The Heart Of The Matter || Isobel

[Derrick Raihl .]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background: #999999; width:450px; height:490px; padding:0px;] [style=width:400px; height:165px; opacity: 0.8; font-family: times; background: url(http://i684.photobucket.com/albums/vv205/Cowgirlatheart_101/Josh.jpg)][style=width: 270px; height:100px; background: transparent; float: right; letter-spacing: 4px; font-size:12px; font-family: times; text-shadow: 2px 2px 2px #333333; line-height: 25%;] TELL ME WHAT YOU FIND WHEN YOU READ MY MIND [style=width: 200px; float: right; background: transparent; text-align; justify; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size:5px; font-family: times; text-shadow: 0px 0px 0px #111111; line-height: 80%;]the good old days, the honest man, the restless heart, the promised land, a subtle kiss that no one sees, a broken wrist and a big trapeze. oh well I don't mind, if you don't mind 'cause I don't shine if you don't shine.

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[style=text-align:center; text-size: 9px;]WORDS: 801 TAGGED: Isobel
NOTES: XD She definitely isn't some overweight, prematurely balding young man...Derrick isn't complaining about that. ;3

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Apparently this was where he was supposed to meet the contact. Having just boarded his horse up, Derrick found himself making his way toward the Inn that he was supposed to be meeting someone sent from Solitude…or Whiterun, or wherever the hell they had said that they were sending this Imperial from. While he walked into the place, his dark eyes scanned the building, noting every person that was hanging around. And there seemed to be way more than there should be for this time of the day. Odd…

Well, he’d dealt with odder situations in his life. Closing the door shut, he softly made his way over toward the woman that was behind the register area. “A room for one night.”, he asked, flashing her a smile as he did so. It didn’t take him long to get the key to the room that he was supposed to be staying. He assumed that it wouldn’t be hard to find his room in this little place, not that he minded. It was cozy after all, and he’d had his fair share of bad places to rest for the night. Yeah…this would be fine, even homey feeling. Besides, he would only be here for one night, two at most waiting for this said contact, and would be gone quickly, retreating back to the wilds that he was so comfortable in.

He had been right about the bed not being hard to find. In a few minutes he had tossed his packs on the bed, changed clothes, freshened up, and slipped the map that he was supposed to give to this contact in his back pocket. Now all there was to do was wait, which meant that he could either sleep or go out and mingle with the people around the Inn. Though he was tired after the hard ride, he opted to go out and mingle, which he did.

Before long, he’d landed himself a chair by the fire, facing the door, between two bards that were talking so much about books that he wondered if they ever got away from a library. Fortunately for him, he could easily talk about his own time in the college for Bards in Solitude. It didn’t take him long to make friends with these two men, even though he denied the mead that they offered to him. Sliding down in the chair a little, he half closed his eyes while they continued on, only half listening to them while they chattered on. Honestly, this felt great, just hearing other human voices, the warmth of the fire on his face, and the meal he’d eaten in his stomach.

While their voices droned on, his mind turned to this contact that was supposed to be meeting him here. He knew nothing about this person, aside from that whoever it was, was going to ask him if he’d heard of any Merchants in the area that sold Mammoth tusks. Who the hell even came up with these codes anyway? Obviously no one that actually knew what really went on out in the countryside. But whatever, they’d learn someday, right? Hopefully. Besides, all he had to do was give the map of the route the Stormcloak shipment to this person. He’d managed to swipe it off one of the higher ups in the Stormcloak rebellion, along with which dates and times they would be in which places. He viewed it as a personal victory for doing it so smoothly and not having to kill anyone.

He couldn’t help but be curious who this contact was, or what they looked like. He assumed it would be some Imperial soldier that would try to blow this entire thing. Probably some overweight, prematurely balding, overeager young pup that would trip over themselves in their effort to do their job right. Just what he needed to deal with… Oh yeah, sounded like a great time. Because he didn’t know the contact (Though he assumed they had been given his description anyway), Derrick found himself scanning the faces of everyone that he saw. In the hour and a half that he had been here, he had settled himself in and was simply passing the time until this contact got here, or waiting for this contact to come out of the woodwork if they were already here.
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[ISOBEL AURIEL .]

run run away, don't let him mess with your mind .

Isobel had been in the inn since the second imperial had arrived. She sat quietly in one of the corners of the tavern, her small hands wrapped tightly around her tankard of mead. She was a regular there at this point. Vilemyr inn was a frequent stop on her way to and from the camps in the Rift. The people of Iverstead wrote her off as another hunter. She always had furs and meat in her knapsack to trade when she came in to town. Her fur armor was hardly the imperial standard that he probably searched for. Her satchel with orders and messages from one imperial camp to the other hugged her hip. She never let it away from her. Her hide shield and sword leaned against the wall next to her. Far enough away to look as though she were a causal tavern patron, but close enough if she needed them. Isobel always suspected she would need them. He vanished in to the room he had rented. He was gone almost long enough for Isobel to doubt that she had singled out the correct man. Thankfully he returned and took a seat by the fire watching the door. If Isobel were waiting for someone, she would have tried to make it less obvious that she were watching the door. Anywhere else, sitting in a darken corner of the room might have been suspicious, but it was where Isobel always sat when she came here. She was glad that he at least made friend with the two bards next to him. That would help him look less like he was waiting for her and more like he wanted to be in a tavern instead of shoving his sword through the hearts of a Stormcloak traitor. She smirked a little at the thought. What was he looking for? She wondered. Certainly not for her. Few of the Legion's troops were women. There were some here and there. With some measure of bias, she believed she was prettier than most of them. Younger certainly. One of the other solider had called her green. She was not green. She had seen Orsimers, they were green. She was decidedly closer in shade to a snow cat than she was any of the orcish people. She was inexperienced in war, but she had been trained in the Imperial City. She was excellent in combat, eager and willing to preform any task assigned by the officers, and she was a damned good courier. She had not lost one scrap of paper that she was supposed to deliver. And the few soldiers that felt compelled to comment on the fact that she was a woman still bore impressions from the studs on her shield in their flesh. No. he wouldn't be expecting her. He would expect everything but her. She pulled her self up from the chair, taking a few long strides to the center of the room. Tossing her red hair over one shoulder she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you just denied our bard friends the opportunity to share mead with you, but I was hoping you would reconsider, and have a drink with me?" She placed her other hand on her hip. Surely a handsome man like himself had been propositioned by a pretty woman before. She on the other hand spent most of her time tying to convince the men in the Legion to take her seriously as a soldier and to ignore the feminine parts of her. She tried her best to seem confident, but honestly she felt ridiculous. She was not that kind of woman. She would personally just as soon smash in his pretty face with her shield as have a drink with him. But most of the Rift was under Stormcloak influences, and she tried to be subtle when she could.

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word count - 648. tag- derreck . definitely not what he's looking for .

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[Derrick Raihl .]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background: #999999; width:450px; height:490px; padding:0px;] [style=width:400px; height:165px; opacity: 0.8; font-family: times; background: url(http://i684.photobucket.com/albums/vv205/Cowgirlatheart_101/Josh.jpg)][style=width: 270px; height:100px; background: transparent; float: right; letter-spacing: 4px; font-size:12px; font-family: times; text-shadow: 2px 2px 2px #333333; line-height: 25%;] TELL ME WHAT YOU FIND WHEN YOU READ MY MIND [style=width: 200px; float: right; background: transparent; text-align; justify; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size:5px; font-family: times; text-shadow: 0px 0px 0px #111111; line-height: 80%;]the good old days, the honest man, the restless heart, the promised land, a subtle kiss that no one sees, a broken wrist and a big trapeze. oh well I don't mind, if you don't mind 'cause I don't shine if you don't shine.

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[style=text-align:center; text-size: 9px;]WORDS: 767 TAGGED: Isobel
NOTES: None!

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”Sure ya don’t want any mead?”

Derrick inclined his head slightly toward the bard beside him, his eyes dropping down to the mead that was being pushed toward him even as he put his hand up to refuse it once again. “Positive.” Though the two men seemed a bit confused about a young man in his prime turning down mead, they didn’t say anything much more about it, settling back down to talk about all their accomplishments in the world. Derrick found himself enjoying the company of these two men, even if they were just big talkers that probably didn’t do a quarter of the things that they mentioned. Despite liking them, he said only enough to make them think he was extremely interested in everything they had to say.

He hadn’t come here to be sociable and make some friends, but he did need a cover this deep in the heart of Stormcloak country. And what better way to do that than to get in with a few mead drinking, loud talking, good timing bards? As far as anyone knew, Derrick belonged in their group, which gave him certain freedoms. Freedoms like facing the door to be able to see the going on’s of the place and try to pick out the messenger he was supposed to be rendezvousing with. He didn’t much like that he had no idea what this man looked like. Didn’t like having to be facing the door, because in his mind it looked suspicious, at least to certain people. Unfortunately, those certain people were usually the ones that caused the problems, and so he had to tread carefully…or grab a few bard friends that could take away any or all suspicion in him. Why tread carefully when there were bards available anyway? “What about this war, eh?”

Instantly Derrick was on edge inside. At any mention of the war he usually had the same reaction. Why would this man bring up the war? Studying him for a second, the brunette shrugged easily and never lost the relaxed expression he had on his face. “It’s kinda crazy. But, you know, us bards can just walk right down the middle most of the time I guess, so we have to worry about it less than soldiers.” Instantly he got hearty agreements, a slap on the back, and yet another offer for mead. Derrick just smiled and yet again denied it. From his experiences as a child, he never touched the stuff, always in fear that it could control him like it had his father.

It was at that precise moment that he felt the hand on his shoulder. Derrick slowly lifted his dark eyes from where they rested on the bards beside him, allowing them to first glance at the hand that had been placed on his shoulder. Feminine. Trailing that hand to the arm it belonged to, and finally the woman that the arm belonged to, Derrick had to admit that he would be content to sit there a few seconds longer just to look at her. Young, pretty, and soft looking, definitely different from most of the women that he had met recently, who looked as harsh as the elements that surrounded them.

Following her sentence, Derrick felt that same easy smile reach his lips, before he shifted in his seat to see her better. From his position, he didn’t see the two men that were sitting with him give her appreciative looks and nods. “I don’t drink.”, he explained with a shake of his head. To say he wasn’t used to the attention of the female gender would be a lie, but it had been some time since he’d had a girl walk up to him and offer to have a drink. Usually it was up to the men to seek out those of the opposite sex. “However, I would be more than happy to buy a drink for you.” Giving her a roguish grin, Derrick inclined his head toward the bards. “Pleasure meeting you fellows, but I’m sure you understand.” Excusing himself, the Imperial rose to his feet and gestured toward another table, further back, waving to the girl that was waitressing to come over by them. Like the gentleman he had become, Derrick pulled out a chair for the woman, and waited until she was seated to do the same.
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[ISOBEL AURIEL .]

run run away, don't let him mess with your mind .

Isobel took the place at the table across from him. She wanted to ask him upfront about the correspondence that she was to be picking up. But the direct approach was not was not always a particularly good one. He managed to make friends with the bards who were undoubtedly watching them to see if their new friend was able to get the pretty red-haired girl back into his room or not. Now was not the right time to be bringing up the fact that they were imperial soldiers, not in an inn in Stormcloak territory. She was wearing fur armor trying to blend in, the last thing she wanted to do was risk exposure. “A bard who doesn't drink. Well now I  have seen everything." He was handsome for a soldier. She had difficulty seeing her fellow legionnaires as anything except for pigs. It was really unfair to pigs, but those were the only words she could adequately find to describe how she felt about most of them. They either assumed thats she was there to play nursemaid or cook for them, which was insulting enough but not nearly as bad as those who thought she was there to take care of their more physical desires. Isobel would sooner fight a hundred Stormcloaks than join any of her fellow troops in their bedrolls. But this one, this one was not bad. “Are you new to the Rift?” She asked “I am certain that I’ve never seen you here before.” This statement was true. She had delivered messages to camps all over the Rift and she had certainly not come across this man before. If he was a bard as he pretended to be he would have been in one of the taverns that Isobel as a huntress would have also been in. She flipped her hair back over her shoulder reaching for her mug of mead. “I would remember a bard of your... calibur.” She was not sure how to get him to ask her back to his room. She spent all of her time trying to stay out of men’s beds. This was completely backwards and altogether wrong. She wondered if normal women had this problem or if it was just her.  She took a few drinks doing her best to smile as if she were flirting with him. It was a difficult thing for her to do. She fought with men, she fought against them, she killed them. She did not flirt with them, she did not seduce them. She twisted her hair between her fingers. “I am Isobel Auriel of Bravil. The story of how I became a hunter in Skyrim is a long tragic one, and I’d rather hear about you. A bard always has interesting tales, a few of them are even true.” Isobel  finished off her next tankard of mead. She had grown up with brothers in an inn. Drinking was not a weak point for her. There was only one drinking contest that she could remember that she’d ever lost. It was not a skill she frequently bragged about but as both a hunter and a soldier drinking was a requirement. If she could not keep up with her companions in the tavern how could she keep up with them on the battlefield? "Are you sure you will drink nothing? I happen to know that the innkeeper has a hidden stash of Cyrodilic brandy. If you’re stomach is too weak for a good Nord Mead.”

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word count - 588. tag- derrick . sorry it's so short .

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[Derrick Raihl .]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background: #999999; width:450px; height:490px; padding:0px;] [style=width:400px; height:165px; opacity: 0.8; font-family: times; background: url(http://i684.photobucket.com/albums/vv205/Cowgirlatheart_101/Josh.jpg)][style=width: 270px; height:100px; background: transparent; float: right; letter-spacing: 4px; font-size:12px; font-family: times; text-shadow: 2px 2px 2px #333333; line-height: 25%;] TELL ME WHAT YOU FIND WHEN YOU READ MY MIND [style=width: 200px; float: right; background: transparent; text-align; justify; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size:5px; font-family: times; text-shadow: 0px 0px 0px #111111; line-height: 80%;]the good old days, the honest man, the restless heart, the promised land, a subtle kiss that no one sees, a broken wrist and a big trapeze. oh well I don't mind, if you don't mind 'cause I don't shine if you don't shine.

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[style=text-align:center; text-size: 9px;]WORDS: 754 TAGGED: Isobel
NOTES: :3

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Derrick couldn’t really complain about his current circumstances. Hell, he’d rather be sitting by some beautiful woman than two drunken bards any day. That didn’t, however, fix his problem of finding this contact that he was supposed to be meeting here. Before he’d felt irritation that this man, who in his mind he had conjured up as being about the oddest looking man ever, was taking his dear sweet time in getting here. Now at least he had a distraction from that, in the woman that had made her way over to him. Unfortunately, he sure wasn’t expecting the person he was meeting to look anything like she, so he was still waiting for this person, taking occasional glanced toward the door while he engaged her. He simply gave her that same confident little smirk and shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly at her statement about his desire not to drink. “Bards would be able to accomplish so much more if they weren’t drunk half the time, don’t you think?”

He found himself relaxing while he sat in his seat. He didn’t get this much, this actually being able to sit in one place for an extended period of time, not since he had joined the army. It felt good to kick back and take it easy more. Derrick really needed to get away from the war more before he became his older brother. A sobering thought, as James was dead and gone now. Shaking it off, Derrick nodded his head. “What gave it away?”, he said, feigning sheepishness in his voice and features. “Ahh…well, of course any locals would know.” Derrick said that as if he was putting everything together in his head. “Decided to expand my horizons lately, and I was going this way to attempt and find the tusk of a mammoth to purchase.” Derrick told his lie smoothly, hoping his voice might float to this contact, if they were in the room. Besides, he had to keep up the certain image he was presenting for himself, right?

He felt a slow smile slide over his features while he appreciated the view that her sweeping her hair over her shoulder brought. Derrick had been around plenty of people in his lifetime, and had given and gotten attention from plenty of women in that time. The subtle hints were there, slight invitations, like the hair, the smiles, the bit of flirting, and the approach, but something was missing. Not that she wasn’t a head turner, or charming, just something about it was off slightly. Women…still the most complex creature in existence. Trolls, bears, saber-cats, they all had certain personality traits and acted for certain reasons. Women were different altogether.

So she wasn’t from Skyrim, that he should have known. “Well Isobel Auriel of Bravil, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Derrick. I’ve been many things, one of them, as you’ve probably guessed, is a bard.” Well that wasn’t an out and out lie, since he had attended the college of bards for some time with his siblings. “As for truth, perhaps you’ll want to ask someone else for that.”, he said with yet another grin. “I can’t promise how truthful about my past I’d want to be with as pretty a woman as you.”

And again with the drinking. Quirking a brow, Derrick denied that as well with a shake of his head. “I can handle the mead.” Horrors of his past emerged in his mind while he sat across from the woman he had deemed as a beautiful one. He could still see his mother being beaten, could still feel the pain from his own bruises, and inwardly shuddered. “My father drank.”, he tried to explain. “A little too much at times. I decided I would stay away.”, he finished, trying to make light of his stand against drinking a lot of mead. With a slight shift in his sitting position, Derrick lazily passed his gaze from her and slowly made as if checking on his bard friends, yet once more he was scanning the door, wishing this informant would show up sooner than later. “You mentioned being a hunter? I’ve always been curious about the less civilized life out in the wilderness. It must be exciting?”

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