A/N: This was originally thrown together as a misfire fill on the Skyrim kink meme. General silliness.
Edit: And, of course I forget to edit out the most crucial typo in the entire thing. Go me.
"What exactly is this, then?" Delvin eyed the bowl full of amber-coloured kernels before turning to Cain, Dragonborn, Thane of Riften, active member of the Thieves Guild, and, it seemed, connoisseur of unique and unknown foods.
"The Redguard fellow called it "popcorn"; apparently these little pods become all soft and fluffy if you heat it over a fire," Cain continued, beckoning all the other Guild members around the cooking pot in the Cistern. Nobody else seemed quite as enthused as the Imperial, but Cain reassured himself that they would all come around once they tasted it. (How could something be both fluffy and crunchy at the same time?)
And so a dozen-or-so odd figures were standing around the lone cooking pot in which Cain was pouring his unidentified bag of kernels with far more enthusiasm than, to the rest of them anyway, was necessary. "Just hang on, everyone, this is going to be fantastic when it's done," he reassured, flashing the group a wide smile.
Mercer was the first to grow tired of this seemingly pointless exercise, letting out a sigh of exasperation and turning on his heel to return to his desk. Cain immediately left his post by the cooking pot to persuade Mister Grumpypants (not that he would ever use said nickname out loud but at least he could be impudent in his head). Halfway to Mercer's desk, Cain heard one of the kernels let out a faint "pop!" and he could only watch in horror as one perfectly popped piece of corn flew straight over him and hit the Guildmaster square in the back of the head.
Crap.
The Imperial froze. That was not supposed to happen. The Guildmaster was supposed to be so impressed by Cain's unique and sophisticated tastes that he would sweep the Dragonborn off to Riftweald where they would make sweet, sweet love among, Cain assumed, Mercer's many stolen goods. At this point, Mercer's Dwarven blade through his chest was probably the closest to that fantasy that the Dragonborn could expect.
The cooking pot, now left unattended, was now spitting popcorn in all directions. If Cain's attention wasn't fixed somewhere far more life-threatening, he would have noticed several kernels get lost in Cynric's hood, Sapphire's startled yelp as a piece of corn hit her eye, and even Vex' sound of approval as she expertly catches a morsel in her mouth. He could have even appreciated the spectacle of Brynjolf rushing to cover the pot with his hands (clearly nobody in the Thieves Guild had heard of lids) and flinching every time a stray kernel smacks him in the face.
The Dragonborn, however, did not notice any of those things. All he saw was his favourite Breton turning and making a beeline for the spitting pot of corn, and before Cain could even appreciate the view of Mercer's behind while he was walking away, he was back, and the entire bowl of (what remained of) popcorn was dumped on the Imperial's head.
"But it's tast-," was all Cain could get out before he was knocked out cold, falling backwards into the shallow pool of the Cistern.
