He rolls his eyes, shaking the momentary stun from this sudden surge of anger he’s not yet seen in her. “An absentee Guild Master deserves my respect? Let me tell you something, lass,” he says, letting venom drip into every last word. “I’ve been with this Guild for longer than you’ve probably been alive, and I’ll be damned if I let some arrogant hot-shot thief treat me like I’m below them! Don’t forget who got you in here. Don’t forget that I pushed for you to get the position of Guild Master! Show me some damn respect and get off my case!”
There’s fire in her eyes and on her tongue. Pax snarls as she all but roars back at Brynjolf, “Don’t forget who got the Guild back on its feet! Without me, you wouldn’t even have a Guild to call home anymore! Can I not speak to you? Am I not important enough to you to afford just a fraction of your apparently precious, precious time?”
“I never said that—”
“You might as well have!”
Brynjolf glances over her, his instincts telling him that they’ve drawn a crowd. And like usual, his instincts are right. “Lass, you’d better quiet down—”
“No!” She hisses. He looks at her then, really looks at her. Something isn’t right. His Pax, the Pax he knows, wouldn’t ever shout at him like this. “You do not speak to me like that, mortal! You will not silence a dovah!”
“Dovah?” His brows wrinkle together. “What in Shor’s name is that supposed to mean?”
It’s as if he’s just struck Pax from whatever possessed her to act so out of character. The flame burning in her eyes is gone, replaced by wide confusion melting into fear. “I—oh.” She blanches when she looks over her shoulder at the crowd. They scatter almost as soon as she does so, back to the mundane tasks they go about daily. Out of fear or embarrassment Brynjolf isn’t sure. She looks down at her feet, at the walls of the narrow corridor, anything to avoid his gaze.
“Lass? Are you alright?” He reaches an arm out to touch her shoulder, but is startled when Pax backs up, staring back at him. There’s wild, unguarded fear written all over her face, in the way her eyes are wide like an elk before the saber cat bites it round the neck.
“I don’t know.” He thinks he hears her murmur, head shaking back and forth. She darts away into the Cistern. And for whatever reason, Brynjolf doesn’t follow her.
Brynjolf/F!DB, "Peace" [1.4/?]
There’s fire in her eyes and on her tongue. Pax snarls as she all but roars back at Brynjolf, “Don’t forget who got the Guild back on its feet! Without me, you wouldn’t even have a Guild to call home anymore! Can I not speak to you? Am I not important enough to you to afford just a fraction of your apparently precious, precious time?”
“I never said that—”
“You might as well have!”
Brynjolf glances over her, his instincts telling him that they’ve drawn a crowd. And like usual, his instincts are right. “Lass, you’d better quiet down—”
“No!” She hisses. He looks at her then, really looks at her. Something isn’t right. His Pax, the Pax he knows, wouldn’t ever shout at him like this. “You do not speak to me like that, mortal! You will not silence a dovah!”
“Dovah?” His brows wrinkle together. “What in Shor’s name is that supposed to mean?”
It’s as if he’s just struck Pax from whatever possessed her to act so out of character. The flame burning in her eyes is gone, replaced by wide confusion melting into fear. “I—oh.” She blanches when she looks over her shoulder at the crowd. They scatter almost as soon as she does so, back to the mundane tasks they go about daily. Out of fear or embarrassment Brynjolf isn’t sure. She looks down at her feet, at the walls of the narrow corridor, anything to avoid his gaze.
“Lass? Are you alright?” He reaches an arm out to touch her shoulder, but is startled when Pax backs up, staring back at him. There’s wild, unguarded fear written all over her face, in the way her eyes are wide like an elk before the saber cat bites it round the neck.
“I don’t know.” He thinks he hears her murmur, head shaking back and forth. She darts away into the Cistern. And for whatever reason, Brynjolf doesn’t follow her.