"Oh? Because you say that like you're cocking a snook at me right now."
"Ain't a single snook cocked here, doll," he snickers.
"I think you're lying," she says, pale eyes somehow gleaming with mischief, "I think you doubt me, and I think it's because you just bought a map - hand drawn in Imperial wine-and-hawthorn ink and ultramarine pigment on high quality Hammerfell vellum - for five hundred septims instead of eight, isn't it?"
At that, he's speechless. Just for a moment. "Gotta stay in business, love. And if you knew it was worth eight hundred, why'd you only ask for five?"
"Well..." There's that wicked-sharp quirk to the corner of her lip that never fails to get Delvin's blood pumping, but he only gets to enjoy it for a moment before he's distracted by her legs uncrossing and recrossing; the movement of soft, curving thighs rubbing together with the sound of tight leather creaking between them catches his attention and thoroughly holds it. "Take the savings and buy yourself something pretty, hmm?"
He pauses to withdraw from fantasies involving his head between those thighs before he can answer. "Something pretty'd be a waste on me, but I appreciate the sentiment."
Case puts on a surprised expression, eyes widening. "You mean you're not the dashing rogue heartbreaker I've been imagining?"
"Ha. I guess your vivid imagination ain't as accurate as you make it out to be." He tosses back the rest of his ale and pours another, noting happily that despite her assurances to Vekel, she's not really monitoring how much he imbibes. As the tap flows, he opts to change the subject. "How'd you lose your eyes, anyway?"
"How come you never sleep?"
Delvin clicks his tongue. "Much as I enjoy our little chats here, that's one question I don't care to answer."
"Likewise, then," she purrs, smirking over the last of her water.
A beat passes, and then another, before he acquiesces. "Alright. I'm curious, and you're cute, so I'll make one concession, eh? You show me yours, I'll show you mine."
"Deal. You first."
"But I asked first," he complains.
"Which is why you should tell first. Don't fork over the money before you get the goods, right?"
"Or don't fork over the goods before you get the money."
"Quit stalling, old man."
"Ouch." Delvin clutches mockingly at his broken heart. "Alright, since you asked so very politely," he begins, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I've a fierce lot of nightmares following me. As such, I've developed a very scientific method of dealing with the problem - I simulate all the sleep I need by staring blankly at the walls in a half-drunk lull." To illustrate the point, he taps his flagon against hers, and begins his umpteenth drink of the night.
"What about?" she asks curiously, her voice carrying none of the pity he was dreading. Then again, he realizes, the girl's only been in Skyrim a few months and already nearly lost her pretty head to an Imperial headsman, and everything else to a menagerie of dragons. No doubt, her bad dreams are nothing to laugh at.
"Oh, you know, the usual. Giving lectures at the College of Winterhold and discovering I'm only in my knickers, that sort of thing."
"Liar."
The stare each other down for a moment, and Delvin laments that the best of his hard 'don't push your luck' looks is useless against a lovely face that can't see it. "You win, but when you're done ripping my chest open and baring my heart to the world, take care to sew it up good and proper, will you? Thing is, I used to be a Dark Brother, long time back." With a heavy sigh, he adds, "In case you're worried, I'm not one of the zealots out to kiss Sithis's cold, rotten arse every opportunity. Heart was never really in it, but you do what you've got to."
Poor Judgment, (5/?)
"Ain't a single snook cocked here, doll," he snickers.
"I think you're lying," she says, pale eyes somehow gleaming with mischief, "I think you doubt me, and I think it's because you just bought a map - hand drawn in Imperial wine-and-hawthorn ink and ultramarine pigment on high quality Hammerfell vellum - for five hundred septims instead of eight, isn't it?"
At that, he's speechless. Just for a moment. "Gotta stay in business, love. And if you knew it was worth eight hundred, why'd you only ask for five?"
"Well..." There's that wicked-sharp quirk to the corner of her lip that never fails to get Delvin's blood pumping, but he only gets to enjoy it for a moment before he's distracted by her legs uncrossing and recrossing; the movement of soft, curving thighs rubbing together with the sound of tight leather creaking between them catches his attention and thoroughly holds it. "Take the savings and buy yourself something pretty, hmm?"
He pauses to withdraw from fantasies involving his head between those thighs before he can answer. "Something pretty'd be a waste on me, but I appreciate the sentiment."
Case puts on a surprised expression, eyes widening. "You mean you're not the dashing rogue heartbreaker I've been imagining?"
"Ha. I guess your vivid imagination ain't as accurate as you make it out to be." He tosses back the rest of his ale and pours another, noting happily that despite her assurances to Vekel, she's not really monitoring how much he imbibes. As the tap flows, he opts to change the subject. "How'd you lose your eyes, anyway?"
"How come you never sleep?"
Delvin clicks his tongue. "Much as I enjoy our little chats here, that's one question I don't care to answer."
"Likewise, then," she purrs, smirking over the last of her water.
A beat passes, and then another, before he acquiesces. "Alright. I'm curious, and you're cute, so I'll make one concession, eh? You show me yours, I'll show you mine."
"Deal. You first."
"But I asked first," he complains.
"Which is why you should tell first. Don't fork over the money before you get the goods, right?"
"Or don't fork over the goods before you get the money."
"Quit stalling, old man."
"Ouch." Delvin clutches mockingly at his broken heart. "Alright, since you asked so very politely," he begins, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I've a fierce lot of nightmares following me. As such, I've developed a very scientific method of dealing with the problem - I simulate all the sleep I need by staring blankly at the walls in a half-drunk lull." To illustrate the point, he taps his flagon against hers, and begins his umpteenth drink of the night.
"What about?" she asks curiously, her voice carrying none of the pity he was dreading. Then again, he realizes, the girl's only been in Skyrim a few months and already nearly lost her pretty head to an Imperial headsman, and everything else to a menagerie of dragons. No doubt, her bad dreams are nothing to laugh at.
"Oh, you know, the usual. Giving lectures at the College of Winterhold and discovering I'm only in my knickers, that sort of thing."
"Liar."
The stare each other down for a moment, and Delvin laments that the best of his hard 'don't push your luck' looks is useless against a lovely face that can't see it. "You win, but when you're done ripping my chest open and baring my heart to the world, take care to sew it up good and proper, will you? Thing is, I used to be a Dark Brother, long time back." With a heavy sigh, he adds, "In case you're worried, I'm not one of the zealots out to kiss Sithis's cold, rotten arse every opportunity. Heart was never really in it, but you do what you've got to."