[Since it was requested so nicely in http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/3603.html?thread=4104979#t4104979 , and since I just can’t say no, no matter how crack-tastic the subject and how tricky it is to write poetry in a language different than my own, I bring you here, as a sort of sequel to Bad Poetry, more silliness involving Mercer Frey, my most roguish Dovahkiin, a long flashback, and, you guessed right, terrible poems filled to the brim with sensual imagery. You’re welcome. Enjoy.
Tags for the unsuspecting passerby are kink:crack/humor, char:mercer_frey, char:sapphire, race:breton. No smut, sadly. But who knows what might happen… ]
The horse seemed to sense the urgency in its mistress’s movements, and saved her the pain of spurring it, immediately starting galloping as soon as she pointed it to the right direction with a single neigh of understanding. Despite how much Joie enjoyed the company of some of the adventurers she had met in her travels, being finally alone was a pleasure. Travelling was faster when she didn’t have to take care not to lose her companions on the way, and the icy cold wind on her face gave her a kick, a sense of freedom and savage fulfillment few other things did. Not to mention this was rather personal business.
He was waiting for them. If she didn’t already know, the message he had left for her to find would’ve made it clear. He wanted them to be there, just one step behind him as he marked his victory upon them all. That could be a weakness ready to be exploited, but she knew better than to underestimate a man clever enough to be able to betray a whole guild of capable thieves over and over without them ever noticing. Which was why she still couldn’t deal properly with the content of that message.
Poetry? Really?! Ripe with imagery of blades being thrust into bodies, lust and submission, no less? Could it be that the poem wasn’t addressed to her, after all? She had only ever seen him as a sour, quiet man, a wall of authority separating him from the rest of the guild, at least until she witnessed him gloating above what could’ve become her corpse in a matter of seconds. That was the one time she had glimpsed something else; ambition, amusement, and a smug sense of satisfaction.
None of which excluded the image of a Mercer with a quill in his hand, thinking about rhymes and syllables, of course. But it seemed odd.
A few things did come to her mind. Like the way she had to roll her eyes when finding an immaculate copy of the Lustful Argonian Maid sitting on the table, right next to Mercer’s plans for the Eyes of the Falmer’s retrieval. It was such a terrible read. Joie herself could’ve written better erotic plays, she was certain of it – her own journal would make for a more titillating read, although she wasn’t exactly eager to wave it around. Oh well. I can live with the knowledge that I can write amazing pornography being kept a secret. Still, that had been a rather unexpected find.
Another one was a thing that had happened a little more than a couple months before, while she was chilling in the Cistern and minding her own business. Back then, she had misinterpreted the events, but thinking about it now, it made so much more sense…
The Poet Thief
Tags for the unsuspecting passerby are kink:crack/humor, char:mercer_frey, char:sapphire, race:breton. No smut, sadly. But who knows what might happen… ]
The horse seemed to sense the urgency in its mistress’s movements, and saved her the pain of spurring it, immediately starting galloping as soon as she pointed it to the right direction with a single neigh of understanding. Despite how much Joie enjoyed the company of some of the adventurers she had met in her travels, being finally alone was a pleasure. Travelling was faster when she didn’t have to take care not to lose her companions on the way, and the icy cold wind on her face gave her a kick, a sense of freedom and savage fulfillment few other things did. Not to mention this was rather personal business.
He was waiting for them. If she didn’t already know, the message he had left for her to find would’ve made it clear. He wanted them to be there, just one step behind him as he marked his victory upon them all. That could be a weakness ready to be exploited, but she knew better than to underestimate a man clever enough to be able to betray a whole guild of capable thieves over and over without them ever noticing. Which was why she still couldn’t deal properly with the content of that message.
Poetry? Really?! Ripe with imagery of blades being thrust into bodies, lust and submission, no less? Could it be that the poem wasn’t addressed to her, after all? She had only ever seen him as a sour, quiet man, a wall of authority separating him from the rest of the guild, at least until she witnessed him gloating above what could’ve become her corpse in a matter of seconds. That was the one time she had glimpsed something else; ambition, amusement, and a smug sense of satisfaction.
None of which excluded the image of a Mercer with a quill in his hand, thinking about rhymes and syllables, of course. But it seemed odd.
A few things did come to her mind. Like the way she had to roll her eyes when finding an immaculate copy of the Lustful Argonian Maid sitting on the table, right next to Mercer’s plans for the Eyes of the Falmer’s retrieval. It was such a terrible read. Joie herself could’ve written better erotic plays, she was certain of it – her own journal would make for a more titillating read, although she wasn’t exactly eager to wave it around. Oh well. I can live with the knowledge that I can write amazing pornography being kept a secret. Still, that had been a rather unexpected find.
Another one was a thing that had happened a little more than a couple months before, while she was chilling in the Cistern and minding her own business. Back then, she had misinterpreted the events, but thinking about it now, it made so much more sense…