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HELPFUL TIPS
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>When posting prompts, always remember to add kinks you're both looking for and wanting to avoid in a potential fill.
>When filling, please remember to add your story tags: characters, relationship types, kinks, series and universe (ie: skyrim)
>Our character limit here at LJ is 4300.
>If you have any other questions about posting, visit the HOW TO KINK MEME THREAD, under the Page Summary on your left.
Poor Judgment, (1/?)
Date: 2012-10-31 08:53 pm (UTC)Summary: In lieu of facing nightmares, Delvin decides to close down the Flagon with the company of a few dozen flagons. Lucky him, the Dragonborn's not much for sleeping either.
Tags: char:delvin, char:f!db, race:breton, kink:fluff
-----
Vekel smirks, leaning on one hand planted on the bartop while the other pushes the filmy layer on its surface around in lazy circles with an equally dirty rag, prompting the thought, once again, that at the very least the ale is the cleanest thing in here. Not that Delvin, sitting pretty as ever in the fuggy miasma of old stale booze and stagnant second-hand water, is opposed to a bit of muck - not given the things he's had to crawl through in his line of work. "Not sleeping anytime soon, eh, Delvin?"
Delvin matches Vekel's sneering look tit for tat, just two gentlemen appearing to be getting on just fine, all smiles, light and meaningless conversation. Not one occasionally likeable arsehole annoyed at a more frequently likeable, likewise arsehole who doesn't, in fact, want to talk about his trouble sleeping. It's late, they're the only two left awake, and Vekel wants to get to bed as much as Delvin never wants to go near one if he can help it.
Well, not alone and not to sleep, at any rate, but technically speaking he can do certain things on any handy surface, and luckily the whole world consists of one big handy surface called "the ground."
Delvin just shrugs, and takes another swig of ale. "I'll sleep when I'm dead, mate."
Vekel's mouth twitches irritably, but otherwise he maintains the amiable facade - even without the rest of the guild around, pretending nice becomes habit after a while - and shakes his head, sighing somewhat dramatically. "You look like you're halfway there. Tell you what, in the interest of us both getting half a night's sleep, I'll make you a deal: drink as much as you want for free, so long as you promise to be passed out drunk within the hour."
Another shrug, another swig. "Ain't enough of this swill in all of Tamriel to do that, and you can quote me on that." Delvin raps his knuckles absently on the bar. "I'll tell you what, in the interest of us both being sane by morning, why don't you shuffle off to bed and leave me to my own devices? I'll watch the bar."
"No dice, Delvin. I'll be penniless by dawn."
Delvin snorts. "Now that's just insultin'. Would I steal guild money?"
"No, but you'd guzzle guild ale, and then where will I be?"
A soft scrape of fingers over stone alerts both of them to someone coming in from the cistern, the tiny noise so routine neither has to look up from their glaring contest to see who's come to join them. By the time she's halfway to the bar, though, they do anyway, both mentally conceding that their newest guildmate is a finer sight than the other.
Case smiles as if fully aware of this fact before either has a chance to extend the usual greetings, and waves at them by way of wriggling her tanned fingers at the world in general. Her footfalls, as always, are silent and sure, not the shuffling one might expect. "Delvin, Vekel," she says lightly, voice warm and pleasantly husky. Case slides her fingers over the bartop and slips onto the stool next to Delvin, dropping her pack on the floor at her feet.
"Aw, now Vex is gonna feel all neglected," Delvin teases.
Case punches him hard in the shoulder with perfect aim. "Don't play, Vex isn't here."
"Yeah she is, she's right over there," he insists, pointing futilely. "Don't just ignore her, now."
Poor Judgment, (2/?)
Date: 2012-10-31 08:54 pm (UTC)-----
Shaking her head and ignoring him, Case turns her blank eyes in Vekel's basic direction. "I'll have whatever he's having." Vekel nods, if only because her behavior makes it easy to forget her blindness, and then corrects himself with a 'mhmm' as he turns to wash out a flagon with a different, noticeably cleaner rag. When her drink is set before her, Case grabs it on her first try, wrapping her hand around the flagon in lieu of trying to locate the handle, and drops a few coins on the bar with her free hand before taking several grateful gulps of ale.
"Plan on staying a while, then?" Vekel asks, and grins at her affirmative nod. "Fantastic. Now you're here, I'm off to bed. Keep an eye on-- Er, don't let Delvin drink all my wares."
Snorting with laughter, Case agrees. "Sure, I'll watch him," she says with a wink. "Sleep tight."
Delvin snickers, nursing his drink, and turns slightly in his seat to look her over. If there's one thing he likes about Case - though there's a few - it's that if she does know he's staring, she can't prove it. Not that it would stop him anyway, he muses, letting his eyes wander over her from long, strawberry blond hair to delicate, pretty Breton facial features, to ample breasts, to tiny waist, to wide hips, to pert, tight ass - then back again. "So how's Gulum-Ei?"
"Still alive," she assures. "Actually, that reminds me, I've got something for you." She leans over, apologizing that this may take a moment, but Delvin, chuckling, encourages her to take her time; he leans back and appreciates the new view of her rear as she shuffles her sensitive fingers around inside her pack for a few moments, struggling with its excess of ill-gotten goods. "Now where did I-- there it is." She deftly rolls the paper out on the bartop before him, tracing the ink with her fingertips, her forefinger following the northeastern border of Cyrodiil. "Feels like a map?" she ventures.
Whistling under his breath, Delvin confirms, "That's the East Empire Company's shipping map, that is. Good condition, too." She's placed it upside-down, so he gently grabs the corners and turns it around to look at it properly. "How'd you know to take it?"
Case just shrugs. "Sitting on a desk covered in coins, in a loft at the upper reaches of the warehouse, behind a locked door? I figured whatever it was, it had to be valuable to someone, and you're just the man to ask."
"That I am, love, that I am. I'll give you three hundred for it," he offers, still sweeping the page with his eyes. It's abruptly snatched out from under his nose and rolled up in one swift, graceful movement as Case clicks her tongue.
"I don't have the eye for goods that you do, obviously, but I know you're lowballing me. Make it five and we have a deal."
Delvin scoffs. "It ain't worth near that much of anyone's money, doll. I'm being generous here."
Case's smile is absolutely wicked. "The way your heart is racing, I'd guess that at five hundred you're getting away with robbery. Nothing new there, though, am I right? Take it or leave it, Mallory."
Grinning despite himself, Delvin still makes a show of grumbling about her avarice and where oh where honor among thieves went as he counts out her five hundred coins. She laughs, not buying it for an instant, and in the end they just toast each other, tapping tin flagons together with a soft clunk and a slosh that splatters the bartop. "To East Empire," she offers.
"No; to mad money."
Poor Judgment, (3/?)
Date: 2012-10-31 08:55 pm (UTC)"So why the name?" he asks after a while. A little tipsy after a few flagons of ale, she just 'hmm?'s at the question. "Well, there's plenty of odd nicknames around here, but why Case? As in 'casing the joint', or...?"
Case just snorts and shakes her head, crinkling her tiny nose. "No, I just thought it was less flowery than 'Caecilia'. The horrors of Imperial mothers." She sips her drink, still chuckling as she adds, "You'll never guess what that means."
"Beauty?" he asks, thinking himself sly, and she just laughs. "Well I know it ain't 'fuckable,'" he offers, deciding to take the low road.
"Wouldn't know, haven't seen a mirror in a while," she shoots back, "It means 'blind.' Bad luck, naming your kid that, or so I guess. Mother just thought it was pretty."
"Blimey," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his stubble and smiling half because he knows she won't see it and half because, well, she's smiling, so obviously it's okay. "And I thought my mum had poor judgment.
-----
Gotta go to work. Bleh. More later. :D Promise.
OP here!
Date: 2012-10-31 09:47 pm (UTC)A!A
Date: 2012-11-01 01:24 pm (UTC)Glad you like it, OP. I'll post more this afternoon. <3
Re: Poor Judgment, (3/?)
Date: 2012-11-01 02:14 am (UTC)Poor Judgment, (4/?)
Date: 2012-11-01 06:33 pm (UTC)On that note, given my plans for the future of this excessively lengthy piece of fiction, let's add voice kink to the tags, because DB can't enjoy a pretty face but she'll sure as hell enjoy a sexy voice and, I mean, it's fuckin' Delvin.
-----
Case has clearly reached the perfect level of drunk: as she speaks, she slurs a little around a numb tongue - but only a little - and she can still form complete, intelligent thoughts and express them at a normal volume. However, she's grinning a lot, and everything Delvin says is apparently particularly funny.
It's good-time-drunk, not bad-decision-drunk. Good-time-drunk is where they both like her to be. Bad-decision-drunk is where no thief should ever be.
"So," he begins, refilling her flagon with water to keep her at that plateau, "how do you do it, then?"
"Hmm. Well, I look around and see black everywhere. It takes surprisingly little effort."
He shakes his head at the terrible joke. "Don't be a smartass--"
"Stop fixating on my ass."
"Well someone's got to," Delvin snarks, "I mean, I know you can't see how you've let your body go, but--" She punches him again through her gout of renewed laughter, harder, and he chuckles, putting up his hands up placatingly and calling for mercy. When the moment's calmed again, he continues, "But really, I mean, how do you do what we do without your eyes? Twice as well, even, but don't go tellin' anyone I said that."
Case smiles, and drums her fingers on the bartop, making a show of looking at him intensely as if trying to decide whether he's trustworthy enough to divulge a valuable trick of the trade. Rather, she looks slightly over his left shoulder, but the effect is approximately the same. He's seen her hone in directly on the source of a voice before: Vex grousing about a job to Delvin, Cynric missing his shot on the practice dummy, Mercer yelling at whoever happens to be walking by... Other times she stares off into the ether somewhere off the mark of whatever she's trying to stare at. He pegged this latter behavior a long time ago as a sort of disarming act, and it's a good one. After all, how dangerous can a woman be to your coinpurse when she looks like if she goes to grab it, she's liable to wind up groping around the empty air two feet to the side of you?
"Can you keep a secret?" she asks conspiratorially, looking dramatically around the empty tavern for eavesdroppers. "Keep it real safe?"
"Safe as houses, love," he reassures her. At her pointedly raised eyebrow, he concedes, "Houses with really good locks, at any rate. You know what I mean."
Case smiles over the edge of her flagon, a little sadly, but when she speaks her voice is even and strong as ever. "I was an artist back in Daggerfall. I still have a pretty vivid imagination - and accurate. You don't pay much attention to the connections between your senses until you lose one, I guess." She sets her drink down, and points to it. "I hear the sound of a flagon on the counter, I can picture the distance and height of the counter, the size and shape of the flagon. I can tell what both are made of. I can tell one metal from another or different cloths by touch, or the quality of leathers by smell."
"Quite a claim." There's no small measure of skepticism seeping into his voice.
"Are you doubting me, Delvin Mallory?" Case asks, her smile brightening and spreading once more.
"I would never."
Poor Judgment, (5/?)
Date: 2012-11-01 06:33 pm (UTC)"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, (6/?)
Date: 2012-11-01 06:35 pm (UTC)"Only trusting a bunch of murderers, but then again these days I put my trust in thieves, which is only a half step up at best. The killin' weren't so bad, really. No picnic, but not horrible. It's the sight of it that sticks. I'm a bad man, but not a monster, and a monster's what you need to be to sleep sweet and sound after seeing the things you do in that line of work."
She nods again. "Fair enough. And fair being fair: I lost my sight to my younger sister. Nothing as overly dramatic as any sort of cloak-and-dagger family intrigue, either." Case shrugs nonchalantly. "She's an apprentice mage now, and a good one, but once she was a novice, as they all are at some point. I had a stupid accident with backhoe in the garden," she explains, laughing self-deprecatingly and pointing to the pale scar across the bridge of her nose, which in the way of hushed rumor among bored guildmates has often been assumed the work of some sadistic bandit. "She tried to heal it, and, well, the spell just went all wrong. She cried for days, and I didn't talk to her for weeks. But of course she never meant any harm. It took me a while, sitting at my desk, touching my paint pots and brushes and hating my luck, my life, and my sister. But I forgave her."
"You still talk to her?"
"We exchange letters from time to time, talk about life. Dragons, parties, thieving, politics. She keeps me apprised of her schooling."
"Oh yeah? What's she specializing in?"
"Restoration."
The mirrored smiles spread slow across both their faces, and they just grin stupidly for a moment, the laughter beginning as a slow, bubbling chuckle in both their chests before it rises to an uproarious level, echoing back and forth across the empty sewer. Soon enough, they're feeling well enough for another toast. "To the gods; ain't got a single fuckin' idear what they're doin', eh?"
-----
Got some yard work to do before I head off to work again. Stay tuned, folks!
Re: Poor Judgment, (6/?)
Date: 2012-11-01 09:04 pm (UTC)Re: Poor Judgment, (6/?)
Date: 2012-11-02 03:13 am (UTC)Poor Judgment, (7/?)
Date: 2012-11-04 06:09 pm (UTC)If I were to do a series with Case, would anyone actually read it? Give me all your thoughts, nonnies. Give me them.
-----
"Sun's comin' up," Delvin mumbles after a while - after couple more drinks for him, steadily moving him past happy drunk to moody drunk, and a couple more for Case, who seems to be crossing over into bad-decision-drunk territory, if the way she's leaning on his shoulder is any indication. He glances down to admire how strawberry blond hair is cutting soft, stark curves and rivulets of coral-colored waves across the dark leather of his armor, filling his nose with the smell of dragon's tongue and lavender.
He probably just smells like sweat, sewer, and booze.
Sighing, Delvin gently pries the flagon from Case's fingers and repeats himself. She lifts her head, planting her chin coyly on his shoulder and smiling uncomfortably close. "How do you know?"
"I can feel it." He pats away the hand that reaches for the flagon again. "You're lookin' a mite sleepy there, love. You want I should escort you back to Honeyside?"
"Only if you'll stay there with me a while," she offers, that smile quirking sideways into what's probably intended to be a feline smirk. Delvin has only to guess that it must be hard to manage when your lips have gone tingly-numb.
"Many's the girl what's said that and regretted waking up with a headache next to my ugly mug come morning. Or in your case, probably afternoon."
Case's chin scoots a little further along Delvin's shoulder, her face inching closer to his. Something he can't quite complain about, honestly, but ultimately this is leading nowhere and he knows it. "You're right," she says, that gleam coming back into the translucent haze of her milky eyes. "You should know, Delvin, I care an awful lot what people look like."
He snorts at that, and finishes off his last drink to make up his mind and avoid her sightless stare. Blue, he decides. It's hard to tell through the layer of pale murk covering her irises, and he could be wrong, but he's fairly certain her eyes are blue in there somewhere. He stands abruptly, off-balancing her a bit, but steadies her by her shoulders and guides her off of her stool. "Come on, doll, I'm taking you home."
"Decided to spend the morning with me, then?" Case's giggle is infectious, but he shrugs it off with the innuendo.
"Not at all." Delvin takes her wrist and pulls it around his shoulders, slipping his own arm around her waist, and patiently tugs her away from the bar, toward the walkways surrounding the Flagon's ever so scenic vista of stagnant green water toward the door to the ratways, and the canal beyond. "Tell you what, you still feel that way when your head clears and we'll have a grand time, you and me. I'll take you up on your offer, and Skyrim won't see either of us for maybe a week. Sound good?"
"You're doubting me again," Case complains, attempting to pull away. "I'm not that far gone--" She cuts off as she nearly stumbles sideways into the pool in her struggle, but Delvin catches her around the waist and pulls her close again, tut-tutting in amusement at the self-defeating show of inebriation. Case ignores this, pouting back at him. It's a good look on her. Delvin looks from her eyes to the pretty curve of her protruding lower lip, colored lightly with the remnants of a coppery lipstick that's worn off with the drinking. "I didn't get this far on poor judgment," she grouses, "so don't just think--"
Poor Judgment, (8/8)
Date: 2012-11-04 06:10 pm (UTC)Still, he throws himself into it with relish and abandon and every bit of that little panging ache that's been tugging away at his insides, and Case melts against him with nary a complaint to be heard.
The end of the kiss is signaled by a smirk against his mouth, not by the more standard parting, because neither really makes any effort to pull away, even after he plants one final peck on her lower lip. When Delvin speaks, he's rumbling into the corner of her mouth, determinedly and adamantly despite the pleasing shudder that courses down her spine under his palms at the sound of his gravelly voice so close. "I trust in your trust in you, but I've not much trust in me, see? For the sake of the bleeding, starved little thing I call a conscience, let's just take a rain check. Whattaya say?"
"Hmm." There's that mock-intense look again, but it softens back into a smile, disappointed but genuine. "You're a tease, Mallory."
"That's half the fun though, innit?"
"Keeping the mystery alive? Always. You win," she concedes, leaning back. "But if I'm sleeping alone, I'd rather do it in the cistern than Honeyside."
"Why's that?"
"I like the sound of people sleeping."
"Creeper," he jokes, looping their arms comfortably again and guiding her back the other way.
It's a relief that everyone's still out cold when they get to the cistern, because Delvin feels that he has a reputation to maintain that might be slightly injured by the oddly domestic image of him tucking the Dragonborn into bed like a worried mother hen. She settles placidly against her pillow, going boneless from the long night and the excess of drink, but just when he moves to stand, thinking she's nodded off, long fingers loop around the front of his collar and drag him back down for one more sloppy, slightly mal-aimed peck on his lips.
"Until next time," Case murmers, winking lasciviously. With a grating chuckle, he ruffles her hair and rises to his feet.
When he returns to the Flagon, he finds Vekel already up and about, complaining of just how much Delvin still managed to drink. All he offers back is a shrug and a shit-eating grin.
OP
Date: 2012-11-04 09:06 pm (UTC)Re: OP
Date: 2012-11-05 07:20 pm (UTC)Because I'm a sucker for a bad pun.
Re: Poor Judgment, (8/8)
Date: 2012-11-04 10:29 pm (UTC)