You ask for prompts and I am here! Do a Fiona for 45!
“How much of that did you hear?”
It wasn’t everyday that Fiona left the comforts of the Cistern or the Ragged Flaggon, but for once, she needed to escape the Ratways. That evening she had accepted Delvin’s invite for a meal and drink at the Bee and Barb, not caring that the Breton most likely had ulterior motives for bringing her topside. But that thought quickly left her mind as she settled at the bar, Keerava’s freshly made lamb stew warming her body and soul. Of course, the tall tankard of Nordic mead helped her mood as well.
“So…” Delvin drawled after taking a long sip of his ale. Fiona braced herself, thinking through all the possible questions he was about to ask. “You and Bryn are gettin’ awfully close.”
She hadn’t meant to sound so defensive, but she was getting tired of this line of questioning from Devlin, from Vex—from everybody in the Guild. Sure, she and Brynjolf had gotten friendly in the last few months while they went on more jobs across Skyrim together, but that wasn’t anybody’s business. Then again…the two hadn’t really made their…flirtations (though she hated calling them that) less than discreet.
“Well,” Delvin shrugged, taking a sloppy spoonful of his stew. “I was only curious if it was headin’ anywhere interesting is all.”
Fiona eyed him, never knowing if she could fully trust the man. Sure, Delvin offered the best and honest advice most of the time, but he was a thief. Then again, so was she. After a moment, she sighed—it may have been the alcohol buzzing in her mind, but for once, she felt like speaking freely.
“It might,” she finally answered. Delvin’s expression told her he was actually genuinely surprised. She nursed her drink a little. “Brynjolf would have to act on some of his words though. He paints a pretty picture, offering all these grand gestures of romance and adventure.”
Delvin was grinning behind his raised tankard.
Fiona faltered when she realized she had inadvertently revealed too much. “I mean, all that would be nice, I suppose if that happened…wouldn’t it?”
Delvin’s eyes glanced for the briefest of moments over her shoulder. “Sure would.”
Startled, she turned around and found the man in question leaning against the tavern wall, that signature smug expression of his something she recognized all too well. Fiona was flabbergasted as Brynjolf approached the small distance, standing to her right, so she was forced to face away from Delvin.
“How much of that did you hear?” Fiona rushed, heat radiating across her cheeks and down her neck.
Brynjolf grinned, resting his cheek in his palm, elbow against the bar. “Oh, all of it, my dear lass,” he winked. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t repeat it.”
Fiona could hear Delvin chuckling behind her—she half expected him to have disappeared by now. Still, she took Brynjolf’s words half as a dare, half as confirmation that she wasn’t completely out of her mind when it came to how she felt about him—about them.
“And if I don’t?” she teased, despite the embarrassment still radiating through her. She noted the way Brynjolf faltered, which gave her some encouragement, but before he could respond, Delvin groaned.
“Oh will you two just get a room and get it over with?” he flung his hands up in frustration, walking away from them and towards Sapphire instead. The two shared a nervous chuckle and a lingering glance.
“So,” she started with a smile, grabbing Delvin’s leftover tankard and giving it to Brynjolf. “How ‘bout a drink, and then I can tell you some sweet words?”
He returned the smile. “I’d like that.”
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