[center][b][h3]Two Birds of a Feather[/h3][/b] [i]Evening, 7th of Midyear, 4E208 Gilane, Hammerfell[/i] [sub]A [@Father Hank] & [@DearTrickster] Production[/sub] [/center] [hr] While Mazrah had initially been annoyed and even offended by Nanine’s suggestion to hide her body beneath a robe during the attack on the prisoner transport where they freed Shakti, she had to admit that she appreciated the freedom she still had to walk freely throughout Gilane without having to be afraid that one of the guards would recognize her based on her description. She was, after all, extremely distinct. Her remarkable and fearsome appearance was even further exacerbated by the fierce scowl she wore on her face as she stomped through the bazaar, fists clenched and shoulders hunched. Mazrah was angry and frustrated and her total and utter inability to conceal her emotions meant that merely looking upon her was reason enough for the citizens to give her a wide berth. She was looking for a bar with the express purpose of drowning her anger in alcohol. Daro’Vasora had been captured and much to her chagrin, there was nothing she could do about it right then and there. The Khajiit had been taken somewhere after being paraded through the streets like some kind of traitor and now she was gone. Quick to make friends and loyal to a fault, Mazrah took it personally, despite the fact that the Orsimer and the cat-lady had only been friends for, what, a week? “That’s not the point,” Mazrah muttered to herself and shook her head. The audacity of the Dwemer and their minions had now personally affected her and if there was one thing Orcs all hate, it’s having their shit fucked with. She could only hope that someone else in the party had a good idea or a clever plan in the coming days. Coming up with that stuff had never been her forté. At last her feet brought her to the door to a bar and she looked up in surprise to find it was the back-alley bar where she’d found the Redguard bastard that brought her to Gilane in the first place and beaten him up… with Daro’Vasora. It was where they’d met. Mazrah remembered it being a seedy, smoky den of card-players and smooka addicts. In other words, it was perfect. She needed someplace crass and dumb where she could just be herself and beat up anybody who challenged her for it. Someone else opened the door now to look at her when she knocked. Mazrah remembered it being a Dunmer last time; now it was definitely a local Redguard. “Yes?” the man asked tersely. “I want to get drunk.” Mazrah put her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “And I’m looking for a fat cock to fuck,” she lied and conjured the most sickly-sweet smile she could muster. The Redguard was too taken aback by that to have verbal answer and settled for opening the door and letting her through instead. Mazrah dropped herself on one of the stools at the bar and planted her elbows on the countertop with enough force to send ripples through the drinks of the other patrons on either side of her, and it seemed like everyone in the establishment turned to look at her. She pointedly ignored them and focused on the bartender, who was a surprisingly lovely, fair-skinned woman from somewhere that was definitely not here, with big green eyes and reddish hair. She had a dagger strapped to her waist and a sharpness to her face that suggested she wasn’t just a doll, however, and Mazrah gave her a lopsided grin. “Hi. I want your biggest mug of the foulest poison you have in here,” the Orsimer purred. The bartender raised an eyebrow but made no comment as she drafted a pint-sized shot of Stros M’Kai rum for Mazrah. “This might actually kill you,” she said as she slid the giant mug across the countertop. “But I have a feeling you know what you’re doing, Orc, so knock yourself out.” Mazrah grunted appreciatively and immediately downed a big gulp, smacking her lips loudly. “Charming,” the bartender said but the amusement on her face was unmistakable. Mazrah growled and winked. “Bite me.” Among the rattled pints belonged to a sour-faced, dark-skinned Redguard mage only a few seats away from the new boisterous Orc joining the pity party that was the tavern. Steadying the brim of her dark stout tankard, dulled green eyes glanced to Maz. Maj Noor sat with a slight hunch over the counter, gloves and cloak removed. Long black hair fell over her shoulder, gently tied in on itself in a loose knot. Choppily cut bangs framed her face, a crooked nose pointed up at a slight angle. Twin silver hooped earrings somehow survived her tribulations. Trying and failing to ignore the permeating smell of piss coming from [i]somewhere[/i] nearby. Did it really matter? She looked down to her hands, fresh blisters in the palms from spending the past two days picking barnacles off the belly of a ship grounded in Gilane’s port. Needing a few septims to get a stiff drink. In so far her solutions weren’t being found at the bottom of a tankard. Everywhere she looked Dwemer roamed the streets like a bad night terror. What little sleep she had managed from passing out in exhaustion was filled with the fresh memory of the gold-plated Dwemer airship hovering above her and blocking out the sunlight. It sent a shiver down her spine. Gripping the tankard she drank deeply from it, the brew bitter and strong. The aftertaste was disgusting. Slamming down her tankard she looked at Maz once again, making a face at the two patrons between herself and her future drinking buddy. Maj assumed misery loves company. “Alright, move your asses!” She suddenly announced shoving an elbow at a dreary dunmer beside her, he rolled his eyes conceding to moving just to another seat cupping his own drink as he moved. Next was a bearded breton man whom she tried shoving next. “Move,” She poked her elbow at him, “Mooooove.” Using both hands. He grunted, “The fuck woman?” He raised his arms out of her reach as she continued to push him. “Move, I want to sit beside someone who looks just about as miserable as I feel. Fuck off, mate.” She said with some success managed to push him out of his chair, he stumbled back spilling a little of his drink over his fingers. He looked irritated and eyed Maj deciding how much of a fight she’d be worth to put up with. She squinted back at him. “Fuck, fine you can have the big ugly oaf.” He said with a huff turning his back. “Nobody wants to sit near a drunk orc.” Maj settled in his seat beside Maz, she leaned holding the counter as a balance with her left hand barely able to reach her tankard with her right, her fingertips just brushing the handle. The bartender watched her struggle to reach it and moved it the inch within her reach. A good grip she dragged it in front of her with a huff, laboriously pulling herself back to sit up right. Getting a closer look over of Maz, Maj’s eyes settled on the tattoos intricately lining her face, counting the earrings lining her long pointed ears. The scars as well, they were pitted and marked along her arms, the former Corsair not making any attempts to be subtle in her observation. She leaned into the bar, settling her cheek against the heel of her palm she said, smiling, “There ain’t a single ugly thing about you. Hi, I’m Maj.” Mazrah decided to ignore the commotion to her right in favor of focusing on her drink until it turned out that the source of the ruckus had been a woman trying to sit next to her. Mazrah turned her head to look and once she’d fully taken in the sight of the languidly smiling Maj, the Orsimer turned her whole torso to face the Redguard. She returned the pirate’s smile with one of her own and was just about ready to fake innocent astonishment that someone would compliment her -- for Maj’s amusement, of course -- when it dawned on her what the woman had just said. Her smile turned into a confused frown. “What in Oblivion are you saying, girl? That is [i]my[/i] name,” she said, already slightly slurring her words. Her alcohol tolerance was prodigious but there was only so much her body could do to defend itself against half a pint of rum consumed in just a few minutes. “I am Maz. You can’t also be Maz.” She held up a wagging finger while she talked and then she pointed at her chest. [i]“Me[/i] Maz. [i]You[/i]... someone else. How’d you know my name, anyway?” “What?” Maj said sitting up straight, looking to her tankard - surely she hadn’t drunk [i]that[/i] much. “Maj, not Maz.” Enunciating her name and drawing out the j, “My name is Maj.” She leaned up and peered into Maz’s mug and got a strong whiff of rum, she frowned herself turning to the barmaid, “She was holding out on me, I asked for something strong too and she gave me this muddy brine.” Gesturing at her tankard, half-heartedly irritated but she took another swig anyway for good measure. “What got you drinking your sorrows away? These gods be damned Dwemer are ruining everything.” Maj complained, loudly gesturing with her tankard. The barmaid siddled back up and shushed her. Mazrah waved the barmaid away, irritated, and nodded along enthusiastically with what Maj had to say. “They are! I’m so glad to hear you say so,” Mazrah said and gave Maj an admiring smile. Everything about the Redguard woman endeared Mazrah to her immediately. She leaned forwards conspiratorially until their faces were only a few inches apart and placed a hand on Maj’s upper arm. She could feel her heartbeat quicken. “The Dwemer captured my friend,” the Orsimer whispered, her golden eyes boring into Maj’s green gaze. “And I can’t do anything about it. I’m [i]fucking angry.[/i] That’s why I’m here. You?” “You don’t fucking say.” Maj said, frowning at Maz. She found her hand and gave it a tight squeeze in solidarity, “One of their flying golden piles of shit sunk my ship and crew, unprovoked.” Maj felt a wave of mischief cross her mind, Maz was a stacked wall of muscle and shared her contempt for the Dwemer. She had hoped for some company this evening but now found herself being pulled toward something else. She could smell the the strong rum on her breath overlayed with her musky body, it was unique to the orc, distinctly [i]her[/i]. “Now what are a pair of angry women like us to do with all this unresolved energy.” Maj said her frown inverting to a sly wicked smile. “We could do something unproductive like drinking ourselves into a sickening stupor. [i]Or...[/i]” She continued matching Maz’s conspiratorial voice. “There’s a few dozen ways an angry orc and angry mage could stir up some trouble for those sons of knave’s Dwemer. How about it Maz, want to get out of here?” She grinned wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Ruin their night.” Now that was music to her ears. Maj’s grin was infectious and Mazrah found herself smirking along. She looked at her hand that Maj and taken in her own and she reached up and stroked the Redguard’s cheek with her other hand, her strong fingers gentle against Maj’s soft skin. “Aren’t you a naughty girl,” Mazrah purred. “I love it.” In just a few seconds, Mazrah tipped the mug of rum back and gulped the rest of it down, slammed a few septims on the bar, jumped to her feet and winked at the redhead behind the counter. “If the Dwemer ask, we weren’t here,” the Orsimer said and winked. She grabbed her spear, bow and arrows and slung them around her torso before she made for the exit, making sure her hips swayed while she walked and turned her head to look at Maj. “Let’s go.” Maj bit her lower lip watching Maz go, the bartender rolled her eyes when Maj looked back to her. She slid her own septims toward her, including a couple more, “You heard nothing nor saw us, Lassie.” Doing the same as Maz and draining her tankard. In a flash grabbed her cloak and gloves. With an impressive flourish she, unaware of who received a face full of cloak behind her, clasped it securely at her collar. She whisked out the door after Maz hesitating on the stairs down to the street. Easily imagining Nephelle where Maz was, while the more disciplined of the two Nepelle was always the first to jump into trouble with Maj. Never asking the whys or hows just when they would get started. She shook her head pushing away the thought, convinced if their positions were switched Nephelle would be right where she was then. Who was to say she’d feel the same in the morning, tonight was for a break in the stormy waters. Carrying on to Maz’s side. Rolling up her sleeves, she hiked her hood up over her head. Cracking her knuckles. The two budding partners in crime made no attempt to hide their swagger or their presence as they made their way through the streets of Gilane while they looked for victims, which were steadily emptying as the curfew approached. It was still some time away but many citizens had learned that it was better to be safe than sorry these days. “Come on, I really have to go,” the Dwemer guard said with a pleading tone to his voice. “We’ll catch up to the others later. Just watch the streets for me, alright?” His colleague watched the rest of their patrol march onwards with a sigh and waved dismissively. “Alright, alright, just go -- that alley over there.” Grateful, the first guard took up position just beyond the entrance to one of the city’s many alleys and the sound of liquid splattering on the sand, accompanied by a deeply satisfied groan, swiftly echoed in its walls. Meanwhile, from the shadows behind one of the closed market stalls, Maz and Maj observed them at a distance. They had decided that discretion was the better part of valor after all and did not make their presence known just yet. “Look at him, just pissing all over as if he owns the place,” Mazrah said sidelong to Maj, her lip curled in disgust. “They look just like the pair of boys that need to be taught a lesson. Agreed?” “Aye. I’ve got an idea.” She beckoned to squat in the sand at their hiding spot. “Maz, you’re an unstoppable woman - fearsome in your own right. [i]But[/i], these bastids are cocky. I’ve only been in town for a few days and that,” She pointed at the pissing Dwemer, “has been the general fucking attitude.” She shuffled her finger beneath her nose. “What I’m going to do is build up from the beautiful base.” She took in some consideration, what could the Dwemer be afraid to see? Remembering little to nothing about them, they were engineers rooted in logic before the god’s revering races of Tamriel. That was about it. Usually she resorted to ghosts and spirits to spook superstitious sailors but would Dwemer really give two shits about seeing a ghost they clearly don’t believe in? “Oh I know!” She snapped her fingers, it was simple. “Okay stand up, Maz.” Clearly in her mind she imagined, what an imagination it would take to picture what exactly could scare the Dwemer. They liked their creations so much then what would possibly scare them more than to see one advancing outside their control? In spite of knowing little about the Dwemer the rendering of their Centurions face’s were just about everywhere in Gilane. Easy to find inspiration. Misty red light shimmered around her hands, the beginnings of her Fear spell, she built from the bottom up. The image overlaying Maz’s already impressive form of muscle slotted into place. Pieces of a puzzle connecting in metallic armour pieces over her body, growing taller than she naturally was. The bulky arms and large gloves, finally the huge curved armour head of a Centurion. The shadow the illusion casted was a special detail Maj rarely forgot to add, she felt it really sold it. She tapped her chin, making adjustments with a swipe of her finger as she rounded Maz in a circle. Spurts of oil leaking down the arms, haphazardly breaking the shoulder plating, ruining the symmetry of it. Stacks of heat vents on her back flared with flames, filtering out large clouds of steam. Finally rounding off the image with a crack down the centurion’s face by showing the faintest glow of a soul gem encased behind it’s eyes. Casting the eerie glow of a purple soul gem. She clapped her hands, her work complete. She whistled lowly, “A goddamn masterpiece if I do say so myself.” For someone as unfamiliar with magic as Mazrah, the idea of being enveloped with an illusion was so decidedly foreign that it almost made her uncomfortable -- but she steeled herself with the idea that its purpose was to scare the Dwemer, not herself. She had never been afraid of something real, why be afraid of something fake? Hell, the idea of becoming even more fearsome to others than she already was appealed to her. “I’ll take your word for it,” Mazrah said with a grin, unable to observe the illusion properly since she was inside of it. “So now I just run at them, yeah? Scare their balls off?” “More or less!” Maj agreed, “But- give them just a second to see you and fully recognize what is about to fuck them up.” “I’ll be blocking their exit.” Maj said purposefully being non specific, having not decided on how she would block them in. Her mind was already going through a few ideas. “I want to see their faces and balls drop.” The Orsimer nodded with vigor. “Sounds good. See you on the other side.” And with that, Mazrah was off. She put on her most menacing scowl, wondering if that would translate to the illusion that Maj had created around her body, and advanced upon the Dwemer guards. The one that had been taking a leak had just finished and was busy fastening his belt when the second guard, the one that had been keeping an eye out for trouble, hollered unintelligibly in alarm. “What is it? What is it?” the first guard asked urgently as he reached for his rifle and tried to slip his belt through the buckle at the same time. “Centurion! Centurion! It’s gone rogue! Run, you idiot!” the second guard yelled as he backpedaled past his companion and almost tripped over his own feet. Mazrah had to smother a laugh with her hand as she bore down upon them. Maj had done fine work. At the other end of the alleyway Maj peeked around the corner laughing at their reactions, it was working like a charm! Rubbing her hands she decided a classic block would work just fine, preferably before they could really escape - her buzz strong from hitting the tankard fast. It took her a few tries to get the next spell to cast. In her hands she pulled apart a small purple swirl, the beginnings of a summoning portal to Oblivion. Stepping into the mouth of the alleyway she squinted one eye shut and her tongue stuck out. Aiming between the flailing limbs of the Dwemer and Mazrah she swung her hand beneath her leg, the portal soared under Maz’s armpit, skimming over the helmet of the shouting Dwemer before landing against the wall several feet behind the fumbling Dwemer guard. The portal spun clockwise growing larger, after a moment came a long (unnecessary) whistle from Maj. “Come on out Snowflake!” Emerging from the dark depths of the portal was a cylindrical block of ice settling with a ominous crack against the sandy ground. Next came the unnaturally peaked head of Snowflake’s head, typical to Frost Atronachs, the hulking form emerged pulling free from its plane of Oblivion. Snowflake came to it’s full towering height, shorter than Maz’s Centurion illusion. It thrummed an alien sound in acknowledgment. “Took your sweet time huh?” Maj cupped her hand to her mouth shouting, “Well! Go on, you’ve got one for yourself!” She pointed to the fumbling Dwemer, the closest to Snowflake cackling at the slow frost atronach raising its club of an arm. Crossing her arms satisfied the connection to Snowflake strong and unwavering, the creature’s will bending easily to hers. Terrified the guards pressed their backs together facing different directions shakily raising their rifles to both giants. “Wh-what do we do!” one asked. “Fire!” Pulling the triggers, the first bullet buried deeply into Snowflake’s face - it advanced without being phased. However the second bullet breezed through the Centurion’s illusion, disappearing - leaving the image undisturbed. It took a moment of realization, “Magic! It’s fucking magic!” He turned to his fellow guard, enraged, “An illusion!” “And reality isn’t any better, numbnuts,” Mazrah growled as she broke into a sprint. The Dwemer were sandwiched between her and the rather impressive-looking Frost Atronach that Maj had conjured into the world. She considered taking out her spear and turning the two guards into shishkebab, but… they were just two men doing their jobs, patrolling and keeping the peace. Spilling their guts here and now would be senseless. That didn’t mean she couldn’t give them a solid beating. The Orsimer leapt forward and sailed through the air like a pouncing tiger before landing on top of the guard that faced her. Her rapid movement had dispelled the illusion and Mazrah burst forth from the inside of the Dwemer Centurion’s image with a look of fury on her face. The guard barely had time to yell before she was upon him, riding him into the ground and quickly jumping to her feet after a fluid, practiced somersault. Her landing had kicked up enough dust to fill the alley and she looked over her shoulder at the guard; he had the wind knocked out of him and lay crumpled in a helpless heap of pity at the end of the impact trail. “Piss on that,” she said and spat a nice, gooey blob of phlegm right on his cuirass. Maj pumped her fist at the sight, Snowflake doing the same mimicking her movement. Bending at the knees, Snowflake followed her movement once more the tip of its spear and the flat end of the club underneath the closest guard to it. In one swift lift and all the weight to springboard the Dwemer up into the air. His shrieks followed him up as he arked to the other side of the alleyway over Maz’s head. Crumpling to a painful landing at Maj’s feet, he grunted rolling to his side, coughing trying to catch the air that was knocked out of him. His breath caught as Maj pressed the heel of her boot down on his throat his eyes bulged looking up at her. “You fuckers made the mistake of leaving a single member of the [i]Scarlet Harpy[/i] alive. If it isn’t clear right now, then let me make it crystal.” Maj said, her lip curling up in a snarl. “We’re angry and your Dwemer bullshit isn’t going to last.” His eyes began to flutter and she released her boot. Satisfied at the fear and relief flooding over his features, her smile returned, “I think we’re done here.” She beckoned to Maz, holding up her arm, “Thirsty work, methinks.” Seeing Maj lord over the Dwemer and find a healthy, aggressive outlet for her emotions was truly a sight for sore eyes and Mazrah eyed the Redguard up and down with a grin. “Oh, I’m thirsty alright,” she purred and sauntered over to Maj before taking the offered arm. The height difference between them made her laugh and she playfully disheveled Maj’s hair. “You’re cute when you’re angry, did you know that?” With a laugh Maj dodged out of Maz’s mussing hand, “You should see how [i]adorable[/i] I am when at the bow of a ship.” She said mock-indignant, hooking her arm on Maz’s, shooting a flirtatious smirk - not missing a beat, “I pegged you to be thirsty for more than just rum.” Together they laughed, high off the cathartic release of anger - arm in arm stumbling in through the door of the [i]Silver Skull[/i]. The innkeep frowning at the pair, they slapped down some septims enough to have a room and a bottle of whatever was behind the counter to share. The innkeep blinked at the septims, pausing as he looked at the pair - not needing to think twice saying no to them wasn’t an option. He pointed and shuffled out of the way while Maz took the liberty to pluck the bottle free from underneath the counter. Huffing a sigh he watched them go stomping up the stairs, giggles following as they did. Maj opened the way through the door leading them in, she tugged her cloak free carefully laying it across the chest at the foot of the single double bed. Collapsing back with a thud, her giggles petering out with a sigh. “I haven’t laughed like this in ages it feels like.” Propping herself up on her elbows, the image of the Dwemer guard’s reactions made her laugh once again. “Did you see their faces?” She made a face herself imitating their shock, “‘It’s gone rogue! AH!’ Haha, I’ll never get tired of that.” She looked up to Maz smiling unabashed, eyes ignited with light and a distinct sparkle of mischief, this lightness being sorely missed the past several days since washing ashore. She had the lucky coincidence of meeting Mazrah to thank for that. “You’re really somethin’ Mazrah.” She said sincerely, she pulled off her boots shuffling them away, getting comfortable. “Something I really needed.” The languid smile returned. Mazrah enjoyed towering over Maj for a bit after the Redguard had made herself comfortable on the bed, but laid herself down next to her after cocking her head and giving Maj a toothy smile and a wink. Even like this, lying next to each other, Mazrah was so much bigger than Maj. She rolled on her side and rested her head on her hand, using her other hand to draw circles on the skin of Maj's arm with her index finger. “Please, call me Maz,” she said and leaned over to give Maj a peck on the cheek. “And I'm glad to be of service. Gilane has been hard on everybody that's come to this damned place, it seems. It's a good thing I found you.” She reached for the bottle of whatever-the-fuck-it-was and took a deep swig before offering it to the erstwhile pirate. Maj grasped the bottle taking her own generous sip, “[i]I[/i] found you,” She insisted. “Tell me about your friend, the one that is missing. Are you close with them?” Maj was curious, maybe they had more in common than she thought at first glance. Her mind was in a light haze, a particular coil was pulled tight in her gut. Goosebumps trailed down from her cheek to her neck. Mazrah thought about that for a moment. “I've only known her for a short time but it feels like we're close, yeah. She is the leader of a bunch of rag-tag misfits that are fighting the Dwemer as part of the resistance. They're all foreigners, like me. I was welcomed with open arms, which… well,” she said and laughed, “doesn't happen often. I'm a freak in these lands and I didn't have a lot of friends.” Maj smiled at that, the appeal to such a group of people instantly recognized. Not unlike the crew of the [i]Scarlet Harpy[/i]. “She sounds great, inspiring. Reminds me of my Captain, she lead a similar effort and group of diverse skins and culture.” Removing her gloves next, Maj in turn reached out to Maz. Callused hands and fingertips brushing down the length of her neck, following the trail of a tattoo. “I hope she returns, if not by your effort then by everyone who chooses to follow her. There’s something to be said about strong leadership, it’s rare and whether she knows it or not has a gravity of its own.” Maj passed the bottle back, heavy lidded, inched closer. “She's learning as she goes, I think, but she does a good job. I'm confident a plan will be made to get her back.” Mazrah bit her lip at the touch of Maj's fingers and looked down to see what she was doing. “You like my tattoos? They're part of my culture. My mother and her mother before her and so on, for as long as we can remember, were among the finest hunters and warriors of Orsinium. The tattoos and the scars represent creatures that I've slain, challenges that I've overcome, skills that I've learned, stuff like that. As you can see, it covers all of me,” Mazrah said, her voice low and sultry, while she positioned herself in such a way that Maj could get a good eyefull of her body, “which means I am very dangerous.” Suddenly and without warning, Mazrah rolled over and on top of Maj, straddling her, and interlocked her fingers with Maj's, pressing her hands gently but firmly against the bed on either side of her head. Their faces were only an inch apart. “So be warned,” she whispered, her eyes alive with mischief, “I'm a wild one.” A grin spread across Maj’s face, a knee pressing up against Maz, her weight against her hips and the immediate attention had sent an all too familiar thrill through her. “Aye, I like your tattoos and I want to see more.” Against Maz’s restraint Maj closed the short distance pressing her lips against the huntress, eyes closed, brow furrowed. Her hands squeezed at Maz’s. Pulling back for only a second to taunt her, “So what the fuck are you waiting for, wild one?” Mazrah returned the kiss with passion and the hue in her eyes had changed from mischief to unadulterated desire. “Temper, temper, little one,” she chided playfully and kissed Maj again. “I was already mostly undressed when we walked in here. You're still wearing an awful lot of clothes.” Grinning like a maniac, the Orsimer rolled aside and propped herself up on her elbow again. “Take them off.” Her tone was firm and commanding and she bit her lip in anticipation. “Only because you asked so nicely.” Maj whispered into her ear, leaving a kiss just under her earlobe, proceeding to do just as she asked slowly, testing Maz’s patience. It wasn’t long after the last piece of clothing fell to the ground where another moment apart couldn’t be tolerated. Affectionate, wild, without pause their night blazed forward into the dawn. [hr] [i]The next morning[/i] Exhaustive night coupled with drink did the insomniac of a former corsair well, managing the best sleep she had in days. Fairly, it was Maz’s extreme snoring that woke her from deep sleep. Pushing up she dug the heel of her hand into her eye freeing the grit, the heat of the day already bearing down on Gilane. Maj hugged her knees, eyes on Maz. The quiet only interrupted by her snore. Lifting herself slowly up from the bed, she circled around finding her white tunic and slipping it back over her head making her way to the desk. Pulling free her hair from the collar and shaking it loose. There was a bit of parchment and a small bit of charcoal left, just enough to sketch something quick out. Wanting to thank the orc huntress for successfully taking her mind off her troubles - if only for the night. She sat then jolted back to standing, the sting fresh. Resolving the need for light to properly examine herself later. Starting with a quiet [i]scritch scritch[/i], her tongue sticking out as lines curved as she sketched. Her foot wiggling about in thought. “Mauloch take me,” Mazrah groaned as she woke up, the sound of the charcoal on paper enough to rouse her from her slumber. “What the fuck happened? I feel like I was in a fight with a sabercat.” She sat up straight, looking around the room with a healthy dose of skepticism, before her eyes found Maj and it all came back to her. “Oh, that's right, I did,” she said and smirked, approving of the sight of the Redguard woman in nothing but a tunic. “Hey you.” Concentrating on her sketch Maj replied, “A fight with a sabrecat? Tell that to my ass.” Smiling, she continued drawing. “Hi Maz.” Even behind her own hangover, Maj felt sentiment bubble up. One night companion was still one more companion she had before last night, not looking forward to forging on alone. Considering what she had to do to return back to Wayrest or searching for information on the fate of the [i]Scarlet Harpy[/i], the tasks seemed monumentous. In spite of all that sneaking a look at Maz dissipated the clutch of worry around her stomach. “Just hold still while I finish this little something to remember me by, lassie.” Maj knew how things went and assumed this was the first and last time with the beautiful orc. “Last night was great.” She said instead of what she really wanted to say, [i]can we do this again?[/i] [i]Remember me by?[/i] Mazrah rubbed her eyes and frowned. Did Maj intend to let this simply be a one night stand? That disappointed the Orsimer -- she had figured that the ex-pirate, who had plenty of reasons to hate the Dwemer and nobody by her side, would have wanted to join up with her and the others. Maj’s magical skills were impressive and powerful and Mazrah knew that they would very much come in handy when the party staged their inevitable rescue attempt. But most importantly, she wasn’t about to let that beautiful, firm booty walk out of her life. There was much more to be plundered. “Oh no you don’t,” Mazrah growled, slipped out of bed -- still naked -- and swept up Maj in a big bearhug from behind. “You weren’t thinking of leaving me so soon, were you? Last night [i]was[/i] great, sugar, and mama wants more,” she cooed in Maj’s ear and nibbled her earlobe playfully. “Not just of your skills in the sheets, but your grit in the streets, too. We’re not done taking the fight to the Dwemer. You should come with us, be a hero, kick some ass. What do you say?” Lifted off her feet, she supposed would be something she’d have to get used to, her frown of concentration slowly turned to a grin especially at the nibble below her earlobe. Swinging her arm around her neck Maj hummed in thought at the offer, “Got to admit, it’s a lonely life without a crew.” Maz’s sincerity was unmistakable, Maj was confident she could sell herself to impress others in this group. Maybe they could be the perfect springboard, really, what other choice did she have right now? “How could I refuse an offer like that?” Maj said, agreeing. Turning about in her arms to face Maz properly, arms looped around her neck and her weight easily supported. “Dwemer won’t know what hit ‘em.”