send after Tluldir, even if she caught Tluldir in the act, and no money to hire thugs with, whenever she noticed her things missing.
But the poor young woman didn't catch Tluldir in the act—some Riften city guard did. A male, but still someone. And worse than that, a guard. The dumbest yet most entitled-behaving population in all Tamriel.
"Stop! By order of the jarl!" the guard said. Unusually, his voice had some force to it. Tluldir felt herself stopping.
He was already quite close. And Tluldir so focused on her mark that she'd had no idea; she just assumed no guards were about. Tluldir was so shocked at her own failings she actually did stop right where she was.
"Not you, Golgivah," the guard said, to Tluldir's mark, as Tluldir looked to the guard. "Will you stay nearby for a moment, please?" he said to Tluldir's mark. He sounded normal, but he seemed to be moving in slow motion. Perhaps that was Tluldir's terror affecting her perception.
There were a few . . . problems with the guard. First, he was huge. More than six-and-a-half feet tall. Tluldir herself was taller than an average Redguard, taller than most women, and taller than most guards she encountered, but this man was much taller than her. At least a head taller. He seemed skinny, though. Maybe that was because he wore less armour than a normal guard, less than any other rank-and-file city watch-person she'd ever seen in Skyrim. He wore a boiled leather jack with black studs and short sleeves—summer in Skyrim—which was unique but unremarkable, and the typical guard's quilted chest-and-groin-length armor with no sleeves, but a cloth long-sleeved top under that (unusual), as well as the requisite Stormcloak or Stormcloak-held-territory-watchperson's banner-sash; he also wore very nice boots—fine leather, far from the cheap fur of other Stormcloaks and Stormcloak watchpeople, and he wore no helm at all, closed or open. Which revealed a face, which Tluldir was shocked to see for two reasons: first that a city watchperson had any face at all (she'd always suspected they had no faces under those helms), and second that his face was beautiful. He was incredibly handsome. A problem—that he was a real person now, and that she wanted to fuck that real person. He had a strange hairstyle she hadn't seen but once or twice—most of his head was shaved bare, apparently around a week ago, except for a strip down the middle. That strip was short. He—it—would stand out in a crowd, so Tluldir couldn't sport it herself, but it looked very appropriate for the next few seasons' weather, if you were acclimated to Skyrim, which he clearly was. The haircut was appropriate to the extreme, though—it was still Skyrim; it was still cold compared to the rest of Tamriel. Tluldir wouldn't have expected so little hair on a man anyplace but back home—in Hammerfell, in the hot desert. People said Elseweyr had deserts too, but she'd never seen nor felt them herself.
So, whoever the guy thought he was, he was some kind of hot shot—a "cool guy," as one of Tluldir's friends who'd fought in the Great War for the Empire had described fellow Imperial soldiers who bothered to supply their own equipment instead of normal issued gear. Meaning . . . Tluldir wasn't sure what, really, she'd never met a cool guy. She didn't feel safe anymore; she felt threatened, as the apex predator of all Skyrim's thieves. Technically she'd broken just about every law Skyrim, The Rift and Riften had, at least one of them in this particular cool guy's field of view, so she—a lawbreaker—should feel uneasy, but still, she wasn't just any lawbreaker, she was Tluldir the Swift, a famous thief even before she'd joined the only Thieves Guild there was in Skyrim. And, she was in Riften. Thieves' capital of Skyrim. The city's watch protected no one, and nothing but the appearance of legitimacy. For poor gormless Jarl Laila Law-Giver's court, and sometimes their own coin purses. With her confidence rejuvenated, Tluldir shrugged off her fear.
"Very well," Tluldir's mark said. She probably had a name, but Tluldir preferred to think of her as nothing more than her mark—as an object, a thing to steal other things from. Such made the theft simpler.
"Do you know who I am, guard?" Tluldir said.
"Yes I do," Cool-Guy Guard said like it didn't matter, like her position didn't matter, yet again disarming Tluldir. "Return what you stole," he ordered, more gently than she would've expected any guard to order anything, but no less authoritative.
Tluldir inventoried what she'd just stolen, and prepared her normal "it's about the principle of the thing" retort, then heard . . . something. She looked.
It was a dog. A big dog. It looked very fast. And like it wouldn't shirk violence. And it wasn't an Irish Wolfhound, marking it as unlike every other dog in Skyrim—this was a large dog, whatever breed it was, though not a small horse like the fully-grown Wolfhounds were. This dog was analyzing and watching her like the guard was—like she was caught prey. Tluldir didn't like that. Not one bit. She probably couldn't outrun the guard, but she'd never outrun the dog. It looked like it'd been bred for speed, and for ripping people's Achilles tendons or throats (or both) out. The dog's coat was thin, and in color what common farmerfolk called "blue." It bore a collar but no leash. Tluldir had actually seen violent dogs before, and the kinds that would really hurt you didn't bark or growl; they were like wolves, silent. They usually still warned you, but it was nowhere near so obviously as by barking. She feared this dog, unlike Irish Wolfhounds—no matter how big those things were, or how angry they got, they still looked fuzzy and cuddly to her, not like they'd ever want to hurt anything . . . and not like they'd enjoy such.
"I didn't steal anything," Tluldir said. It was supposed to sound casual and off-handed, dismissive, but it sounded defensive, fearful.
Keeping his eyes locked on Tluldir, Cool-Guy Guard said to her mark, "My lady, will you please come to the Riften Jail either tonight or tomorrow? At your convenience. So I may return what she stole."
Tluldir's mark turned to face Tluldir, then backed away toward Cool Guy. Tluldir's mark was a Dunmer, a dark elf, apart from a very young lady. Clean—Tluldir had noticed the lady (no, the mark) didn't smell like shit or offal, or stink of mead or ale, the way most people in Skyrim did, but Tluldir had assumed she—it—would be dirt-smeared in the face or some such, and defying all logic the lady—mark—was actually clean, like she bathed every few weeks, perhaps even days. That was nearly as often as Tluldir herself bathed. The dark elf mark looked familiar. The poor mark also looked terrified. Tluldir accidentally took her eyes off Cool Guy and/or his attack dog and glanced at her mark just in time to see the mark checking her fingers before anything else; then the mark became distraught.
"My ring!" the mark shrieked. "My first lover gave me that ring! The Red Year ruined his house, that was all they had left—" Her eyes burned.
"Oh, shut up," Tluldir said with scorn. "You just made that up." As she said that, Tluldir inadvertently turned that same ring over in one of her hands. She was almost certain Cool Guy saw that—eyes drawn to motion, and he looked in the correct angle—but then her mark saw it too, and got even worse.
"It's right there!" Tluldir's mark yelped, panicking. "In her hand!"
Cool Guy took a step toward Tluldir, and she instinctively fled. Not cleverly—she was terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought—but in the direction most away from Cool Guy, Cool Guy's dog, and her mark—a straight line in the opposite bearing.
"Curro!" Cool Guy ordered instantly. Tluldir didn't want to know what it meant.
Tluldir ran, and heard little nails clicking on wood, and got maybe three long fear-powered strides before one of her legs got pulled fast out from under her. At once, this wall hit her. It was the wood of a Riften walkway, Tluldir noticed before the pain hit. She'd fallen.
First it was sharp pain in her ankle, then it was massive dull pain over almost the entirety of the front side of her body, especially over her face and on her tits. She started groaning quickly. Her head hurt.
She didn't drop the ring, though. It was still in her fist. Worthless as it was.
"Yes!" Tluldir heard her mark cheering. "Instant justice!"
Someone moved her arms, but Tluldir was confident it wasn't herself. It was hard to tell which way was up. Pain everywhere. She was being . . . lifted? She was massively dizzy.
"Golgivah, did you hear me before?" Cool Guy said to Tluldir's mark, all business.
"I did," Tluldir's mark said defiantly.
The whole world spun. Colors warped; all was unfocused. Tluldir had this sensation of moving, but she couldn't be sure.
"Can I come with you to the jail? Now?" Tluldir's mark continued.
"Please don't," Cool Guy said.
Tluldir's arms tingled, as if poked all over from the inside with dozens of sharp sewing needles. Then, she noticed, she could feel her arms again. She hadn't been aware of not feeling them. They were hard to move. Her arms were behind her. Bent strangely against her back. Held fast, by . . . something. It felt like iron. Or very tight rope.
"She won't go easy," Cool Guy said further. "It's not safe."
"Can I—" the mark began.
Cool Guy interrupted, "Don't. Give me a few hours."
Tluldir noticed—her ankle still hurt, but she wasn't dragging Cool Guy's dog along with her as she moved. Or so it felt. She still couldn't see clearly. It must've been the dog that tripped her. Though it had felt like rope had been attached to her calf and someone had abruptly pulled it taut all at once, and also tied the other end of the rope to a copse of deeply-rooted trees at the same time. So the dog had released her, at some point. She hadn't noticed when. And her eyes still wouldn't focus, which was alarming, but she was definitely walking. No—being led forward.
"I need my ring, at least," the mark begged.
Cool Guy said close to one of Tluldir's ears (she couldn't determine which): "Give the ring back."
"What ring?" Tluldir said. She sounded sick.
Suddenly Tluldir was falling. She heard a solid wood thunk—Cool Guy had let her fall to her knees. She hardly felt it. She didn't think he did it to inflict pain, though—it would be hard to outrun anyone on her knees. "Give the lady her ring back, or I swear, I'll break your arm holding it and return it for you," Cool Guy said, characteristically cooly, and braced to actually do that. He was surprisingly quick and extremely strong—he could do it. Throwing her around seemed to trouble him no more than doing the same to a rag doll toy would have. He sounded ready to break her arm, too. It was her left arm. She was right-handed.
"That's excessive," Tluldir said.
"I would say stealing from a poor young woman is excessive," Cool Guy said.
He switched his preparing-to-break arm-hold to her right arm.
Oh, fuck, he remembered which hand I took it with, Tluldir thought. He actually saw me doing it. That hadn't happened before. Ever.
"Last chance," Cool Guy said. "I know what I saw. The ring is not for you. You don't have to admit anything. Return the ring. I'll buy you another on the way to jail if you want one so badly. You simply can't have that one."
Somehow, the extent to which that promise shocked Tluldir emotionally cancelled out her lingering physical shock—her ankle and face still hurt, and her eyes wouldn't quite focus, but she otherwise felt quite normal again all at once.
Tluldir turned her head and looked Cool Guy in the eyes. He had lovely eyes. They'd been cruel before. He was so close—his eyes were silver, but now she saw abundant warmth in them. Certainty, but no judgment. "What?" Tluldir said. It came out quietly. She couldn't make out the rest of his face, only the eyes.
One of his arms held her still, but she felt what was probably one of his hands come directly beneath her right hand's palm. His eyes stayed warm. Forgiving. Appealing.
Tluldir dropped the nigh-worthless silver ring into Cool Guy's hand. She heard nothing, only felt its absence. He caught it. For the life of her, Tluldir didn't know why she surrendered it willingly.
Tluldir looked at the walkway in front of her.
"Vigilia," Cool Guy ordered, Tluldir assumed to the dog because she hadn't the slightest notion what the word meant, and it definitely wasn't to Tluldir's mark.
"Do you have it?" the mark asked Cool Guy. "Was that . . . " she trailed off.
The dog came around and went out in front of Tluldir. It watched her. She became aware that her throat was plainly exposed. So was much of her upper chest—she liked to dress revealingly sometimes whilst on the prowl. It distracted men and women easily; it drew minor attention, but also made dealing with guards incredibly easy. Well, it had done every time but now. If Cool Guy had noticed her cleavage, or the very long open slits of the skirt along the outsides of her thighs, he'd given no indication of it. Maybe it was because they weren't alone yet. Good—once he sent the mark away, Tluldir would be out of this in a heartbeat. Maybe a few minutes of feigned cock-sucking enjoyment. And, while she would never allow the guard to see her in an honest moment, she happened to adore cum—the taste (usually), the texture, the heat, even most men's sated sighs of release. The work to earn that cum she didn't always enjoy, certainly not in such situations as simply getting a watchman to leave her alone, though she was good at it. Easy as pie, she thought, grinning, seeing a way out.
"Don't move," Cool Guy told her, firmly, releasing her and smoothly stepping away toward where from the mark's voice had come.
Tluldir started to stand, popping up quickly from her knees. The dog bared teeth. Very clean teeth. A lot of them, some rather sharp-looking. The focus of Tluldir's vision chose to return just then, and set on the dog's teeth. The dog watched her very closely. Counter-moved with her as she moved, preparing to attack.
"Get back down, please," Cool Guy said, but not in a "please" tone of voice, walking toward Tluldir's mark—well, where Tluldir was certain the mark was; it was out of Tluldir's view, behind her. The dog relaxed just a hair at its master's voice. Tluldir tried to weigh her chances. If she stood up all the way, could it jump as high as her throat? She pondered such as she sank back to her knees. The dog was nimble; it looked like it could cleanly jump over her entire, fully-standing body if it wanted to.
"Is that it?" Tluldir's mark said. Tluldir could hear the waify peasant girl smiling at her brave hero. How very false, Tluldir thought. If he plays this as well as I'm sure he will, that man will be with two different willing women today, she surmised. The mouth of one, and with probably every happily-willing hole of the other. Filthy men. Well, I'm not willing—I'm using sex as a bartering item, coerced. I did break the law; still, I'd allow him into my mouth. He wouldn't have to force me, entirely. I'm going back to women after this.
"You tell me," Cool Guy said. He was smart—didn't milk the situation anywhere near as much as Tluldir expected him to. He sounded polite, but not . . . predatory. Not like he had a willing cunt in view and knew it, even if the cunt didn't, and relished it.
"That's it!" Tluldir's mark said, elated.
"Good," Cool Guy said. "Please—wait. Check yourself. Did she take aught else?" Tluldir heard him turn to look back toward herself. She leaned forward to stick her rear end out, emphasize her curves. She looked back at Cool Guy over her shoulder. He wasn't even looking at her. Damn, he must've looked quick, for me not to catch him doing it, she thought. A fast man. Ha! Good for me.
"Um . . . " the mark said.
Tluldir looked back ahead. The dog had moved closer to her and she hadn't heard it moving. She saw blood on a few of the furry monster's teeth. Her blood. She felt herself sweating. It stopped baring its teeth when she held still. But it never looked away from her; extraneous noises didn't distract it. She'd never seen such a disciplined animal. She was now its mark, she understood.
"My purse!" Tluldir's mark said. "She took my coinpurse!"
"Describe it," Cool Guy said, gently. Tluldir was impressed at his methodology. Any other guard would've emptied Tluldir's pockets and given the mark the first purse they came across, maybe every one they came across. Cool Guy didn't even give her mark any leading information, or really suggest much. So, certainly a sex pervert, but apparently not very corrupt otherwise, Tluldir thought. As if I can judge. However much of a sex pervert he is, I'm easily twice as much of a one.
"Small bag," the mark said. "Drawstring. Plain brown leather. Light. I think I had fourteen septims in it. Which is . . . everything I have." Tluldir felt . . . guilt. Shame. She was certain the ring's backstory was impromptu and false, but this about the money rang true.
Tluldir heard Cool Guy doing something then the swish of paper. Paper? On a guard?! I'd bet 500 septims he can't read. "Will you please write that on here for me?" Cool Guy said. Tluldir heard a clink of glass. Ink? Not charcoal?
"I can't . . . " the mark said, self-conscious, deflating.
"You can't write?" Cool Guy said quietly—all business; no condescension or judgment, no sharpness, no insult. If Tluldir had said that, it would've been an insult, and a sharp one at that. Though illiteracy seemed quite common in Skyrim, she'd noticed.
"No . . . " the mark said.
There was silence for two of Tluldir's heartbeats, then Cool Guy said, "That's nothing to be ashamed of. Most Nords don't read or write." Cool Guy sighed. Tluldir was genuinely surprised that he'd noticed the same thing of illiteracy in Skyrim. But then, he was an elf—and not just any elf, but a high elf, a fancy Altmer, Tluldir noticed consciously for the first time. Of course he was literate. What was he doing in Skyrim? She wondered how he'd even got a job in the Riften city watch. How any elf would or could have. She wondered how many cocks he had to suck to get the job. Weren't guards in The Rift—in Stormcloak territory—nominally also Stormcloak soldiers? There was no way Stormcloaks would let an elf in. She was the godsdamned Dragonborn, apparently some sort of descendant—spiritually, if not by family lineage—of Talos himself, and she was human, but she was a Redguard, not a Nord, and even with her being the godsdamn Dragonborn, she was still pretty sure the Stormcloaks wouldn't allow her in. They only allowed Nords. Which was suicidally short-sighted.
Cool Guy sighed. Tluldir heard him moving . . . downward? She looked back. He'd taken a knee on the boardwalk and was using it as a writing surface. He had around a foot of parchment rolled unfurled in front of him, a short quill in his hand, and an ink vial holding down the parchment's curve at one end. As she looked, he was letting excess ink drip off the quill back into the vial, taking his fucking time, writing things on the parchment. Tluldir gaped at him, struck dumb by the cheek of it. She was a master thief, damn him! Damn him and his sweet cum, too!
Cool Guy glanced to her mark, who looked fascinated by all this, and said, "Anything else missing?" as he looked back to Tluldir. They locked eyes. She felt . . . something, just then. She couldn't look away, and didn't want to. His look lingered, but only on her eyes. He checked her body position, probably whether she'd broken out of her bonds, with the briefest of glances and seemed to decide nothing was amiss, then he looked away, between the mark and his parchment notes, Tluldir, his dog, and the area around them generally. A few people had stopped going about their business to watch this farce happen from a good distance away. Free, live entertainment. No, that was good—more eyes, more witnesses; Cool Guy couldn't misbehave, for now. And Tluldir wasn't dressed like a thief; she was dressed like a tavern slut.
"That's all?" Cool Guy asked her mark, checking around occasionally, wary, alert, but seemingly relaxed despite it.
Tluldir looked back to Cool Guy's dog—still focused on her, and her alone. It felt like someone had a bow with an arrow nocked aimed at her, with the bowstring drawn all the way back. At which point it was easier to loose the arrow then unload the bow.
The dog's teeth looked sharp.
"Yes," the mark said, "That's all."
"Uh—I'm being harassed!" Tluldir said loudly to the onlookers. She meant to shout it at full volume but it came out strangled.
"And I'm High King Torygg!" some filthy Nord child said. Everyone around him laughed. Uproariously. Tluldir even heard her mark giggle.
"Shit," Tluldir grumbled. Even the child knew who she was. She was too famous in Riften.
"Be silent, criminal!" Cool Guy said loudly. And damn did his voice carry authority. Considering how tough he looked, maybe he deserved some. Tluldir looked around—a few onlookers left, but most stayed, and now backed away several paces at every edge of the periphery.
"Caught one in the act, eh Solitar?" Tluldir heard the voice of the worst person who possibly could have just been passing by: Mjoll the Cuntess, Tluldir cursed internally. She must have just known, somehow, that somewhere in Riften a thief was getting arrested. She was walking toward Cool Guy; Tluldir didn't hear his name, or any words beyond Mjoll's voice itself.
"I did at that, my lady," Cool Guy said. His voice changed angle—he looked from Mjoll to Tluldir's mark and said firmly but soothingly, "One more moment, then you can go about your business. Will you stay there, please?"
"Yes," the mark said. "I'm not going anywhere." Her voice had a tinge of "and every inch of my supple, nubile flesh will be waiting right here with me."
"Thank you," Cool Guy said and collected his writing tools—Tluldir looked to watch him, curious—and moved much closer to Tluldir. As he collected his stupid guard tools he said, "Lady Mjoll, will you please be a witness for me?"
"That would be a pleasure and an honor," Mjoll said to Cool Guy, and walked toward him. Tluldir stared daggers at Mjoll, but none of them seemed to land. "My lord," Mjoll added, loving this.
These two righteous pricks know each other? Tluldir wondered. This is just the worst day ever. Nothing would change in Riften because of this, obviously—not from this empty spectacle—but Tluldir's next few hours would be very agitating indeed. I swear, if you two multiply, Tluldir swore internally at Cool Guy and Mjoll, I'll make deals with every daedroth there's ever been to destroy your perfect, uptight, arrogant golden spawn before they mature. Thieves Guild for life.
Cool Guy said to Mjoll, "Just a moment ago I personally witnessed that woman—currently bound—whom I recognized as Tluldir, the new Thieves Guildmaster, stealing two items from this young lady—Golgivah Moabathil, a refugee from Morrowind who ironically works for the Thieves Guild bowyer Syndus. She's an otherwise upstanding citizen. So far. Tluldir stole from her one small leather coin purse with reportedly fourteen gold septims in it, and one plain silver ring. I have returned the ring but noted its theft. I've also noted the date, and the lady Moabathil's coin purse." Cool Guy added privately to Mjoll, "The lady cannot write, so she can't endorse my report." He spoke normally again: "You witnessed none of this—I would ask you to sign on behalf of the lady, to act as her eyes, if she'll agree to that and with what I've said to you. Would you do that?"
"Proudly, my friend," Mjoll said.
Tluldir scoffed.
Cool Guy said to the mark without looking at her, "Lady Moabathil, to the best of your knowledge, is everything I just told Lady Mjoll true and accurate?"
"Every word of it," the mark said, "except that I am not a lady." Dirty bitch, Tluldir thought. Talking dirty to him like that.
"Maybe not by highbrow Cyrodiil formal law—though you nonetheless deserve to be treated as such," Cool Guy said.
"Oh, what a fine knight you are!" Tluldir spouted. She couldn't hold her tongue. Though there was something in her heart which loved that he'd publicly show such respect to any woman, much less a damned dark elf, of such low status. Such no status, Tluldir corrected herself. My mark and foolish girl or not, if only decent men felt half as strongly about common kindness, and treating others well, as this sex-pervert guard lickspittle piece of shit, Tamriel would be a better place. I'd applaud that high-and-mighty notion if my hands weren't bound, or better used to stab his eyes out and saw his tongue off and shit in his mouth.
"Criminal: One more word and I'll gag you and carry you to prison," Cool Guy said.
"I—thank you, sir," the mark said. What Cool Guy had said was remarkable, Tluldir would acknowledge, even if he'd said it only to cheaply buy himself common people's favor and some free pussy tonight. By all Nine Divines, Tluldir thought, Mjoll showed up too, and she's probably a woman—this subservient cock might get two cunts tonight! If only I were so suave.
"I'm no knight," Cool Guy said, "but you're welcome. I won't say 'lady' in the formal report. I don't in my notes either. Apart from that, is what I said true?"
"As true as truth can be," the mark said. "Yes." Her cunt was probably sopping wet and glowing gold.
"Lady Mjoll, does this document before you say—not in so many words—what I've affirmed aloud?" Cool Guy said.
A few seconds passed by, then Mjoll said, "It does, my lord. I never would've thought to abbreviate the words 'gold pieces.'"
"Shorthand," Cool Guy said. "Lady Moabathil, will you consent to—Mjoll—signing this document, as your witness?"
"I will," the mark said. "I do."
"Mjoll, while I watch the criminal scum before us that I'm sure is wishing us all poisoned—" Tluldir laughed out loud. She couldn't help it. Cool Guy himself even grinned at her response, though Mjoll and her mark seemed scandalized by it. "—will you please make a spot for Lady Moabathil to make her mark on, and below that for yourself to sign as witness?"
"I will," Mjoll said, then set about doing that—Tluldir looked away—if the noises Tluldir heard were any indication.
Tluldir looked back to Cool Guy again. She found it hard to look away from him. He was standing, ready to pounce, watching her as if she were prey. Cool Guy's dog was doing the same thing, on four legs.
Mjoll wrote clumsily. Tluldir found consolation in that.
Tluldir looked back ahead, at nothing. Then at the sky. It was bright out today. Sunny.
"I've never heard of . . . this, before," Mjoll said absentmindedly, scribbling something.
"It's not common among commoners like us," Cool Guy said. Wait, hadn't somebody just said his name? Tluldir couldn't recall it; hadn't been paying attention. She put her attention now to wiggling out of her bonds. They felt like rope; if they were, they were tied damn well. Cool Guy must have been a sailor in a past life. Or this same one—elves could live hundreds of years, Tluldir remembered. Perhaps he had worked as a sailor before he came to Riften to live the life of a complete waste of life (a city watchperson). "Only nobles, jarls, kings, regents. Highborn. For our purposes, it's evidence."
"Lady Moabathil, will you come here, please?" Mjoll said. Tluldir heard the hulking Nord's ridiculous armour, that she wore everywhere at all times, scraping and cranking—Mjoll had motioned the mark over.
"What do I do?" the mark said, walking over to the two self-righteous assholes.
"Mjoll will show you an area on the paper—I want you to make your mark there," Cool Guy said. "That mark is, formally, you giving testimony. Documentation. Like a bill of sale for what happened here just now."
"That's easy!" the mark said. She sounded like she was kneeling.
"Here," Mjoll said, soothingly.
"What form does a mark have?" the mark said, to Cool Guy.
"Whichever you like," he said. "It's your authentication, legally—proof of your presence, identity. Some symbol unique to you, if you have one. A circle or an ouroboros would do, if you can't think of anything."
Tluldir heard scribbling. Then girly giggling. Then more scribbling.
It was agony.
What felt like a very long time—and a few ink-dips—later, the mark said, "I drew your dog."
"Legally legitimate," Cool Guy said. "That's a nice likeness."
"Thank you," the mark said to him.
"And I witnessed it," Mjoll said. "My lord," she added adoringly. Sickening.
"I'm not a lord," Cool Guy said. "And thank you, my lady. If you'd like recompense for your services, let me know."
"The act is its reward," Mjoll said. "The 'lord' was a compliment."
"Thank you for that as well," Cool Guy said. He said toward Tluldir's mark, "I'd show my dog this, but he's on the job, at the moment. Dogs don't really understand drawings. I'll show him later, anyway. His name's Nomad."
"That's nice," the mark said.
Tluldir looked around; most of the crowd had dispersed. So she wasn't the only one who felt like this might be the very first summary execution by boredom.
"Are you busy right now, Mjoll?" Cool Guy said—quietly, only to her. Not using a stage voice anymore.
"No," Mjoll said. Of course she wasn't. She never did anything, apart from beat up members of Tluldir's guild and criticize people who actually did things.
"I'm going to repossess Lady Moabathil's coin purse and return it to her so she can eat tonight," Cool Guy said. "Will you back me up, please? Keep watch around and on my arrest subject."
"I'm honored to do so, my lord," Mjoll said. Tluldir heard—then watched, alarmed—Mjoll getting her two-handed battleaxe out. Elven. Fancy, for Skyrim and Riften.
"You won't need that," Cool Guy said, standing and walking around Tluldir, keeping several feet between them. Mjoll kept her weapon out and ready. Cool Guy looked into Tluldir's eyes and addressed her; she tried staring throwing axes at him, for variety, but they had no effect. "Criminal," he said, "I'm going to return Lady Moabathil's purse to her. Everything else on your person is now evidence. Whatever of it belongs to you is yours—that won't change. If I find you have any stolen goods, consider them returned. Forfeit. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Tluldir said. She tried to make it sound like "suck my dick," but it had no effect.
"I saw where you pocketed it initially, but you may have moved it," Cool Guy said, so Mjoll could also hear. "Where is it now?"
Tluldir chewed on her lip. "Same place." Contempt.
Tluldir had a sling bag across her back. She wished she'd stashed the mark's coin purse in her snatch, or maybe under a titty, but she hadn't, and she couldn't move it now. This guard had the potential to be cruel. Definitely. Now she only wanted this to be over as quickly as possible.
She gave up.
"Are there any sharp things, or traps or anything else that might harm me, or anyone else nearby?" Cool Guy asked her.
"There's a sheathed dagger in the bag," Tluldir said, "Iron. I don't know if it's still sheathed; it was when I put it in there."
"Thank you," Cool Guy said. "Is there anything else? Understand, if a trap goes off and harms me or anyone else, I will consider it assault."
"Just the dagger," Tluldir said. "And a gold diamond ring."
"Is everything in this bag stolen?" Cool Guy said without judgment—believing what she said, she noticed. He left the bag on her, but moved and opened it. No traps. Tluldir would have to look into how one could trap items, like maybe by casting glyph spells on them.
"No," Tluldir said. She was sad to feel and hear that all fight had left her. "The keyring's mine. A few thousand septims are mine. Some potions."
"I see Lady Moabathil's purse," Cool Guy said. "I'll return that to her, and take naught else. At the jail, I'll inventory everything you have. How compliant you are between here and there will affect whether I choose to confiscate allof it, or any of it. Do you understand?"
He's saying he might not legally just steal all my things, Tluldir had to make herself think, consciously, to make it register. Odd. A city watchman with scruples and ethics—the very worst kind. He might be opening the door for sex-payment/punishment, though. He wants to take me to jail. Maybe if I really make the blowjob good he'll let me go. I can change his mind. I will change his mind. Tluldir licked her lips. Languorously.
"I understand," Tluldir replied with as much sex in her voice as she could muster. Which, to be fair, was little in this situation, with other witnesses.
Cool Guy rolled his eyes and looked away from her. He seemed annoyed. Like, inconvenienced. "Mjoll, you heard that, right?"
"This criminal offers to pay her fine with . . . the sex," Mjoll said.
"I'll take the public route to jail, then," Cool Guy said. "Mjoll, may I trouble you to accompany me on that short trip?"
"It would be no trouble," Mjoll said. "I'll see this through, friend."
"Don't feel like you have to," Cool Guy said. He looked to Tluldir's mark. "My lady, I cannot thank you enough for your patience with this matter. I apologize for taking so much of your time already—" He sounded bizarrely sincere and honest, considering he was only being nice to get his cock wet.
"It's nothing," the mark said. "I got off work early today. I was only going to go read."
"Reading and relaxing—you should be. Not in the company of someone who robbed you," Cool Guy said. He held up the mark's coin purse. "Is this yours?"
"I think so," she said, looking at a small thing from a distance.
"I'll show you," Cool Guy told her.
"Are you gonna have me keep kneeling here?" Tluldir blurted out. She felt neglected.
"You may sit, if you like," Cool Guy said, like that was the best she'd get. "That dagger in your bag is still sheathed. Which is good. You could've hurt yourself, running."
"I think I'll run away again, now," Tluldir said, sitting.
Cool Guy halted and turned to her—she watched him—and said, "Try." He glanced at his dog, still silent, still freakishly vigilant. The dog would have her in a second no matter which way she fled, including up. After he spoke, Cool Guy simply watched her. Waited.
The mark wanted to laugh at what Cool Guy said but was too afraid; Mjoll laughed openly, though. That hurt Tluldir. She'd remember it. She glared at Mjoll to tell her so. Then she looked back to Cool Guy and said, "Fuck you."
"Your pride leaves you vulnerable," he said—a comment, an aside, not a judgment or an insult. Odd, Tluldir thought. She refused to hear what he meant. "No need to curse," he added. "Another such foul thing said and I'll gag you. Last warning."
Tluldir loudly blew a raspberry.
Cool Guy walked to the mark. Tluldir watched him. He showed the dark elf girl her own coinpurse up close. "Is this yours?" he said.
"Yes," she said, reaching for it.
"Do you want me to count it? For my notes," he said, handing it to her. "The jarl's been instituting certain minimal sentences and fines based on the degree of theft; the amount may matter."
"I just want my money back," the mark said, sounding desperate. She was telling the truth in that moment, Tluldir was certain.
"Understood," Cool Guy said. "Thank you for your patience. I should rephrase: I'm at work right now," he said. "This is my job. I thank you for making all this easier for me. I appreciate that."
Tluldir scoffed.
"What was that?" Mjoll said to Tluldir like Tluldir was about to get a beating.
"I believe she was clearing her nose," Cool Guy said, dismissively. Tluldir's head whipped around to see what sort of expression was on his face—she could not figure out the guy's angle, for the life of her. He was ignoring her, but not pointedly. Simply engrossed in his task, doing it well, perhaps. But he also wasn't worried about what Tluldir might do at all, though he knew who she was, he knew she had power. It was . . . nobody treated her like that. It was unique.
"You are free to go," Cool Guy said to Tluldir's mark. "Again, thank—"
The mark lunged at him, hugging him. He allowed it.
Cool Guy's dog glanced at the motion.
Tluldir saw an opening and bolted upright to run—
Cool Guy's dog tackled her so quickly, so strongly, she didn't know what happened until later. All she knew was she was about to start running, then the world rotated then she was looking up at the sky and seeing stars.
"Warned you," Cool Guy said, then presumably looked back to the mark. Tluldir didn't move; with Cool Guy's dog pinning her down, she couldn't. He said, "Thank you again for your patience."
"You're welcome," the mark said, releasing him.
"Don't take my keys," he said . . . to the mark.
Tluldir looked that way in time to see him stopping the mark's hand's progress, before she could conceal his keyring out of plain sight. The best perspective Tluldir could get was upside-down, but it was enough.
"Fuck!" cursed the mark. "Please don't arrest me!" she begged. She knew she was caught. Emotionally, her fall seemed even harder than Tluldir's.
"Empty your pockets," Cool Guy ordered her.
"Do I have to, daddy?" the mark said. At once, Tluldir thought much more highly of her.
"That depends: Do you want to sleep in jail tonight?" Cool Guy said. The "daddy" bit hadn't affected him in the least. Or, perhaps he hadn't heard it.
"No," the mark said, defeated. She didn't empty her pockets.
"Mjoll," Cool Guy said. Then to the mark: "Don't move."
"Aye," Mjoll said. She stowed her enormous battleaxe, strode to Tluldir's mark, and searched her. Thoroughly. Tluldir had to acknowledge: Mjoll had been around professional thieves long enough to know to check what the common population would've regarded as no-no places.
"Can we be honest, for a moment?" Cool Guy said to Tluldir's mark.
"We already are," the mark said, as Mjoll removed a sizable-yet-hidden dagger from between the mark's legs. "Oh, Vivec's nuts!" she cursed.
"Was this real, at first?" Cool Guy said. "Ever? I know you didn't plan to get pick-pocketed by Tluldir. But—was that why you stayed the whole time?" He gestured at his keyring. "That's not even currency."
"It was real," the mark said. "Up 'til I hugged you. I stayed to get my money back. Not that you'll believe me, now. I . . . knew I'd get an opportunity like that. When I hugged you I felt keys, saw an opportunity to gain entry to the whole city, and took advantage."
"You got all your things back," Cool Guy said. "Plus seeing your guildmaster humiliated." He looked to Tluldir and said, "I apologize for that, Lady Tluldir. You made it difficult."
"I accept your apology," Tluldir found herself saying honestly. Despite herself. Wow, this afternoon's been such a wild ride, emotionally and physically, she thought. She'd finally met someone with a distrust of people that went as deep as her own. And he was a fucking city watchman. Now that she thought on it, now Tluldir actually wanted to spend a night in bed with the man. With the elf. Just to see what he'd do with her. He was beautiful. And tall. And in excellent shape. He might even last beyond two minutes against her. Maybe as long as five. She wanted to taste his cum, anyway.
"Thank you," Cool Guy said to her. "So—Golgivah," he said, looking back to the mark. "Why risk it? You were out. I was about to offer to pay for your voyage to a place better than Skyrim. For a better life. Was it for the risk?"
"No, though that made it more fun," the mark said. No—she was a real person now. Golgivah. Tluldir would remember her, now. "I thought I'd get away with it. I had you wrapped around my finger."
"No," Cool Guy said. "Partway, though, yes, and I'm ashamed that you had me that much—but for your professional edification I note not all the way; I almost stopped you when you went to embrace me. I knew then, but I suspected before. Even if I didn't feel you take anything, I was going to search you, then. Or ask Lady Mjoll to. Out of respect: You've lost."
"You mentioned grace earlier—" Golgivah said.
"Did I?" Cool Guy said, and at the same time Mjoll ripped his huge keyring out of Golgivah's hand. It looked painful. Golgivah grimaced but made no sound. After Mjoll handed his keys back to him he said to Golgivah, "Is there nothing else, my lady?"
"No," Golgivah said. Then she looked to Mjoll and said, "Bitch," and spat at her. In that moment, Tluldir went from disdaining the girl to just about considering her a friend. Mjoll had the opposite reaction: At once she head-butted Golgivah, who instantly dropped to the ground—the boardwalk. The bratty little thief hadn't expected that at all. Tluldir laughed.
"She's clean," Mjoll said to Cool Guy, her search done. If Tluldir were in Mjoll's boots, as they said, she wasn't sure if she would've searched the dark elf any better than the big dumb Nord. Mjoll went on, "Unless you want me to check her . . . insides."
"If you believe it necessary," Cool Guy said. Tluldir laughed again—Mjoll was suggesting cutting Golgivah's belly open, she realized. And Cool Guy joked about it. "I'm not missing anything valuable," he said. "And if she wants anything that badly she can keep it."
Mjoll laughed. "Let me check my things."
"As you wish," Cool Guy said. "Golgivah, can you hear me?"
"Fuck," Golgivah said dully, groaning, sitting up. "Yeah . . . "
"That head-butt wasn't nice, Mjoll," Cool Guy said.
"But it was fair," Mjoll said.
"I suppose turnabout is fair play. In that she didn't evade it," Cool Guy said. "Golgivah, I hope you aspire to more than thievery, but . . . I'm trying to force my opinion on you, in so saying. I'll take you at your word and, once, let you off with nothing but unkind words and that head-butt. I can't let your presumption cost you nothing; consider yourself out of my good side. Indefinitely. If I catch you doing anything illegal, you'll go to jail. If you retrieve your purse—you dropped it—there you go—and leave right now, I will let you."
"No arrest?" Golgivah said. "No fine?"
"You know who I am, right?" Cool Guy said.
"I do," Golgivah said. She gestured at Tluldir: "I thought everyone did, but I guess not." Golgivah chuckled at the Thieves Guildmaster.
"There's no accounting for taste," Cool Guy said. Golgivah and Mjoll both laughed.
"I'm right here!" Tluldir said. Everyone ignored her.
"Mjoll?" Cool Guy said.
"I'm good," Mjoll said. "Nothing missing."
"If, um . . . I would've fucked you," Golgivah said. Tluldir felt vaguely scandalized. Maybe that the girl offered as much, more or less, before she did.
"Leave," Cool Guy told her. Not gently.
She left.
Cool Guy put his keyring away, then folded up and put away his excessive report.
"Laxō," Cool Guy said to his dog, which dismounted Tluldir at once. "My lady," he said to her, "you're still under arrest. You'll spend a night in jail for toying with the wrong guard. The one wrong guard. Maven will decide to release you first thing tomorrow, if not before then. Obviously. I don't need to say this, but for clarity: You're free to work from jail, of course. I know it, you know it. What I'm telling you is: There are limits. You will not the leave the cell until tomorrow. I would appreciate if you didn't fight me until you're locked up."
"I'll decide moment-to-moment," Tluldir said.
"Fine," Cool Guy said, and did some kind of crazy magic shit she'd never heard of nor imagined which levitated her entire body maybe four feet above the boardwalk. Solidly. Then he tied her ankles together with plain rope. "I apologize for my rudeness. I've simply run out of patience: This is happening. Actions have consequences. I say that because you've forgotten."
"And you think you'll just get away with arresting the Guildmaster?" Tluldir said.
"I already have," Cool Guy said. "You've wasted a lot of time inconveniencing me, professionally. You're a guild master now; you need to consider how your actions, such as this time-sink, affect those under you."
"I'll . . . " Tluldir said. "Yeah. Yeah."
"Mjoll—my lady—will you please accompany me to the jail?" Cool Guy said.
"I will," Mjoll said. "If you know she'll break out by tomorrow, why don't you just kill her?" Mjoll and Cool Guy began walking. Apparently unbidden, Tluldir's levitation . . . bed? area?, hovered along with them. Cool Guy must've been controlling it somehow. Some high elf shit.
"I don't know how to express this in a way that will make sense to you," Cool Guy said. "Certainly none that will satisfy you. Suffice to say: The corruption in this city goes deeper than the Thieves Guild. And not 'break out,' she'll be released, formally. It may take a day or so. Depending on how angry with her Maven is."
"You sound . . . " Mjoll said, struggling for words. "We're doing something good, now, yes?"
"Yes," Cool Guy said. "Inconsequential but good. 'Good' doesn't mean 'nice.'"
"Can we get through some formalities?" Tluldir said. "Guard to thief?"
"Which formalities do you mean?" Cool Guy said. He sounded neutral again. Nearly pleasant, nearly friendly. Not like a presumed-authority huge asshole. Odd.
"Can I bribe you?" Tluldir said.
"No," Cool Guy said.
"Intimidate?"
"No chance."
"You know, I'm a thane of Jarl Laila Law-Giver's—"
"I do know," Cool Guy said. "I don't care."
"I'll suck your cock," Tluldir said.
"By the!—" Mjoll started to yell, incredulous. Cool Guy put a hand on her shoulder like "don't bother," and she cut herself off. Those two do-gooder cunts knew each other.
"In general?" Cool Guy said. "For the fun of it?"
"If you'll release me," Tluldir said. "Burn your notes, forget any of this happened. Look the other way."
"No," he said.
"I'll make it good," she said.
"Still no," he said. He didn't even consider it. "Though I'm flattered you'd consider that. Thank you for the compliment."
"You're welcome," she said. "I mean—no! I'm really goodat sucking cock. Men say I'm wonderful."
"I'm sure they do," he said.
"Mer too," she said.
"Naturally," he said.
"You don't believe me?" she said.
"Irrelevant," he said. "I'm at work now. I don't care."
"I'd draw it out, too," she said.
"Sweet Talos!" Mjoll said.
Cool Guy ignored the both of them.
"—Not simply make you come as fast as I can and call it good," Tluldir said.
"For the mercy of!—" Mjoll began, loudly.
"No," Cool Guy said, to Tluldur. Somehow his calm, even tone broke through Mjoll's bluster, and had her stop speaking.
"What if I make it take ten minutes?" Tluldir said.
"No."
"Do you know how long ten minutes is?" Tluldir said.
"Yes," Cool Guy said. "Sill no."
"Fifteen minutes."
"No."
"Twenty?" Tluldir said. If he really knew how long twenty minutes could be, she hoped he'd go for her next offer: an hour.
"You're embarrassing yourself."
Tluldir didn't feel like sucking anyone off anymore.
Mjoll was merely watching this happen by then, astonished beyond speech.
Cool Guy's dog watched it all too, Tluldir noticed, craning her head to see it. It was walking about a pace behind Cool Guy, to his left. Mjoll was behind him, closer to him than the dog. Tluldir and her levitation-sled—?—were on Cool Guy's right, a few feet behind him. He looked back at her occasionally. She tried rolling away from him, as if maybe the sled, or whatever it was, of magicka had certain boundaries—but not so, apparently, or if it did it had walls or vertical barriers, because something unyielding stopped her at once. The invisible sled never wavered, or sunk, or yielded to anything she did. Cool Guy looked back at her less than a second later. Maybe he felt it. Tluldir yielded to the sled, and him. She'd forgot about his dog. The mongrel was so quiet. Odd.
Her ankle still hurt, the right one. She couldn't move enough to see it.
"I'll let you come all over my face," Tluldir said.
"Though that's a better offer—" Cool Guy began.
"Don't encourage her, Sol!" Mjoll said, scandalized. His name was pronounced like "soul." It didn't ring any bells in Tluldir's mind. She giggled; she wondered if Mjoll had ever had sex.
"I'm not," Cool Guy said. "No, Lady Tluldir."
"Your name's Soul?" she said, briefly having forgotten that she could speak.
"I don't remember my real name anymore—the one my parents gave me," Cool Guy said. "Occasionally I choose another. Mayhap I'll guess the correct one someday. For now, it's Solitar. I picked it—a traditional Altmer name—before I got to Riften, so it wasn't on-the-nose back then."
"'Solitar,'" Tluldir said, tasting it. "Sounds nice. I've been calling you 'Cool Guy' this whole time in my inner monologue."
Solitar shrugged like, "Who cares?" Certainly not him.
"Other guards and sundry people have given me a few honorary Nord titles and nicknames," Solitar said.
"Fuck me, you're Solitar Ice-Veins!" Tluldir said. She remembered all at once. Suddenly this whole encounter made sense. "So we finally meet."
"No thank you," Solitar said. "We've met before. From your perspective, I'm sorry it was like this. I daresay you'll remember this."
"Yeah, me too," Tluldir said. "People call you 'Sol?'"
"That diminutive's common," he said. "People call me a lot of things."
"You can call me 'Lull,'" Tluldir said. "Most people do anyway. Do you know how my name's spelled? The T is silent."
"Yes, I know how to spell your name, as well as how it's pronounced," Solitar said. "I take that as a compliment. Thank you for the privilege, Lady Tluldir."
"Just 'Lull,'" Tluldir said.
"You are not just," Mjoll scolded.
Lull blew a raspberry.
"Fine, only 'Lull,'" Solitar said. "I don't take it personally in the least, but professionally I'm upset you don't remember that we've met before, Lull. Twice that I recall."
"I like you," Lull said, to Solitar, honest but also still hoping for the (mutual) escape of a blowjob. "I'd remember you."
"I like you too," Sol said. "And, false. We met once in a typical guard-shit work situation. And once at a party of Maven's. I think it was for Jester's Day."
"When was that?" Lull said.
Sol looked at her like he was surprised she didn't remember the holiday. "Twenty-eighth of Rain's Hand. I don't remember the theme. We talked about the Thieves Guild—I wasn't in uniform—and then about music and sanitation, for around two hours."
"I don't remember any of that," Lull said. "Or Jester's Day."
"I really thought you did for a while, back there," Sol said. "But, eh. Doesn't matter. Here we are."
"True," Lull said.
"I'll understand if you try to kill me at some point in the future. Or have me killed. Know: I'd appreciate if you didn't. So would Maven. And the jarl."
"Why would Maven Black-Briar want you alive?" Mjoll said.
"Mayhap you still forget who I am," Sol said. "Ask her that."
Mjoll went silent, then said without looking at anyone, "I remember why we broke up now."
"Eww!" Lull said. "You two were a thing?"
"Were," Sol said.
"You keep getting more interesting to me, Solitar," Lull said.
"Sorry," Sol said.
Lull laughed. So did Mjoll.
