The Reluctant Inquisitor

Elder Scrolls AU, in which Avi ( @lavellanlove ) had a bit of a run-in with the Brotherhood and Cyrus was the only one sulking around the hall at the time...

“You’re clearly not okay so stop bullshitting me.” Cyrus considered tempering his words, except that was ridiculous and he didn’t want to. For all her bravado, Avira looked about two steps from the gutter, rain-soaked and covered in filth, swaying where she stood. If he had to take a guess, she’d either been jumped by assassins or decided to take up a spontaneous career in mud wrestling. They might not be the closest friends, but he still had a pretty good idea of which was more likely. “Sit the fuck down and tell me what happened.”

“Maybe I tripped?” Avira seemed keen on playing coy, but at least she started moving towards the fire at the back corner of the hall. It was a minor victory, but one Cyrus would be mad not to accept. With unsteady hands, she unclasped her cloak, peeling it from her back and letting it fall by the firepit. “You know how uneven the cobblestones are around here. With the rain lately, it’s easy to lose your footing.”

Arms folded, Cyrus fixed her with a flat look as she lowered herself gingerly onto a chair. “Uh huh. Listen, if I didn’t know for a fact that you’re a member of the thieves guild, I might believe you. No one that clumsy survives in our line of work. So how about you tell me what really happened?”

The fire crackled gently, sending stray embers into the air. Avira’s eyes were closed, now. She was leaning forward, forearms on her knees, face turned towards the warmth as she breathed in and out, the movement slow. Exhausted.

She really did look like utter shit, which was admittedly a hard for her to achieve. Something must have really gone wrong, but Cyrus had a feeling pushing wouldn’t get him anywhere right then. So, with a grunt that he hoped signaled his frustration, he grabbed a bucket from the bench, filled it with water, and tossed a cloth in to soak. A better man might have heated it over the fire, but Cyrus had never counted himself among the better men, so he just set the bucket down by her feet. If she felt inspired to wash some of the mud off her hands, then so be it.

“Thanks.”

“Ssh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.” Anacrea paused what she was doing, regarding Katsuro with a flat look. “You prefer it out of your face, do you not?”

It was clear to her that Katsuro was not used to such… treatment. He sat rigid on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on the wall - a posture of endurance. Softly, she sighed, shifting so that she was kneeling behind him, her fingertips combing out the tangles in his long, dark hair. 

“It is more practical,” he agreed after a moment. She took care to gently run her nails across his scalp with each sweep - an effort to get him to relax. After all, he had already proven most willing to bend beneath her touch. “I rarely take it down.”

Anacrea chuckles. “I know. That is why I did it.” She paused. “On the proviso that I would return it to its proper state, of course. Not that this does not suit you.”

Even though she could not see his face, she could practically feel the warmth radiating from his cheeks. He was a pleasure to tease. “It suits me?”

“Mmhm.” She began twining the hair between her fingers, pulling the strands gently into line, beginning at his left temple. “You are quite a challenge to unravel.”

Katsuro snorted softly. “You did not seem to have much difficulty.”