Chapter Text
"Maybe we should pay you a visit tonight, little spy." The nord leered at the dunmer, and Nox saw red for just a moment. A cold sort of rage settled into her gut. "We've got ways of finding out what you really are."
The implied threat turned that initial chill to hard ice.
Before she really consciously knew what she was doing, Nox found herself in between the littler of the two nords and the dark elf, shielding the woman bodily as she cracked her knuckles. Something inside her stirred at the prospect of violence, but unless she wanted to serve prison time, there was a custom to obey.
"I don't like your attitude," she said, with a smile nearly as frigid as the cold air around them. "A hundred septims, and you eat your words when you lose."
The man eyed her up and down, then glanced behind her, toward the dark elf - and further still, to her friends. "A hundred septims," he agreed. "Fists only. Let's go."
By the time he said 'go,' she'd already launched forward, slamming a fist into his gut.
It wasn't so much a brawl as an excuse, and he lost at least one tooth in the ensuing beat-down, never managing to land any solid hits of his own.
Nox didn't tend to fight with her rage. It wasn't good for an archer to be emotional, and her kills were mostly dispassionate things.
Lydia was the one to pull Nox away from her victim.
The bloody pulp of his face was barely recognizable for the bruises. His friend wheezed with the effort of helping him sit upright.
Nox held out her bloodspattered hand. "My gold, nord."
"Yeah," he muttered, bitterly. He spat blood to one side, and part of a tooth went with. "Here, elf."
The pouch of coins settled into her palm, and she smiled, grimly.
Ultimately, it wouldn't change anything, except the shape of the man's face. It was still satisfying to watch him limp away, leaning heavily on his friend.
"You didn't fix anything, you know," the dark elf said quietly. "He'll blame us for this."
Nox sighed, softly. "Yeah, I know all that," she replied. "But while he's laid up with his ribs cracked, he ain't working, and he ain't causing trouble. Murder ain't legal in Skyrim, but these nords love themselves a good brawl."
Truth told, a part of her soul had come to crave violence, too. Maybe she ought to keep track of that.
Probably, she ought to keep track of that.