#the impressionist

[cyanideoreo]

Some Imp outfits.

[starlightmeissa]

personally would love more brynjolf. for some reason the 2 of them interacting is just so entertaining to me

ok this took me forever to respond to but ive been playing oblivion and it inspired me. enjoy a very short snipit of a scene i wrote of these two interacting in the rewrite au!

Brynjolf shifts on his feet, leaning back to pull out the chair in hand and sit in it. Tera doesn’t dissuade him. Drinking alone has never suited her. He settles easily, lounging with the airs of a big cat in their favorite hunting spot. 

“You were doing art at the market,” Brynjolf says conversationally. “Pretty portraits.” 

“You were hawking falmer elixirs. A very lucrative business, selling miracles,” Tera replies. 

Brynjolf smiles wide enough to show his teeth. It’s a charming thing, reaching his eyes without losing that sly edge he has going. Makes a person think they’re in on whatever private joke he’s telling. 

“Would you like a miracle?” He asks with just the barest hint of flirtatious tease. A test. That accent shouldn't be legal.

Tera takes another drink of her mead and licks her lips. “I’ve found that blood disagrees with me.” 

Brynjolf chuffs a laugh, then waves over one of the hard eyed barmaids to bring him an ale. Tera supposes you’d have to be hard eyed to deal with a bunch of thieves, bandits, and other associated Riften scum. The Flagon is certainly more populated and larger than it had been in game. And rowdier. 

Tera casts a glance to the room, watching two men burst from their seats at a packed card table and lunge for each other. The bouncer, Dirge, starts towards them from across the wide, round room. He looks much bigger in real life, with big nord hands that could crush skulls and a menacing looking war axe on his back. 

A bald man at the card table says something disparaging about the men now trying to beat each other’s faces in. Delvin Mallory, Tera thinks. The man who hands out jobs and with connections to the Dark Brotherhood. She recognizes the guild leathers on him. He’s already dealing for the next round, ignoring the commotion.

“Some men just aren’t house trained,” Brynjolf says as the barmaid comes back with his ale, setting it down before him and cursing under her breath about spills.

One of the brawling men grabs another patron’s bottle and breaks it over the other’s head. Tera lifts her eyebrows, memorizing the way the glass glitters and the dynamic pose. She really should open her sketchbook up, suspiciousness be damned. 

“But you seem familiar with that sort of thing. My apologies for assuming otherwise,” Brynjolf continues. He pulls a little knife from his belt and uncorks his ale with a deft flick of his hand. Tera wonders if he uses it for locks. It looks about the right size. 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Tera says magnanimously. She reaches onto the table and opens her sketchbook. Nearby there is the sound of a shout and something being slammed into wood. “I do have the look of someone with house training. Has anyone ever told you you have a very symmetrical face?”

Brynjolf pauses from bringing his drink to his lips, his brows twitching, then finishes the motion. Downs a gulp and sets it down. “No, I can’t say anyone has,” he says dryly. 

“More’s the pity.” 

Tera flips to an empty page, past notes on the inhabitants of Riften she’s already seen so far and interesting gossip she’s heard. She pulls a pencil from her bag and starts sketching the figure lines for the bottle break. Better to ease into these things. If she starts with Brynjolf’s face it may be too strong. And she’d prefer being warmed up before she attempts him. 

“Do you often take notes in that book?” Brynjolf asks, having caught sight of the words in the past pages. 

“I’m observant, I like to keep track of what I see.” Tera finishes the action lines and starts on the details, the heads, then the shoulders, then further down. The scratch of the pencil against paper is barely heard as Dirge tosses the fighting men into the murky waters at the center of the room.  A loud splash, then jeers from the crowd. 

The men should feel lucky that that water isn’t sewage. From what Tera can tell, this is the part of the underground that feeds Riften’s wells. 

“Ah,” Brynjolf exhales, looking a bit pleased. He’s figured it out, then. “Observation is a good skill for an artist.” 

“It pays very well. Though, I hear some patrons aren’t good for the money these days.” 

Brynjolf’s expression sours, just so. “I’m not sure where you heard that, but the guild doesn’t take lightly to that kind of talk.” 

“Any guild wouldn’t. A broker does have to be careful, though. Charity is terrible for business.” 

“I saw you handing coins off to beggars earlier.” 

“The beggars are much more sympathetic,” Tera says, before gesturing around them with her pencil. “Others are not.” 

[cyanideoreo]

Imp sometimes ends up in parts of the backrooms that aren’t as grounded in the here and now as others.

[cyanideoreo]

It was just another day training in the Danger Room until it wasn't.

Imp had been pushing harder trying to keep up with the more advanced training the Professor had been pressuring for.

No one was actually looking when it happened, but when they noticed they saw Imp sitting with a nosebleed and weird look on their face.

It seemed like they had been sitting there for a while, breathing hard and looking clammy. Their eyes though… the glow was wrong.

The portals Imp made flickered like that before opening up into the between space they called the poolrooms.

They had looked up at the other trainees and seemed to be trying to say something but no words came out.

Then they collapsed. Folding over like a pile of old laundry.

They were rushed to the nurse's office convulsing.

"Hello Mister Xavier. It’s been a while. I hope you and the rest of the guys are doing well. 🙂"

Prof. X felt absolutely horrified about what happened to Imp and tried to "fix" what broke in their head.

After the accident they were catatonic so what he did did in fact help, but Imp was never the same and refused to call him Professor ever again.

His mental tinkering left them able to talk and use their powers again, but their personality ended up... altered.

Imp seems to be permanently "spacey and "vaguely friendly" now.

(aka less likely to hold a grudge).

Whereas before they had been an open book, timid and eager to please, now they are so very hard to get a read on.

[cyanideoreo]

Sketching Imp some more.

I’ve decided that spending time in the poolrooms for as long as they have since childhood has left them with dissociative episodes and a very weird relationship with food.

When they are in the poolrooms they don’t actually have to eat and they constantly forget to do so when not in there.

[cyanideoreo]

Work and life have been so busy lately. I’ve been scrapbooking in my sketchbook and honestly. It’s been so nice~

I did have to go to the library to get some of these printed because my home printer, scrappy though it may be, lost the battle with printing color.

[cyanideoreo]

Hmmm what if the water WAS the light source …

[cyanideoreo]

ducks