Brynjolf was in the training room, focusing at the dummy placed on the next floor, on the circular target painted on its rough, woven surface.
He exhaled, feeling the weight of the small knife held in his hand. It was dull on the side, only the tip was sharpened to a wicked point.
He stared hard at the target, stared right at its leering, smiley face.
Next to him was a couple throwing knives lying on a table, next to them was his elven dagger that he'd taken off his belt for the moment.
Brynjolf flexed his fingers, testing his grip on the throwing knife.
He drew his arm back and threw the knife, the blade slicing through the air and sticking in the middle of the target right up to the hilt.
Brynjolf studied the knife, then nodded to himself, satisfied with the results.
He decided to aim for one of the crossed out eyes next, tossing the knife once in the air as he readied himself.
He let out a deep exhale as he resumed his stance and went still.
The knife sailed through the air and struck the middle of its left eye in a split second.
Brynjolf picked up his third knife, wondering where to throw it next when the door to the training room crashed open, startling him so much that he jumped.
He turned, his glare landing on none other than Rowan, the bane of his existence.
"Sorry," the rogue said with a sheepish smile.
"What do you want?" Brynjolf grumbled, twirling the knife between his fingers.
"Are you training?" Rowan asked.
Brynjolf was about to answer, then realized exactly what's wrong with this scene here.
Rowan never entered the training room, at least this one, which was meant for combat.
"What are you doing here?" Brynjolf asked suspiciously.
"Um, training?" Rowan tried, looking over at the rack of weapons.
"I find that hard to believe," Brynjolf said, punctuating his words by pointing his knife at Rowan and ignoring how positively fetching he looks today. "What are you really doing here?"
Rowan stared down at the knife, "Well, perhaps I have finally wisened up and realized that it's better to be able to defend myself in situations where I am unable to escape or talk my way out of trouble. Therefore, I am really here to train."
Brynjolf stayed still as he looked up with an infuriatingly adorable smirk and said, "Or, seeing that you're here, I might be able to convince you to train me, hmm?"
He managed not to react when Rowan winked, that bastard.
"Go and seduce someone else," Brynjolf snapped as he lowered his knife, "I am not going to tolerate any more shenanigans from you."
Rowan looked appalled, "This is not a shenanigan, I'm here to train!"
As if he's going to fall for that.
"Find someone else," Brynjolf said, trying to tune him out.
Maybe he'll aim for the dummy's crotch this time, just to send a message.
Or not, that does seem a bit much.
He glanced at Rowan and was really unhappy to see that he's pouting.
It's so unfair that he's adorable when this expression is supposed to disgust him.
"Pleaseeeee Brynny," Rowan begged, fluttering his eyelashes as if it's in anyway attractive.
Brynjolf garnered all the self-control that he ever had and threw the knife.
It struck deep in the target's stomach, nowhere near where he was aiming, as if he's even aiming at all.
"Wow, are you teaching me to do that?" Rowan said, staring at the knife with his eyes lit up like a child's.
Brynjolf gave him a look that conveyed that he is utterly unimpressed. He knew that Rowan knew that throw just now is absolute garbage.
"Don't you have someone else to bother?" He groused, running out of ideas to chase Rowan off except for making him the target of his knife throwing.
But he didn't quite have the heart to do it, apparently.
Perhaps he might have to end up training the fool, it'll just have to be a little more impersonal than usual.
"Where did you learn to do that?" Rowan asked.
Brynjolf very quickly noticed the change in subject and is now sure that Rowan isn't here to train at all.
He studied the man closely, peering at him with narrowed eyes, "Have you been drinking?"
Rowan looked appalled, "What? I'll have you know that not a single drop of ale has touched my lips today!"
"Well, good," Brynjolf said distrustfully, turning to pick up his dagger.
"Your lips on the other hand looks absolutely delectable."
Brynjolf paused, his hand hovering over the dagger. He ran through Rowan's exact wording through his mind.
"What other alcoholic drink has not touched your lips today?" He questioned, turning an accusing eye on him.
Rowan seemingly puffed up for some reason.
"I'll have you know that none other alcoholic drinks have not touched my lips today!" He declared self righteously.
Brynjolf raised a brow at him.
Rowan's expression faltered and he blushes. He made a show of clearing his throat and said, "I mean- Look, I didn't drink anything other than water, alright? In fact, I don't think I want to look at alcohol again."
Brynjolf shrugged and fastened the dagger to his belt, "That's what they all say..."
"Damn it," Rowan muttered under his breath, almost too soft for him to catch.
He seemed to deflate, shifting his footing, "What I meant to say was... I just wanted to talk."
This is new. Brynjolf resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows as he adopted a deadpan expression.
"You want to talk about...?" He ventured cautiously.
Rowan hesitated, Brynjolf hadn't really seen that before either.
But as he opened his mouth, the door swung open and Vex walked in.
"The angry old fool is calling for you," she said to Brynjolf.
Her eyes landed on Rowan then, "But not you so you'd better not follow, you nosy prick."
Rowan huffed, a amused smile, slightly strained graced his lips, "Did he call me that?"
"No," Vex said bluntly. "But he mentioned something along those lines."
Rowan smirked, an expression that's all too familiar to Brynjolf.
"You flatter me, milady," Rowan did a mock bow.
Vex directed a harsh glare onto him, "You'll know well not to stick you nose where it doesn't belong."
"I can see a lot of places where I can stick my nose into," Rowan waggled his eyebrows.
Vex just glared at him.
She turned to Brynjolf, "Well, what are you standing there for? Hurry up!"
Rowan clicked his tongue as she left, "Pushy, pushy."
When Brynjolf turned to him, Rowan seemed startled.
"Perhaps I'll see you later?" He said uncertainly.
"Perhaps," Brynjolf said as he left, finding that things seemed a lot more strange today than usual.
A/N: Initially, this chapter is going to contain this and some backstory. Oh well, that might just spawn an additional chapter for us, somewhere.
Also, many things that are mentioned casually are clues, if you don't already know.
If you're invested in this, you might want to keep a note to keep track of all the little details. For example, Rowan was mentioned (by someone else) that he said he doesn't get drunk, but this chapter had Brynjolf accusing him of being a drunkard. And if you remember, Rowan woke up feeling awful next to a few empty wine bottles and then threw up, suggesting that he's hungover. There's also a note that might hint to why.
Hmmmm.