This first passage wrecked havoc on my spellchecker...
Chapter Nine
"Flyyyin'...flyyin' in the skyyy...cliff racer flies SOOO HIIIGH..."
"That – that was beautiful," Caelan croaked, taking another swig from his bottle of cheap wine. Alcohol provided only a temporary respite from his gloomy situation, he knew, but it seemed to work well enough for the man he was drinking with; "Y'should be n'opera singer..."
"I would," Aldos Othran answered with a similar slur, "But m'too busy bein' an alcahow – alcawho – drunkard."
"Be a drunk n'opera-" he paused, "-Opera singer. People'd love it. Y'got the good looks an' everything."
"You reckon sho...?"
"I reckon sho," Caelan agreed, nodding, "Why, if I could feel my legs, I'd come over there an' – an' – ravish you here an' now."
Aldos made a sound that should have been 'psh', but came out entirely wrong; "I have a wife-" he stopped and suddenly looked crestfallen, "Oh, wait. Not anymore."
"Ah, don't pull that face," Caelan said comfortingly, in a uniquely drunk manner, "I could bring'er back, if you wanted. She might be a bit...rotting, mind."
The Dunmer sniffed and hiccuped: "Can't."
"Why not?"
"The bandits didn't leave enough of her," he trembled, and hastily downed the rest of his mead, "I need 'nother drink..."
"Here," Caelan offered his, since the other elf clearly needed it more, "I've had 'nuff anyway. Still gotta find my way back to the san...uh..." alas, intoxication and quick thinking did not go hand in hand, "...Hotel," he finished after far too long.
Thankfully, Aldos was too drunk to suspect anything, or even really pay attention to it, "Sh-say..." he spoke after some time, "...Y'never told me why you're drinkin' s'much as I am. What's your story?"
Caelan tried to answer, hiccuped instead, and tried again: "I can't die."
"Ehh? Can't what?"
"Die."
"Die? Me? You s'wit! I'll show you..."
"No no no," the Altmer hushed him as he fumbled for his dagger, "I want me to die. But I can't. M'cursed, y'see."
"You...can't die?" Aldos repeated, looking confused – moreso than usual, "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Not really," Caelan shook his head, "If y'can imagine everything you've ever wanted, and everyone you've ever lost, all waitin' in front of you...you'd run towards 'em, right?" the other mer nodded, "But now imagine y'can't reach 'em, no matter how hard you try. An' you'll never be with 'em, ever, because you're not allowed t'find peace. S'what it's like."
"Y-you mean..." the red eyes were wide, and his voice was so fearful it could have belonged to a child, "I'll never see Noveni again...?"
"No no – you will, 'cause you're not cursed. But I won't."
"...Why would you want t'see my wife? If you've touched her, damn you-"
"Ah no, you've forgotten again," Caelan corrected him gently, "M'just sayin', that's what it's like. Like never seein' my wife again."
"...You have a wife?"
"A wife? Me?" he laughed, although it emerged as an inelegant gigglesnort, "Dagunes Mehron, no! Never been that int'rested in women, truthfully..." he tried to tap his chin thoughtfully, missed, and poked himself in the eye instead, "Never been that int'rested in anyone...ow...'cept one person, I think."
"Who'sat, then?"
"Dark-haired bloke. Imperial, s'far as I can tell."
"A human?" Aldos wrinkled his nose, "Whaddya want a human for? Dead 'fore you know it. Too squishy as well."
"Their squishiness has many merits," Caelan insisted, "An' he's got that growly Imperial voice as well, always liked that. Suits him 'specially, since he's an assass – uh, I mean – assass – ambassador," he corrected with some difficulty.
"Ambassador of Assass, y'say?" the Dunmer echoed in wonderment, "Never heard of there, but it sounds important. What're you doin', hangin' around with drunkards? S'a disgrace..."
"M'sure he won't mind," Caelan smiled ruefully, and struggled to his feet, "Suppose I should get back to the san- hotel...see you 'round, Aldos."
Aldos only raised the wine bottle and hiccuped before launching into another round of: "Flyyyin, flyyin' in the skyyy..."
"Un-bind the Staff?" Telaendril frowned, "Can that even be done?"
"At the moment, we have no other option," Lucien sighed, "Of everyone here, you are the most adept at subterfuge, so I'm sending you over to Chorrol; ask around and try not to draw too much attention to yourself. M'raaj-Dar will be investigating Leyawiin, reluctant as he is. I can't send out more than two without drawing the attention of others."
"But..." Antoinetta interjected, puzzled, "Why not just take him back to Mannimarco? If he made the Staff, he might know how to un-bind it-"
"No."
She blinked; "No?"
"To return Caelan to Mannimarco would be an admission of defeat, that Lucien can neither kill his target nor retrieve the Staff of Worms – in short, he would forfeit the contract," Vicente explained to her, looking troubled, "In all its history, the Brotherhood has never been outright unable to fulfil a request."
"Ah," Telaendril realised, "You don't want to be our first failure."
"I won't be," Lucien's replied firmly, "Besides, if I don't complete the contract...well, you know the penalty."
"Huh? What penalty?"
"An assassin who cannot fulfil a contract – any contract – is essentially useless," said Vicente, "Even with these...special circumstances, Lucien could be removed from service."
"W-what? No!"
"Ungolim wouldn't let that happen, would he? If the situation were explained..."
"He may not have a choice," the Speaker declared, lacing his fingers together – casual as his posture was, there was no disguising the weariness in his yes, "I have more than a few rivals in the Brotherhood, people who would jump at the chance to get me thrown out. Even with Ungolim's understanding, he cannot ignore the plight of his Brothers. The majority vote counts."
"Which is why this needs to stay secret. If someone – say, another Speaker – gets word of this, they could easily spread it around the Brotherhood," Vicente agreed, "Others could be led to believe Lucien cannot kill his target on account of his abilities, not Caelan's. And with Lucien losing all credibility and most of the Brotherhood convinced he is a failure, we'd end up with..."
"...A majority vote," Antoinetta finished grimly.
"Precisely," Lucien nodded, "A nonchalant front must be maintained – if asked, you know nothing about the contract. And under no circumstances tell them Caelan is staying here, understood?"
Telaendril bit her lower lip nervously; "I don't like deceiving the Listener..."
"But these are hardly normal circumstances," Vicente reminded her, "It's not so much Ungolim we have to worry about as the rest of the Black Hand...oh?"
"What is it?"
"I thought I heard something," the vampire cautiously rose to his feet, "Someone fell over upstairs."
"We've had homeless types stay in the abandoned house before," Antoinetta shrugged, "They leave soon enough. The door has a de-moralising spell on it, I think."
"They might be too inebriated to feel it..."
"They're drunk? How can you tell?"
"Staggering footsteps. Frequent pauses, probably leaning against the walls for stability," he cocked an ear, and waited, "Coming down to the basement...probably seen the door by now. Not running away, though. One of ours?"
"There's no-one here stupid enough to go out and get drunk," Lucien frowned, then realised who it might be, "Except..."
"Shan-Sanguhween."
"Incorrect."
"Ah, c'mon! I'm sure I got it right that time..." Caelan slurred at the door, no longer fazed by its menacing crimson glow, or possibly too drunk to notice, "Sangin?"
"Incorrect."
"Sangull?"
"Incorrect..." he didn't know doors could sound exasperated.
"Sandwich?"
"Oh for Sithis' sake," the door snapped at last, "Just get inside, you pitiful Altmer."
"Half Altmer, I shall he-have you know-" unfortunately the door, which he had been leaning against for support, chose this moment to open. He staggered inside, and might have even regained his balance, had he not tripped over his own robes. Flailing being no help whatsoever, he landed quite ungracefully face-first into the stone floor.
"Oh dear," he heard giggled, "He's very drunk, isn't he?"
With some difficulty he looked up, and realised there were four Brotherhood members standing there, though his vision was not terribly reliable. Antoinetta seemed to find it funny, even the others were mildly amused. Lucien, on the other hand, was not.
"Paralytic would be a more accurate term," he commented, with a tone to match the disdain on his face, "You look ridiculous."
"S'good to know," Caelan mumbled, slowly picking himself up from the floor and squinting at Lucien – the wrong one, as he was currently seeing double, "Who're you again...?"
The Speaker merely shook his head, the short declaration of "Pathetic," as he marched over. Before anyone else could speak he took hold of the mer's fragile neck, and snapped it in one swift, brutal movement.
Even the watching assassins were a little unsettled by the action; "Was that really necessary, Brother...?" Telaendril asked quietly.
"It'll sober him up," Lucien answered, tone sharp, unapologetic. He let Caelan drop to the floor and tapped his foot impatiently until the thirty seconds had passed.
When Caelan did come back, it was not with the usual gasp, but with a low and undoubtedly hangover-stricken groan of, "Whyyyy..."
"Because you got stupidly drunk and made a fool out of yourself."
"That did not warrant a broken neck," the mer argued, having still not lifted his head from the floor, although he had curled inwards in a pained fashion, "Damned hangover...you could have let me sleep the alcohol off, at least."
"It's your own fault for getting into such a state. I'm surprised you found your way back here at all."
"Yes, well, there was some trial and error..." he muttered, although not loud enough for Lucien to hear, "But that was the point! I got that drunk for a reason."
"What, to drown your sorrows?" the assassin raised an eyebrow incredulously, "Yes, because being invincible is such a tormented fate. The world feels your pain, I'm sure."
At that, Caelan snapped upright – to Lucien's surprise, he looked genuinely furious; "That," he spat with a venom no-one believed him capable of, "Is half the reason I chose to get drunk: people who don't understand that being unkillable is no fun whatsoever. And since you were polite enough to listen in on all my conversations, you should know exactly why I want to die," he got to his feet, swaying somewhat from the hangover, but it did nothing to lessen the intensity of his glare, "I'd have thought I could count on you to comprehend, at least."
"What I comprehend is that you spend entirely too much time feeling sorry for yourself. It's your own fault you even ended up this way."
"Of course," Caelan answered bitterly, shifting his gaze to the floor, and yet not looking at it at all, "Of course. How could I have trusted you to know? You don't understand, you can't. Just like everyone else."
There was silence for a few moments, until the Altmer spoke again:
"Vicente...can I sleep in your room tonight?"
"Of co-"
"No," Lucien interrupted coldly.
Caelan glared at him, "I don't believe I asked you."
"I am the one in charge of this sanctuary," the Speaker told him, voice glacial, eyes ablaze, "And you will sleep right here, on the floor. If you leave this spot, I'm going to tie you up with barbed wire and leave you to starve. Have I made myself clear?"
"...Crystal," Caelan muttered darkly, sitting back down on the floor.
"Good. You can remain there until I collect you in the morning," he turned and began to walk away, "And perhaps your childish tantrum will be over by then."
Caelan said nothing, did nothing – not even glance up as Lucien left the room, and the other assassins hesitantly followed him.
