Timeline: At the beginning of
Episode 2. Easily watched before or after.
“Nnngh…”
his hand moved to his eyes, shielding from the sudden brightness that came to
him.
“Up
now!” came an authoritative voice from above him. “Sun is long up, Khajiit, and
we don’t let the beggars spend their days regretting the night before.”
Fang
grumbled, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry miss,” he growled, putting
a hand to his head, “and not so loud, will you?”
“Just
get off your duff,” she said again. “No one’s complained yet, and I’d rather
deal with it before they do. We’ve
got enough beggars in Anvil.”
Grumbling,
Fang picked himself off the ground. He barely remembered coming out here… some
sort of brawl at the bar with an uppity Bosmer… bartenders kicked him out… he
stumbled around drunk…
“Not
a beggar,” Fang said defensively, brushing himself off. “Just drunk.”
“Sure
thing,” she said, crossing her arms.
Fang
growled, but didn’t posture too much against her. She may have been a human
woman, but she was also a member of the city guard; he didn’t need to feel the
blade to know it was sharp.
“I
mean it,” he said, trying to blink away sleep and hangover as best he could. “I
arrived on the Floating Log last night. Just… well, had too much fun, I guess.”
She
smirked. “That’ll happen on the Docks. Still, your words won’t hold much water
if I catch you sleeping on the ground again, Khajiit.”
“Yeah
yeah,” Fang grumbled, checking his pockets. He had maybe twenty coins. That might be enough money for an inn… for
maybe one or two nights. Still…
He
glanced up at the guard. “You’ve got a Fighter’s Guild in town, yes?”
She
cocked an eyebrow, and nodded towards the buildings he’d been sleeping behind.
“Yes, over on the square. Azzan runs a training center. Why?”
He’d
grumble. “Looking for work, and heard they were hiring.”
He
glared as she visibly glanced over him. He knew he wasn’t much to look at; he
had a ratty old vest, some ill-fitting pants, and a pair of worn out moccasins
on his feet. On his side he had a dagger hanging from a belt made of a knotted
strand of rope.
“I’m,
um, are you sure that’s the best idea, sir?”
“I’m
not inept,” Fang snapped, running his
fingers through his mane. “I’m hoping maybe I can get some gear on loan, work
it off or something.”
“I
doubt it,” she said, and he thought he heard some sadness in her voice, “I
mean, they used to do that, but there
was a string of thefts, so Azzan tightened up regulations. You have to prove
yourself with what’s on your back.”
He
grunted. “We’ll see about that,” he
said angrily, and nodded at her. “Thank you for your… assistance, m’lady.”
Fang
sighed as he walked away, leaning on a wooden gate for a moment before opening
it and stepping past, keeping a hand to his head as he walked. The guard
watched him for a moment, before rolling her shoulders slightly and beginning
to walk out. “Hmm… should tell Maelona about that one,” she mused to herself,
heading towards the western edge of town.
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