Chapter 6 – Broke

Ragnar couldn't believe Eira. She was impossible! She had just accepted money from someone when they had helped them. All they had done was find someone and deliver a message but Eira had taken all the money offered without hesitation. What kind of woman was she? It wasn't like the Old lady had much money to give and Eira had taken it. She was now strutting down the street with a gleeful bounce to her feathery steps. He could only follow with his long strides, stomping down the street to reflect his irritation. People were moving out of his way, staring at him as he stormed down the white stone paved streets, muttering and growling like a wild animal. It was mid-afternoon, and the streets were hot. In his armor he was almost positive he was drawing attention and extra heat, but he wasn't about to walk through the Imperial City without protection. He was so distracted by his rage that be barely noticed the chickens running across the path, followed by a screaming Breton. He stumbled as a chicken ran across his foot, clucking and squawking as it ran for its freedom.

"Stupid fucking bird!" Ragnar growled furiously, drawing his foot back and kicking the chicken in a blind rage at Eira's head. Perhaps having a filthy bird clawing at her head would give her a fright and teach her to walk behind him, where she belonged. It was as if the Assassin had a sixth sense as she spun, drawing her dagger in one fluid motion. She effortlessly threw the dagger at the chicken, sending both flying back towards Ragnar. His mouth fell open as the dagger hilt hit the chicken directly in the chest, sending the potential corpse of a bird flying back to him. He took his eyes off her for one moment. One tinsy, tiny moment to see the chicken land at his feet, then when he looked back to her she was gone. He stared around the street, looking for the elusive woman for a few seconds before he looked down to the chicken. It was gone.

"What in Oblivion?" He thought in a minor panic, again looking around for the woman. What the hell had happened? What in Oblivion was she that she could move so fast? A Dremora? A ghost? A figment of his imagination? Maybe he was dreaming and at any moment he would wake back in that prison cell or at the chopping block with the axe coming down. Maybe this was him making his was to Sovngarde. He turned around, deciding he should backtrack his steps and find a place he could rest. Perhaps he could go return the money to the Old Woman. He had the purse in his hand as he turned, only to get a face full of feathers. He spluttered and yelped, stumbling backwards and waving his hands to deflect the clucking madness. He felt a beak peck at his chin and hands, making him yell even louder in surprise and fury alike.

"You really shouldn't kick things that aren't yours" An amused voice said. Instantly he lowered his hands, his jaw tensing and his expression growing furious. There stood Eira, holding the chicken by its legs as it kicked and flapped in his face. He had to bite back a scream of utter fury as he lifted his hand up to the chicken, taking its head and neck in his hand. He placed his thumb against its throat; lining the point of his armor up with what he hoped would be a fatal location. He gazed into Eira's eyes for the briefest, challenging her to say something. The woman seemed pleased enough to let him continue with his crime. Annoyed he hadn't gotten a reaction from her he pushed his thumb forwards, putting his clawed finger straight through the chicken's neck.

"Oops." He stated simply, glaring into Eira's eyes. The young Nord narrowed her eyes slightly, a lowering twitch of the brow as she contemplated what to do with him. Eventually she shrugged, letting the chicken's legs go. It's full weight was suddenly hanging from Ragnar's thumb rather uncomfortably. He groaned, shaking his hand in disgust as he let the bird hit the ground. Before he knew it his coin purse was gone, held in the lithe woman's hand.

"I think I should hold onto this, least we be swimming in ale and women yet have nothing to eat" she said as she opened the purse, frowning as she continued to count out his coin quickly as a rough estimate. She eventually looked to Ragnar, her expression blank for a moment before a displeased and disbelieving look appeared on her face.

"Aye. I could use a good whore" Ragnar agreed, fishing for a reaction from the little rouge. It was strange; some things brought little bits of reaction to the surface. Explosive and deadly. The girl was a gentle soul, warm and kind and yet possessed a darkness he could not fathom… What scared him is he thought it was strangely beautiful.

"You're so broke I wonder how you can afford a woman. It's no wonder you smell like shit, other than the fact you waded through it" Eira quipped. Ragnar stared at her for a moment before she began to walk off back towards the Waterfront. He knew where they were going; he had spent many a day on that lovely ship. The Bloated Float was a simple enough ship, and it had been affordable on his income… which was almost nothing. He rolled his eyes as Eira began to hum a cheerful tune that only she knew. It was enough to make him grind his teeth, and he was almost positive the cheeky little wench knew it. She turned to look at him, pausing her humming to smile and wink at him before she set off again, resuming her annoying humming. He had no idea how to sum how he felt up in a single word, and he had no idea what insult would get through her armor. Eventually he surrendered, sighing and throwing his hands up as he said the first word that came to mind.

"Women!"

….

The boat was romantically lit with lanterns, flickering fire light making the darkest shadow dance on the corner of a patrons vision. The food was pleasant enough, considering it was half the price of places she usually stayed. The soft rocking of the boat on the water was also strangely pleasant. She hated to admit defeat but Ragnar had been right about the place. It was quite a charismatic little place where nobody would suspect to look for him. Of course, he had changed out of his armor but he had absolutely refused to part with his great sword, which was resting on the table beside him. The blade was ginormous, almost the same size as Eira herself. It was a cruel blade, slightly curved and splitting into a smaller tip that was surpassed by the size and width of the larger one. One side had several teeth, teeth that would do more damage being pulled out than being thrust in. The hilt was also somewhat cruel, with a sharp design that resembled a primitive axe head.

"So, lass. Enjoying my old abode?" He asked with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. Eira looked around, casually noting her surroundings. She gazed out the windows beside her for a moment, only seeing twinkling lights in the distance. It was clearly night time, and only the torches lit for the late night guards were permitted to burn. Everything was peaceful, yet she couldn't help but feel a nagging sensation that something wasn't right. Whatever it was she felt as though they were being watched, or the place was being sized up before a robbery. She had not let her dagger part from her thigh, nor had she kept her hand far from it the entire time. She could tell Ragnar was being a smartass, a typical lad. He was trying to bait her into a response she would regret, or maybe he was simply antagonising her to be friendly. She had heard of uncivilised people who did such a thing.

"I think I'll head to bed, pussycat" She said sweetly, noticing the slight look of discomfort on Ragnar's face at the affectionate name. She silently noted his discomfort, struggling to decide whether or not she should look into affectionate pet names to irritate the Nord with. She shook her head to herself, silently scolding herself for even considering it.

"We are meant to be working together to save the world, not deliberately making one another feel uncomfortable… even if I am right and he is wrong. Maybe I shouldn't tell him that"

"Pussycat? I am a true Nord, not a Khajiit. I am nothing like a pussy cat!" he exclaimed loudly, slamming his hand down on the table. The bouncer, an Orc named Graman gro-Marad, gazed at them with concerned eyes. He obviously knew Ragnar well, and the way the Orc looked fearful suggested he had lost many a rough and tumble with the large Nord. Eira looked as if she was going to insult him for a second, as if she were going to object to his behaviour. He was positively delighted inside; it was finally a chance to see what the little woman was made of. She stared a moment longer, as if silently weighing something up. Then she did something he never would have expected. She laughed. She laughed at him! In all his years never had he been laughed at as the little assassin was laughing at him now. Her laughter was warm and friendly, feminine yet not an annoying laugh like that of the dipsy or wealthy women. Her laughter held a real quality, a quality that made Ragnar's insides bubble in merriment. Then he remembered why she was laughing and stood up, determined to intimidate the small girl. He put his hands on her biceps, gripping them aggressively as he shook her, watching her head fly backwards and forwards.

"I am not a pussy! I am not a pussycat! I am a true Nord. I am a Nord with Daedric armor!" he declared loudly, screaming in her face. Alcohol and anger both played a part as his face went bright red with anger. Eira could only laugh harder, placing her hand on his forearm as she bent over and continued to laugh like a woman possessed. After a moment she regained her composure, gazing at the angry Ragnar. With a playful smile she gave his beard a tug and stepped into his space. His eyes went wide as he realised the woman had invaded his space, and had his beard in her petite little hands. He wasn't sure what he felt most. Excited or insulted. She then stepped backwards, dragging him by his beard as she hummed. He was so stunned by her actions he didn't fight, he simply grabbed his broadsword and flicked her hand away.

"Hands off woman" he slurred as he spoke, stumbling as he was led down the stairs. He didn't know what the heck was wrong with him. He had been able to drink three times what he had this night before he had gone into prison, and he had only been drinking mead. It wasn't as if he was drinking the strongest stuff on the shelf, more like the weakest. Was it a lack of tolerance after not drinking for years, or was there something else afoot? Eira laughed softly, shaking her head as she continued to lead him to their room.

"Someone is a little bit drunk, huh?"

"Shanounce the fwucking obshioush" he slurred again. Eira rolled her eyes as he collapsed, driving his sword into one of the supply sacks as he tried to regain his balance. She didn't know what to think, Ragnar appeared like he could handle his alcohol fine, and he had not drunk that much. Only a few bottles. She didn't think much more of it as she began to drag him and his giant sword to the room. Obviously he was very, very drunk. He also weighed a bloody ton. She actually groaned and strained as she dragged him to the bedroom and kicked the door open. She didn't even bother trying to lift him onto the bed, she simply pulled him into the corner, snatched the pillow from the bed and placed it under his head. She then tugged the blanket from the bed and threw it over his body. Once she was done she turned to the door and locked it, giving the door a few shoves to ensure it wouldn't swing open before she flopped onto the bed and lay there, with her hands beneath her head and her armor still on. She didn't even bother with her boots as she closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep.

It wasn't like the ship was going to be attacked by a vicious gang of thieves after a golden treasure or anything.