Chapter 5: Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and getting really strange results
Rowan shivered, having stepped out from the frigid air of winter back into the damp, barely-warm air of the Cistern.
He closed the sewer grate behind him and shook snow off of himself, shaking out his fur cloak before wrapping it snugly around himself again.
He hated the cold, particularly the chill that Skyrim is famous for.
Rowan ventured towards the kitchen, hoping to find something to warm him up. His mouth watered at the thought of stew, preferably thick, succulent and rich venison stew. Or maybe even vegetable soup, he didn't really care, not even if Brynjolf had volunteered to cook today, he just wants to be warmed.
As he crossed the arch across the pool of water, light snow drifting down from the cracks in the well above, he caught sight of Vipir and Sapphire through the doorway into the guild storage.
In his hand was a bunch of flowers, red, purple and blue mountain flowers and what looked to be tundra cotton that's beginning to wilt.
Poor Vipir looked hopeful, proclaiming words of love it looks like while Sapphire barely spared a glance at the flowers, scowling steadily at him with her arms folded.
Rowan was almost out of the Cistern when he heard her yell.
"You can take those flowers and shove them up your-"
He closed the door behind him, her voice turning into a muffled echo he could not make out. He sighed in relief at the warmth coming from the roaring fireplace, enveloping him and slowly seeping into his bones.
The cooking spit looked to be recently used, the embers glowing dully as the firewood disintegrated into ashes.
Rowan grinned widely when he caught sight of a large pot sitting in the middle of the table.
There was steam still rising from it and he took a deep breath, taking in the delicious scent of beef stew.
He wasted no time rushing to the pot, ladling a huge bowl of warm, delicious, succulent beef stew with carrots, tomatoes, garlic, leeks and snowberries.
Rowan wolfed it down, almost eating the bowl too as he moaned at the taste, even happier now as he mentally praised Rune to high heavens for graciously putting himself on cooking duty today for the man truly makes the best stew among them all, with the exception of Thrynn.
The Imperial was about to get himself seconds, already thinking about eating his third bowl of stew and grabbing some bread when he saw Vipir staggering dejectedly into the kitchen, a blue petal stuck on his forehead and a leaf lodged in his left nostril.
Rowan let slip a snort of laughter, he couldn't help it, it was quite the ridiculous sight.
He felt a pang of guilt when Vipir looked up, his expression reminiscent of a kicked puppy.
The Nord thief trudged over and slumped heavily onto the bench, the wood creaking under his weight.
Rowan cleared his throat, "I take that it didn't go well?"
He watched Vipir staring blankly at the wall and jumped when he practically slammed his forehead into the table, sighing heavily.
"She's not interested in me," Vipir mumbled, miserably rubbing his head into the table. "Why should she? Sapphire's smart and strong and beautiful. I'm just plain old Vipir, a dumb, washed-up joke of a thief."
Rowan mild concern over him spouting such scornful words for himself.
"I'm sure it's not that bad," he said as he patted Vipir on the shoulder.
Vipir heaved a long, pitiful sigh, "She hates me."
Rowan awkwardly removed his hand, staring uncomfortably at his empty bowl.
He turned to Vipir after a long moment of silence, the other man having stayed in the same, face-planting position throughout.
"You know," he started, a smirk playing across his lips, "I can help you with this."
Vipir turned to face him then and Rowan tried not to laugh at the flower petal crushed all over his forehead.
Brynjolf walked into the study to find Rowan and Vipir standing by the desk, startled looks on their faces.
"What are you two doing?" He demanded, eying them suspiciously.
Vipir opened and closed his mouth.
As expected, it was Rowan who spoke up.
"We weren't stealing paper," he said, completely calm.
Brynjolf narrowed his eyes at him as he folded his arms, "Why were you stealing paper?"
"Because we needed them," Rowan said as he continued rummaging through the desk, much to Vipir's horror.
Brynjolf turned to the other man, who stiffened and shot him a nervous smile.
"What exactly do you need the paper for?" Brynjolf questioned Vipir in a warning tone as a few sticks of charcoal went flying.
"I'm teaching our Vipir here some poetry," Rowan answered cheerfully, having found a stray amethyst inside a drawer.
Brynjolf stormed over and plucked the gem from his hand before he could pocket it and snagged the ring of keys from Rowan's other hand, the Imperial having grabbed it while Brynjolf was taking the ruby.
"Hands off, you vermin!" The Guild Second snapped.
He proceeded to yank open a drawer on the other side of the desk, grabbed two rolls of paper and thrust them at Rowan, who grabbed them reflexively.
"Here, now get out," Brynjolf growled, shoving him a little. "Don't let me catch you in here again."
"Thanks, Bryn!" Rowan said and scurried out with his prize but not before snagging a pot of ink before he could protest.
"I'm so sorry, sir." Vipir blurted, running out after Rowan before Brynjolf could yell at him.
Brynjolf sighed, turning to regard the mess in the study now that he's left alone.
He probably should get some new locks for the door and shuddered at the thought of having to tell Mercer about it.
"Are you sure this will work?" Vipir muttered tentatively.
"It will," Rowan smiled, "Poetry always works, now go get her."
Vipir took the paper and read the words again, committing them to heart. He took a deep breath and shot Rowan a weak smile before exiting the sleeping quarters.
Rowan sighed, lying back in his bed.
Vipir returned shortly.
Rowan peered at him from his bed, arms behind his head.
"So? How did it go?"
He proceeded to spit out a wad of paper, muttering, "She made me eat my words."
Rowan stared at Vipir as he spat and groaned at the taste of ink.
"We might have to look for other means."
"Here," Rowan said as he passed a box to Vipir.
The man was sitting by the water's edge in the Cistern, moping. He opened the box curiously and found a gleaming silver necklace laying within, studded with a large ruby with two small topaz on the sides.
"This, uh..."
"I stole it," Rowan declared proudly, "The box as well."
"Oh..." Vipir closed the box and tried to hand it back, "Thank you but I'm not interested in jewellery."
"What? No!" Rowan shoved the box into his chest, "This is your gift for Sapphire, ya blockhead!"
"Ah, okay," Vipir blurted, hope and gratitude lighting up his features.
Rowan sat down by him and shot him a suggestive grin, "Although, I'm not adverse to the idea if you accept the necklace as a token from me to you."
Vipir gave him a scandalized look.
"No, thank you," he grumbled, standing up. "Do you know where she is?"
"She's in Vex's room."
"Uh..."
"Don't worry, Vex is off to meet with lovely Anuriel."
Vipir paused, "Lovely?"
Rowan's grin widened, "Yes, very lovely indeed..."
"I- I don't want to know," Vipir said, shuddering at the purr as he all but fled from the Cistern.
He reached Vex's room a moment later, holding the box in his hand.
Vipir nervously cleared his throat and steeled himself before knocking on the door.
There was silence.
Vipir knocked again, wondering if Rowan was having him on.
"Sapphire?" He called, "It's me, Vipir. Are you in?"
Vipir startled when the door swung open abruptly. Sapphire stood glaring in the doorway, dressed in a simple white tunic and breeches.
"What do you want?" She demanded, folding her arms.
Vipir shook himself mentally and held the box out to her.
"Here, I got this for you."
Sapphire eyed the box and the jewellery within, "Did you steal it?"
"Y-yeah," Vipir stammered, "Is there a problem?"
Sapphire looked at him and took the box.
Before Vipir could react, she had turned away and slammed the door in his face.
"Wait!" He called, knocking on the door, "Sapphire!"
"Keep it down!"
Vipir paled, turning to spot Mercer glaring at him from his room.
"I-I'm sorry, sir!" He yelped.
"As you should be," Mercer snarled at him, his eyes bloodshot, "Get out of here!"
Vipir scurried from the Guild Leader's bedrooms without looking back.
Rowan was getting himself some chicken stew and apple pie in the kitchen when Vipir stumbled in, looking a little worse for wear.
"I assume that it didn't go well?" Rowan asked as he sliced off a piece of pie.
Vipir slumped into a chair, "She used me as target practice."
"Daggers are out of the question, then," Rowan said as he proceeded to pick up the apple pie, leaving only the small wedge he cut up on the platter.
"Are you eating all that?" Vipir stared at the almost-whole piece of pie on his plate and the heaping bowl of chicken stew next to it.
"Hm, I might want some baked potatoes with these," Rowan mused. "But Thrynn didn't cook any."
Vipir decided not to think on it and sighed, "I'm never getting Sapphire to like me."
"How are you so bad at this?" Rowan muttered while he began to shovel food into his mouth, quickly chewing before he swallowed and moaning at the taste. "All that usually works, oh, this is _so good!_ You want some?"
"I don't have an appetite," Vipir sighed pitifully.
Rowan moaned again as he bit into a juicy hunk of chicken.
Vipir sighed, distracting him from his food.
"Perhaps I should show you," Rowan said, tongue darting out to taste the bit of stew on the spoon. "How a master of seduction does his work."
Vipir didn't look any more hopeful as he sighed again.
Rowan's yelp echoed along the walls of the Cistern as he was bodily thrown into the water.
"Don't even think about it," Sapphire snorted and walked off as if nothing happened.
Rowan surfaced, spluttering and shivering at the chill.
He clambered out of the pool, coming face to face with Vipir who gave him a sad look.
"Guess she's a tough nut to crack," Rowan shrugged, teeth chattering.
"Thanks for trying, friend," Vipir patted him on the shoulder, as if he's the one who needed comforting.
"Hey..." Rowan trailed off as the dejected man walked off without another word.
Rowan was back in the kitchen a few days later, grinning at Brynjolf as he tried to cook up some stew.
"Can you stop hovering over me?" Brynjolf said, irritably tossing garlic and elves ear into the broth, "You're distracting me."
"Oh, don't mind me," Rowan said cheerfully, "I'm just doing an experiment."
"On what?"
"On whether your food will taste better me here."
Brynjolf eyed him skeptically, "That doesn't make any sense."
Rowan smirked, his arms lay folded on the table, "Well, it's not like your stew can get any worse."
Brynjolf stopped stirring the pot and shot him an offended look, "Excuse me? What are you trying to imply?"
Rowan shrugged, "Oh, nothing."
Brynjolf glared at him and decided to chop up the leeks when Vipir burst into the kitchen.
"Rowan, my friend!" He exclaimed, crossing the room towards in quick steps, "I have news!"
Rowan paused upon seeing the giant, flaming handmark on his left cheek, "Hello, Vipir, what is it?"
"She slapped me!"
"Oh, I'm sor-"
"It was wonderful!" Vipir declared.
"Um, what?"
Brynjolf stared at him as he grasped Rowan's shoulders and shook him, "I must thank you, for you've shown me the way, she finally accepts my courting!"
"By slapping you?"
"Yes," Vipir said, metaphorical stars shining in his eyes, "And she yelled at me, it was glorious! Simply marvellous! Like my life's been awashed with Meridia's pure light!"
"Are you feeling alright?" Rowan questioned almost fearfully.
"Never better!" Vipir beamed, "I must meet with her, I'll see you later, dear friend."
He left just as abruptly as he entered.
Rowan turned to see Brynjolf giving him a disapproving look.
"What on earth did you do this time?" He said as he returned to the pot, adding some water into the bubbling stew.
"I have no idea," Rowan shuddered, "I need to get a job, maybe one in Solitude."
"You're still banned from Solitude, we haven't covered your bounty yet."
"In Windhelm, then."
"Ulfric still remembers your face from when you tried to steal his family heirloom," Brynjolf stated as he pondered the stew and added some salt.
"Dammit, what about Whiterun?"
"That should be fine," Brynjolf said, scooping out some stew and handing it out to Rowan, "Here, taste this."
Rowan looked at it cautiously, "I thank you for the offer but-"
"Taste it," Brynjolf said firmly. "Perhaps your bounty in Solitude will be cleared faster if you do."
Rowan eyed him unhappily, "Perhaps?"
"Definitely," Brynjolf amended, "Your bounty will definitely be cleared by noon tomorrow."
Rowan carefully took the ladle and sipped.
"How is it?"
His face twisted into a grimace as he spat it out, "Oh, ugh! What did you do?!"
"I cooked," Brynjolf protested, tasting the broth himself.
"Needs more salt," he muttered, tossing in some and stirring the stew.
"Rowan-"
He was out of there before Brynjolf could ask him to taste that putrid concoction again. Rowan swiftly decided that he shall be having dinner down at the Flagon instead.