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plotdeviced2016-02-14 09:41 pm
darjeeling) wrote in plotdeviced2016-02-14 09:41 pm
Entry tags:
[skyrim] ★ Unlimited Supply
Theme Prompt: Practice Makes Perfect
Title: Unlimited Supply
Fandom: Elder Scrolls: Skyrim
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: No
Word Count: 531
Summary: A locked chest presents an enticing opportunity. Written for Challenge #002 atfandomweekly
"When I said I had a supply of them," Daulinna said, as Irfon threw the newly-snapped lockpick across the stone room and reached for a new one. "I didn't think you actually go through the whole stock in one sitting."
"You're the one who suggested I learn how to do this," the Breton battlemage replied, with a touch of peevishness. "I almost had it that time, it was three quarters of the way turned. Besides, it's not like we can go anywhere right now, and this chest is just sitting there. Mocking us."
The archeress raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if their last bout with the draugr had knocked a few too many The part about not going anywhere for the moment was true enough, at least. The blizzard outside howled and beat against the metal carved doors of the Nordic ruin, forcing its way through to make the fire gutter and cast dancing shadows against the wall. In this entry antechamber, there was no chance of running into the dragur who no doubt lurked below, but with their supplies as low as they were, she wasn't inclined to venture deeply into the ruin anyway.
The still-locked chest had been the most interesting thing in the otherwise picked-clean stone chamber, although Daulinna noted the deep scrapes and scratches around the lock's recess that spoke to many previous attempts by whatever adventurers had been in here before. The weight of it was likely why it hadn't been carried off whole.
Snap! A frustrated growl, and a fifth broken lockpick was tossed over Irfon's shoulder before he reached for another. The Dunmer woman opened her mouth to object -- she needed those, but thought better of it, and stirred the fire again.
"How did you learn to open these so easily?" Irfon asked, leaning his nose almost down to the end of the lockpick, as if the proximity would allow him to find the right spot.
"Lots of practice," she replied, opening her pack to sort through their supplies. They were good on dry staples, but she was concerned about her arrow supply. Even though she habitually reclaimed all the unbroken arrows she could from corpses, so many of them wore heavy armor that the shafts often broke when they pierced.
A sixth lockpick clattered across the interlocked stones; she grimaced, and seriously considered shrinking the pile of them she'd handed him by a subtle sleight of hand. "Irfon, are you sure--"
"I was very close that time, I know it! The closest I've been yet. What do you think is in here? I'm starting to see why you do what you do, Madame Dunmer... moral quandaries aside."
"You have such a way with words, Dragonborn," she replied dryly, the humorous exchange of titles becoming a familiar habit. "Shall I give you a reward, if you manage it?"
"Success is its own reward. I've not backed down from anything before in my life, I'll keep at this until I get it, or until I run out of lockpicks."
When he turned back to the chest, Daulinna lifted a few of them out of the pile and back into her pockets, just in case.
Title: Unlimited Supply
Fandom: Elder Scrolls: Skyrim
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: No
Word Count: 531
Summary: A locked chest presents an enticing opportunity. Written for Challenge #002 at
fandomweekly"When I said I had a supply of them," Daulinna said, as Irfon threw the newly-snapped lockpick across the stone room and reached for a new one. "I didn't think you actually go through the whole stock in one sitting."
"You're the one who suggested I learn how to do this," the Breton battlemage replied, with a touch of peevishness. "I almost had it that time, it was three quarters of the way turned. Besides, it's not like we can go anywhere right now, and this chest is just sitting there. Mocking us."
The archeress raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if their last bout with the draugr had knocked a few too many The part about not going anywhere for the moment was true enough, at least. The blizzard outside howled and beat against the metal carved doors of the Nordic ruin, forcing its way through to make the fire gutter and cast dancing shadows against the wall. In this entry antechamber, there was no chance of running into the dragur who no doubt lurked below, but with their supplies as low as they were, she wasn't inclined to venture deeply into the ruin anyway.
The still-locked chest had been the most interesting thing in the otherwise picked-clean stone chamber, although Daulinna noted the deep scrapes and scratches around the lock's recess that spoke to many previous attempts by whatever adventurers had been in here before. The weight of it was likely why it hadn't been carried off whole.
Snap! A frustrated growl, and a fifth broken lockpick was tossed over Irfon's shoulder before he reached for another. The Dunmer woman opened her mouth to object -- she needed those, but thought better of it, and stirred the fire again.
"How did you learn to open these so easily?" Irfon asked, leaning his nose almost down to the end of the lockpick, as if the proximity would allow him to find the right spot.
"Lots of practice," she replied, opening her pack to sort through their supplies. They were good on dry staples, but she was concerned about her arrow supply. Even though she habitually reclaimed all the unbroken arrows she could from corpses, so many of them wore heavy armor that the shafts often broke when they pierced.
A sixth lockpick clattered across the interlocked stones; she grimaced, and seriously considered shrinking the pile of them she'd handed him by a subtle sleight of hand. "Irfon, are you sure--"
"I was very close that time, I know it! The closest I've been yet. What do you think is in here? I'm starting to see why you do what you do, Madame Dunmer... moral quandaries aside."
"You have such a way with words, Dragonborn," she replied dryly, the humorous exchange of titles becoming a familiar habit. "Shall I give you a reward, if you manage it?"
"Success is its own reward. I've not backed down from anything before in my life, I'll keep at this until I get it, or until I run out of lockpicks."
When he turned back to the chest, Daulinna lifted a few of them out of the pile and back into her pockets, just in case.