Well. Look at all of you. It'ssss a regular party here. Ha. Haha.
Slither-Claw isn't particularly adverse to crowds. In fact, he finds them to be good for business. But murderers (or assassins, whichever word you'd prefer to use) all had a particular scent that always puts him on edge.
((As usual, I’ve taken the prompt as loosely as possible. I promise the next one will stick more to the intended scene.))
It was too muggy to concentrate on the words thick in the air. Another part of the heat pressing in around her, making her hands damp, making her hair stick to her forehead. Mother had spent so long brushing it, too. She had looked lovely when they left, and now it would all be ruined for some stupid show.
‘I don’t think—’
‘Darling, she has to see some time. The sooner the better, wouldn’t you agree? One shouldn’t keep children wrapped up in their silly wonderlands, or they become soft, spoiled little brats. Show her the real world now and it won’t come as such an awful shock later.’
‘It’s not her I’m worried about.’
‘You’re worried about me? Don’t be absurd! I’m not the one with the axe in my hand, now, am I, sweetest?’
Florencia pouted and kicked her heels. What a horrid day. When she was called into her parents’ bedroom this morning she had thought her Mother might be in the mood to play, to let her paint herself with the make-up she kept in a silk pouch and parade around in her dresses, telling her she looked like a proper lady even though the skirts trailed several feet behind her. But no, of course not. It was to tie her into her own dress and smarten her up for one of Mother’s horrid outings.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I’m a far sight stronger than you, my love, and don’t you forget it. Flurry will be just the same.’
At least they were talking about her. She wouldn’t be forgotten, like the last time Mother pulled her outside, although that had been in a much nicer place. The company might have been rude, but at least there had been a pond to play in, and lots of little paths to explore in the trees, even if Mother’s friends made nasty comments about the holes in her stockings when she tried to show them the frog she found.
Not here. This was a courtyard, with four high walls made out of plain old sandstone, like everything else. Florencia had already tried to go exploring once, but before she got anywhere near the doors into the central fort an Altmer with a face which looked, in her opinion, like a bowl of curdled milk had grabbed her shoulder. His hands hurt, too. Her arm was still aching. She sighed dramatically and received a tap on the head.
‘Flurry, darling, stop pulling faces and wish your father luck.’
Ontus Aicherius knelt down and braced himself as his daughter jumped up, brushed off her skirts and flung her arms around his neck. She squealed as he swung her up and around, coming to rest with her on his hip.
‘Your mother has promised me that you’ll be good,’ he said. ‘Will you?’
‘Yes, Ri—’
‘In Cyrodiilic, please.’
‘Yes, Father. But—’
‘No buts.’
‘But—’
He silenced her with a kiss to the forehead. No matter how much Vivien fussed over the girl, there was always a sheen of sand over her, inescapable even in the milder regions of Elsweyr, and his mouth left a faint mark where he disturbed the grime.
‘Florencia.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She pulled herself up, her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his cheek in return. ‘Good luck, Father. What are you doing?’
‘My job.’
Florencia started to swing her legs.
‘What do you do?’
There was a pause, which she didn’t like. Whenever there was a pause like that, filled with her parents exchanging glances, it always meant that they were keeping something from her. She swung her legs a bit harder and, quite accidentally, kicked her father’s stomach.
‘You’ll soon see,’ he said, and lowered her back to the ground. ‘You know what Mother does, don’t you?’
‘She finds bad people and tells the important people about them.’
‘And the important people tell me what to do with the bad people. Now run along. You don’t want to miss the show.’
She started to patter away, and then stopped. So did Ontus, who had been reaching for the black hood he kept hooked to his belt, beside the axe.
‘Father?’ said Florencia.
‘Yes?’
‘Why do you look sad?’
To the right, the platform and the stained block of wood were waiting, and to the left Ontus could see his wife tapping her foot in the square, giving him The Look. Right in front of him, Florencia, all prim and proper and turned out just so, stared at him with the huge dark eyes she had inherited from Vivien. Yes, she would be just the same as her mother.
‘Do I?’ he said. ‘Maybe I’m just tired. I don’t like this heat any more than you do. Go on, don’t keep Mother waiting.’
Florencia nodded happily and ran off, leaving a cloud of dust behind her.
–
The show began.
Florencia watched a tall mer stride across the platform. He looked, she thought, very handsome, in long black and gold robes. They must have been expensive and they definitely weren’t made by Khajiit. His voice sounded handsome, too, although he sounded terribly cross about something.
Ladies and Gentlemen…
‘Ji’Rakhaad, you were found delivering information and supplies to enemies of the Aldmeri Dominion. In addition, documents were found in your house proving your involvement with anarchist groups seeking to reform the Elsweyr Confederacy, a backward and outdated concept rightfully abolished. For your crimes against the Dominion, saviours of the twin moons and friends of Anequina, you are to be punished with death. Your final words.’
Ontus tightened his grip on the axe, leather glove squeaking. Ji’Rakhaad hadn’t said a thing since being brought in, and at first it didn’t look as if he would break the trend. His head was low and his ears flat against his head, but suddenly he seemed to jerk into life with lips pulled back in a snarl.
A few people, although not many, listened to the raving and turned to face Vivien. She didn’t move, other than to shift Fria into a more comfortable position in her arms. Ji’Rakhaad’s last act before the Thalmor guards restrained him was to spit forwards with a hiss, fangs bared in her direction.
She stared ahead. The saliva should have hissed onto the scorching ground, but as it landed she raised her hand and gave a lazy flick of her fingers. A small shard of ice shattered at her feet.
‘Proceed.’
The Justiciar cleared his throat.
‘Give the prisoner his last rites.’
Six years ago, before Florencia was born, the service was given in Ta’agra, or Bosmeris if they had caught one of the Wood Elves escaping across the border. Now it was delivered in Aldmeris without variance, in both Anequina and Pelletine, although the Khajiit were allowed to keep their own pantheon. The priestess, an Ohmes with clan markings tattooed across her face, stumbled over the words with an accent not smooth enough for the Elvish language.
‘As your soul prepares to walk the Moon Path, may the blessings of Fadomai and her children go with you…’
This part wasn’t nearly so interesting. Florencia glanced to the side. Of course, Father looked impressive too, wearing all black leather and with the funny hat over his head. Florencia watched him as he picked up the axe he had been holding and raised it above its head.
A drum roll, if you please.
It shone in the sun.
It dropped down.
There was a thud.
And another.
And Ja’Rikhaad’s head rolled towards the edge of the platform.
The audience began to howl. Some of them were cheering, and some, those who knew the Thalmor wouldn’t understand a yowl in Ta’agra, were mourning. Blood flooded out of the prisoner’s neck, matting his fur, and painted the chopping block bright, glistening red. Something white gleamed in the leftover gristle.
Ontus and Vivien, from the platform and the square, turned to see Florencia’s reaction.
‘Mother,’ she said, ‘I’m bored. Can we go home now?’
henrietta-the-frail replied to your post: ((OH MYTFDKNG GOD OKAY
They like to watch you sleep. And lay eggs in your ear.))
((NOT HELPFUL DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THIS IS NOTHELPFUL
omg i cant sleep in my room now lmfAO that was evil you are evil
esraehs replied to your post: ((OH MYTFDKNG GOD OKAY
((Maybe they want to make your life sweeter? GET IT?! CAUSE THEY MAKE HONEY! 8D godimanidiot))
((LOLL U SO PUNNY, i feel better now
i wonder how honey straight from a beehive would actually taste
vilepuppetry replied to your post: ((OH MYTFDKNG GOD OKAY
((They have declared you their Queen, and are trying to demonstrate the extent of their devotion to you. Don’t fight it.))
((NO NOT YOU TOO my family already call me QB now because they think it's hilariouS
although there was that time a month ago where 'i sent my assassin' into my sister's room so that it would 'send her a message by stinging her leg in her sleep'))
esraehs said: ((But I’m finally replying to that starter you put up forever ago))
((asdisdgsyirohwnads i take everything back today is a good day p.s. you're not allowed to leave either you have to stay here with me forever just thought i'd let u know))
In a moment of giddiness Brielle continued to walk backwards into her room. When her legs hit the edge of the bed she sat and began to lean backwards, only to feel her back suddenly press up against something. Looking over her shoulder she saw a familiar face. “Oh, Bart, what are you-“
Then the open room was filled with the high pitched squeak and thud of a book as the Breton scrambled onto the floor. “I’m s-sorry! I didn’t mean to… I…” She dragged a hand down her face.
esraehsreplied to yourpost:Sander and Tortulja - adorable little awkward types for the win! And at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being pressured into sex, aye?
“You think I’m sweet?” Tort asked with a grin. She wrapped the young man in a hug. “Well, I think you’re sweet too.”
His body tensed up. He didn't know what to do. Awkwardly, he put his arms around her and patted her back a few times, swallowing nervously as he did.
Calypso had heard Skyrim was a vast and unforgiving place, but she had never thought it would be this cold. How could the hairless pale skins who traipsed about here withstand such harsh weather?
The bag on her shoulders was starting to slip off, and so, with a large heave, she hoisted it higher. She hated travelling alone, especially on a trek like this. But there had been no caravans heading this way, and she was in no shape to refuse a tip of a new skooma hotspot of crazed buyers. She needed the coin if she was ever going to get her ship back.
Suddenly, at the sound of a twig snapping, she paused, hackles raised. What could it be? A bandit? A pack of wolves? A rabbit?
"Oh, how I hate this place," she muttered, eyes dancing about for a possible threat.
