Eyelids slowly fluttered open, the dawn greeting blurred vision, growing brighter as her surroundings cleared. She released a raspy sigh, stale breath filling her senses; she gagged.
Absentmindedly reaching for the peppermints she kept on her nightstand, she noticed that the shack was empty, the crackling of the fireplace the only sound heard above her shallow breathing. Armand had not returned.
Arcadia sat up in her bed, tongue lolling around the candy as it spread flavor all over her mouth, the foul smell and taste that'd been formed in her sleep fading away. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, fingers combing through it, then stood up, still clad in the thief's gear she'd worn the night before.
Knowing it'd be warm outside, she removed her leather cuirass from her body, replacing it with her huntsman's vest, the small piece of "armor" covering her breasts and nothing more. It was something young mages and thieves wore, elves and humans alike. She would barely be noticed by anyone outside the Waterfront; they would dismiss her as a random, innocent teenager. Not a thieving murderer who steals possessions without a twinge of regret, who stole countless lives and slept soundlessly afterward without the slightest morsel of disturbance.
Arcadia cringed at her own thoughts, forcing herself to focus on dressing. She put on her leather jacket, leaving it unbuttoned. She never left the shack without wearing a long-sleeved shirt or a jacket. She was paler than most Dunmer, skin a light, vibrant blue. It made her more noticeable, especially in broad daylight. It was first seen as an inconvenience, given her devotion to thievery and stealth, but somehow it evolved into an insecurity. People had looked at her strangely when she bore an excess amount of skin, mainly her Dunmer brethren. She did not blame them; most of them had ashen skin, dark as midnight. Her pigmentation was not abnormal, simply rare. Arcadia loathed rarities; they caused people to stare in either awe or disgust. And she wanted neither the latter nor the former from her own race.
She left the shack, quickly, soundlessly. She knew they'd be waiting. The beggars and thieves feasted on gossip and tragedies, especially when it involved one of their own.
The door creaked as it closed; she cursed herself and the old wood silently, checking her surroundings. It was early; she was sure that the beggars were either asleep or gone to the city to panhandle, and the thieves that were awake were on the other side of the riverbank, talking. There was tremendous diversity in the group, male and female, old and young, elven and human. She saw Amusei and Damitrah, the only Argonians in the Imperial City portion of the Guild, having a morning swim in the river.
Arcadia sighed in relief, walking briskly in the opposite direction of them, making her way toward the Waterfront's archway. She was nearly there when she heard a faint rustling in the shrubbery behind her; she turned to see a womanly form before her, golden skin seeming to glow in the midst of the rising sun, auburn hair cascading down the tips of pointed ears and ending at the base of her tunic, caramel eyes twinkling mischievously.
"Cadie," Chimed the Bosmer, voice soft yet brash, "Just what do you think you're doing, leaving the Front without asking your best friend if she wants to come with first?"
Arcadia sighed, struggling to find words. "Sorry. I really just kinda wanted to be alone. Clear my head,"
Methredhel nodded silently, deciding not to remind the Dunmer of what happened the night before. She heard the shouts of the guardsmen as they all did, stood amongst the traitorous snickers and taunts as the sound of their armor clanking fiercely with concrete filled her ears, set her blood flow to a slow, cold stop. It was not a night she ever wanted to remember, and the memory wasn't even hers to remember.
Methredhel exhaled inaudibly, caramel eyes connecting with crimson ones. "All right," She replied, simply.
Arcadia frowned slightly, taken aback by the Bosmer's sudden solemn demeanor. "Okay…." She coughed, hoping to break the sudden tension. "I'll be back in a while. I don't really know where I'm going."
The other elf nodded once more, sympathy radiating off her. She thought she could soothe the younger girl, console her, convince her that she was not ruthless, unfeeling. It was merely self-defense. Her hand was forced. Her life in exchange for theirs.
But Methredhel could say nothing as the girl moved further and further away from her, feet trudging along the cobblestone as if weighed down by the dead men themselves; Arcadia could barely walk without showcasing guilt, let alone speak of it. And Methredhel, who preferred to avoid angst and destruction, watched silently as her friend exited the Waterfront archway, onto the pier and out of her line of vision. It was better this way, for both of them.
"Cadie," whispered she, voice portraying grief and something unfamiliar to her, "I'm sorry."
And she turned, then, the two drifting in opposite directions, mentally and physically.
o.O.o
He'd followed her to the Chapel, teeth bared, body recoiling from the building as if by mere instinct. Never in his life had he been more disgusted than he was then.
So she goes to the Nine to beg for forgiveness for her sin, does she? He sneered. How pathetic.
Through slit eyes he studied the girl; she was wide-eyed, more than usual, standing before the massive doors that held redemption inside. Her hands gleamed under the morning sun, sweat running down her palms, her forehead.
Lucien grinned. Ah, she's never been there before….
He licked his lips, tongue grazing across skin and teeth. This is going to be fun.
Arcadia, down below, placed her moist fingers upon the door handle, eyes intense. What am I doing here? The Nine hasn't done anything for me. I don't even worship them.
She looked up into the sky, unaware of the shadow watching her from the rooftops. I don't belong here.
Her hand freed itself from the handle, feet struggling to move, the nonexistent hands of the dead gripping at her legs. I need to find….someone…
The sun had slowly shifted positions, casting light upon pale, ungloved skin. Lucien snatched his hand away and into shadow, cursing underneath his breath; sunlight was the enemy.
From the rooftops, he saw the girl shy away from the Chapel, entering the crowd of humans that passed the massive doors.
So she denies the Nine Devines her redemption?
Lips were licked once again, hands thrust into pocket and boots clattering against shingles as he walked, There is hope yet.
And as he lurked, he watched. A finely dressed citizen came into view, nose held high, strutting past the girl as if her existence mattered not, purse within reach; her hand, out of habit, grabbed for the thing. She yanked it back as if she'd been burnt, walking briskly away from the man, fist clenched, still sweating profusely.
Despite sensing the Dunmer's conscience brewing inside her head, the grin did not falter. But she's still a good girl, he thought, deep chuckle filling the silence in the morning air, But that will soon be over.
He lowered his head, hood draping over his dark irises, lips gleaming with moisture. Fun indeed.
Yeah, filler. You have permission to kill me. While nothing particularly exciting happened, this does give you all a better sense of Arcadia's guilt and overall character, and Lucien's...well, Lucien's...his...awesomeness.