Vernorexia, part 1
Alessandra/Sapphire
Spring
It's not quite dawn and when Sapphire climbs up and out of the guild's cemetery entrance the sky above her head is the same murky color as the water in the Ragged Flagon. The secret door grinds to a close behind her and she kicks her boot against the fake tomb to clean it. After those two movements the graveyard is silent - she listens, a thief's habit - and slides around the graves.
There's a crunch to her left and Sapphire whirls with a blade in each hand. Her target lowers the bread from her mouth and swallows loud in the still air. "Looks like I'm not the only early riser," the woman says with a low laugh.
A plan flits lightning fast through her brain: sprint forward, slice the woman's throat, and stuff the corpse in the Rataway before the guard's patrol. Another unexplained death, something for the Jarl to titter over, but nothing more. But Sapphire hesitates, and she never hesitates and she hates that she is now, and the woman speaks again, voice still soft, "The affairs of the living are no concern of mine."
The lack of fear - the lack of caring about it at all surprises Sapphire. The woman, perched on a grave like she's part of the stone, stares as Sapphire spins her knives and tucks them away. "The gravedigger," Sapphire says. She recognizes Arkay's priest, now that sun is beginning to flicker through the mist. Everyone in Riften knows of Alessandra, or knows as much as they're able. Arkay keeps the dead and His priests as close as dead as possible. Sapphire convinces herself that there's no risk in letting Alessandra see the passageway. "Who would you tell, anyway? The skeletons you sleep with?"
"No one keeps secrets quite like the dead," the priest acknowledges. She finishes her bread and brushes the crumbs from her robe. The dawn is bright enough now that when she looks up, Sapphire can see the glint of her eyes, the lines of her mouth. "I'd give you blessings, but it doesn't look like you really need them. If you ever do, you know where to find me."
When the priest turns away, Sapphire pulls a knife out again. A flick of her wrist and it'd be in Alessandra's back. But she keeps it in her hand, the metal cool against her palm, and watch priest's robes sway as she walks back to the temple. Sapphire almost follows - what does she have to do today, anyway? Something for Brynjolf, something for Maven, nothing important - but then she hears the scruff of boots on gravel.
The guard who turns the corner and walks into the cemetery doesn't see anything but graves and grass.
Spring
It's not quite dawn and when Sapphire climbs up and out of the guild's cemetery entrance the sky above her head is the same murky color as the water in the Ragged Flagon. The secret door grinds to a close behind her and she kicks her boot against the fake tomb to clean it. After those two movements the graveyard is silent - she listens, a thief's habit - and slides around the graves.
There's a crunch to her left and Sapphire whirls with a blade in each hand. Her target lowers the bread from her mouth and swallows loud in the still air. "Looks like I'm not the only early riser," the woman says with a low laugh.
A plan flits lightning fast through her brain: sprint forward, slice the woman's throat, and stuff the corpse in the Rataway before the guard's patrol. Another unexplained death, something for the Jarl to titter over, but nothing more. But Sapphire hesitates, and she never hesitates and she hates that she is now, and the woman speaks again, voice still soft, "The affairs of the living are no concern of mine."
The lack of fear - the lack of caring about it at all surprises Sapphire. The woman, perched on a grave like she's part of the stone, stares as Sapphire spins her knives and tucks them away. "The gravedigger," Sapphire says. She recognizes Arkay's priest, now that sun is beginning to flicker through the mist. Everyone in Riften knows of Alessandra, or knows as much as they're able. Arkay keeps the dead and His priests as close as dead as possible. Sapphire convinces herself that there's no risk in letting Alessandra see the passageway. "Who would you tell, anyway? The skeletons you sleep with?"
"No one keeps secrets quite like the dead," the priest acknowledges. She finishes her bread and brushes the crumbs from her robe. The dawn is bright enough now that when she looks up, Sapphire can see the glint of her eyes, the lines of her mouth. "I'd give you blessings, but it doesn't look like you really need them. If you ever do, you know where to find me."
When the priest turns away, Sapphire pulls a knife out again. A flick of her wrist and it'd be in Alessandra's back. But she keeps it in her hand, the metal cool against her palm, and watch priest's robes sway as she walks back to the temple. Sapphire almost follows - what does she have to do today, anyway? Something for Brynjolf, something for Maven, nothing important - but then she hears the scruff of boots on gravel.
The guard who turns the corner and walks into the cemetery doesn't see anything but graves and grass.