In these daydreams, he imagines a quiet little family in a quiet home, usually nothing extravagant – just enough for them to be happy – sitting down by the fire and telling stories to his daughter, whoever she might be. He is always laughing, animatedly talking of his youth, hands gesticulating wildly as he mimics some sort of wild animal. His daughter cannot stop giggling. By his side, his wife lays her hand on his shoulder, eyes as warm as the fond smile she tilts in his direction. He can just tell that they’re married. Not by the rings, no, but the understanding and compassion of the woman with him. Once it was a comely lady from his youth who bore the role of his wife, but lately that part has been monopolized by someone he still knows.
The Guild Master strode into the Cistern, stopping at her bed to deposit some items into the chest on its right. She made short conversation with Sapphire before moving on to Thrynn, apparently relating a story of some sort to him.
That someone he still has connections to is in his thoughts wouldn’t necessarily bother him on any odd day. It was the matter that she was all he seemed capable of thinking about lately. Most definitely out of the usual and far out of Brynjolf’s comfort zone. The lass was his boss, his partner in crime – even sworn to the same Daedric prince. He was there when she first strode in to Riften, donning the robes of a mage yet slinking through the crowds with a humble demeanor. Brynjolf would admit, he hadn’t thought her anything special upon first sighting, just a tiny Breton new to the world around her, but lately he’d begun to notice her in ways he hadn’t before. What once he thought of as nothing more than his fellow Guildmate he now thought of as a companion during some sort of half-brained retirement? Brynjolf was convinced he was going mad.
The Guild Master was, like most Bretons, a very small girl with proportionately small features. Her complexion was on the warm side of pale, clear evidence that she did not live a life of toil before her venture into Skyrim; meanwhile her eyes, of a round shape, were a soft brown that stood in stark contrast to her strawberry blonde hair, now neatly hidden beneath her hood. Brynjolf knew the locks to be short and unkempt. It was, as he’d come to think, rather endearing when her hair stood up at all ends (which it usually did). When Brynjolf had first seen her, he’d thought she was a particularly short man from behind.
He’s watching her as she turns her head, their eyes meeting before he can stop it. His heart seizes for just a moment as she pulls back her hood and smiles in his direction. This, he reminds himself, this is the time to stop. There’s no reason for it, but he knows that she can’t know. They know each other far too well for Brynjolf to keep secrets from her. Normally it isn’t hard to avoid her, what with the time she spends away from the Guild – weeks, over a month, once; not that Brynjolf has been keeping track of her comings and goings – but now it seems most of her time is spent with the Guild.
“Brynjolf!” She calls across the Cistern, grinning, one arm raised above her head in greeting.
He moves his feet from the water, shoving them into his boots while he tries to stand. As he does so, her expression falls into one of confusion. Brynjolf feels badly, really, but it’s for the best. Probably.
“Brynjolf, wait up!” The Guild Master chases after him as he heads for the door to the Ragged Flagon, her second-in-command fleeing guiltily from her presence. He’s a bit too slow though, he realizes, when he feels her fingers clasp around his pauldron, swinging him around to face her. Her brows are drawn down in confusion, but her lips quirked up at the edges, as if amused. “Got a minute? I thought we might talk.”
He sucks in a breath, bracing for her disappointment. “Sorry, lass. I’ve got important things to do,” Brynjolf begins, pausing to sigh. He’s gone with this easy lie before, and he knows it’s going to get smashed to pieces soon, if not now. “We’ll speak another time.”
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timeasmymeasure
Brynjolf/F!DB, "Peace" [1.2/?]
Date: 2012-11-08 06:29 am (UTC)In these daydreams, he imagines a quiet little family in a quiet home, usually nothing extravagant – just enough for them to be happy – sitting down by the fire and telling stories to his daughter, whoever she might be. He is always laughing, animatedly talking of his youth, hands gesticulating wildly as he mimics some sort of wild animal. His daughter cannot stop giggling. By his side, his wife lays her hand on his shoulder, eyes as warm as the fond smile she tilts in his direction. He can just tell that they’re married. Not by the rings, no, but the understanding and compassion of the woman with him. Once it was a comely lady from his youth who bore the role of his wife, but lately that part has been monopolized by someone he still knows.
The Guild Master strode into the Cistern, stopping at her bed to deposit some items into the chest on its right. She made short conversation with Sapphire before moving on to Thrynn, apparently relating a story of some sort to him.
That someone he still has connections to is in his thoughts wouldn’t necessarily bother him on any odd day. It was the matter that she was all he seemed capable of thinking about lately. Most definitely out of the usual and far out of Brynjolf’s comfort zone. The lass was his boss, his partner in crime – even sworn to the same Daedric prince. He was there when she first strode in to Riften, donning the robes of a mage yet slinking through the crowds with a humble demeanor. Brynjolf would admit, he hadn’t thought her anything special upon first sighting, just a tiny Breton new to the world around her, but lately he’d begun to notice her in ways he hadn’t before. What once he thought of as nothing more than his fellow Guildmate he now thought of as a companion during some sort of half-brained retirement? Brynjolf was convinced he was going mad.
The Guild Master was, like most Bretons, a very small girl with proportionately small features. Her complexion was on the warm side of pale, clear evidence that she did not live a life of toil before her venture into Skyrim; meanwhile her eyes, of a round shape, were a soft brown that stood in stark contrast to her strawberry blonde hair, now neatly hidden beneath her hood. Brynjolf knew the locks to be short and unkempt. It was, as he’d come to think, rather endearing when her hair stood up at all ends (which it usually did). When Brynjolf had first seen her, he’d thought she was a particularly short man from behind.
He’s watching her as she turns her head, their eyes meeting before he can stop it. His heart seizes for just a moment as she pulls back her hood and smiles in his direction. This, he reminds himself, this is the time to stop. There’s no reason for it, but he knows that she can’t know. They know each other far too well for Brynjolf to keep secrets from her. Normally it isn’t hard to avoid her, what with the time she spends away from the Guild – weeks, over a month, once; not that Brynjolf has been keeping track of her comings and goings – but now it seems most of her time is spent with the Guild.
“Brynjolf!” She calls across the Cistern, grinning, one arm raised above her head in greeting.
He moves his feet from the water, shoving them into his boots while he tries to stand. As he does so, her expression falls into one of confusion. Brynjolf feels badly, really, but it’s for the best. Probably.
“Brynjolf, wait up!” The Guild Master chases after him as he heads for the door to the Ragged Flagon, her second-in-command fleeing guiltily from her presence. He’s a bit too slow though, he realizes, when he feels her fingers clasp around his pauldron, swinging him around to face her. Her brows are drawn down in confusion, but her lips quirked up at the edges, as if amused. “Got a minute? I thought we might talk.”
He sucks in a breath, bracing for her disappointment. “Sorry, lass. I’ve got important things to do,” Brynjolf begins, pausing to sigh. He’s gone with this easy lie before, and he knows it’s going to get smashed to pieces soon, if not now. “We’ll speak another time.”