Krosa was sure to make a point of locking the door after slamming it behind Brynjolf. She runs a hand down her face, hating how hot it feels under her touch. Damnit. He's so infuriating! And annoying, too nosy, definitely not trustworthy... Though he did help her with the investigation and was the one responsible for finding out who the Butcher was, but only because he's a busy body, scoundrel, and a thief. She curses him. And herself...but mostly him. Out of everyone she's met so far since-since coming to Skyrim, he's been the most difficult to deal with. Aside from Barbas...and guards, the plethora of daedra, the Jarls…..and- ok, a lot of people in Skyrim are hard to deal with. I didn't have any of these problems in Cyrodiil.

The worst part about it all is that he's actually not that bad. When he's not acting like a cad at least. He's actually really likable, and that's what makes her the most wary. She knows what people like him are capable of, that they really don't care about anything but themselves. I'm not going to make that mistake again. She thinks, her throat clenching at the thought, memories she's long since locked away starting to surface. It gets harder to breathe as invisible hands enclose around her throat, and for one panicking moment, she's back there on the ground in the rain. Fighting for her life, the first time she remembers having to do so. She knows she's not there, not really. But she still can't breathe, the panic clouding over her. She's sure she's going to pass out. She'd welcome it, actually. Surely the nightmares would be better than the memories.

A loud, drunk couple pass by the door, drawing her attention long enough for the oncoming panic to die down, pulling her back into the here and now. Krosa collapses into her bed, not bothering to put out the candles. She occupies her mind with what she plans on doing the next day. If she's going to stay a while longer or leave, what she'd want for breakfast the following day. The menial thoughts soothe her, and soon she falls into a restless sleep.

The next morning, Krosa wastes no time in leaving the city. The small chest of gold is a nuisance to carry, but she'd rather take her chances with bandits on the road than face Brynjolf, or worse, Ulfric, again. She pulls out her map once she leaves the city, wondering where she should go. Even though this is how it's always been, she's starting to find the constant need to leave a town and never come back frustrating. What's she going to do after she's burned all her bridges? She'd rather not leave Skyrim, especially so soon after coming here.

Morthal wasn't too bad, but mostly because there's not a lot of people which also means not a lot of jobs and not a lot of payment. She has yet to go to Solitude and Markarth, both seem like rather large cities. She's passed through Whiterun often, and it looks like a charming town. However, it's definitely one all kinds of people from all over pass through. She feels her face heat up at the thought of running into Brynjolf again. She'd like to avoid that as long as possible. Markarth has a...muddy reputation, but Solitude is where the Imperial's are headquartered. She groans at the thought of dealing with the other side of the war, especially after her encounter with Ulfric. After one more look at the map, she makes up her mind. Hopefully Markarth isn't as bad as they say.

I'm never coming back here. Krosa thinks, only two weeks later. As soon as she escaped through the gates with the Forsworn, Madanach offered her a place with them, but there was no way she'd agree to such a thing. The Forsworn are nothing more than barbarians, and apparently, so are the rest of the people within the city. Well, save for Eltrys. But what good did it do him? She feels like she's spitting on his grave, having sided with the Forsworn. But, she only sided with them because it was her only way to escape the mine in one piece, and it took a lot of convincing to make them agree not to kill or harm citizens as they fled the city. And it's not like the guards and city officials were any less barbaric.

Still, though. She feels dirty. Krosa was sure to leave quite a bit of the gold from Windhelm for his family. They'll need it more than she does. She has other means. I hope they use it to leave. Krosa thinks, still not sure why they didn't do so already, or why anyone would choose to live in a city like that. I guess some people just don't have a choice. The thought rings particularly true in her experience. She comes up to a fork in the road, the only way to see it is the light of a lamp. Despite still being lit, she has to get close enough to practically shove her nose into it to see the faded letters. Her choices are Falkreath or Solitude. Well, there really isn't a choice. She has no desire to face Siddgeir again. She'll take her chances with the Imperials instead.

"In case Falk didn't make it clear, Solitude owes you a debt of gratitude." The old priest says, eyeing the table where Potema's remains are spilling out of Krosa's makeshift sack.

"He did make it pretty clear," Krosa says as she thinks about the amount of gold she got for the quest. The people of Cyrodiil were stingy with it, mostly using silver and copper in everyday affairs. It was rare that she actually saw gold out on the streets unless she was in the wealthier parts of town. The people of Skyrim, however, don't seem to know the value of gold. They toss it around like it grows on trees. Part of her wonders if she should stockpile on gold here and head back to Cyrodiil to live a life of luxury, but also, it's not as appealing as it probably should be. What would I even do?

The old man chuckles "I'm sure he gave you enough coin to make it a burden to carry, but that's the cheap way of showing thanks. I'm surprised they didn't try to make you their Thane, especially with all you've done to help the people before this whole debacle."

"They did. I didn't want it."

"Only an outsider would turn down the title of Thane." He says humorously, shaking his head. "It's most warrior's, or even adventurer's, or I guess anyone's dream. You don't seem to know just what you're missing out on, or how convenient it could be for someone like you."

"I don't want to be someone's personal lapdog, no matter what kind of perks come with it."

"What gave you that idea?" He asks as if what she said was the most absurd, blasphemous, thing he's ever heard.

"What's the problem?"

"A Thane isn't a lapdog. It's a symbol of power and respect. They help the hold, not just go out on a Jarl's personal whim. They're someone the people are willing to put their trust into, to protect them…. I wonder, who was the first to ask you to become their Thane?"

"How do you know this wasn't my first time?" Krosa asks, crossing her arms.

"Someone so set in their opinion, I hope, would have had good reason to come to that conclusion."

"Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath."

"Ah. I see. Not the most….dignified man, or so I've heard. I assume that what he wanted you for was-"

"Doesn't matter. He's not the only reason why I have no interest in being a Thane."

"I suppose it's not my place to question your judgment. You do seem like a reasonable sort, if not a little… unpleasant." Krosa doesn't know what it is about old people, but sometimes they really piss her off.

"Luckily for you, I'm leaving. Have fun with your remains." Krosa says and goes for the door. She hears him bid her goodbye, mumbling something under his breath.

Krosa heads to the Winking Skeever, wanting to get her stuff and get started on the road before it turns dark. The way is full of people chatting excitedly, and kids playing in the streets. She doesn't sense what the old priest does, about how there's a hidden darkness to the place, or darkness drawn to it. Something like that. His mind's probably decaying as fast as he is. She thinks, wondering why and how someone could live to be that old and not just want to keel over and die.

Of all the major cities she's been to in Skyrim, Solitude is by far her favorite. In the short two months she's been here, she's noticed a difference. It's not the best place, but the people at least seem a little happier, and definitely more accepting. More like Cyrodiil, minus everyone being copper-pinching snobs. As she walks out the city gates, for once part of her wonders why she's leaving.

Krosa exits the house of the Gray-Manes, examining the Skyforged, enchanted sword Fralia offered her as a reward for saving Thorald. It's well made and definitely worth a lot, but she may just keep it and sell her current one. It's seen better days. The enchantments she put on it would make up for its obviously well-used state. The enchantment on the skyforge sword seems like some kind of ice enchantment, one she doesn't know what kind. She could destroy it and learn the enchantment, but it's made so well that it'd practically be blasphemy.

I'll decide tomorrow. Krosa thinks, wondering if it was worth it to get involved in the war and make a potential enemy of the Thalmor. All of them who saw her died, but the people of Whiterun are bound to talk about it. I don't know why I agreed to help. She had wanted to avoid anything to do with the war, and drawing too much attention to herself. Krosa entertains the idea of leaving but knows that's not what she wants to do. Not only does she like the place, but she also wouldn't know where she would go. Possibly attracting the unwanted attention of a powerful and hated group of angry elves isn't good enough reason to leave. Yet. Even if it does go against everything she was avoiding thus far.

Krosa sighs and looks out at the night sky, the silhouettes of the houses blocking most of her view of it. The sound of crunching leaves and the movement of a shadow in an alley she passes catches her attention. She turns to look, the shadowed figure turning and freezing upon seeing her.

"Krosa? Well, lass, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." A familiar, lilting voice says, and Krosa rolls her eyes. Then she keeps walking. "Wait!" Brynjolf runs to catch up with her. "After all those months apart, you could at least pretend to be happy to see me!" He says, keeping pace right beside her.

"What do you want me to do? Swoon? Faint?"

"Both of which are common occurrences." He says smugly.

"That does tend to happen when one looks at trolls."

He laughs. "Is this your way of telling me that you've fainted at seeing a troll before? And I thought you were made of stronger stuff."

Krosa glares, trying not to crack a smile. He'd read too much into it.

"Don't be embarrassed, lass, it's happened to the best of us." He says, and she nearly elbows him. They walk into the center of the city, and the Bannered Mare comes into sight. She heads towards it when he speaks up again "So, lass, what have you been up to?"

"The usual."

"Do you feel like shaking things up? My guild-"

"No," Krosa says exasperatedly.

He shrugs. "Your loss."

"Is it?"

"Yes indeed, lass."

"Why?" Krosa asks as they enter the Bannered Mare, the sound of the bard's voice mixed with drunken patrons nearly drowning out the question.

"I'll only tell if you agree to join," Brynjolf says, turning just enough to block her way into the rest of the room. He looks so hopeful. And smug. He must have a lot of faith in his level of charm and good looks.

"Hmm. Bummer. I guess I'll never find out." Krosa says, pushing past him.

"Not the curious sort, then?"

Krosa shrugs "I have better things to do."

"Oh really? And what are they?"

"Sleeping, for one." She says, instantly regretting it. Brynjolf doesn't waste his chance.

"That does sound rather appealing, lass, mind if I join you?"

"No." They reach the bottom of the stairs, and he leans against the wall connected to the railing.

He smirks "You don't mind then?"

"No as in not going to happen." She iterates, mad at herself for not thinking before she spoke. Again.

"Are you sure? You walked into that one far too eagerly, lass. If it were up to me, I'd say you want it more than you're willing to admit."

"I guess it's a good thing that it isn't up to you, then," Krosa says in warning, before heading up the stairs to her room. He takes the hint and bids her goodnight. She doesn't reply, but waves in acknowledgment. He may be annoyingly flirtatious and smug, but at least he's smart and knows when to back off. Unlike others she's met. Another reason to like him. For some reason, the thought annoys her.

Krosa doesn't sleep when she gets to her room. Instead, she studies her new sword and gets her old one ready to sell. Brynjolf is right about one thing, it's time to shake things up a little. She's had that sword since she fled Hammerfell, almost two years ago now. Part of her wonders why she held onto it for so long anyway, considering what she used it for, and wonders how it hasn't triggered any of the...episodes like other random things seem to. They seem to be happening more frequently too. In any case, it's not something that she'll miss. She sets the swords aside and puts out the candles before crawling into bed.

Once Krosa disappears up the stairs, Brynjolf goes to the counter and buys a room for himself. Initially, he was going to start heading back immediately. Mercer hates it when he dallies on a job, and when he and Aiden got back from Windhelm after the whole Butcher thing, he got an earful. At least their haul was more than worth it. Even Vex admitted it was better than her entire month's work. Which, despite winning the bet, was not good news for him. Soon he won't have a guild to return to. All the more reason to stay. Brynjolf thinks, wondering what it'll take to convince Krosa to join. She's just what we need, I'm sure of it!

The next morning, at an unholy hour, Brynjolf's woken up by something hitting the wall repeatedly. He faintly hears other sounds, voices, and- he groans in frustration. He entertains the idea of banging on his side of the wall and telling them to keep it down but ultimately decides to let them have their fun undisturbed. At least someone's enjoying themselves. Brynjolf thinks as he rolls out of bed. Trying to go back to sleep would be pointless, and he wants to make sure to catch Krosa before she leaves. She has a habit of leaving him in the dust. As soon as he gets dressed, he leaves and scowls as he passes the door next to his when someone laughs from inside. They could at least-

The door at the end of the hall swings open and Krosa steps out, scowling. She slams the door behind her, then heads down the stairs. He's quick to go down the steps after her, reaching the bottom just as she sits down at a lone table in the far corner, despite the room being relatively empty. She sees him approach and does nothing to stop him. He takes a seat across from her.

"I see that the amorous lovers disturbed your slumber as well as mine." He says humorously.

"I was already awake," Krosa says, sounding exasperated. She looks like she barely got any sleep.

"Truly? Why?"

Krosa doesn't answer, just glares at the wall behind him.

"You're not a morning person, are you lass?"

"No. I like mornings. I hate when people ruin them."

He laughs. "Not a people person then, but that was already obvious."

She turns the glare to him, but he's saved from her retort when the barmaid comes to ask if they want anything to eat or drink. They tell her what they want, and she leaves. Krosa doesn't say anything and returns to glaring at the wall.

"So, lass, what do you plan on doing today? Do you have any other exciting adventures I can join in on?"

Krosa gives him an irritated look before visibly caving. "No. I just got done with one." She says as the barmaid comes back with their meals. When she leaves, Krosa continues. "I'm going to go to the market today. Do some trading. Maybe some training. Something that doesn't need a lot of effort." She pushes the food on her plate around, before taking a bite. He follows suit, and neither of them says anything for a while, both too absorbed with their food. He's surprised when Krosa breaks the silence. "What are you going to do? Do you have more people to steal from?"

"Lass, the only thing I'm going to steal today is your-" She kicks his leg, glaring. He goes back to eating his food, struggling to hide his smile. "I didn't have anything in particular planned. I may just end up following you around."

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Nothing better than you."

Krosa glares. "Are you always this obnoxious in the morning?"

"Only when someone makes it too easy." He says, unable to hide his grin. She rolls her eyes, but he can see the barest hint of amusement on her face.

"What about this one, lass?" Brynjolf says, holding up a wicked-looking orcish dagger, one He noticed caught her eye as she walked in. She ignores him as she picks up a steel one at the other side of the room.

"Is he bothering you, Krosa?" The owner of the shop, a burly man with a deep voice asks. So, she is capable of making friends on her own.

"No. He's fine. Just annoying."

"So you'll talk about me, but not to me?" He asks amusedly, putting the dagger down.

"That depends. Will you stop acting like an idiot?" She says, not bothering to look up from the dagger.

"Yes."

"Fine." Krosa walks over and takes the orcish dagger. "You're an ass." She adds, before taking it over to the counter. When she finishes, he opens the door for her and follows her out, giving a friendly wave to the glaring giant behind the counter. He closes the door, and as he takes a step, runs into Krosa.

"Sorry," Brynjolf says, but she doesn't say anything. Or move. "Are you alright, lass ?" He asks when he sees her face frozen in fear.