(a/n: sorry for the delay, literal days after i posted the last chapter i kinda broke my collarbone and got a wicked concussion. my memory is fucked, guys. if you told me anything in the past 6 months, good luck on having me remember it now! I'm trying to re-create the timeline i had in my head for Lilija and Joe. Want to contribute your ideas/headcanons? Share your ideas in reviews and i'll definitely consider them! :)
who's exhausted? haha it's me 17 tabs into the elder scrolls wiki trying to find more info on jyggalag and sheogorath because i never played the shivering isles expansion before and i'm only about an hour into actually playing it now.)
Indeed, in their observations of the girl over the last day, neither Daedra saw much personality come out of Lilija in comparison to when she gallivanted around with the Khajiit. Mostly she just gaped at the surroundings, made a few minor interactions with the townsfolk to buy things, and stumbled around nearly like a newborn babe in a strange place.
"So, Mr. Cryptic, what reason did you bring her here? Corrupting the minds of the innocent? Spreading the gospel of Insanity? General chaos?" Sanguine's raspy voice rang through the glade surrounding the birdbath, the echo of his voice dissipating into the mists creeping through the dense undergrowth. Sheogorath grunted as he pushed himself away from the glassy surface of the water, disturbing it with his footsteps and distorting the image of Lilija stumbling down the stairs ass-over-tea-kettle with a wine bottle in one hand and a hunk of cheese in the other.
"That answer can wait, Mr. Pushy." Sheogorath shot back as he mounted his throne, leaning his back on one cushy armrest and slinging his legs over the other arm rest. "She's going to be fun, that's all you need to know." Sanguine rolled his eyes at the Daedra as he knocked back another swig of his wine. A dark red stained his upper lip. Sanguine knew Sheogorath's speech patterns; he means he has no fuckin' clue.
"Fine, then, where did you get her then?" Sanguine pressed instead, copying Sheogorath's position on his own conjured throne. Sheogorath made a scrunched up disgruntled face, then moved positions. Can't have any conformity here in the Shivering Isles, that wouldn't do at all. Conformity leads to evenness, and there was nothing worse than an even number in Sheogorath's mind. 0, 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, the best numbers. Sheogorath smiled and recited his favorite numbers in his head, imagining each one bouncing as it was called. So cute. Each one was a different color as well, his favorite colors, blues and purples and reds and yellows… A few more moments lapsed before Sanguine reminded Sheogorath of the question.
"Eh, who am I to know? I just went woop–-" Sheogorath thrust his arm out, it disappearing up to the wrist. He drew it back into vision holding a… small yellow pegasus with a pink mane?
"-there it is!" Sheogorath waved the little plastic toy around. Sanguine's expression shifted to slightly confused, yet still annoyed. The image in the birdbath shifted, showing Lilija chugging the rest of her wine before she got to the dining room. She stashed her empty bottle under the stairs, belched, then entered the dining room completely composed after the fall.
"This delightful item is from the same universe she's from." Sheogorath sat up as he declared that, staring into the eyes of the small pony figurine. Then he pegged it at Sanguine, hitting him square in the forehead. Sanguine's expression spoke of no amusement as the plastic figurine bounced off of his forehead. He sat up straight as well, and he threw his goblet of wine at the Mad God, drenching him crimson. Sheogorath just laughed, waved his hand, and the sticky mess disappeared. "Most of the items I pull from that dimension are just wonderful doohickeys. Thingamajigs. Nonsense!"
"You're avoiding my questions, Sheo," Sanguine said, his Breton appearance melting away to reveal his true Daedric form. Concern wrinkled his dark brow. Sheogorath literally waved him off, scoffing,
"Like I said before, don't worry about it. Crazy lil' ol' me's got a handle on it."
"You are never this cryptic with me. That worries me." Sanguine replied immediately, getting up from his throne and striding towards the Lord of the Never-there. Sanguine's throne melted into beetles and spiders behind him, which scurried off in all directions. The corner of Sheogorath's mouth twitched, as did his right eyelid.
"Oh? You're approaching me?" The Mad God stood up as he spoke, splaying his arms and hands out, "Instead of running away, you're coming right to me?"
Sanguine paused in his steps, the annoyed concern flickering to a very confused expression. "Okay, you're acting weirder than normal, and you are the Prince of Madness. This is what I'm talking about! What is going on in your head, Tobi?"
"That! That is what's going on!" Sheograth gestured wildly at Sanguine, an inexplicable expression crossing his face. "The fact that I am the Hero of Kvatch, stuck as Sheogorath! This ISN'T me! I'm not Sheogorath, no matter how many Princes wish it to be! I can never remember my own name, yet you do! Why? I want to be me again! She knows how to help! I know it! She can help, she has the brain, but does she have the power? Who knows! I'm going to make her have the power! To help me! I'm going to be Tobi again even if I rip this universe apart! AAAAAAAAAAAH!"
He continued to rant, getting up and wandering around the courtyard. He pushed the birdbath over as he passed it, the iridescent liquid spilling across the beautiful raised stone dais like a rainbow oil slick. He ripped up plants as he walked by, throwing them to punctuate his ranting. Sanguine just looked on, for once unsure what to do. He was the Daedric Prince of Debauchery, not the Daedric Prince of Therapy. Well, hold on, he could do one thing.
Sheogorath was in a patch of Alocasia plants, ripping up their beautiful variegated green leaves and shoving them up his shirt, possibly for future use. He was ignoring all the fruits, the actual useful part of the plant. He felt an arm- Sanguine's- rest across his shoulders, and he looked over at the other Daedra. He was disguised as Sam again, and he had held his arm out with a tankard of mead to the Lord of the Asylums.
"Tobi, I can't give much advice on this, but I can make you forget you needed it." Sam said, and Sheo accepted the drink readily. Ready or not, here comes a drunk Mad God.
Lilija sat in the Drunken Huntsman, trying to do her best impression of a Drunken not Huntsman, who was she kidding, she just wanted to get plastered. She had parsed out Joe's share of the gold, left it upstairs, and she had enough for a few drinks after buying all she did in the marketplace. She was a bit stoned from the weed, for sure, but her mood was tanking as the hours ticked by, and that mental breakdown earlier didn't help. Alcohol was the balm that soothed her wounds after, well, anything. Admittedly she probably was considered an alcoholic for having that view but it was what she was raised with. Maybe her family was just full of alcoholics. That was probably it.
Lilija settled down at a table near what looked like a small stage set into a half octagonal alcove. Nervously, she let her hair down from her braid, the large puff of red hair obscuring her from the rest of the populace. Her large, curly hair gave her a sort of shield, something to hide behind. As a Noticer of the Stupidest of Details, she saw that there was a cute jumping spider in a closer corner of the octagon. Seems as if the stage hadn't been used in quite some time. Patrons filed in after their hard days' labor, filling the tavern with a homey background of chattering noise. She recognized some people vaguely, Carlotta had come to get dinner with her daughter Mila, Nazeem and his wife Ahlam were sitting surly in the corner, and it seemed that one of the Companions' twins was chatting with Elton John the Bosmer at the counter. Anoriath, whose name Lilija had never forgotten for some reason, was bussing tables as well.
Anoriath approached her table with what looked like a charcoal stick and birch paper. "Hello miss, what could I get for you on this fine evening? Our current dishes are venison stew, vegetable stew, seared salmon with frost mirriam, venison steak with elves' ear, or our special for this week, imported from Solstheim, horker and ash yam stew." He queried, writing utensil at the ready.
Lilija hemmed and hawed for a moment over the choices, but eventually, politely, ordered a venison stew with another bottle of wine. Anoriath came back with her order rather promptly, then after serving her he served Nazeem and Ahlam. Of course, this sparked an argument, Nazeem asking loudly why someone foreign was being served before HE, a NOBLE of WHITERUN.
"Sorry, buddy, I ordered first, I got served first." Lilija interjected loudly to the pair of nobles, directing her voice towards them. Learning how to project your voice is a useful skill to learn. She also wanted to save Anoriath the hassle of dealing with Skyrim's male Karen. No service worker should be treated less than human. Er, well, in this case, less than sentient and intelligent, as there was more than the one race present.
"Who are You to talk to Me like that?" Nazeem exploded, enraged, thrusting himself up from his seat to face the offender. What greeted his eyes halted him in his tracks. An exotic looking woman, her face indescribable to race, bright blue eyes rimmed in darker blue seemed to pierce through his soul. Her bright, waved and curled, flame-red hair haloed a pale oval face with plump lips and an oddly square-tipped nose. He barely noticed the healing bruise on the side of her face. He was left mouth agape in astonishment, he had not seen such beauty since his wife– oh no.
His wife Ahlam cleared her throat beside him, and apologized to the young woman and the hunter Elf, "Please pay no mind to my husband, he's had a long day. I apologize for his outburst." before leading him back to their table. Lilija pulled an ugly face at Nazeem's back; gross, getting sleazy elevator eyes from the literal most hated character in Whiterun. Maybe she could use that against him? Who knows, rich people will do a lot of things poor people won't. She wondered over a few situations in her head in which she could extort him for money. Hmm. Maybe not worth the risk.
Lilija leaned back in her chair and started to eat her fare; not bad stew, as she thought before, but she supposed she would have to avoid any and all bare meat dishes. Anoriath passed by her table and sneakily set down a boiled creme treat. Lilija raised her wine bottle to him once she caught his eye next.
About halfway through her late supper and halfway through her next bottle of wine, Lilija was feeling pretty OK with her situation right now. Except for the sudden startle and panic when someone suddenly cried from the other side of the bar,
"Help! He's choking!"
EMT instincts kicking in, Lilija threw herself out of her chair, weaving in between patrons like a spring stream through the woods. Quicker than she thought she would, she arrived on scene to find a mid-20s male, in respiratory distress due to a blockage in his airway. The large, dark-haired man had his hands clasped around his throat, his face quickly gaining a deathly pallor as he lost oxygen supply.
Quickly assessing his attire and if she would have to remove any, she positioned herself behind the choking man and slipped her hands underneath the very bottom of his steel breastplate, balling them into a fist together, then thrusting upwards and back into his diaphragm, forcing him roughly against her body. A chunk of gristle ejected from his throat, bouncing over the other side of the bar. Elton John the Elf made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat before going to clean it up.
Lilija released the man slowly, helping to ease him back into his seat as he caught his breath in ragged gasps, thanking her breathlessly. The large mountain of a man was hard to maneuver for the small redhead, but she managed. They taught you enough about body mechanics in EMT class that it was pretty easy to nudge a moving body how you'd like it to go. Lilija released her grip on the man when she was sure he was sitting and stable, then immediately turned up to him and asked,
"How'r yeh feelin'? Onna scale 'a 1 to 10, pleeeze." Oh fuck she didn't realize she was this drunk. Thank fuck for instincts, she guesses? Well, at least this dude survived. She couldn't say that for many of her other patients in real life, unfortunately. She always seemed to get the hard 911 calls.
"I- uh– not good?" He answered, dumbly, then coughed, his chest still heaving slightly in effort. Lilija noticed, and instructed,
"Y'll breathe bett'r if'n yeh p'sition like like this–" and proceeded to pose the guy like a barbie doll, placing him into the tripod position, which was him leaning forwards with his hands on his knees. After a little while of breathing like this, the man's color returned to his face. After taking a few drinks of water, courtesy of Anoriath, he seemed to be doing much better.
"Alright, I'm out, if y' got anything else wrong with ya it it ain't m' problem." Lilija said abruptly, clapped the man on his steel-clad shoulder, winced from the impact, then went back to her seat. She escaped so quickly no one could say anything, and that's how she preferred it. She did her job and nothing more, nothing less.
The wine back at her table was welcome, and washed away the rest of her niggling demons nipping at the edges of her sanity. She finished her meal, went to relieve herself, then quietly slipped upstairs. The black cat was sleeping on Joe's pillow at the foot of the bed. Lilija stripped and slipped into the blankets, careful not to disturb the new cat. Hopefully he will be there in the morning as well. Lilija drifted off to sleep, embraced by the warm glow of inebriation.
While Lilija had her escapades in Whiterun, Joe and Jenassa were marauding along the trail up to Bleak Falls Barrow. The first guard tower was quick work for the ranger-melee duo, Jenassa picking off the archer at the top of the tower as Joe dealt with the two close-quarters fighters down below. In the aftermath of the quick battle, Joe was cleaning the blood off of his steel mace of scorching by jiggling its bladed head in the deep snow drift beside the door. Jenassa was already sifting through the first bandit's pockets.
"You know, I thought about becoming a bandit, once." Jenassa broke the eerie silence after the kill. "I decided I liked clean clothes and fresh mead." She punctuated her sentence by tossing away a bottle of half-drunken mead from the fallen bandit's inventory. Joe chuckled, then replied,
"Are you sure, though? You could always go back on your decision and try it out. This one thinks it would suit you just well being smelling of bad mead and even worse body odor." He then dodged another bottle, this time an empty wine bottle, which shattered on the doorway beside him. He escaped into the tower, rushing up the stairs, giggling the whole time.
(a/n: just a little sneak peek at what Joe and Jen are doing. We'll hear more from them in the next chapter. :) if you feel so inclined, i'd love to hear your thoughts about the story!)