He’s sitting with his arms leaned up on the bar countertop, glowering into the contents of his tankard, trying to pretend like he understands what’s just happened. Last he checked women weren’t this hard to figure out.
“You gotta problem with that mead o’ yours, Bryn?” Delvin says as he takes the seat on Brynjolf’s right.
“It’s not the mead I have a problem with,” he responds, not even bothering to hide the bitterness and resentment.
“Ah, so it’s about our boss, then, eh?” His smirk is sly and only somewhat vindictive as he says it.
Brynjolf just takes a sip of his mead.
Delvin waves Vekel over for a drink, telling the glum Nord, “Come on then, get it all off your chest. You’re bad company when you get pissy about somethin’.”
“Why in Oblivion would she apologize, and then just leave like that, just – just ignore me on her way out?” He took a long swig of his mead, downing the contents swiftly. “She’s been acting real odd recently, too. Leaving for long stretches of time, coming back looking like she’s been fighting hordes of Daedra.”
“From what I understand, that can’t be too far off,” Delvin supplies.
Brynjolf ignores him. He’d rather not think about Pax running around Skyrim slaying Dremora. “And then, when we argued yesterday, I’ve never seen her angry since I met her, Delvin, but she was pissed. She told me to respect her, like I was beneath her or something. Then, out of nowhere, she called herself a dovah. I don’t know what she means by that. Does she even know what dovah means?”
Delvin takes a sip from his tankard, apparently thinking. “She must. She wouldn’t’a used it if she hadn’t.”
“Something’s going on with her, I’m telling you, Delvin,” he says it quietly, a harsh, conspiratorial whisper. “She’s keeping something from us.”
“‘aven’t you looked around yourself, Bryn? We’re the Thieves Guild. It’s commonplace for our lot to keep secrets. Sapphire still insists on keeping us in the dark about her real name.”
“This is different.” Brynjolf swings his head to his right, finally looking at Delvin. “And I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
Delvin sighs. He knows better than to discourage a Nord on a mission, but Brynjolf imagines he’s not exactly comfortable plotting against the Guild Master’s wishes.
“Maybe her chest’ll have some answers….” Standing, Brynjolf abandons his drink in order to make his way over to the Cistern, Delvin on his heels.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
Brynjolf/F!DB, "Peace" [2.2/?]
Date: 2012-11-17 08:22 am (UTC)“You gotta problem with that mead o’ yours, Bryn?” Delvin says as he takes the seat on Brynjolf’s right.
“It’s not the mead I have a problem with,” he responds, not even bothering to hide the bitterness and resentment.
“Ah, so it’s about our boss, then, eh?” His smirk is sly and only somewhat vindictive as he says it.
Brynjolf just takes a sip of his mead.
Delvin waves Vekel over for a drink, telling the glum Nord, “Come on then, get it all off your chest. You’re bad company when you get pissy about somethin’.”
“Why in Oblivion would she apologize, and then just leave like that, just – just ignore me on her way out?” He took a long swig of his mead, downing the contents swiftly. “She’s been acting real odd recently, too. Leaving for long stretches of time, coming back looking like she’s been fighting hordes of Daedra.”
“From what I understand, that can’t be too far off,” Delvin supplies.
Brynjolf ignores him. He’d rather not think about Pax running around Skyrim slaying Dremora. “And then, when we argued yesterday, I’ve never seen her angry since I met her, Delvin, but she was pissed. She told me to respect her, like I was beneath her or something. Then, out of nowhere, she called herself a dovah. I don’t know what she means by that. Does she even know what dovah means?”
Delvin takes a sip from his tankard, apparently thinking. “She must. She wouldn’t’a used it if she hadn’t.”
“Something’s going on with her, I’m telling you, Delvin,” he says it quietly, a harsh, conspiratorial whisper. “She’s keeping something from us.”
“‘aven’t you looked around yourself, Bryn? We’re the Thieves Guild. It’s commonplace for our lot to keep secrets. Sapphire still insists on keeping us in the dark about her real name.”
“This is different.” Brynjolf swings his head to his right, finally looking at Delvin. “And I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
Delvin sighs. He knows better than to discourage a Nord on a mission, but Brynjolf imagines he’s not exactly comfortable plotting against the Guild Master’s wishes.
“Maybe her chest’ll have some answers….” Standing, Brynjolf abandons his drink in order to make his way over to the Cistern, Delvin on his heels.