Loud and Clear

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The time that passes is not necessarily the order in the questline. In the games, Brynjolf, Mercer, and Vex all refer to Aringoth as a Bosmer. However, this is a writing error, as he is an Altmer (High Elf). Also, prior to the edit, this chapter had about 2.8k words. Seem like a lot? It's really not. Now it has 5,145 words, hell yeah!
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((16th of Heartfire, 4E 202))

I had been enjoying myself shamefully more than when I'd been in Jorrvaskr. I'd done more jobs for the Guild, and everyone seemed slightly friendlier to me. Of course, I was often told no one cared about anyone down here, and the only thing that mattered was how much gold I could make the Guild. It mattered little to me. I wasn't looking for a new family, I wanted a thrill, I wanted money.

Despite the harsh remark, I received a smile from Brynjolf quite often, and Niruin was always eager to share marksman tips and stories. Sapphire and I remained what could almost be called rivals, usually staying apart from each other as much as possible. If we were assigned to work a job together, we ignored the other's presence until the job was complete. No matter what went on, Saph remained as prickly as ever.

About halfway through Heartfire, I decided to do some sword practice in the back. I needed to keep myself sharp and my blade sharper. The training room was occupied when walked in. I recognized the black leather and tangled red hair. Brynjolf must've heard me, as he halted in his furious swings and faced me. "Good to see you, lass." He sounded pleased.

"Mmhmm," I snorted, trying to ignore him while I faced the dummy. The training dummy, not the Nord. Amusement rolled off Brynjolf in waves while I went ahead with fire in my cheeks. It took me about three minutes before I dropped my sword and threw a handful of straw at him. "Is there something you need?" My snapping didn't affect the sly man, as he simply smirked knowingly.

"No, of course not," he simpered, crossing his arms and putting his weight onto his left leg. "Don't stop on my account." With an eye roll and quick stretch, I shook my head and resumed whacking the dummy.

"Wouldn't dream of it." My swings became wild and off-balance the longer Bryn stood beside me, and I wished fervently that he'd get away. I refused to let him get the better of me or make me quit.

"Lass?"

"What?!" I thundered, glaring at the Nord with sweat dripping down my face. He sauntered forward confidently and grasped my sword arm tightly. "Let go, Brynjolf!" A look of mock innocence spread across his face.

"I'm just trying to help you, lass." He rotated my elbow slightly and readjusted my finger placement around the hilt of my blade. "If you keep your limbs tense, then you'll slow down in the middle of battle." He was mere inches away, and I kicked him away with a scowl.

"The only reason I'm tense at all is because you're staring at me, you bastard." Bryn threw his head back and laughed.

"Then you need to learn to fight in moments of discomfort." He stepped towards me again, mouth brushing the red hair draped over my ear. When he finally spoke, his voice was hardly more than a hush. "And that's one of the most important things in a rough situation, lass... don't get distracted." He pulled away swiftly, my coinpurse hanging from his fingertips. I gritted my teeth and tried to snatch it away, though the Nord thief was faster than I. "No, I think I'll keep this."

I gave up on taking my gold back and raised my sword. "You're a scamp's ass, you know that?" After a brief moment, I decided to spit at Brynjolf's feet. With a curse and a smack at his shoulder, I stormed out of the training room.

...

((30th of Heartfire, 4E 202))

It was near the end of Heartfire when I returned to the cistern after a pickpocketing contract. The two men in charge, Mercer and Brynjolf, stood in the middle. Mercer glared at me with distaste and beckoned me over. Unease settled in my belly when the Guildmaster began to fiddle with a Dwarven dagger at his side, but a reassuring grin from Brynjolf set my nerves to rest.

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