haute ecole rider: Perhaps Dynari and Methie have man problems because they are hanging out in the Bloated Float?

Somehow I think they would the same problems if they were finding their men at the Tiber Septim though. But their problems would be better dressed...
When I was in high school my mother used to say that my best friend was a bad influence on me. My friend's mother said the same about me! We used to joke that we were two bad influences waiting to happen...
hazmick: Teresa should buy a babe? Well if she finds one for sale she just might! For now she is happy to rent Nerussa from time to time...
Acadian: I am glad you could tell what Methredhel was going to think next concerning Teresa. It means I have been showing enough of both characters that their true natures are evident.
I actually almost forgot about Fox. My first few drafts had no mention of Methie's spirit guide. It was only in the later versions that I fixed that oversight and put her in.
Finally, the argument between Simplicia and Methredhel was something I loved writing. The way it ends was meant to reveal a lot about the characters of both. We have seen how Adanrel would have reacted. Here we see that Methie is made of quite different stuff.
D.Foxy: Funny you should mention hos, considering what happens next...
mALX: I am glad that line worked. It seems to be one of the things straight girls complain about guys wanting to do most, and straight guys complain about girls not doing the most. So I never really thought about changing it.
Destri Melarg: Murder, She Said came yesterday, and I loved it. It had exactly what
A Caribbean Mystery was lacking. Miss Marple drives the entire movie, right from the start when she proclaims a murder has taken place, then goes on to snoop after the police tell her she is a senile old bat who should mind her own business. Needless to say I put the rest of the Maggie Ruthefords in my queue. You were spot on, she really makes the character come alive.
As ever, you have zeroed in on my favorite line from this entire chapter. It says so much about Simplicia and her motivations. Likewise, as you also noted, the reason for her malice/jealousy toward Methredhel, who is such a major rival for Teresa's love and attention.
Petra Arkanian: Thank you Petra. I am looking forward to catching up with the rest of your concerned protagonist later today.
Olen Returns!: I am glad the t.v. show format is working. You have highlighted exactly what I hope to achieve with the TF: A character-driven piece focused on making the people within in it and the world they live in come alive. Plot has always been second place in this piece.
That basic meditation from 16.4 is something I learned from Chris Penczak at a local festival. It has a very strong shamanic influence (which is no surprise if you are familiar with him), so I felt it would work very well for the TF and Teresa.
I know my grass crown is not the same as that irl. The real one was made of grass for starters! I liked the name best of all the Roman awards, so that is why I used it.
Next: Out last segment saw Simplicia bring Methredhel into her investigation. Next we see what the Bosmer thief turns up.
Chapter 25.4 – Unfriendly Competition"I can't believe I let you talk me into doing this," Dynari said, adjusting the plunging neckline of the cropped top that she wore.
"Talk
you into doing this?" Methredhel laughed. "Pretending to be prostitutes was your idea."
The Bosmer thief turned from the other woman and back to the mirror in front of the two of them. First she carefully slid rouge of red ochre and alkanet across her lips until they were a deep shade of burgundy. Then she began applying kohl around her eyes, staining them a dark black.
"Lay it on thick," the young Imperial said from beside her. "This is a daylight job. We have to look our parts."
"And if we are lucky, we might get some extra work on the side." Methredhel winked at the other woman, who giggled in response.
"Only if he's a patrician," she laughed. "Just imagine the opportunities from being a nobleman's mistress."
"Yeah, I could steal his keys while you keep him busy, and rob him blind before he gets home," Methredhel joked. Rising to her feet, she likewise adjusted the red crop top she wore, and smoothed down the short, loose skirt that hung beneath her bare stomach. "I heard these are all the rage in Hammerfell," she said, turning one way and another to see how much of her figure the skimpy outfit exposed. Or perhaps how little it did
not leave bare.
"Redguard women get to have all the fun," Dynari pouted, staring at her own lithe figure in the same mirror.
"Well, if you call living in over a hundred degree heat fun…" Methredhel commented, sliding her set of lock picks down into the valley between her small breasts. She frowned when she discovered there was not nearly enough covered territory down there to hide the brown leather packet that contained the tools. Maybe these crop tops were not such a good idea after all, she thought.
"Here, put it in your belt pouch," Dynari said as her fingers deftly slipped between her breasts and plucked out the lock picks. For a moment she wondered if Dynari was like Teresa, attracted to other women. Then she shrugged, taking the small packet and tucking it into the coin pouch at her waist. If Dynari was, then at least
someone might think she was attractive.
A few minutes later they were out the door of the second floor apartment they shared and making their way down the stairs. Both took their time on the steps, given the high, spool heels of the court shoes they wore. I really have to practice walking in these more, Methredhel thought to herself. All the men seemed to love them, or at least the women in them.
Then they were clopping their way along the hard pavestones of the street outside. Passing a row of tenement insulas like the one they lived in, the two women made their way to Sword Avenue with more than a few hoots and catcalls from the men they passed on the way. Dynari laughed and hooted back, prompting Methredhel to smile.
"Maybe you're in the wrong guild," the Bosmer winked. "You seem to have a talent for this sort of thing!"
"Oh just relax and have a little fun!" the young Imperial exclaimed. With that she slid an arm around the bare waist of the wood elf. "It's good to cut loose. Believe me, as a good, proper Imperial girl, I never got to dress like this before! Let alone act like this!"
The crowds along the thoroughfare became heavy as the great marble bowl of the Arena loomed before the two women. Turning down a side street, they passed several brothels before coming to a tenement that was even more run down then the one they called home.
"Gods, what a dive," Dynari said as she gazed up the chipped white-wash and cracked stone of the sprawling apartment building.
"Hey, at least he's only on the third floor," Methredhel said as they walked into the central atrium of the towering structure. Laundry hung from lines crisscrossing the open space in the center of the building. Children screamed and ran past in a cloud, prompting Methredhel to instantly grab the coin purse hanging from her belt. An old man came after them, waving a shoe in one hand and yelling something unintelligible.
"Another day in utopia," Dynari's voice fairly dripped with sarcasm. "Imperial culture is truly unmatched across Tamriel."
"This is a palace compared the shantytown I used to live in." Methredhel led the way to the stair that curled up around the edges of the atrium, leading to the upper floors. "At least they have a well here, and cobblestones to walk on. All we had was mud and Lake Rumare. You didn't dare drink from the lake either, because you know what people did in it."
"I don't mind living poor, but not that poor," the other woman shuddered against Methredhel's slender frame. "I don't know how you managed it."
"Teresa taught me how," the Bosmer thief smiled faintly at the thought of her friend. "You just make the most of what you have, and be thankful for it. Because it could be worse. Things can always be worse."
"Well, here we are, third floor, second door from the stair," Dynari said, eyeing the apartment before them. "Are you sure this is the right one?"
"That's what Simplicia said," Methredhel breathed, also staring at the chipped wood of the entrance. "She's usually good about those things. She spent nearly two decades spying out prospects for the Guild, so she knows how to shadow people."
"So what does she have against thieves then?" the young Imperial asked.
"Nothing," Methredhel sighed, "it's just me. I corrupted her pristine daughter. She'd probably blame the Oblivion Crisis on me if she could."
"You are such a bad influence," Dynari almost giggled. Then the Imperial's eyes cast around the walkway that surrounded the atrium. "Let's do it then. You're better with picks than I am, so you get the door. I'll keep an eye out."
Methredhel nodded, and fished the small, book-like leather case from her coin purse. Unbinding the rawhide that held it shut, she opened the packet and fished out a pick and tension wrench from the loops that secured them within. Starting with the wrench, she inserted it into the keyhole and turned it.
There, she thought as she followed with her pick. That moved the plug just enough to make a ledge for the pins to rest on when she pushed them up. Now using the curved end of her pick, she began working each pin in the lock up and out of the plug, hearing a slight click as each slid into place above it.
"We've got company," she heard Dynari whisper. Her heart doubled its pace, and the noise of footsteps on the nearby stair came to her ears. Work the lock, she told herself. Don't think about the bystander, just work the lock.
"Who are you two?" came a woman's voice from somewhere behind her. "What are you doing in Valen's apartment?"
"We're a late lunch," the thief heard Dynari simper behind her. She felt the other woman's bare flesh against her back. Nocturnal, please let her be blocking me from the view of whoever that is, Methredhel thought to herself as she worked the last pin. "Valen sent us up ahead while he cashes in his winnings, but his key's dreck. Maybe you'd like an early dinner when we're done?"
Methredhel had to fight down a giggle as she heard bystander cough loudly. "Well I never!" came an outraged voice.
"Well you should try us then," Dynari's voice piped up, and Methredhel could feel the Imperial's hips grinding against her back. "Five drakes apiece, and we'll open an Oblivion Gate between your legs!"
Then the sound of footsteps resumed on the stairs, much faster this time. Dynari was right, Methredhel thought, the prostitute disguise was a good one!
Then the last pin clicked into place. The plug slid sideways, opening the lock. Reaching back to take Dynari by the hand, Methredhel pulled her into the apartment.
"Come on lover, let's make sure we're ready for Valen when he gets here," she said loudly, hopefully enough so that the bystander could hear from the stairs above. The Imperial shut the door behind them, and they looked over the small domicile.
"This place is a real pit," Dynari observed. Muddy footprints went to and fro across the wooden floor. The few pieces of furniture within were chipped and faded, and draped with dirty clothes. Propped against one wall was a shovel, pry bar, and several burlap bags. Empty wine jugs lay scattered about, one still dripping the last of its contents from its open mouth. The air was stale and smelled of mildew, causing Methredhel to wrinkle her nose in disgust.
"Keep an eye out, I'll look through the place," Methredhel breathed. Dynari turned back to the door and cracked it open, peering into the atrium of the insula outside. In the meantime Methredhel explored the rest of the apartment. There was a small kitchen area with a stone hearth and dining table. Several half-eaten crusts of bread lay on the floor, now covered in mold. The icebox and cupboards were empty, which the thief considered a blessing.
Moving to the final room in the hovel, Methredhel found a stained rattan bed, wardrobe, and writing table. The wardrobe held nothing but threadbare wool and flax clothing. Next to the quill and inkpot on the table she found a book laying open. Peering through the rough scrawl upon it, she found that it was a ledger. It listed what appeared to be deliveries of goods to Thoronir, and his payments for them. Each set of items came from a different person, and most appeared to be jewelry and clothing of silk and velvet. But Methredhel also saw some listings for things like weapons, statuettes, a painting, even a few gold teeth and a glass eye.
"This is a blackmail list," Methredhel thought aloud. Simplicia was right, it was all stolen. Dreth must have been keeping the book for extra leverage against the shopkeeper. Perhaps in case Thoronir had second thoughts about their arrangement, and tried to turn him in? Or maybe just to extort him? There was no mention of Dreth himself on the list, so nothing to directly implicate the dark elf. Except of course that he had the ledger.
Gathering up the book, Methredhel returned to the main living chamber, where Dynari still waited by the door. "I have what we need," she said, "let's get out of here."