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Hunger gnaws his stomach, makes it rumble. Wave of nausea compels him to sit down. Mother glances, worried, tells him to eat the bread. He says he's fine, really. It's the last what they have... She asks if he's sick then and he shakes his head. Mother turns back to work, frowning and thinking. Carefully sewing some noble's jacket. He wants her to stop looking so sad.
After a moment she smiles: "This one will pay enough for everything, Maul! Rent and food, maybe even new clothes for you two."
He isn't convinced. Mother is skilled with needle and thread, that is true. She creates pretty things, sews and stitches holes and tears away. She can make even the ugliest look beautiful. Putting embroideries into fabric, people admiring and praising. Yet nice words and happy smiles ain't coins. They don't fill stomach, they don't warm home next to the canal, they don't give nice clothes. She works hard, takes time to make every detail perfect for customers. But people don't pay enough, mother doesn't demand more. She's soft hearted, can't decline and she flinches under threats.
Though no-one raises their hand nor voice to her no more, that's what Maul and big brother take care of. Threw the last guy out who tried that in their home. After that, she stopped bringing strangers through the door. No more hopeful promises of false security and comfort.
Dirge comes back from a gig, bit bruised on the left side of his face. Mother asks and Maul lies, Dirge hides bloody knuckles. No need to worry her. Not sure how she would react, if knowing what they really do outside the home, in the alleys and the marketplace. Anger they don't fear from her, she's too nice to raise her voice or do anything.
It sickens Maul, hurts, how he at the same time despises and admires mother's golden heart. Wishes he could give her everything she deserves. What they all three deserve. Pockets full of septims, warm house from above and mouths tasting only the tastiest.
"We gonna go mom." He stands up, hand on brother's shoulder. Dirge is bigger than him but also has a blockhead. Maul needs to plan who and where they target. Usually outsiders, those foolish enough to wander away from guards' view. Then, together, they take anything easy and buy what they need. Mother is always surprised but they have tales of luck and hard work to deceive her with. Though it can be that she knows.
Just doesn't say anything. Just works with her scarred fingers and tired eyes twice harder.
Maul mumbles, half-asleep and tightens arms around the body beneath him, drawn to its soft curves.
He hears faint giggle. It makes him smile and bury his face to the pillowy chest. Breaths the pleasant scent of cinnamon and apples, with gentle feminine tone and hint of sweat. He wants to keep on sleeping and not go anywhere. Keep on feeling the fingers combing through his hair and tickling his neck. Giving him this addictive tenderness and relaxation. He would prefer this.
Everyday is more or less stressful, him dealing with Black-Briars' things, problems and plots. Cleaning up their shit and keeping their crap in check. People plotting, being difficult and begging to get their asses beaten to dirt.
Holding onto the comforting figure, Maul turns onto his back and pulls her onto him. He happily falls back to sleep while hugging the woman.
At the early morning, in the den of thieves, some were sleeping and some were awake. Sharing space with other people taught to have selective senses, what to ignore and what to pay attention to. Helping to continue sleeping even if someone makes breakfast, shoots arrows, clangs weapons, laughs or talks.
It's different from the Sanctuary. There, every Dark Brotherhood member has their own private quarters. So when someone comes to the training room, the assassin was awake and studied the comer. One of the thieves, the leather armor on and holding a torch. A Breton man, not Brynjolf, this one wearing hood on and having rustic yet desirable features. Must be those full lips and two day's stubble, shadowing hood feeding curiosity.
Morgene smiles and raises hand to wave, knowing her situation paints a picture. Maul is snoring under her with just underwear on. She's wearing thin, cotton clothes, held against him by iron hold around her waist. The two of them sleeping in the faraway training room from others. If they were more naked it would certainly certify any thoughts the thief had while looking at them.
"Hi," the Breton woman whispers and the other one nods in response. He goes lighting up couple of more torches in the room, before going to kneel before some chests and starts lockpicking one.
Stopping from looking over her shoulder, Morgene turns gaze to Maul. His relaxed form finally revealed in dim light makes her insides fuzzy and glowing. She wants to succumb for the impulses, caress more and wrap around tight. Make him smile and lean into her just like before. Yet the Breton knows not to, not now, not yet. He was drunk, he was horny, demanding and needing but not wanting. Not because it was her. The inky thought almost starts effecting the little happy memories she has collected so far. She stops the sadness from spreading. Wipes her mind clean from bad thoughts and wipes them under a rug.
It's a bit tricky getting up, as how tightly Maul squeezes her, but she manages. Finally slipping from the hay pile onto the dirty cold floor and the Nord still sleeping. Morgene stretches and puts her armor back on, noticing curious glances from the Breton thief as he continues practicing with the locks. He is attractive, she can see that. But not her type. Noticing a leather band she picks it up from the floor and ties her curls into a bushy ponytail with it. Maul makes a noise in his sleep and turns onto his side, disturbed by something. Called by this, Morgene goes to put the blanket she used last night over him and then sneaks away like a vixen from chicken coop.
Smelling food she blends in the Cistern among others, taking an empty bowl and some edible stew from a hot cauldron. Spoon in other hand the assassin sits in a table while two thieves have ill-mannered conversation. A brown haired man just finishes his straight advance.
"-for you, or more to the point... To you, Sapphire?"
The woman in question gives a sneer, upper lip curling upwards, and she slashes: "Vipir the Fleet. The only man who's foolish enough to name himself after his bedroom prowess."
Surprised Morgene turns her head to see the man abashed, glancing at her and then at Sapphire with rising spite. Guess the Breton chose the wrong table to join.
"You stupid cow," Vipir spats, pride hurt and quick to defend it: "You don't know what you're missing."
Mocking laugh and a threat drops from Sapphire's lips naturally: "No, but I know that you're going to turn up missing if you keep up this kind of talk."
The Nords stare daggers at each other, till the woman snaps at Morgene: "And what are you staring at?"
Middle at raising full spoon to her mouth, the Breton stills and glances between the thieves. Then putting down her spoon, she looks at the man closely, wondering: "Sorry, you said Vipir?"
"Yes, Vipir the Fleet," he confirms and gives a lopsided smile: "Heard about me?"
"You've been in Markarth?"
Getting unsure nod, the assassin's face turns into most amused one and her shoulders raise as she holds back a big laugh. With a fist against snickering mouth she looks at the confused man, as does the equally confused Sapphire. Swallowing the sparkling giggling down, the assassin grins.
"Heard about you," she said with rough voice, throat suffering morning coarseness: "From Orla."
Just like name foretells, Vipir was up and fleeing quicker than the assassin could say: "She misses you!"
Intrigued of his reaction, Sapphire turns back to the eating assassin and asks eagerly: "What was that about?"
Swallowing, tasting overly cooked potatoes and onions, Morgene waves her spoon: "A thing between friends." But she however whispers all cryptically: "Next time he's a fool, say, that you know about the pincers."
Still confused and questioning, the Nord woman however grins with the assassin.
"So you're from Dark Brotherhood?" Sapphire asks finally, after hesitating so long that Morgene has almost spooned the bowl empty. The woman in red and black armor gives a surprised look: "Shit, it shows?"
Both of them chuckle, Morgene nodding: "Yeah, though as a little girl, I wanted to be a bunny herded. Among other things."
"Bunny herder, really?"
"Saw once a dream of herding bunnies. It was relaxing. What about you?"
Sapphire's face is shadowed by a cloud, so the assassin leans over her bowl and looks closely. Enough to make the Nord woman lean back and wonder defensively what.
"Is your name Sapphire, because your eyes are like one?"
Heard that question thousand times and more before, the thief rolls her eyes with half-amusement: "No. I like stealing sapphires, and good at finding them."
"Huh, could have fooled me, you have nicely sparkly eyes," the Breton insists, tapping spoon against the wooden bowl. She continues: "I knew this one assassin, who liked collecting eyeballs and turning them into jewelry." Sapphire frowns. "She only took the most prettiest ones. Took a year to make one simple necklace like that. I'm sure she had happily added yours into the collection."
Morgene meant it as a sincere compliment, truly, giving a friendly smile. She blinked in confusion as Sapphire looked uncomfortable. Quickly the Breton added: "Oh, don't worry! She's dead, so your eyes are safe. I just meant, you got pretty ones."
"...Yeah, I understand," the Nord fled just like the man, without another word and leaving the assassin alone. Morgene was still smiling, but it was significantly smaller than before. She placed her spoon neatly into the bowl and looked down at it. Guess she spoke too much? Or maybe Sapphire found the tale boring? The Guild was different from the Sanctuary. The Breton looked around, watching the thieves interacting with each other. She observed and listened, noting how she should act more to get along with them. Because, the Guild most likely was important to Maul. So she shouldn't get into bad terms with them.
Mercer Frey sat down the opposite of her. After dramatic silence the scowling man talked: "Though the Guild and Brotherhood have common understanding, the Cistern however isn't some inn for-" The older Breton noticed that the woman was being distracted by something and was not listening. She kept on glancing behind him. Giving a look himself, he didn't see anything odd there. Yet she acted like it. The Guild master slammed his hand onto the table and in low voice demanded: "And what is so interesting, that you're ignoring the one talking to you?"
Morgene stared, at him, with troubled expression. She gave another glance behind him before asking quietly: "Mmm, excuse me but... Well..."
"Spit it out," the guildmaster ordered and crossed his arms: "I don't have all day."
Flinching by his bite, or something else, the woman asked quietly: "You know about those... Shadow things around you?"