In the high recesses of the vaulted room, the air hung heavy with waxy sediment and a silent, suspended cloud of ancient, flickering dusk. The late morning sunlight illuminated them as it streamed in through the high, leaded glass windows.
There was a thin, tepid quality to the light. Indeed, it seemed too weak to crawl anymore than halfway down the ash gray walls, leaving the well worn floor shrouded in milky darkness. It always seemed that way here, in this place, no matter how bright and robust the sun outside.
On the walls, ensconced candles made up for the lack of light from above, casting unnatural shadows and making even the cheapest bits of glass and metal shimmer like rare Altmeri treasure. Dark velvet hangings complemented the unsettling aura, adding an element of the prurient to the mise-en-scene.
There were three figures standing in the sickly spot light. Three figures, and their audience—a black and silver cat who watched intently through heavy-lidded eyes. Brilliant slits of emerald peering out from the darkness. One of the figures turned his own eyes away and tried to find something else to focus on.
The figure, Arthur Delatour frowned at the glass case in front of him and valiantly resisted the desire to open his mouth, to denounce this abomination, and rail against all that was ugly in the world. It was a truly powerful urge. Every ounce of his being was dying to cry out, to snatch up the monstrosity from the woman's hands and hurl it to the ground, thus saving her from what was surely an unspeakable fate. But to do so would upset his business, bring unwanted attention to his presence, and no doubt delay him further. It was simply best not to get involved.
Instead, he feigned immense interest in an unusual pendant which for all intents and purposes appeared to be a large ruby set in an ebony square, surrounded by some sort of veined green stone...jade perhaps. On closer inspection, the ruby appeared to be one of those nasty, laboratory grown fakes mages liked to produce when they're down on their luck. He sniffed.
It was fascinatingly garish...but it wasn't any worse than the nightmare the woman beside him was cooing over.
To his dismay her hand, the nails of which he noticed were unfashionably long, suddenly appeared under his nose and the horror stared back at him: three minuscule little stones exploding out of a decidedly thick ring on overly long prongs. Pink. Pale Blue. Yellow. In descending order. He glanced up at her.
"They're my birth stone, and those of my children....be honest, what do you think?"
"You've payed for it already?" He asked mildly, giving in as he was no longer able to hold himself away from the conversation, yet still determined not to make a scene.
"I had it made especially. I designed it myself!" She beamed.
He smiled charmingly. "I think it's quite lovely. And such a nice family keepsake."
"That's what I thought!" She smiled down at her ring with renewed pleasure. "They can pass it on to their own children one day. Maybe even add a stone or two."
Those poor children, he thought with an internal head shake. Delatour glanced up at the Nord behind the counter with a desperate expression. The Nord caught it and cleared his throat. "Would you excuse me 'mam, I just have to fetch something for this gentleman."
She waved him off. A brief moment later he returned and Delatour bowed gratefully.
"See how it fits...if there are any problems...just drop by anytime." The man said, nodding to the envelope.
Delatour waited until he was well away from the shop, and sure he wasn't being followed before he opened the package and withdrew the letter. A new report from Cheydinhal. He smiled darkly. With very good news it appeared.
He made a bee-line for the elven gardens and veered into a narrow alley off of the main thoroughfare.
He knocked, almost giddily, and waited with his hands pressed behind his back, still gripping the letter.
The man opened the door a crack, and seeing who it was, stepped back letting the door follow.
Delatour took it as an invitation, stepped crisply into the dimly lit room, and held the letter out to the man without preamble. The roughian took it, and scratched at the shadow of a beard covering his chin, his sharp blue eyes coldly razing over the letter. Delatour couldn't help but smirk as he looked up from the paper with a raised brow.
"This lead any good?"
"Oh yes." Delatour drawled, his smirk turning into a proper grin of delight. "My friend, we are, as they say, in business."
Delatour caught the repressed curl of a sneer and decided to tone down his enthusiasm a touch and cleared his throat. "Yes, well, you'll have to forgive my excitement. If you were the one who had to explain to our collective employer why we've had so little success as of late, and why we've lost so many people, then you would be chipper too."
He grunted and turned away, gesturing to a nearby table. "Want a drink?" Delatour glanced around the place and winced. It was dank and dusty and had that mildewy atmosphere of...il ne su quoi. But generally, in his experience, such an atmosphere connoted the lack of a woman's presence...or money...in that order. Even the meanest shack or hovel could be made livable when a little delicacy is shown.
As a bachelor it often amazed him to see the level of barbarity some men let themselves descend into, even at the heart of the empire, in its capital city no less. Then again, Imperials as a rule weren't generally inclined towards delicacy...too much of the rough and ready in their nature to be truly refined.
He adjusted his sleeves and cleared his throat. "Thank you no, I have much to see to, and to arrange. This was my first stop, but once our business is concluded I must make myself available to our gracious lord."
The hard blue eyes shot back to his. "You came here directly?" There was a sharpness in his tone which well matched his eyes. "What if you were followed?"
He, however, was not one to be chided by the likes of this cave dweller, no matter how effective an operative he was. "I was not." He bit out shortly. "And quite frankly enough time and resources have been wasted already. I heartily suggest you spend what little time we do have pursuing this lead and less fretting about someone finding you asleep in your bed, all unprepared.
"Frankly I expect you won't be here come sundown anyway." He straightened, tugging his jacket. "His lordship has requested that should the information we received prove reliable, we will act immediately with the plans he himself has drawn out."
The man scoffed. "What does he know of it? Some prissy high-born fool who d—"
"Might I remind you," he interrupted coolly, "that the prissy fool is the one footing the bills and paying your wage...and what's more, he has no reason to believe any plan of yours will be any more successful than one of his. It's not as if you've had a very good track record so far. Between the debacle with the guard and the attack on Wariel..."
