Chapter Text
The Argonian leaned back in her chair in the Ragged Flagon, tracing her newest scars either delicate, trembling fingers. Her good eye had been cut, and it rendered her almost completely blind- she could still see light and the vague, indistinct outlines of objects, but it was like having tissues draped over her eyes costantly. She blinked, trying to focus, but of course she couldn't.
She made out a human figure in the world of blurs, and it sat down across from her. She instinctively turned her head towards the noise, sniffing the air.
She didn't need the low voice to tell her it was Delvin who sat down- he had a very distinct "aging" smell to him she identifed as him a long time ago.
"How're you fairing? Need a drink?" he asked, not unkindly.
"I'll be alright Delvin. I don't want another of my senses hindered," she paused, then said in a lower voice, "What's gonna happen to my place in the Guild? This is all the home I got."
She couldn't see the way Delvin rubbed the back of his neck, but she could hear the light clanging of his tankard as he set it down. She got a whiff of ale.
"Onasha, we're not going to kick you out. You're too skilled, and the Guild isn't heartless. Besides your blindness might make for a good begging gimmick to get coins.
"Course, we had another idea before we make you resort to that...," he trailed off, uncertainty coloring his voice.
"Like?" Onasha asked.
"We're going to assign you a partner-" the rest of what he was going to say was cut off by Onasha jolting the table and her following outburst.
"Wai- who?! Oh by the Hist, tell me I'm not getting paired with a dark elf or some slobbering Nord!" she said, dread filling her. Who her partner didn't worry her as much as how weak and pathetic she'd look in front of the Guild.
Delvin chuckled a bit explaining, "No, no. You're getting a new recruit. You just need help with navigating and pickin objects right? You can show her the ropes," he placed a hand on her scaled one.
"That's... that's not so bad," she half mumbled, settling again.
"Nah, it's not. Anyway, your partner's name is Nimrelin. She's again Bosmer that just crossed into Skyrim from Cyrodil. Uh, do you want again psychical description?" he asked awkwardly. Onasha nodded and he went on, "She's about 5'9, 5'10 and she's got a bit of muscle on her. Looks more of a fighter build than a thief. Her skins a bit tanned, she's got some scarring near her mouth. Dark, slightly squinty eyes. Light brown shoulder length hair. Got a pointy nose too," he stopped suddenly as another human figure came into Onasha's lack of eyesight. She couldn't tell who it was.
"You're Onasha, yeah? I'm Nimrelin," the Bosmer said. Delvin gently lowered the wood elf's hand, seeing as Onasha couldn't see the gesture for a handshake.
The lady had an accent and smelled strongly of pine and soil, which made sense.
Onasha made a vague, inaccurate gesture for the lady to sit, which she did. Delvin left the two to get to know each other.
"So you're the blind thief they told me about," Nimrelin began.
"Recently blind," Onasha corrected quickly.
"Well not really- you were already half blind, yeah? Decided to complete the job huh?"
Onasha paused and made a weak chuckle. She didn't like how the Bosmer had the tendency to end her sentences in "yeah?"
"I guess so. It was more like the rich Altmer I stole from wanted to finish the job."
"Close enough. How'd you lose half your sight in the first place?"
"Birth defect," Onasha said, her tone leaving no room for Nimrelin to ask more questions. Silence fell between them before the word elf started to talk again.
"Well, I'm from Valenwood but I moved to Cyrodil a while back. Thieves Guild was a little touchy over there, and they gave me the suggestion to come up to this place. I just got here a week ago," she finished, and called for an ale.
Suddenly something clicked in Onasha's memory. Maybe it the scent of alcohol mixing with the soil smell, or maybe it was the reminder that Nimrelin had arrived a week ago.
Just before she went on the job where she lost her sight, she had been sitting in the Ragged Flagon again, drinking some Nordic mead. In had walked a wood elf- fairly tall, with a fighter's build.
She had come in there like she owned the place, decked out in some weird Cyrodilic variation of elven armor, and strutted through the tavern. She had an amir of arrogance, and had snickered as she passed Onasha, no doubt because of the Argonian's lesser height and blind eye.
The Bosmer asked to get into the Guild's place, using Brynjolf's name to get in.
The entire time the self- centered mer had been there Onasha's scales itched with irritation.
Nimrelin was the same Bosmer.
"Oh Sithis," Onasha hissed. Nimrelin looked up, curiously as the Argonian muttered, "This is going to be hell."
"Why's that?"
"You're that same fuckin' elf who sauntered in here, snickered at me and made want to wring your neck with my bare hands."
Unseen to Onasha, Nimrelin's eyes widened.
"Son of a bastard, you remember that."