Chapter Text
"It's not fair and you know it," Rune pouts.
"Is too."
"Is not."
"Don't be childish. You break the rules, you don't contribute, you don't collect."
"I know."
"Then stop whining."
"I got away, didn't I?"
"With help from an external party."
"Who willingly helped!"
"Okay, sure, I guess you only broke one rule and not two," Vipir says, gesturing with the bottle of ale. Rune groans, slumping onto the table, admitting defeat.
"Speaking of 'help' - " he makes air quotes with his fingers - "Do you know anything about this - this freelancer thing?" and on the words 'freelancer thing' Rune lowers his voice, just in case. Vipir looks over his shoulder to check for any figures of real authority; there are none around, and he does not take the same precaution.
"Besides that we have one? Yeah."
"Really? Like what?"
"Like their MO. They only steal loose change. Probably make a great pickpocket," Vipir says, grinning, going in for more ale.
I guess the Ralvayns just keep a really good eye on their septims.
"Huh," Rune says aloud.
"'Huh' what?"
Rune doesn't answer. How much more does he tell Vipir about the girl? How much does he tell Brynjolf? It's just a suspicion, and they can't work off unfounded suspicions. All he knows is that someone might have hit the Ralvayns before him, and the girl that helped him was up in a Guild crow's nest, somewhere the average person definitely shouldn't know about. She'll be in town. She's looking for the Guild. Rune hadn't asked why.
"Rune?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind. Be right back." Vipir pushes his chair back, gets up from the table, picks up his two empty bottles and Rune's one, and makes for the bar.
Gut feelings haven't steered Rune wrong yet, and this is giving him a whopper of a gut feeling. This girl is important for the Guild. Somehow. Even if her importance only extends to popping Rune's cherry, which Vipir keeps trying to get him to do. But that means he should be going up to the Bee to drink, and Rune prefers the Flagon every time. It's quiet more often. He doesn't feel pressured to talk to anyone. No one gives him dirty looks when they think he doesn't notice. Going to the Bee, by himself, being in public but not on the job, makes him nervous now, and then he looks suspicious when one of his strengths is looking ordinary.
She's likely at the Bee, though. Damn it all to Oblivion.
Rune puts his face down on the table with a little thunk.
"Evenin', lad," says a wonderful rich voice, like fresh butter on warm crusty bread, and Rune sighs, mentally drooping. Aw, fuck. "What's the word?" Hearing Brynjolf in a good mood is somehow worse after being caught fucking up.
"I fucked up," Rune says, muffled against the table, tipsy off the single strong ale Vekel had been willing to give a lightweight to drown their sorrows in.
"I know," Brynjolf says, and the weight of his knowing settles onto Rune's shoulders like it's physical. "Lying doesn't suit you, lad," and Rune emits a cringing sort of wail.
"I'm sorry."
"Chin up. Tell me what happened."
Rune reluctantly peels himself up off the table to look Brynjolf in the eyes, piercing, twinkling green in the torchlight. He can't possibly lie to Brynjolf a second time. "The return dispatch. The east sitting room window stuck. The rail needs oiling, four inches up on both sides of the interior. I didn't have oil on me. I got made by the guard rotation after I got it unstuck and closed it."
"And then?"
Rune gives a brief account of the running, the tripping, the crow's nest. "It's in the alley south of The Scorched Hammer, on the east wall."
"This girl," Brynjolf says, a different sort of twinkle springing into his expression now, a twinkle of interest and mischief yet to come, the hint of a smile twitching around the corner of his mouth. "Anything else I should know?"
"Uh," says Rune, tongue-tied, because he was expecting Brynjolf to ask about the crow's nest.
Just then footsteps come up to the table.
"What's doing, boss?" Vipir says. Rune looks up at him with a desperate help me sort of expression.
"I dunno, Vipir, you tell me."
Vipir takes a swig out of one of the bottles of ale he's holding and hands Brynjolf the other. It's not like Rune had been hoping for another one or anything, for his bruised budding sex drive. "Nothing much. He's just hoping to get his cherry popped by this girl he met that did magic."
Acupuncture pinpricks of hot, slick embarrassment rise in Rune's face.
"Oh, aye?" Brynjolf takes a swig out of his own bottle of ale. "What kind of magic?"
"Uh, not - nothing super impressive, I guess? She made a light, and I think she tripped the guard with magic, too? I think. I'm pretty sure."
"That's quite a pair of tricks," Brynjolf says, one eyebrow raising in that way he has.
"That's what I thought!"
"I don't know about you, but I think we could use some tricks like that," Vipir says solemnly, taking a drink, and Brynjolf nods.
"Aye, I think we could."
"Sounds risky to let another girl join up, though. What if someone hits that before you do? Oh, don't look so offended, I'm just joking."
"It's not funny," Rune says, face on fire."
"It's funny watching you squirm," Vipir retorts. "Was she hot or something?"
"I dunno," Rune mumbles. "She sounded hot. I got too nervous to look. Don't laugh," he adds, a futile addition because Vipir already is.
"And did she put you on to lying to me?" Brynjolf asks, and Rune can only nod, buried knee-deep in regret. Vipir can't muffle his snort. "Ah, well," Brynjolf continues, still good-natured, "That's different. Let's call this a wash."
"Really?" Rune says.
"Aye, really."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Thank you for the honesty. Mind yourself better next time, alright?" Brynjolf takes a pull off his ale, reaches across the table to pat Rune on the shoulder, and starts getting up.
Some little voice-of-conscience in the back of his mind makes Rune say, "Wait - "
Brynjolf sizes Rune up for a moment, and then sits back down. "Something else you care to tell me, lad?" His voice is casual, but his face is serious. Rune looks over for Vipir and is a little less anxious when he sees the man's just wandered off, having decided his business with this business was finished.
Just Brynjolf, then. That's fine.
"I, um, heard we have a... competition problem," Rune says, feeling bold enough to not lower his voice this time.
"Aye," Brynjolf says, skipping over the part where he should have asked Rune where he heard that.
"Maybe I can help?"
"It's being handled, lad, but I appreciate the offer."
"I don't think it is being handled," Rune blurts out, "Or else it wouldn't be a problem, right?" He's lucky Brynjolf tolerates a certain level of backtalk and shitheel attitudes; it's almost a requirement for anyone in his position. He can tell Brynjolf's not really mad about Rune's nosiness in this case, but he's irritated.
"Aye, go on then. How do you imagine yourself helping?" The message is clear - this isn't your business - but Rune barrels on anyway because this is important. A matter of urgency, even.
"I could help catch them!"
"Not even Vex can pin them down, and you're going to do it all by yourself."
"Well, maybe not by myself, but yeah."
"Lad - "
But Rune's got too much momentum to stop now. "I didn't find any coin at the Ralvayns' today, so either they keep a good eye on it or someone was already there and took it, and it can't have been one of us, because that wouldn't have been approved. And then a girl in a disused crow's nest helps me get away? And she said she was looking for the Guild! She knew I knew where to find us! How can any of that be a coincidence?!" If he had another bottle of ale he would be wildly gesticulating with it for sure.
"No such thing as coincidence," Brynjolf says, turning out a Delvin-ism.
"Exactly! She has to be the freelancer, right? And she's on our turf now! We can do something clever about it, and think ahead, and all that."
"There's nothing to be done until we have more facts. That's the way of these things."
"What happened to 'no risk, no reward'?"
"Dealing with competition doesn't work that way."
"Okay, well, I think a mage would look to hit Elgrim's at some point. For, like... herbs or something." He has not much idea what goes in a mage's toolkit, or if mages have a toolkit the same way thieves do, but if they do, there's probably potion supplies in there. "Maybe we should keep an eye on that." Feeling sullen and frustrated, as if the whole situation is being taken away from him, he adds, "Maybe we should keep an ear on it instead. That would be simpler for sure."
"Oh, aye? She sounds that unique?" The look on Brynjolf's face indicates he finds this a little hard to believe.
"You don't get it," Rune says, "You can't get it unless you hear it. I mean, it's a mishmash, but, like, a really nice one."
"Try me," Brynjolf says.
"Okay, uh - "
So Rune does his best to remember the details; the extra snappy 'k' and softened 'n' in 'broken', the roll of the 'r' in 'foreign', the round generic 'u' in 'hurt'. "She just sounds foreign," he ends. "Like she's not from anywhere. But also kind of like she's from everywhere, I guess."
"And you didn't look at her once? No physical description to give me at all?"
"I saw her hands," Rune says, a bit feeble with guilt. "She must have a ton of freckles. Uh, she was wearing mining clothes," he adds, remembering, "The tan ones."
"That's more than enough to go on," Brynjolf says. He sounds tired now. Rune doesn't really blame him; he has enough horseshit to deal with on a daily basis. It would probably be in everyone's best interest to help him make this whole issue go away as soon as possible. "I'll take this to Vex and Delvin. Don't stir the pot in the meantime. Thank you, lad," and Rune doesn't object as he gets up and walks off with barely a sound.
Jeez, what a day.
"Do you want another ale?" Vipir asks from Rune's left like he thinks it's a little unwise.
"Yeah."
"That didn't go the way you wanted, did it?"
"No."
"Do you... wanna talk about that?"
"No, I think I wanna forget this whole thing happened in the first place," and Rune clunks his bottle against Vipir's with some finality. Anything to sleep like a log tonight, with no beautiful voices in his dreams.