‘...so I got upstairs, right, and I got into Aringoth’s bedroom.’ Three hours had passed by in a whirl of drink and raucous conversation. We had all drunk more mead than was probably good for us, and the combination of exhaustion and alcohol had conspired to send me into a rather loud-mouthed giggly stupor. Both Vekel and Dirge were becoming rather annoyed with us, and Tonilia had resorted to hurling a bread roll across the room and yelling at us to ‘Shut the fuck up!’. None of us took much notice, though, or at least I didn’t; I was too busy recounting the job to my equally sloshed colleagues for what turned out to be the third time, with added embellishments.
‘He didn’t even wake up, even when I took the key from his pocket! He was totally out of it! Snoring like a horker!’ I attempted to demonstrate what such a noise might sound like, provoking guffaws from the guys. ‘And his mercenaries weren’t any better. Guards like that, a blind troll could do their job better!’
‘“Got into Aringoth’s bedroom”,’ Vipir snickered. ‘Might want to say that different – unless you actually—’
‘No! Oh, gods, no!’ Trust Vipir to try to make this into something it wasn’t. ‘Ugh, Vipir, that is just sick and wrong!’
Of course, the others just couldn’t leave it there. ‘You sure? It’d explain how you got out with all that loot,’ Cynric slurred.
Offended, I pouted, ‘I’ll have you know that my success was based purely on skill, and not through any...uh...’ Damn it, I really had drunk far too much; I was usually much more coherent than this.
‘Whatever you say, kid.’ Thrynn was probably more inebriated than the rest of us, which seemed to be making him moody and surprisingly taciturn. I couldn’t help noticing, however, that he had one arm thrown around my shoulders. But then, alcohol tended to do funny things to people. I had already had the thought that he wasn’t bad-looking at all.
‘I’m serious!’ I protested. ‘It’s skill. I ain’t that type. Although,’ I remembered, perking up, ‘there was that time I filched a key off of a bloke like that. You see, what happened was—’
‘I’m sure this is a fascinating story,’ a harsher, gravelly voice cut in, ‘but it is past midnight, and I believe you all have jobs to be getting on with come the morning. So I highly suggest you quiet down, clean up this mess and get yourselves sobered up, because I do not want to be bailing any of you out of jail because you were too hung over to perform adequately. Is that understood?’
Oh, blast. Mercer. That was the last thing I needed.
‘I said is that understood?’ Mercer snapped at us.
My tablemates responded with mutters that included variations of ‘Yes, boss’, ‘Got it’, and a very grumpy ‘Yeah, whatever’ from Thrynn. I added my voice to the general moaning and groaning, but secretly, a part of me was grateful for the Guildmaster’s appearance; exhaustion and alcohol was making me feel a bit woozy, and I really wanted to go to bed. But another part of me wanted to stay in the Flagon, because I couldn’t help remembering the dark look Vex had shot me earlier. In my mead-addled state, I had about as much luck deciphering it as I would have had finding my way through a Dwemer ruin while blindfolded, but there was something about it that was making my paranoia rise to the surface again.
The clean-up was haphazard to say the least, drunk as we all were, but eventually I somehow made it from the Flagon to the Cistern. Such a short journey under normal circumstances, it felt to me like a trek up to High Hrothgar, fraught with hazards such as Vipir attempting to aim a clumsy kiss at my mouth, or falling into the water, two fates I narrowly avoided. With so much alcohol in my system, I was uncoordinated and stumbled around like a newborn deer, so unsteady on my feet that I had a brief moment of panic before I reached my destination. Then I finally collapsed face down on the bed, not even bothering to remove my boots before finally, finally drifting into blessed sleep.
Afterglow 5/?
‘He didn’t even wake up, even when I took the key from his pocket! He was totally out of it! Snoring like a horker!’ I attempted to demonstrate what such a noise might sound like, provoking guffaws from the guys. ‘And his mercenaries weren’t any better. Guards like that, a blind troll could do their job better!’
‘“Got into Aringoth’s bedroom”,’ Vipir snickered. ‘Might want to say that different – unless you actually—’
‘No! Oh, gods, no!’ Trust Vipir to try to make this into something it wasn’t. ‘Ugh, Vipir, that is just sick and wrong!’
Of course, the others just couldn’t leave it there. ‘You sure? It’d explain how you got out with all that loot,’ Cynric slurred.
Offended, I pouted, ‘I’ll have you know that my success was based purely on skill, and not through any...uh...’ Damn it, I really had drunk far too much; I was usually much more coherent than this.
‘Whatever you say, kid.’ Thrynn was probably more inebriated than the rest of us, which seemed to be making him moody and surprisingly taciturn. I couldn’t help noticing, however, that he had one arm thrown around my shoulders. But then, alcohol tended to do funny things to people. I had already had the thought that he wasn’t bad-looking at all.
‘I’m serious!’ I protested. ‘It’s skill. I ain’t that type. Although,’ I remembered, perking up, ‘there was that time I filched a key off of a bloke like that. You see, what happened was—’
‘I’m sure this is a fascinating story,’ a harsher, gravelly voice cut in, ‘but it is past midnight, and I believe you all have jobs to be getting on with come the morning. So I highly suggest you quiet down, clean up this mess and get yourselves sobered up, because I do not want to be bailing any of you out of jail because you were too hung over to perform adequately. Is that understood?’
Oh, blast. Mercer. That was the last thing I needed.
‘I said is that understood?’ Mercer snapped at us.
My tablemates responded with mutters that included variations of ‘Yes, boss’, ‘Got it’, and a very grumpy ‘Yeah, whatever’ from Thrynn. I added my voice to the general moaning and groaning, but secretly, a part of me was grateful for the Guildmaster’s appearance; exhaustion and alcohol was making me feel a bit woozy, and I really wanted to go to bed. But another part of me wanted to stay in the Flagon, because I couldn’t help remembering the dark look Vex had shot me earlier. In my mead-addled state, I had about as much luck deciphering it as I would have had finding my way through a Dwemer ruin while blindfolded, but there was something about it that was making my paranoia rise to the surface again.
The clean-up was haphazard to say the least, drunk as we all were, but eventually I somehow made it from the Flagon to the Cistern. Such a short journey under normal circumstances, it felt to me like a trek up to High Hrothgar, fraught with hazards such as Vipir attempting to aim a clumsy kiss at my mouth, or falling into the water, two fates I narrowly avoided. With so much alcohol in my system, I was uncoordinated and stumbled around like a newborn deer, so unsteady on my feet that I had a brief moment of panic before I reached my destination. Then I finally collapsed face down on the bed, not even bothering to remove my boots before finally, finally drifting into blessed sleep.