Evil Quill Weave pt. 3

She opened the letter from her tailor in the Imperial City immediately upon receipt from the courier.

“Dear Mistress of Evil,” the letter started. Quill-Weave was happy to see that the Khajiit had addressed the letter appropriately as she had requested. Though of course the tailor knew full well who she was, it wouldn’t do to spread that word around too liberally.

“It is with the greatest of concern that I write this to you. Two days ago I happened upon that crazy mage I told you about. You remember, the one who sold me those rubies? Well we began to talk and it appears that they were enchanted! As best I can gather – you must understand the nutjob is very hard to comprehend – they are enchanted with an invisibility enchantment. If you touch the one with the skull engraving while repeating the word "Hej” three times, it will activate the others and the invisibility will be engaged. The word “Xhu” will disable it. I apologize deeply for this and will be more than happy to replace them with regular stones. You need only stop in the shop and I will gladly swap them out for you!“

Quill-Weave looked down at the red skull ruby on her bodice and smiled an evil smile.

"I bet you will!” she thought. “Didn’t know you were selling me an enchanted outfit did you?”

She decided to wait till the next day when Faceless Mook came back from his vacation to test it out on him.

The next morning she heard him enter downstairs and called down to him, “Be down in a few minutes Mooky. Please can you put the cat out for me?”

“Sure thing Mistress!” he called back.

She heard him downstairs and said the word three times while touching the stone. Nothing happened, but she also had no idea how it was supposed to work either. She then crept downstairs as silently as she could and heard him outside. She hid behind the door until he came back in. He went to his workbench and began working on the door latch again.

She silently walked around right in front of him, but there was no reaction. She was totally invisible to him! She smiled a toothy grin and crept back up the stairs.

After saying the words to disable the enchantment she returned down the stairs as if nothing had happened.

“Oh! Working on that latch again?”

“Yes Mistress. I really can’t figure out why it’s so much of a problem. Here, look… See, it’s really a very simple mechanism. The only thing I can figure is that the little axle gets stuck somehow.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m no good with such things Mooky. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Say, are the villagers still holding that festival tonight?”

Faceless Mook perked up at that. “Oh yes! It’s the talk of the village! I really wish you’d come. My wife is dying to meet you too. She forgives you for that whole salt thing.”

“Ah, well, tell them thanks. I’ve come to terms that I won’t be doing my Evil Deeds around here anyway. But really, it just wouldn’t be seemly for Evil Incarnate to show up and dance with a bunch of villagers now, would it?”

Her minion sighed. “I guess not. We’re going to have a big bonfire though! Really it would be so nice of you to join.”

“Well, I’ll think about it. Now I’m off to start planning my next Villainous Deed.”

“Okay, let me know if you need any help,” Mooky said, turning back to his work.

In fact, she was planning her next Villainous Deed. With her invisibility outfit, the idea was practically thrown into her lap. During the fall festival, Quill would activate her invisibility and create a jack-o-lantern. But this one would magically appear at the festival, floating on air! The superstitious rubes would freak out! Oh, maybe it wasn’t as Evil as some ideas, but she would definitely get a kick out of seeing them run screaming from the Magic Jack-O-Lantern. She grabbed a nice fat pumpkin from the garden out back and sequestered herself in her room with a knife and a spoon.

Three pumpkins later and she finally felt she had just the right look of menace on the pumpkin’s carved face. The fact that she’d managed to get pumpkin brains all over herself didn’t bother her since she’d wisely removed her Evil outfit beforehand. But she needed a bath.

“Hey Mooky? Could you make a bath for me?”

“Sure Mistress! I’ll start heating the water up now. But, can I leave early today after that? The wife wants me to get dressed up for the festival.”

“No problem. I’m going to go to bed early tonight anyway. Give her my regards. Just let me know when you leave.”

Some little while later, she heard her minion call up the stairs, “Okay Qu… I mean, Mistress. The bath is ready. I’ve left a towel and soap right beside it. I’m heading out now.”

“Okay, thank you Mookey! You’re the best!”

When she’d heard the door close, she went downstairs and climbed into the bath. The water was just right. She decided right then that, if she saw Faceless Mook and his wife at the festival, she’d steer clear of them. His wife really had been awfully accommodating to her, and she felt a little bad at having not met her yet.

The day turned to night and Quill was all prepared. She waited until the hour was getting late, then she crept towards the village. Keeping to the wooded area around the clearing, she could see all the townspeople gathered around a large bonfire. Most were dancing while a few were playing some crude instruments and others yet were obviously somewhat drunk and singing badly at the top of their voices. She waited until she spotted Mooky and a large woman she assumed to be his wife nearby. They were on the far side of the fire happily so she decided to focus her efforts nearby.

She touched the ruby and repeated the incantation. Then she lit the candle and placed it within the pumpkin. Raising it high overhead, she stepped out of the woods. As expected, many of the villagers pointed and shrieked. She waved the pumpkin up and down as she circled the fire. But instead of screaming and running away in terror, she noticed most of them just made a pathway for the haunted jack-o-lantern. While the children pointed, most of the adults just shushed them and made them look away.

A little frustrated, she blew out the candle and went back into the woods. While she’d obviously caused a bit of an uproar at first, it was certainly not the terrified spectacle she was expecting. She dropped the pumpkin in the woods and went back to her castle. Once again, the latch wasn’t working. She fiddled with it but finally sat down in front of the door in frustration. At least it wasn’t cold or raining, she thought.

Then a figure came out of the gloom. It was Faceless Mook, and she was glad to see him.

“MOOKY! Just the man I was looking for! This latch is stuck again.”

“Hi Mistress. Sure, give me just a second and I’ll get it open.”

True to his word, with a little help from a small tool he kept nearby he had the latch open.

Once inside, the little man sat down at the table.

“What is it Mooky? What brings you here tonight of all nights? Don’t you want to be at the festival?” she said, smiling a little.

“Well, yes, but the wife insisted I come and talk to you. I’m sorry Quill… I mean Mistress. But it’s kind of hard to talk while you’re naked.”

Quill looked at him puzzled and looked down at herself. “Naked? I’m not nak… Oh no. OH NO!!!”

Quill-Weave’s pupils went from her normal slits to fully dilated.

“Thanks for coming to the festival anyway, Mistress. But, it’s not really a fertility festival,” Mooky said.

“But… this morning! You… I…”

“It’s okay Mistress. I know you’re a little eccentric in your dressing habits. But the rest of the villagers don’t know you that well. I… well, I suggest you wear clothes pretty much all the time when you come into the village, even if you sometimes don’t around here.”

………………………

Dear Mae the Tailor,

I thank you for your letter of yesterday. However, in the future I would appreciate it if you could be a little more PRECISE in your language. I’m afraid I misunderstood a critical aspect of your missive.

I will be in next week to have suitable alterations made to the garment.

Sincerely,

Your Mistress of Evil

Evil Quill Weave pt. 2

Author’s note: Images blatantly and obviously edited from Kazerad’s original Evil Quill-Weave posts. I don’t think he’ll mind. I really like this one. And it’s almost not lewd! (almost). Thanks to the discord folks on UPD5 for providing me with the worst imaginable names for Evil Quill-Weave by the way!

“You need a name if you’re going to be an arch-villain you know,” said the
Faceless Mook. “You can’t just be some nameless mystery villain.”

Quill-Weave sat back on her new throne of skulls. Well, it was painted like
skulls anyway. “I know, I know. But it’s so hard to come up with a good name.
Got any ideas?”

“How about Quill-Reave?”

Quill wrinkled her face in disgust. “No. Lady something. Or maybe Mistress something.”

“Lady Quill-Reave?”

“Too close to my real name too. No, it needs to bear some reflection on me
though. Something unique.”

“Baddy Two-Tits?”

The wine spurted from her nose. “Cute.”

“Mistress Cannonball Rack?”

“If possible, see if you can take your mind out of my cleavage and think!
Maybe something random…”

“Lady Kazerad”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What kind of name is Kazerad?”

“A shitty one.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes sense.”

“Um… Kill-Weave?”

Quill sighed. “I told you, it’s hard! Let’s go with that for now. But I retain the option to change it later! For now, Mistress Kill-Weave will do.”

“And I suppose I’m just supposed to call you Mistress?”

“Of course! Like all good minions do.”

Faceless Mook stood up from the ebony (colored) table and stretched, “Well,
Mistress, I’m going to call it a day. The wife said I have to be home early today to help clean up the hovel.”

“You don’t tell her where you go every day do you?

“Of course I do. Quill…”

“Mistress!”

“Sorry – Mistress, she’s my wife. I tell her everything I do.”

“What do you tell her?”

“I tell her I’m going back to that crazy Argonian’s tower.”

“And… she doesn’t mind?”

“Not when I bring back money every day.”

“What if we were having an affair? What about that?” Quill asked, rather insulted.

“If I was bringing back money every day, she’d call me a gigolo. And then take
the money.”

“You don’t tell her where my secret lair is, do you?”

“Quill…”

“MISTRESS!”

“Mistress, everyone in the village knows where your secret lair is.”

“They do?”

“They do.”

“Do they cower in fear?”

“Not… precisely. But the carpenter did say nice things about you after you bought that chair from him.”

“Throne.”

“Sorry, ‘Throne’”

“Throne of Skulls.”

“Throne of Carved Skulls. Carved, painted skulls.”

“Well dammit, where am I supposed to get real skulls at anyway?”

“There’s always the graveyard.”

“EWWW! That’s just gross!”

“Sorry Mistress. But I gotta be going.”

“Alright, but I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Noon.”

“Bright and early tomorrow at noon then.”

“Goodnight Quill.”

“MISTRESS!!!”

“Goodnight Mistress,” said the Faceless Mook, as he removed his Mook outfit and put on his regular clothes and walked out the door, taking care to jiggle the
handle so it latched properly.

“Well, every villain has to start with what she has available,” the Mistress of Evil thought to herself. “Now, I need to start thinking about the future. I have to do something Evil. What canI do that’s Evil tonight? Hmmm…”

She rose from her throne and began the ascent to her bedroom. As she rounded the circular stairs to the top of the tower, she looked out from one of the small arched windows.

“No, you peed out the window last night. Besides, then I’d just have to clean it
up again in the morning. Something even more Evil than that…”

Eventually she gave up, removed her Evil garb, and continued her writing. She found that her writing was inspired by these monthly trips to her lair at least. It wasn’t till she had climbed into bed that she finally got an idea. Suddenly she was wide awake. Those stupid villagers. They were probably talking about the crazy Argonian lady even now. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all! She had to inspire fear, and if she couldn’t even get those rubes to fear her, what was the point?

But now she had a plan. It would have to wait until they were all asleep, but then she would strike!

She heard the bats flying in and out of the attic above her. Mooky had wanted to clear them out, but she knew better. They were atmosphere. The dungeon was even better. The manacles were a bit pricey, and they hadn’t a speck of nice authentic rust on them yet, but they were necessary. She’d considered buying a rack, but those things were damnably expensive! The carpenter could make a fake one she guessed.

Finally the candle had burned low and she estimated it must be after midnight. She smiled a toothy grin that would have made an alligator proud and donned her villain outfit again. She only got her tail stuck once this time and felt she was getting better at it. Then she took the remains of her candle and crept down the stairs, pausing momentarily to get what she needed.

Then she slunk out into the cool night air. Before she’d gotten halfway to the village, she realized it was too cool. A breeze was coming up as a storm approached. Suddenly a bolt of lightning flashed in the distance and the slow rolling rumble of thunder swelled.

“That’s more like it,” she thought. “This is a night for Evil. Tonight, Mistress
Kill-Weave will strike fear into the hearts of those who would mock her! Crazy Argonian indeed! I’ll show them crazy!”

The moonlight disappeared as the racing clouds covered it just as she neared the outskirts of the village. Just as she’d hoped, the lights were all out and not a sound was heard, but for a dog yapping from some far-away hut.

Suddenly she realized something.

“What if they have a dog?”

As she approached the door of the nearest hut she looked around her for signs of any pet. Her worries were dispelled when she saw the yellow eyes of a black cat watching her. “No, no dogs here!” she realized.

As if in assurance, the cat padded over to her and stroked itself against her leg. For a moment she wondered if cats could breathe underwater, but banished the thought as irrelevant and unproductive. Instead, she slid from shadow to shadow until she was at the door. She tried the latch.

“Unlocked. Of course. The innocent peons,” she laughed to herself. Soon they would lock their doors and bolt their windows every night now that Mistress Kill-Weave was near! The door opened directly into the kitchen, and was as silent as she was. It took only a little time to find what she was looking for.

When she emerged, the storm was growing stronger and threatening to unleash it’s fury any minute as flash after flash of lightning guided her back to her lair. It was as if her own dark lord’s will was at play. The howl of the wind was now growing and she laughed out loud, knowing the scene of chaos that would present itself in the morning. The laugh, lost on the wind, was the perfect cackle of an Evil Overlord.

Still, she thought, damn but these leggings are thin. The wind raced right up her dress and sent a shiver over her that was at once thrilling and damned embarrassing. Maybe she shouldn’t have worn the Evil Outfit after all.

Suddenly something slapped her hard in the face as the wind caught hold of her dress in earnest and blew the front of it smack into her snout. She pushed it away, and used her tail to hold down the back side.

And then the rain started. It went from dry to monsoon in less than a second. As she staggered towards the tower through the woods, she realized her high-heels were no longer appropriate in the rain. She would definitely need to get boots. She removed her shoes, then remembered that she would ruin her leggings if she tried walking in them. Those things weren’t cheap either. She wondered momentarily if leather was okay to get wet, but decided it was pointless now. She did what was necessary and removed the leggings and tucked them under one arm as her other tried in vain to keep the front of her dress down with her free hand.

She was no longer feeling a thrill at having a breeze blow up her dress. Now she just felt cold, wet, and naked. Miserable. She recalled Mae’s admonition, “Be that woman.” Well, that woman wouldn’t be in this mess. But she saw the tower just ahead and at least she was almost safe within its walls where she could dry off and try and salvage some dignity. At least no one had seen her.

But something had seen her. Suddenly she saw two glowing yellow eyes. The cat. It was hissing as it bounded towards her. She tried to avoid it before she stepped on it, but it let out a yowl as she tripped over it and she fell headlong into the mud just in front of the tower door. The leggings were buried in mud. Slime and muck dripped from her forehead as she raised her head to look at the door she’d almost reached, and some of the water that flowed down her cheeks was not rain.

She staggered up again, now filthy as well as wet and reached the door. The latch wouldn’t budge. She pounded on the door, but the latch diligently did its duty and stayed latched. She slid down and cried.

Only a merciful God could explain why the door gave way when she was at her most wretched, but open it did and she crawled in.

Eventually her tears dried up. She peeled herself out of the wet leather dress, found a towel, and dried herself off. Then she half-walked and half crawled up the stairs to her room and wriggled into bed. A few tears found their way out that apparently she’d saved up when she thought of the beautiful outfit she’d surely ruined.

When she awoke, an afternoon sun was shining through the window. A fresh set of clothes was waiting on the nearby table that she stared at uncomprehendingly for a while. Then she realized she was laying across the bed in her normal posture upon awakening, her upper body slung over the edge. She felt oddly breezy too.

Then she remembered the night’s disaster and realized she was still naked. Somebody had been in here and put those clothes out for her. She closed her eyes and fought to make circumstances different by sheer willpower. It didn’t work. She got out of bed and put on the clothes and went downstairs.

“Good afternoon, Mistress!” Faceless Mook said in greeting.

She wasn’t sure if the man could see the blush on her face. “Good afternoon Mooky. I suppose that was you who left the clothes?”

“Sure was Miss Nipless! I saw your outfit by the door when I came in too. Took ‘em to my wife. Look here. Good as new!”

Suddenly Quill-Weave’s attitude brightened considerably. She took the proffered clothes and held them up. They were as advertised. Even the leggings showed no sign of the previous night’s disaster.

“Oh, Mooky! THANK YOU!” Quill said, tears of joy running down her cheeks as she gave him a hug fit for another Argonian.

“Aww, wasn’t nothing. My wife did most of the work. She’s a wizard with laundry. You should meet her sometime.”

“I will! I will!”

“We figured you got stuck out in that storm last night. It was an awful storm. You must have been soaked.”

“Oh I was. But I made it back. Eventually.”

"Well, all’s well that ends well. Now, come and sit down. The wife made you something special for your troubles.”

The cake on the table looked like it was made by an angel. Quill walked over to it, her eyes wide and sparkling.

“For me?”

“Of course it’s for you! Here, I’ve cut you a slice already. Say, what were you doing out there last night anyway?”

“I… well… I was doing something… evil.”

“Oh! What did you do? Kill some innocent animal or something?”

“No. I started thinking about what you said. About the villagers. That business about the crazy Argonian lady. I took my revenge!”

Suddenly the face on the Faceless Mook became worried.

“Really? Your first real Evil Deed? What did you do?”

“Mooky, I did the most evil thing imaginable. I sneaked into someone’s house and…”

“Yes? What did you DO Mistress?!”

“I… replaced their sugar with… SALT!” she said with an evil grin as she stuffed a big bite of cake into her mouth.

After two full glasses of water, she was able to talk again. But she didn’t say anything. She just sat on her skull throne, sobbing miserably. She didn’t even see Faceless Mook take the cake away and throw it into the trash bin. He left quietly after that, deciding that she probably wanted to be left alone.

Shipping Consequences pt. 3 (end)

Katia gave Quill-Weave a hug as her and Rajirra left the Argonian’s home to get a room at the nearby inn. However, Quill-Weave held Katia for a moment and looked at her with an odd expression that Katia didn’t recognize.

“Katia…” Quill-Weave started, unusually hesitant.

“What is it Quill? What’s wrong?”

When she replied, her words were quiet, obviously meant to not be overheard by Rajirra who was waiting outside. “You’re… sure about this right? I mean, you and Rajirra?”

Katia looked at her puzzled, then understanding dawned in her eyes. “Oh, you mean about her sex. I know. I had no idea myself! It’s a little embarrassing to talk to you about it, knowing about you and your friend in Chorrol, but yeah! We’re quite… compatible in that department. Who knew I, of all people, would fall in love with a woman!?”

“Certainly not me,” Quill-Weave said, but Katia felt there was still something not being spoken.

“Quill, I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and visit with you for a bit after we’ve got everything lined up at the chapel. But yes, I’m very sure. We love each other very much. We’ll be very happy together, I’m sure!”

“Well, alright. If you’re sure. Goodnight Katia,” Quill said and closed the door.

“What did she want?” Rajirra asked as Katia rejoined her and they headed next door.

“Oh, what any good friend would want. She wanted to make sure I was confident I was doing the right thing.”

“And… are you… confident?”

“Never more in my life,” Katia said and gave her partner an earnest kiss as proof.

The next day was a whirlwind of activity for both Katia and Rajirra. While, of course, they had few guests to worry about, both still wanted to do the wedding right so they spent the morning getting all the preparations into place. Finally, Katia left Rajirra to do some last-minute decorations in the Chapel while she went to talk to Quill-Weave.

The Argonian opened the door graciously enough, but something appeared to be wrong with her face.

“I’m sorry, Katia. I’ve just gotten something in my eyes,” she said, wiping tears away. “But come on in, it’s alright. But I did want to talk to you a little before tomorrow.”

“Sorry to hear that Quill. Have you tried flushing your eyes out with clean water?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. But about Rajirra. How much do you really know about her? I mean, you haven’t been gone all that long.”

“I know. It’s been kind of a love-at-second-sight sort of deal. Oh she hated me at first! If it wasn’t for that joke Sigrid pulled on me I doubt I’d have ever seen her again. Which might have been a good thing because I was non-too-kindly disposed towards her after she left me locked in with that giant Imp either! But the feelings we felt for each other afterwards, even after we confronted Sigrid, were real. Still are. And Cyrodiil isn’t a place you want to wait too long on such decisions either!”

“But… when I met you, you were so… well, to not put too fine a point on it, so heterosexual.”

“I know right? I think it was because sex with men was the one thing I was so good at that I never thought about any other way. Had I known myself better, that night with you would have been just as uncomfortable for me!”

“But, it wasn’t?”

“Oh Quill, no. After all you did for me, I’d never dream of taking advantage of you in that way. You’re the best!”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t?”

Katia stopped, trying to understand what her friend was saying.

Quill looked away, but explained, “…that you wouldn’t dream of me.”

Suddenly Katia understood. “Oh Quill… Quill, you should have let me know! All this time I… I had no idea Quill!”

She tried to give Quill-Weave a hug, but the Argonian pushed her away. “Quill, I don’t know what to say!”

“I’m sorry Katia. Please leave. I don’t want you to see me right now.”

“Quill, if you don’t want to come to the wedding, I understand. I’ll just tell Rajirra you were sick or something. Really, you don’t have to come.”

The Argonian turned to face her, her eyes even redder than their usual orange hue. “I’m sorry Katia. I… just can’t.”

“You should have told me, Quill. I’ll…” Katia stammered, trying to find words.

“No. It’s alright,” Quill said, escorting Katia to the door. “I want you to be happy Katia. You understand, I just can’t do it. Now go. Goodbye Katia Managan.”

“Goodbye Quill-Weave. I do thank you for everything, sincerely.”

Katia stepped out of Quill-Weave’s house for the last time and heard the latch close behind her. And then she heard a sound she’d never heard before, the subdued wailing of a heartbroken Argonian.

The wedding, though sparsely attended, was nonetheless going smoothly until the fateful line was spoken by the priest…

“Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?”

As if to punctuate the line, a pounding and a scream was heard behind them and above them, behind the stained glass rose window. It cried only one word, “Katia!”

Rajirra turned to Katia, who looked at the vague silhouette visible behind the window, then back to her lover. She shook her head.

“Ignore her Rajirra. It is you I love,” Katia said, then turned to the priest who wasn’t quite sure what to make of the awkward interruption.

“I do. Now and forever.” she said to him clearly and strongly for all to hear. The shadow at the window disappeared and was not seen again.

Shipping Consequences pt. 2

Quill-Weave took the letter to her friends at The Count’s Arms to see if they could make heads or tails of it. She had gleaned a little actual information from it at least. It was definitely written by Katia and posted from Kvatch. She was pretty sure it indicated she and a friend named Rajirra were arriving this evening. The only other bit she could understand was that she had failed to get her book replaced. To call it a disappointment, especially after all this time, was really not accurate. To be disappointed you first have to anticipate ‘appoint’ment. The fact that the Khajiit was still alive was actually a relief. Beyond that it was a disjointed mess of mangled words and names that made no sense at all. In fact, it seemed that Katia wrote far better when drunk than sober – assuming she was sober when she wrote the letter anyway.

Of course, her friends were of little help. They kept asking her embarrassing questions like, “Who wrote this?”. Well, if Katia were really going to arrive tonight she’d find out soon enough. So she went back home and began cleaning up her small house. She was none too sure if Katia was planning to stay at her place or not. With a third person it would be awfully cramped. Still, she wanted to be hospitable if she possibly could. She did take the time to hide the hard liquor however.

Finally just before sunset a knock came at the door. Although her clothes were different, there was no mistaking the yellow cat with the big eyes that stood at her doorstep. Behind her stood another Khajiit who, other than the long hair behind her head, looked like she could be Katia’s twin. However, Quill-Weave was aware of her own racial prejudices, having borne the brunt of some of them herself.

“Katia! Welcome back! Come in, come in! And this must be Rajirra!”

Katia’s expression went from worry to happiness at her words. “Oh! So you did get my letter! Yes, this is my betrothed, Rajirra!”

“Come on in, let’s sit in the parlor. So you just came from Kvatch then?” Quill said, greeting the newcomer warmly.

“This one has, and appreciates your hospitality Quill-Weave. Katia has told me much of your helpfulness to her when first she arrived in Cyrodiil,” Rajirra said, her eyes darting around the room and her speech patterns recalling the standard Khajiit aversion to using first person pronouns directly.

Quill-Weave directed them towards the couch in her living room while she turned back to close the door, when she realized what Katia had said. “Betrothed.” Something in her heart sank and her expression changed drastically. Her mind raced, trying to make all the connections needed to comprehend her words. Katia was marrying another Khajiit? A female Khajiit? But… what about her Gaydar? Was it on the blink? All these thoughts and more went through her head in a second, before she’d turned back to her guests and she tried to resume her former appearance. She felt she did a good job, save for a nervous tick of a nictitating membrane.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write before Quill. And sorrier still about your book. You’re okay with it then I hope? I wrote you all about it.”

Quill-Weave sat down in the big overstuffed armchair and leaned back. “I am, though let’s just say I’d rather hear about it from you directly. Tell me all about it Katia.”

And the yellow Khajiit proceeded to do just that. As her story went on, Quill restrained herself from commenting overmuch, and showed the proper responses to Katia’s recitation of her joyous recognition of her magical talents as well as her terrible defeat at the hands of Sigrid. But what Quill was really doing was studying her body language. The way she looked to Rajirra, the way they touched and the way Rajirra returned her affection. It was getting harder to keep her smile in place.

“Quite an adventure! But really, don’t worry about the book. To be honest, I’ve already written to the bookseller there. I’m afraid I didn’t think I’d see you again. But I’m very happy to have been wrong about that.”

Katia’s tail twitched in embarrassment, “After last time I was here, I find that hard to believe. Don’t worry, I’ve told Rajirra about… my issues.”

“Yes,” Rajirra assured Katia, patting her hand. “In our more intimate moments, she has impressed this one with her talents with fruit as well. But these talents will no longer be performed publicly.”

Quill had to laugh at that. “That is good! But then, why have you come all the way back here Katia? Surely you could find a priest of Mara in Kvatch?”

“Why, Quill-Weave! Didn’t you read my letter? I came for your blessing. You know I don’t communicate with my parents and you are the closest thing I have to a mother who can give me that. You cared for me when I badly needed caring for. I couldn’t get married without you!”

“Your mother eh? You know I’m not that much older than you…” Quill trailed off, suddenly realizing that perhaps, in fact, she was.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply…” Katia began but Rajirra cut her off.

“No offense was intended, this one is certain oh hospitable one. We Khajiit have little experience with Argonian ages and appearance. This one is certain that you have many fewer years than we might assume.”

“Did you just tell me you think I’m not as old as I look?” Quill-Weave asked, no longer sure how much she appreciated this Katia clone.

Rajirra’s face turned to fear and she looked to Katia to help intercede, “This one did not intend to offend!”

Katia tried to come to her rescue, “Well, you dress sort of… older… I mean… Oh I’m sorry Quill! I don’t think of your age, I just know how much you helped me! Oh Raj, we’re screwing this up.”

Quill stood up and sighed. “No. No need Katia. I’m just in an odd mood. I’m prone to hear insults where they’re not intended. Rajirra, relax. It’s okay. I suppose I do dress a bit conservative. But I assure you both, I’m not that old. Now let me get you something to drink. You must be thirsty from your long trip. What would you like?”

Rajirra fairly sank back behind Katia, who responded “Oh, anything really. Water? Fruit juice?”

“Milk?” Quill-Weave suggested.

Katia’s eyes darkened, “Are you being racist Quill?”

“Oh no, not at all! Just offering what I have available, that’s all.”

Katia looked to Rajirra who nodded slightly.

“Well then… um… yes. Some milk would actually be quite nice!” Katia admitted.

Quill went to the kitchen, and pulled down two saucers, but then poured two glasses instead. Of course she would never actually serve them milk in platters, but it would have been appropriate since they obviously must think they were little kittens, to think she could be Katia’s mother! But no, she would remain civil. However, if they did stay overnight, she was pretty sure Rajirra would find something nasty in her long, luxurious yellow hair in the morning.

A Day in the Life of an Argonian Writer

(just a silly thing I wrote. All images shamelessly stolen from Kazerad except one from Furnut, credited.)

7:00am – Wake up. This is not a trivial endeavor. Depending on prior evening’s alcoholic consumption, this task alone may require up to an hour to complete successfully. Yet it is a necessary and vital task, so do not skimp. Continuing on to other steps without proper completion of this will result in less-than-optimal experiences. Toothpicks on the eyelids are not a substitute.

8:00am – Get up. Note that this is a separate task than that mentioned previously. More than likely you will find yourself in an embarrassing and muscle-aching position after hours of comatose inactivity. Stretch your muscles, crack any joints that need cracking and scratch your ass. Slither your way into the bathroom. Remember, your ancestors were reptilian. There is no need to feel embarrassed. Perambulation on only two limbs is overrated. You were given four and a tail by Nature. It is no disparagement to use them all in this time of crisis. Upon arrival in your bathroom, complete all natural and necessary functions. Then get yourself into a bath at the earliest possible opportunity. You stink. Also, recall that oral hygiene is of high importance. Brush your teeth. It is also suggested to brush your tongue. Given the size of that particular body part on you, it is perfectly acceptable to use a scrub brush rather than a tooth brush.

9:00am – You are now refreshed and ready to take on the day. However, keep in mind that you are also now naked. You may have been so before, but at that time modesty was of little importance. Now would be a good time to quietly peer about your bedroom to verify it is free of other occupants. Should you encounter any unexpected sentient beings in your room, wrapping a towel around yourself is suggested. If this does prove necessary, keep in mind that your tail will prevent proper and complete coverage. Keep that tail down. Then oust the offending interloper from your room in whatever way seems fit and find clothes. Do not wear the same clothes you wore the previous day. The reasons for this rule are many and need not be discussed here. Hopefully you can find an acceptably clean outfit.

9:30am – Breakfast time! Once again, verify your solitude first. Open a window and feel the fresh breezes of Anvil. The scents from the nearby ocean should remind you of just how close you are to the sea. Now close the window and regret the inhalation of the stench of rotting fish. But do NOT succumb to your instinct and seek to break your fast with more alcoholic beverages. Remember, fruit and nuts are available and cheap. You may even find some dairy and sweet bread. Pork products are the traditional meat breakfast for the Urban Argonian. Do try not to rip and shred your breakfast with your sharp pointy teeth. Try to chew it like the cud-eating flat-toothers do. When you have sufficiently frustrated yourself, go ahead and tear in.

10:00am – Clean up the mess you made. Now it is time to get to work. For one last time, double check your solitude, ready your work space, double check the lock on your door and the shutters on your window. If privacy is assured you may now dress for work properly. It is not necessary to remove ALL clothing. Remember, your goal here is to remove all possible distractions, not to awaken new ones. Make yourself comfortable. Now, review all notes and your previous day’s work, if any.

11:00am – Continue staring at blank piece of paper.

12:00am – LUNCH TIME! Dress yourself properly again (do not forget this step) and head out to whatever comestibles establishment you desire. Do NOT go to the bar again. Save that for later. You’ll need it. If you decide to eat at the establishment, try to conform as well as possible to the norms of human society as befits a well-traveled Argonian. Be courteous and polite. However, do not attempt to smile at other humans. The expression tends to frighten them as they know you are hungry at this time of day. Should you encounter any acquaintances, do not let them know you have seen them and try to escape. If not possible, go ahead and dine with them. They are your fellow citizens after all. Do NOT offer to pick up the tab, especially before food is ordered however. Experience shows that making such a heinous mistake inevitably leads to the ordering of multiple Filet Mignons. Decline the offers of another drink after the meal is done. You have work to do!

1:00pm – Return home. Re-lock the doors, recheck for stray Khajiits, and resume your standard working attire. By this time, the blank page may have become annoying. Failing renewed inspiration, try starting by writing this:

“It was a dark and stormy night.”

Cliche, sure, but it’s better than staring at a blank page. Search your imagination. Surely you can come up with SOMETHING to write about! If the clock continues to click and the last word you wrote continues to be “night”, you can now consider removing the rest of your apparel. SOME distraction may, in fact, be necessary.

(IMAGE BY FURNUT: https://inkbunny.net/furnut5158 )

2:00pm – Stare in horror at the pornography you have just written. Scan the smut for anything even remotely imaginative, then destroy all evidence. If fire codes allow, ignite the paper in a fire-proof area and watch it burn. If not, ingestion is a viable alternative. Resume your working position and for god’s sake put your clothes back on! Look at clock. It should now be at least 2:30pm and you have done absolutely nothing of worth. You need inspiration. Go find something to inspire you. Do not refer to the magazine you keep under your mattress. That is not the kind of inspiration you need now. If all else fails, go for a walk.

3:00pm – As you amble about the beautiful city of Anvil, take in the sights around you. Eavesdrop on some citizen’s conversation, for inspiration OR for later blackmail fodder. All information is valuable. Stop wondering if small animals can breathe underwater. They cannot and societal norms will be transgressed if you endeavor to find out. Should you encounter a fellow Argonian in your rambling, be sure and switch to Jel before making snide and hurtful comments about the humans. Avoid any Khajiit’s you may come across. One is quite enough.

4:00pm – Back to work again. Follow aforementioned procedures to secure your privacy and resume your place at your work space. If you are STILL lacking inspiration, write about what you saw in your walk. No need to be too creative here, just describe what you saw so that you are writing something. Describe the crumbling building you avoided, or perhaps the stinky Nord that you walked too close to. What was he wearing? What kind of weapon did he have? What were the stains in his beard from? Surely there’s something you can write about. Keep in mind that ALL writing is helpful to your craft, even that thing you burnt in the sink earlier.

5:00pm – You made it! QUITTING TIME! You may now put away your writing materials. Spare a few minutes to celebrate (if you actually wrote anything of value) or to sulk (if not). Both can be accomplished by laying on your couch with a book covering your eyes. Make sure it’s a worthy book though. Osmosis has not been conclusively proven to NOT happen this way. Banging on the book’s cover to try and force some of it’s author’s brilliance into your head may be helpful. Remember that in nearly all medical research, some benefits are always attributable to the placebo effect.

6:00pm – Stop moping (or, on rare occasions, celebrating). Time to write to Casta. If you have followed these instructions properly, you will NOT be drunk and you will NOT write her a drunken emotional-wreck letter this time. Being both your mentor and your only significant other, it is important to maintain a loving relationship with her. It is fine to tell her how beautiful her eyes are. It is not appropriate to go into detail about other body parts, as you have been known to do when inebriated. If you have not followed these instructions, do not attempt to write to her. If you do write a letter in that state in spite of these well-intentioned instructions, be sure at least to post it via flame-and-smoke mail into the sink. Of course, the fact that it’s the best writing you’ve done all day may be yet another reason for your 8:00pm visit to the tavern.

7:00pm – Read a book. It is important for all writers to read as well. If you feel inspired, write a critique of what you read. Try not to simply make a list of all grammatical and spelling errors, but also note both the good and bad aspects of the work you read. Find some. What did the author do that could be worth imitation or that you should be sure to steer clear of? If a work of fiction, pay attention to how he introduced new characters or situations. Did he come up with a name that fit? How did he deal with transitions and relationships? Be sure and keep tissues handy, even if it’s not a tearjerker. When you realize how much better the writer is than you, you will need it.

8:00pm – Now it’s officially booze-o-clock. Time to visit your second home. Try to strike up a conversation with others, if they don’t know you already. For those who do, see if they might let you talk with them again anyway. Remember, it’s always better to engage with absolutely anyone but the bartender. He knows you too well already. Also he has the power to cut you off. It’s usually best to talk with non-attractive people too. They don’t have anything better to do. Remember, you need to listen as well as talk. Yes, you’ll have to listen to their sob story about some husband or daughter or son being mauled by a bear or something. But if you want them to listen to you go on at length about the woes of being a writer, you have to put up with some of their whining.

9:00pm – Probably time to switch to another target by now. Also, order some food. Once again, you are surrounded by herbivore flat-teeth types. Try and keep your awesomely sharp teeth from frightening them too much. It might be best to sit at the bar for your dining. Be careful not to use your Gaydar at the bar. The bartender knows that trick.

10:00pm – Verify that at least the most essential clothing is still attached. The bartender will likely be making noises about having had ‘enough’. (As if he has a clue how much is ‘enough’ for an Argonian!) If circumstances allow, you may now begin to sing your favorite three-decades-old renditions of Black Marsh anthems. Ask others to join in for the chorus. Disregard any protests as clear evidence of the crowd’s interest and heighten your volume.

11:00pm – Look up at the stars circling overhead and marvel at their beauty. Disregard the pain in your rump where the bartender kicked you. Life is a pain in the rump, so roll with it. But do not try to roll home. Experience shows that it just gets you dizzy and makes people laugh at you. Besides, it’s difficult to tell what direction you are heading when rolling down the street singing Black Marsh anthems. Clockwise and Counter-Clockwise are not directions. If someone offers to help you home, be appreciative and try not to vomit on them.

12:00am – Verify surroundings are indeed, YOUR home. Also verify no new Khajiits have wandered in. If any Khajiit is found in your bedroom, do not inquire further. Leave the house and return in the morning, even if it means sleeping on the ground beside your house.

-UPDATE: Do NOT sleep underneath your bedroom window in these circumstances!

If house is Khajiit-free, slither up the stairs. Your creator gave you all those extra appendages for a reason. USE them. Use the bathroom before retiring to your bed also. It’s there for a reason. You may now safely remove clothing for your bedtime. Do one final check that no one is in it first before getting in.

1:00am – If you are still awake, cry yourself to sleep and remember that you can do better tomorrow. You may take this time to compose pitiable laments to your lover. No matter how heartfelt and significant they may seem to you at this time, there is no harm in them, and no need to burn them either. Do not worry, they will be completely illegible in the morning and thus can be safely ignored. In the morning, if you are running low on toilet paper, these make an excellent substitute.

(Repeat as needed)

Dodger: Continuation (6)

“So, what do you think? Want to get arrested?” Yellow-Eyes asked Dodger as they were eating a fine breakfast in their room.

Yellow-Eyes had left early in the morning to pick up the money Veronica had left. Dodger was beginning to understand more about him as well as the secrecy necessary. She didn’t ask to come along or where the drop-off point was. It was something she didn’t need to know.

“Of course! What do you have in mind?”

“Just some petty thievery. Steal something from a shop or something. You have to do it in a way that looks like you are trying not to get caught, but you have to be sure you get caught too. Think you can pull that off?”

“Oh sure! They’re not going to cut my hands off or anything though, right?”

“No no. That’s the Thieves Guild. But even they won’t mess with a rookie who gets caught her first time.”

“What about you?”

“Leave that to me. By the way, I’m your father in this situation. No need for a name though. You’d just call me ‘dad’.”

“And me? What will you call me?” Dodger asked, getting excited about the role-playing now.

“Runt.”

“RUNT?”

“Come on. Let’s go find me some pants first,” he said, getting up from the small table and stretching his legs. “Don’t leave anything important here. We won’t be back till tomorrow.”

The two left the inn and Yellow-Eyes led her to a rather seedy area just outside the walls, but he knew just where he was going and they soon were looking over clothes in a large used clothing shop. The shopkeeper pointed them to a corner where Argonian clothes were kept. In no time Yellow-Eyes was properly dressed in a decent pair of trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. While clearly not new, the holes weren’t too noticeable and they were surprisingly clean, given the source.

“And now, it’s time to break the law,” Yellow-Eyes said quietly, nodding towards a small fruit stand after they’d returned to the city. “There’s a city guard just down the street. Should be perfect.”

Dodger swallowed hard. This was the real deal, and she knew she was going to get caught too. She was about to go to prison for the first time in her life. She looked back at Yellow-Eyes, hesitation in her every feature.

“It’s okay Dodger. If you don’t want to do it, no problem. I can go in without you. But they’re pretty tough on adults. No so much on teens or parents. I’m using you, and you should know it.”

Dodger thought about that. He was using her. He was honest, but he was using her innocence and naivete to get himself into the Imperial prison with the least chance of being roughed up by potentially aggressive city guards.

“Clever, but it still sends me to prison,” she thought.

Yellow-Eyes may not be a bad person, and he seemed inordinately honest with her, but he wasn’t above using her for his own ends either. She would have to keep that in mind.

She drew a deep breath, and headed to the fruit stand. Yellow-Eyes stayed some distance off, apparently browsing a nearby shop’s wares. Dodger grabbed an orange and stuffed it down her pants and awaited the alarms.

Nothing happened. She looked at the shopkeeper. He was looking right at her!

She grabbed another and down it went.

Nothing. He was smiling at her!

She reached for another when finally he spoke.

“Okay, that’s enough Miss. No more freebies,” he said kindly but with increasing sternness.

She grabbed another and stared back at him defiantly. Her pants had some very odd looking lumps in them now.

“Now stop it or I’ll call the guard. You can’t just steal from me, you know! I pay the Guild!”

Now her stare turned into a smile as she grabbed another and held it over the waistband of her pants, daring him to do something. Finally, he broke.

“GUARD! GUARD!” he yelled, his face turning red. For good measure, Dodger grabbed the last orange and pulled open her waistband in the back, preparing to drop it down her butt.

A strong hand caught her, “Here here, what’s going on?” said a gruff voice. The iron grip told her all she needed to know.

“This lizard girl was stealing my oranges! Right in front of me!”

“RUNT!” came a familiar voice. “What trouble have you gotten into this time?”

Yellow-Eyes came walking briskly over to her, his attitude completely that of a long-suffering father for his wayward teen.

She spun around to face the guard who had taken the doomed orange before it was lost to edibility forever.

“She’s got 5 more stuffed in her pants, Sir!” the shopkeeper said, his rage calming.

“Oh no,” Yellow-Eyes said, shaking his head. “Not again. Runt, give them back.”

She reached down her pants and pulled one out, then stuffed it back under her tail.

“Officer! DO SOMETHING!”

Dodger sat down. Hard. The smell of orange juice was obvious.

“Do you want to press charges, Ed?” the guard said to the shopkeeper.

“One moment, officer. Can I speak to you in private a moment?” Yellow-Eyes said conspiratorially to the guard.

Dodger sat with a big smile on her face as her ‘Father’ took the guard aside and they talked quietly. They spoke for some time before she saw the guard nod and they turned back.

“That’s it, Miss. You’re going to the Imperial prison. Your father tells me you’ve done this before. Well, it’s time you learned your lesson. Maybe a night in prison will straighten you up!”

Meanwhile, Yellow-Eyes was handing some coins to the vendor. “Serves you right, you little thief!” the shopkeeper said as she was led away, an orange stain growing on her backside.

She couldn’t help giggling.

Two hours later as they were being led through the prison gates, she had decided that the feel of squished orange pulp all over her tail and bottom was not nearly as funny as it had been.

Dodger: Continuation (4)

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK KNOCK

She waited a moment, then put the key in the lock and opened the door. Yellow-Eyes was still on the bed but awake as she set the plates down and locked the door behind her.

“Everything okay?” he asked taking a plate.

“Yeah. A couple of guys tried to pick my pocket, but no problem. I didn’t have any money there anyway, thanks to you. Apparently there’s a Thieves Guild in this town!”

“Of course. Not uncommon in a city of this size.”

“They called you ‘Kem’.”

Yellow-Eyes didn’t even pause. Between mouthfuls, he grunted, “Yeah. They call me that here.”

“Which is your real name then?”

“Neither. Can you get me some water from the table?”

Dodger crossed to the table, filled a mug from a pitcher there, and brought it back.

“Well, what’s the plan? Are we going to see your friend?”

“No. She’ll come here.”

“She?”

Yellow-Eyes looked up. “Yes. She.”

“But you said…”

“That was before I knew you were coming along. Besides, it’s always best to hold some details back, or confuse them.”

Another note for her notebook, Dodger thought. “When?”

He resumed eating. “Don’t know. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

“So, we’re just going to stay here?”

“I am. You do whatever you want. Go see the city. Just watch yourself.”

Dodger sat on the floor cross-legged and dug into her dinner in earnest. Once she started eating, it was all she could do to keep from wolfing it all down at once. It was as if her body was reminded how long it had been since she’d last eaten – and how little it had been even then. It wasn’t till her plate had been picked clean that she looked up. Yellow-Eyes was watching her.

“You okay?” he asked.

Dodger wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Fine. Sorry. I was pretty hungry I guess.”

“I guess!”

“Well, I think I’ll take a look around anyway. You’re really just going to stay here?”

Yellow-Eyes nodded.

“Okay. I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Two knocks, then two,” he said as she was walking out, though this time she looked both ways down the hallway before she turned back.

“Wait, we’re going to change the knocks every time? Why?”

“Someone might have heard you last time.”

“You’re paranoid. You know that, right?”

“Two knocks, then two more. I’ll keep the key and lock up behind you.” he said.

She tossed the key back to him, but he let it hit the floor without making any effort to catch it.

“Lazy too,” she said.

“Dodger. If you get in trouble, I won’t be looking for you. You need to know that. You’re on your own here. Be careful.”

“Alright DAD.”

“That’s the point. I’m not your dad. I’m an architect. I wish you well, Dodger, but I’m not even you’re guardian here. You don’t have a guardian.”

“Okay, okay. Got it. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

The hallway was still clear when she closed the door and by the time she got to the stairs at the end of it, she heard the latch turn. She went back down the stairs. In the public room, the place was getting busier. She took the plates to the end of the bar. Mr. Broad was talking to someone at the other end of the bar, but he noticed her and nodded so she set the plates down and walked out.

The stars were just coming out as she stepped into the cooling air. The streets, though far from deserted, were certainly less bustling than they had been earlier. Yellow-Eyes, a.k.a. Kem, a.k.a. who knows what had given her a fair idea of the city layout with the tower in the center. It did make it easier to navigate though.

But mostly she just watched the people. Such a variety of people. And not just the variation in races she had read about, but the sizes, ages, clothing styles. It was like the vines back in the Marsh – no two were exactly the same.

“No wonder humans think we all look the same. In comparison with them, I guess we do!” she thought. “Not many kids though. I wonder if they keep them indoors?”

She found herself back in the area with the graves. When she came near the one Yellow-Eyes had placed a rock on, she noticed it was gone. At least, if it was the same headstone. They were all so similar she might be wrong, but she didn’t see any rocks on the other nearby headstones either and she was fairly sure she was at the right place.

“Must be some sort of signal,” she thought. “He puts a rock up there and his friend notices, and comes to that inn as a pre-arranged meeting place. Gotta write that down.”

She sat and scribbled some notes about the two men and what they’d told her of the Guild as well as what she’d learned from Yellow-Eyes. The locking of the door and the code knocking she could use too. Even the nasty restroom could be handy. This trip was turning out to be a bounty of ideas!

When she’d finished her notes, she just sat back and watched the people go by. There were certainly Argonians as well as Orsimer occasionally, but they were still a minority compared to the humans with their swirly ears and their patchy hair. She began to notice patterns though. While there were exceptions, the males tended to keep their hair cropped short, while the females’ hair was usually longer and more elaborately kept. Also, the older the males were, the less hair they tended to have if they weren’t completely hairless.

Yet facial hair ran the opposite way. In fact, she finally decided that the females didn’t have facial hair at all! She saw not a single case in which a female sported any below the nose or under the mouth. That must go beyond style and be an actual physical trait.

She also noticed that the females tended to dress to emphasize their breasts, while the males wore loose fitting trousers as a way of de-emphasizing their own sex. She thought back to Yellow-Eyes and his comment about only needing a jacket. She saw no Argonians here without a full outfit though – minus the footwear. Humans may just see a crocodile in a jacket, but he really should have a full set of clothes. She decided to see if she could find him some pants.

Of course, she actually did have some coin. But she certainly didn’t keep it in her pockets like those cutpurse’s seemed to expect. Yellow-Eyes had seen to that long before they got to the city. The problem was going to be to find a clothing store with clothing for Argonians that would fit Yellow-Eyes. She stood up and began to wander around, now with an eye to finding such a store.

However, she began to realize that the storefronts were all closing down for the night. Only the taverns and brothels seemed to stay open much after dark here, so she gave up on that idea and came at last full-circle back to Luther’s. She climbed the stairs, having only elicited a couple of glances by the patrons and knocked the pattern. Within she heard the lock turn and the door opened. Yellow-Eyes was still alone.

“No friend?”

“Not yet.”

Dodger noticed the room had been rearranged somewhat in her absence. A new set of bedclothes had been arranged on the floor among other things. Yellow-Eyes sat atop those, leaving the bed empty for her. She sat down on it.

“You need clothes, Yellow-Eyes. No one walks around without pants here.”

“I’ll get some as soon as I can.”

“I was going to buy you some, but all the shops are closed after dark.”

Yellow-Eyes turned to look at her. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll make my own way.”

“I know. I wanted to,” Dodger said, laying down and turning to the wall.

“Well… thank’s Dodger,” she heard as she closed her eyes.

“No problem.”

She drifted off to sleep then, probably as happy as she could ever remember being. She was on an adventure for the first time in her life, and the next day would bring more adventures without a doubt.

Suddenly she was awoken by knocking. Three knocks, then one. She looked over at Yellow-Eyes, but he was already up, sword in hand and standing at the door. He signaled for her to be quiet, and she backed up away from the door with her feet pulled up.

Dodger: Continuation (3)

Author’s note: I’ve decided to continue my fanfiction on a different blog. bdfanfic.tumblr.com. I’ll reblog to here from there for a while, but eventually I’ll stop putting fanfictions there at all and reserve it for other oddities. So, if you want to follow my fanfic stuff, be sure to add bdfanfic.tumblr.com blog to your… whatever it is. Here’s part 3 of Dodger: Continuation.

They resumed their journey in the bustling street. Eventually they came to a district full of what appeared to be graves. Yellow-Eyes stepped off the path and grabbed a small stone, setting it gingerly onto an otherwise unremarkable headstone.

“What’s that for?” Dodger asked, not able to resist the question.

“Never you mind. Let’s go.”

They returned the way they’d come and passed through to an area where she read “Elven Garden” above the gateway. Dodger was nearly ready to ask Yellow-Eyes where she might stop to use a bathroom when instead he stepped up to a building with a sign overhead that read “Luther Broad’s Boarding House”. Within, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light. Yellow-eyes was already speaking with a man she could only assume was Luther Broad in quiet tones. The man nodded and handed him a key.

“Come Dodger. We have a place to stay for the night.”

“Where’s the restroom?” she asked, and Yellow-Eyes gestured to a door to their right.

Once inside, she wished she had done her business outdoors. The stench was powerful, and there were two men there pissing into the same hole while another was just finishing up. As disgusting as the place was, she had to admit that she’d discovered a new fact about human anatomy she’d not known before. Her books had been quite unclear as to certain details. Looking at the stinking hole, she was at least gratified to see the other two were finishing up, and they left her in peace while she did her best to complete the task as sanitarily as she could manage while not gagging.

She saw Yellow-Eyes waiting for her by the stairs as she tried to adopt a non-nonchalant attitude.

“Sure, I piss in stinking shitholes all the time with other humans around,” she thought to herself. “No big deal, right?”

But as they entered their room, she let loose.

“Oh my god! Yellow-Eyes, that place was awful! How do you stand it? I’m going outside next time!”

“You’ll get used to it,” he said, laying down on the bed.

Dodger crossed to the meager window and tried to look out. “I doubt that very much.”

“Dodger, don’t piss outside unless you go all the way out of the city. It’s a crime and you could get put in jail. This place is full of laws you mustn’t cross.”

Dodger scratched at the window, hoping to clean through the dirt. She finally managed to get a bit of a view, but her window just looked out onto the next building so she turned back to Yellow-Eyes.

“Only one bed?”

“Dodger, I’m penniless. My friend will help us out, but I don’t want to push it. You can have the bed, just let me take a quick nap. I know the owner though, and he knows I’m good for the rent. And he knows you’re with me. Why don’t you go down and get us some food?”

“Good idea!” she nodded, suddenly feeling the emptiness of her belly.

As she stepped to the door, Yellow-Eyes caught her attention and tossed her the key.

“Lock it.”

“Nice place you’ve brought me to,” she said, catching the key.

“I brought you nowhere, young one. You came here of your own free will.”

“Good point. Okay, I’ll be back shortly.”

“When you come back, knock three times, then once before you open the door,” the Argonian said, closing his eyes.

“Jeeze,” she thought as she stepped out into the hall. “Is he paranoid or what?”

Suddenly she had a thought and looked around the hall. No one there, but she should start checking. Maybe he wasn’t paranoid.

“So, you’re with Kem?” the man she figured was Luther asked as she sat at the bar. It was still afternoon and there weren’t many patrons around.

“Kem?”

“Well, that’s what he calls himself here anyway. Why, what do you call him?”

“Mostly Sir.”

“A good girl, you. Sure, I’ll get you some food. Want anything while you wait?”

“A drink would be nice. Maybe some ale?”

“Ale huh? How old are you kid?”

“Seventeen,” she admitted.

“Yeah. About what I figured. Have some Root Beer.”

Dodger took a sip as Luther walked into a back room. “Not bad, really,” she thought. Somehow she had figured it would taste like the bathroom smelled. But mostly the public room smelled of humans, smoke and stale beer. She saw a couple of men looking at her, but decided it would be best to ignore them as much as she could. That worked for a minute, but then she saw them approaching from the corner of her eye.

“What’s a scaly girl like you doing in a place like this?” one of them asked.

She was actually relieved to notice he didn’t slur his words. At least they weren’t drunk.

“I’m traveling with a friend. Name’s Dodger. What’s your name?” she asked, standing up from the stool and holding out her hand in greeting.

“Oh! You speak the language well. Glad to meet you Dodger. I’m Falric and this is my brother Elric.”

Dodger was pleased to see her insight was right. Give a stranger your name and they’re not a stranger anymore. And hopefully they’ll be kind. She shook Elric’s hand.

“Are you travelers too?”

“Traveler? Oh no. We live here in the city,” Falric replied, resting his hand on her shoulder.

Suddenly she felt uncomfortable. Customs vary widely, but what she had learned of human custom indicated that physical touch is not normal among strangers. This man was getting a little too personal. She decided the direct approach might be best. She took his hand and pulled it away from her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Falric. I’m still not familiar with human customs well, but where I’m from we don’t touch like that. Really, I apologize. It’s just not comfortable for me.”

The man’s reaction was a relief.

“Oh. I see. Well I meant no offense. So where are you headed?” he continued.

She felt a rustle behind her and spun around to face Elric, catching his hand deftly.

“I don’t have any money. Sorry Elric,” she said, baring her teeth in what could have been a sweet smile, or could have been something more.

“Oh. Um… sorry Dodger. My brother… sticky fingers you know.” Falric said.

Dodger released the Elric’s hand, making sure he scraped his wrist on her talons first.

“Oh, I know all right.”

“Listen, Dodger. You seem like a girl with her head on straight. If you ever need a job…”

“If I need a job pick-pocketing travelers, I’ll look out for you two. Or I’ll just freelance.”

“Oh, you don’t want to do that, Missy,” Elric said, rubbing his wrist. “There’s a Guild you know. You’ll lose your hand or worse if you don’t join the Guild.”

“A Guild huh? Tell me about it Elric,” she said, putting her arm around his back and lead the two brothers back to a table nearby. “I’m very interested…”

A few minutes later the bartender returned with two covered plates. He stepped up to the table where the three were talking.

“Hey, what’s this? Dodger, you don’t want to hang around with these two!”

“Oh, it’s fine Mr. Broad. My friends here were just telling me all about a Guild I might be interested in joining.”

The owner’s eyes opened wide. “Oh? You?”

“You never know.”

“Best ask your friend Kem about that,” Mr. Broad warned, setting the plates down.

At that, the other two men’s eyes followed the same path. “Kem? Is he here? You’re with Kem?” Falric said, suddenly pulling back away from her.

“I… suppose so. Yeah. I’m with Kem. Why?”

The two stood up with alarm. “Listen, tell Kem we didn’t mean anything by it. We were just… well, you know. Business!”

“Yeah, business!” said Elric as they walked as quickly as reasonably possible to the door. "Gotta go now. Nice to meet you Dodger!“

"Nice to meet…” Dodger was saying as the door closed behind them. “…you too.”

Dodger: Continuation (2)

bdprequel:

“One question,” Dodger said after they’d risen in the morning and resumed their trek to the Imperial City. “Why did you need my knife when you had that sword last night anyway?”

“Can’t throw a sword,” came the terse reply.

Dodger nodded to herself and they walked on in silence.

As they got nearer the city, the road became wider and Dodger began to see other people on the road. First came a farmer, driving a wagon loaded with just what she expected – corn and lots of it. She waved and called a greeting to the old man as he rumbled past, but he didn’t even slow down and Yellow-Eyes took her hand and led her off the road before he got too close.

“Are they all so friendly in the city?” she asked sarcastically.

Yellow-Eyes looked at her before replying, “Be grateful he didn’t run off the road to hit you. They don’t intend any disrespect, Dodger. Most of them don’t even see us as people. We might as well be the grass or the trees. You wouldn’t expect him to talk to a passing tree.”

“But, they’re not all like that. Right?”

“No. There are exceptions. It’s like those slavers yesterday. I think they really believe the bullshit they spouted. They had to muzzle me so they could imagine I couldn’t talk. Otherwise I’d shake their world view and they might even feel guilty about binding us all up as slaves.”

“But they had respect for that Briarbird guy.”

“They did indeed. On some level, I think humans see the elves as superior to themselves. High elves at least. It’s a sure bet the High Elves do.”

“He decimated them didn’t he?” Dodger laughed, kicking a rock down the road.

Yellow-Eyes didn’t respond.

“Well, technically he didn’t. Decimated would mean he killed a tenth of them. He killed ten-tenths of them. He deci-decimated them.”

Yellow-Eyes kept walking.

“You probably didn’t know that,” Dodger muttered.

Still nothing.

“It was supposed to be funny,” Dodger said to the ground as they topped a hill.

But when she looked up, she saw the city. “Oh… my… god!”

Yellow-Eyes took her hand to help keep her out of trouble as they approached the city, steering her this way and that to avoid the increasing traffic while her eyes were glued upward to the walls as much as the awesome spectacle of the White-Gold Tower that loomed larger than any tree she had ever seen, ever even imagined. In her experience, only mountains could rival it’s size. But this had been built by… someone anyway!

“Human’s can’t be all bad! Look at what they built!”

Yellow-Eyes didn’t even turn to look at her. “Bullshit. This was built by the Aldmer. Humans just took it over.”

“Oh. Well, anyway it’s so… BIG! Surely you must be impressed. Briarbird said you were an architect.”

They passed within the gates without incident.

Once inside, and away from the guards Dodger noticed, he said, “Not that kind of architect.”

Dodger pulled at his hand and he stepped aside out of the road.

“What do you mean, not that kind of architect? How many kinds are there?”

Yellow-Eyes looked around, then led them to a more secluded area, where he knelt before her.

“Dodger, I know you’re young…”

“Seventeen,” she reminded him.

“Seventeen. But do you really think the Imperials would send someone like Briarbird to find me if I was just a designer of buildings?”

“Well, I didn’t really think…”

“You need to start thinking, Dodger. This is no place for a dope who can’t put two-and-two together. Do you think my friend went through all that expense to find me just to have me draw up plans for some outhouse? An emergency office tower?”

Dodger began to pout. “You think I’m stupid.”

“No, Dodger. I don’t. I think you’re unusually smart in fact. But you need to use that brain. Especially here. I’m not kidding when I tell you ‘I’m not your nanny’. You’re going to have to take care of yourself, and that means keeping your eyes open and that brain of yours engaged. Now, you said you were a writer, so you know words. Let’s see if you can puzzle out just what kind of an architect I am.”

Dodger brightened when he said she was smart. So she thought about it.

“Well… no offense, but you look kinda rough. Those scars didn’t get there designing buildings I guess.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“And they said they found you with your tail caught in a printing press in a warehouse. That’s an odd situation for a building architect.”

“That was an odd situation for me. Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime. But the word… architect. What does it imply, other than buildings. What does an architect do?”

“He… um,” Dodger thought furiously. Yellow-Eyes was being unusually talkative. He wanted something from her. She needed to work this out. “He… makes plans.”

“Good. Yes. I make plans. But not plans for buildings. What kind of plans would someone want that are valuable enough to send an Imperial agent out for? An obviously highly qualified Imperial agent at that.”

“Something big. But not big like a building. Someone… wants you to make plans… for something big…”

Suddenly Dodger’s eyes grew very wide and she looked at the Argonian with newfound respect and something like awe.

“Something CRIMINAL!”

Yellow-Eyes nodded, closing his eyes in a sign of satisfaction.

“You’re a… mastermind!”

“Well. Sort of. I plan things. I don’t do them, but I plan them. I have a reputation among certain people of being very successful at it too. My friend wants me to plan something. I don’t know what yet, but he went through a lot of expense to get me here. If you’re going to tag along, I figure you should know what you’re getting yourself involved in. This isn’t some petty drug thing. It’s not even smuggling or slave running. It’s big, and likely political. It usually is with… my friend.”

“Is it dangerous?” Dodger asked, eyes practically sparkling.

“For me and you, if all goes well, no. For the field operatives, sure. But I just make plans.”

“You’ve been a ‘field operative’ though, haven’t you.”

Yellow-Eyes looked at her with more seriousness than she’d seen in him before. Normally he either just ignored her, or looked down on her like a child. This time he looked at her like an equal.

“Yes, Dodger. I have been. I got out of that though. It’s a bloody business and not one I recommend. But I owe my friend my life, so I come when asked. You don’t. I’ve already told you that you should go home. But you’re right. I can’t stop you. I can advise you though. Seriously advise you. Go home. If you get involved in this any more than you are right now, I don’t want to be responsible for any consequences. You’re making a very grown-up choice right now. It’s up to you, but staying with me is not wise.”

Dodger looked at the Argonian she called Yellow-Eyes. She noticed the little wrinkles around his eyes for the first time. The scar on his head looked deeper than she’d noticed too. He was certainly no young buck. His eyes had seen a lot. This was as serious as he knew how to get. He was trying his best to warn her off, but he didn’t understand that his warning had the opposite effect.

Dodger smiled back, a smile that was more mature than her years. “Thank you Yellow-Eyes. I know you’re being serious. But I also know what I’m doing. There’s nothing waiting for me back home. I need to get away. I’ll stay with you, if you’ll have me. For a little while.”

Yellow-Eyes stood up and sighed like an old man. “Mistake. But it’s your mistake Dodger. Always remember, it was your mistake. Deal?”

Dodger held out her hand and grabbed his. It felt at once strong and old at the same time. She shook it once firmly. “Deal.”

Dodger: Continuation (1)

bdprequel:

I embarrassed myself yesterday as in one day I managed to get a bunch of comments deleted on the Prequel fanart booru AND got a channel deleted in the UPD5 discord server. Okay, maybe not single-handedly, but still. So today I decided to do something completely non-lewd and prove at least to myself that I can do it. So I started work on a new story about Porcupine-Dodger, a character in one of the side-stories at prequeladventure.com who may or may not be a young Quill-Weave.

I can do this! The character is only seventeen, so I can’t (and won’t) do anything too lewd. Cross my heart! Can I still write anything of interest, that’s the question. I hope to! Here’s chapter 1:

Dodger: Continuation (1)

Her first inclination was just to return home. She was well aware of how close she had escaped slavery. Or worse. But the warmth of the drink and the relief of having escaped, along with the Argonian stranger’s words caused her to rethink that decision. Her fascination with humans in general was too deep to let his cynical words stand. And besides, if she returned now she might as well admit defeat. As weird as this day had turned out, she also realized she had learned practically nothing that she could use in her book.

“WAIT UP!” she called to the stranger and raced to catch up.

He looked at her askance. “Now hold on young one. I am no babysitter, and you have no business coming with me. Go home to your clutch. The Imperial City is no place for a hatchling like you. I’d thought you would have learned your lesson back there.”

Dodger stood defiant. “You can’t stop me. I’m going to the Imperial City with you or without you. We might as well travel together. I’m seventeen, I’ll have you know. I’m not a hatchling.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “But don’t expect me to be your nanny. You’re on your own when we get there. And here, give that bottle back. I don’t need a drunk hatchling…”

“Seventeen!”, she insisted.

“…drunk teenager then. I don’t need some drunk teenager staggering around slowing me down. Keep up or don’t. But you don’t need that.”

“Yes sir, Mr… what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, what should I call you then?”

“You shouldn’t. But ‘Sir’ will do.”

Dodger groaned at that. This was going to be a long, boring walk.

“Well, I’m Kakar-Sutheeth,” she said, holding out her hand in the common human way of greeting. “And I’m glad to meet you.”

The stranger looked at her hand, a smile coming over his face.

“Shut up!” she said at his non-existent words. “Just call me Dodger.”

“Dodger it is then. A porcupine?”

“I said shut up about it,” she said, knowing a blush was stealing over her face against her will.

They did find a road before long, and the stranger seemed to know where he was and where he was going, so Dodger kept pace and tried not to ask too many questions until the sun began to set.

“Um… sir?”

“Yes Dodger?” he sighed as they climbed yet another hill.

“How far is it to the city? Will we get there tonight?”

“Not tonight, no. I’ll stop before nightfall. You can continue on if you like, but I’d advise against it. Unless a Legionnaire comes up behind us that wants to keep guard over you, it’s not safe at night.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They walked on for a while until he came to a stop as the sky began to darken. He pointed at last to an outcrop of rocks some way off the road. “There,” he stated.

Dodger followed dutifully, taking another drink from her water flask as she followed him.

“Do you have a knife?” he asked.

“Sure! Unlike you, I came prepared!” she said cheerfully as she dug around and produced the small blade.

“Hmph. Got any food in that pack of yours?”

“Well,” she stammered. “Not a lot. I’ve got some jerky left and a little green-leaf salad.”

“Prepared eh?” he said, looking at the knife in his hand. He looked at her again and the knife suddenly looked a lot bigger than she remembered.

“You can have it!” she said, proffering her pack whole.

“Oh relax hatchling. I’m not going to rob you. You stay here. I’ll be back in an hour or less.”

She watched his back fade into the darkness and settled in atop the rocks in a little cubby and picked at her salad. She decided that, as gruff as the stranger was, she was duty bound to offer him half anyway so she separated what she had. That crack about being prepared was stupid, she realized, and she hit herself on the head for having said it.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

But as time went on, she began to wonder if he was even going to come back. It had certainly been more than an hour and there was still no sign of him. She wouldn’t blame him if he’d abandoned her altogether. Eventually she pulled out her blanket and tried to sleep. But the breeze was cold, the blanket thin and small, and the rock was hard. She snuggled up to the rock behind her closer, the heat of the day still radiating from it a little.

She heard him return finally, whispering her name, “Dodger? Are you there?”

“Sir? Yes, I’m here.”

“Sorry, it took longer than I thought. I’ve a little food if you’re interested,” he said, climbing up to where she lay.

Dodger took one look at the raw mystery meat he offered and shook her head. “Thanks, Sir. I really appreciate it. But I’m good.”

He nodded in the darkness, her eyes able to pick out his silhouette against the night sky.

“I’d cook it if I could. I don’t eat raw meat as a habit. But a fire out here isn’t a good idea.”

“I saved you some salad,” she said, sitting up and offering it.

“Thank you, I’ll take it young one,” he said. “We’ll be in the city by midday tomorrow. My friend will put us up and feed us when we get there.”

“Oh! That would be wonderful!” she said, not hiding the delight in having a more formal plan for her future, if even just for another night. She offered him her water.

The stranger took the water bottle gratefully and drank a draft before handing it back with a grunt, then lay down with his back to her and his jacket over his shoulders. It didn’t even reach to his tail, she noticed, then looked to her own blanket. Too small but better than that.

“This is silly,” she said. “Sir, turn around.”

“Hmm?” he grunted, turning over.

She snuggled up against him, stuck her tail between his legs and put the blanket over them both, using his arm for a pillow and pulling his other arm over her.

“A human would be warmer,” he said.

“I’m sure they would,” she agreed. “But you’re all I’ve got tonight. Now don’t get fresh. Goodnight, Sir.”

“Yellow-Eyes,” he said a little later. “Call me Yellow-Eyes.”

“You don’t have yellow eyes, do you?”

“You don’t know?,” he asked.

“I’m color-blind,” Dodger admitted, a little ashamed. “I really don’t know.”

“No, they’re not yellow.” he answered, shifting a little and obviously not planning to explain further.

“SIR!” Dodger exclaimed at a sudden poke in her backside. “I SAID DON’T GET FRESH!”

Yellow-Eyes reached between them and handed her knife back to her.

Dodger laughed nervously and accepted the knife, noticing the handmade sheath of leaves he had created for it. “Oh. Heh. Sorry.”