Author's Note: I've decided to give this story my current top priority, and also to use it as a big of a first draft. I think once I've finished the meat of the writing, I'll return to the start and do some substantive editing. :D

On my way back to my room, I ran into Brynjolf. He smiled cheerfully, red locks bouncing atop his head as he turned his head to face me.

"There you are, lass," he said. "How about a drink?"

The irritation I felt from my encounter with the Guildmaster was fading. I grinned. "Are you buying?" Truthfully, I would've been spending my earnings on a fat bottle of alcohol regardless of Brynjolf's invite, but this way I wouldn't be drinking it alone on my bed.

The Nord gestured for me to lead the way, and we headed over to the Flagon. It was midday, which made the room nearly empty. There were people working in the stalls and the bartender was behind the bar, but no one occupied their usual seats at the Flagon. I pulled up a chair at a more isolated table, angling my back to the wall, while Brynjolf went to get drinks.

The bartender disappeared into a back room and returned with a bottle and two tankards. Brynjolf brought them over to our table. I watched him come, admiring him. He was undeniably attractive, and I was a bit giddy that he'd asked me to drink with him.

Pulling up the chair across from me, he sat. I accepted a drink from him, taking a quick sniff before beginning to drink, though I didn't really care what it was. I'd drink any alcohol. Perhaps I'd had preferences once, but they were long gone.

"Black-Briar Mead," the Nord explained. "We get quite a bit of it here."

"I won't complain," I said. Though usually I'd drink something stronger, I didn't want to disagree with my new drinking partner.

"So, how were the jobs? Mercer didn't throw you out on your ass, so they must have been successful."

I inclined my head slightly, not wanting to get into how I'd almost toppled a stack of crates in a warehouse and gotten myself caught. "Yeah, they were. Went smoothly…" I trailed off. Really, I'd rather him not know that I'm no master thief, just a pragmatist. I hid my discomfort on the subject, not wanting to express vulnerability, but I hoped he'd change it.

"Did Mercer give you a hard time? Let me know if you've got a problem. I am second in command, after all. You looked about three colours of pissed off leaving his desk, lass."

"No, no," I hurried to say. Fuck, I thought. Brynjolf's that high up? Don't want the management knowing about your thoughts on the management, right? Suddenly questioning my intentions to blatantly flirt with and sleep with him, I backpedaled.

"He not pay you enough?" Brynjolf asked. I thought it was a joke, but I wasn't completely sure. I laughed anyway. The Nord smiled, and I was relieved that I'd succeeded in placating the conversation. It felt like I was tiptoeing past traps as long as I was talking business.

"Well, don't worry about him," Brynjolf added. "He's like that with everyone."

I didn't really believe him. "Is it usually this quiet in here?" I changed the subject. Brynjolf reclined in his chair, done talking business to my relief. He met my eyes and I blushed - eye contact was rather unfamiliar to me. I dropped my eyes to his chin instead.

"Not at all. Usually it's rowdy. Looks like you came back at a good time. Even Delvin isn't here, and the man basically lives in that chair over there."

I hummed in agreement, not sure what to say with my previous plans in question. Should I be drawing the attention of the Guild's leadership, as they were likely in contact with Cyrodiil's Guild - people I hoped to never contact again. Really, being here was a risk, but it was also under Cyrodiil's nose.

"Something got you thinking, lass?"

"No," I answered, focusing on the conversation again. I glanced in my mug, noticing it was almost empty. Had I been drinking that quickly? "Just tired. I was up doing those jobs." I intended for a lie, but as I said it, I realized I could use a nap.

Brynjolf lifted the bottle, offering. I held out the tankard and he topped it up. "Thanks," I muttered. I felt drained. Previously, talking to Brynjolf had been exciting. Adrenaline. This time, I needed to reflect on my situation. Good pay, reliable work. The risk of being found. I shook myself again, turning to face my Nord companion. I didn't want to seem distracted, though I think he was able to tell. I realized I wasn't listening to what he was saying.

"...so, the man returns a few days later and finds me in the marketplace. He says, it really worked! Helped him out a ton. He gave me a tip. I guess a watered down stamina potion really is the key to a healthy sex life."

I smiled. "I'll have to remember that. Who knows when I might need to give someone that advice."

"Hopefully not soon." He leaned forward on the table. I nodded in agreement and took stock of the drinks. We were nearly out. I wasn't drunk at all, but I didn't think Brynjolf was either. I couldn't get drunk off a few cups of mead anymore.

"You do look tired, lass."

I felt it. The tavern had filled around us significantly and it made me feel even more in a bubble, a lack of sleep-induced stupor full of worry about my situation. I could use some rest.

"I am," I agreed. I looked up to examine his face, discomforted by the direct contact. While initially in the conversation I'd wondered if I should ever repeat this experience, I realized I wanted him to like me. Nervous I'd ruined those chances through my distance, I continued. "We should do this again, Brynjolf. Thank you for the mead." Though, maybe next time, I'll order my own, I thought. I need something stronger than this to loosen up.

The next morning, I woke up to Sirun's face.

"Good morning," she greeted. "Want a cut of some profits?"

Groggily, I sat up in bed. "I won't say no," I agreed. "What's going on?"

My cloak landed in my lap. "Get dressed, we're headed to the docks."

Quickly, I did. Sirun slipped out of our room ahead of us. An was still dead asleep. I closed the door quietly behind me, letting out a yawn. At least I wasn't drunk enough yesterday for a hangover this morning.

"We're heading to intercept a shipment, meet a contact, and carry off a carriage full of decorative pots from Elsweyr with no one the wiser we aren't who we say we are."

"Perfect," I muttered. A bigger job like this one would have a good payout, even if I felt tired about pulling it off. My Nord companion snorted at my grogginess and handed me a tankard. I sniffed it and took a sip, making a face at the bitter flavour. "The fuck is this stuff?"

"You'll feel better after," she said, tapping me on the shoulder before heading into the Cistern ahead of me. I groaned slightly before holding my nose and downing the mug's contents. I set the mug down on whatever side table was nearby - the Cistern wasn't the cleanest place, I learned that fast - and followed Sirun.

"Excuse me, good sir," Sirun called. She was addressing a cart driver pulled to the side of the road. His cart was empty, and he was sat back, smoking. She swung a small bag of gold in front of her and said. "We'll be needing your cart for a couple hours."

It worked. I wasn't surprised. Don't ask questions for a sack of coin? Easy.

And so, we pulled up to a merchant's ship at the docks alongside a few other carts. I drove the cart. Sirun hopped off while I watched the cart and went to talk with the ship's quartermaster. I wasn't sure who her arrangements were with, but it wasn't really important. After waiting in a sizeable line, Sirun was able to wave over some deckhands with crates to load onto our cart. I hopped out to help, and Sirun lent a hand as well.

Loaded up, we drove the shipment out of the docks to a Guild-owned warehouse at the outskirts of the area, rather than the company one we were supposed to deliver it to. Once we were there, I saw why Sirun wanted to bring help; it was heavy lifting.

"These are some of my favourite jobs, y' know? Like, we just made off with their stuff right in front of 'em, all because an inside guy confirmed that we were someone else," Sirun said.

"It does give a bit of a rush, doesn't it?" I smiled. "You never have problems with them tracking you down later?"

"Nah, nah," Sirun explained. "This is just where our part in the job ends. These boxes will be gone by tomorrow morning, split up, and laundered, shipped to other parts of Skyrim. Sold. Profits return to us. It's big stuff."

"Big stuff," I agreed. I was never really involved in any "big stuff" that Cyrodiil's guild might've pulled. As more of a contractor, I did side jobs, one-man type of stuff in private homes that involved a lot of travel. This was interesting, though I liked my profits to be more immediate.

With the shipment unloaded, we hopped back in the carriage and returned it to outside the man's home where he had been smoking earlier. Sirun handed him another bag of gold through the window. I wondered if he spent much time renting the cart to guild members.

"I'll find you with your cut when the profits come in," Sirun said. I agreed, and she veered off from our path towards the Ratways. "I'll show you the back way in before I head off."

"Uh, thanks," I agreed. Hopefully it would be easier to navigate than the sewers.

"I'm headed to the Bee and Barb, if ya wanna come?"

"Perhaps I'll join you later," I said. I didn't plan to. I was tired, since I'd barely slept. One downside of living in the Guild rather than in an entirely different city was loads more interaction. I was used to returning to my own home at the end of the day, ratty as it was. Eventually I'd be able to afford it again. I still had the sack of coins I'd been saving, but the covert journey North had cost more than intended.

"Ah, here we are."

We'd stopped at a mausoleum in the cemetery. Sirun stepped through the empty doorway and deeper into the building. The lighting was dim and I could barely see. I doubt Sirun was any better. There were torches on the walls, though unlit. I watched Sirun skeptically as she knelt next to a coffin and reached underneath the rim of its lid. I heard a click and then Sirun swung the coffin out as though it weighed nothing.

"Impressive," I said.

"'S just a little button. Easy."

Late the next night, I was fumbling around trying to open the passage. Sirun had made it look easier than it was. I didn't take into account the darkness, or the fact that I couldn't seem to remember which sarcophagus held the switch. I couldn't help but imagine myself reaching down to grab the switch, only to have the coffin break open and a draugr crawl out to attack me. They had those in Skyrim, and now that the thought had occurred to me, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I felt for the switch but decided I must have the wrong coffin. I stepped away from it, only to catch my foot on an urn and crash to the ground. I thudded against the ground, the hilt of my dagger digging uncomfortably into my stomach. In the darkness, I could make out boots in front of my face. My eyes shooting upwards, I saw the figure of a person. Murderous assailant or rotting corpse returned to life, I shouted and scrambled backwards, fumbling and failing to pull my dagger out. I wasn't accustomed to carrying one, but the streets of Riften seemed seedier than those of Kvatch.

"Shut up," the figure grumbled. My mouth snapped shut as I recognized the voice of the Guildmaster, though my hand remained on the hilt of my dagger.

Reeling from the shock of fear, I blurted out, "how fucking long were you just going to stand in the damned dark?"

Instead of an immediate response, I heard him step to the right, followed by a click. "Long enough to tire of watching you fumble around. I'm surprised you can find a man's gold in his own clothes." The scraping of stone followed and torchlight filled the room from the gap behind the coffin. Frey stood, half lit by an orange glow, staring at me, arms crossed.

Having remembered by this time that I'm supposed to be on this man's good side, I scrambled to my feet, embarrassed. "Right," I murmured. Not sure if I should approach and still half sure the man was planning to stab me and do away with the body, I stood still. To my dismay, instead of heading down the stairs on his own, he gestured with his head, and I had no choice but to brush past him down the stairs.

I pulled up the culvert at the bottom of the stairs as Frey closed the passage. Unfortunately for me, he was faster, and appeared over my shoulder as I lifted the heavy material. Dragging it to the side, I took a glance back at him, though I couldn't bring myself to look at his face. Uncomfortable, I swung down onto the ladder, hearing a quiet snort of derision - perhaps amusement? - behind me. I hurried off the ladder and away from him as quickly as I could. Fuck, I wondered, why did they make that culvert so big? I'm going to have muscles.