Turdas, 25th of Evening Star:
So my fellow thieves glaring at me when I walk into the cistern is a bit new. Even Delvin was in a bad mood: “Oh, good, you’re here. Brynjolf’s been getting on me about money.”
I slumped down in the chair across from him. “Well, he shouldn’t be. We’ve got new backers and a new fence in Markarth, and I finished the job for your and Vex’s clients.”
He grinned. “This sort of work suits you. It’s enough to make a man wonder what you did before you came to Skyrim.”
"Hopefully not enough to make a man ask, though."
"Ah. No. Well. Up for another job? I’ve got impatient clients."
"Sure, what do you have?"
"Why don’t we put you to work on filling the guild coffers directly so Brynjolf settles his feathers, eh?" Delvin opened a small book and shuffled through the pages. "How about Whiterun? Clean out Heimskr’s house. Hear the poor lout passed on recently. Arrow to the neck."
I tried not to giggle. “Delvin? Heimskr was a street preacher. He lived in a tent and owned two cast iron pots and an old hat.”
"Alright. Fair enough." He turned a page. "Uthgerd, then. Pick through her things while she’s out drinking."
"Uthgerd lives on a bench in the tavern she drinks in, Delvin.” Or did, until I made her a Blade. He didn’t need to know that, though.
He looked a little taken aback. “Fair enough. Alright, fine. Local hit. Smart-mouthed mage by the name of Marcurio.”
"…Did you pay for these tips? Someone was having fun with you."
He scowled and snapped the book shut. “Fine. Pick a city and make us look good. Keep it quick and quiet. And don’t tell Vex we had this chat. She’s still mad about the firs.”
Bedlam it is. Windhelm looks like it needs some livening-up, anyway.