Waiting for the Grilvayns to show up must be agonizing, like watching the pendulum blade slowly descend toward your belly, one inch at a time.

“Sharing a tomb with a bunch of undead sounds way too social for my liking.”
Well, yes, that does sound like an accurate description of you Daria.

Akavir is nice this time of year, great place for a picnic...

“Hey, Great House Hlaalu likes its young people corrupt and close with the Empire.”
He's not wrong! More than that, this sentence was so indicative of Tom being Tom. It highlights his brutal honesty, insight, and satirical nature.

Synda is definitely hard to feel sorry for. I think Daria has good reason to be wary here. She has little left to lose, which might be what makes her all the more dangerous.

I have to agree with Acadian in his opinion of Daddy Sloan. Yeah, the whole thing is an ugly mess. It's the kind of trailer park drama that happens everywhere, we 'fancy' people just like to pretend to be more cultured. But how you act during the ugly messes that life throws at you is what shows your character, if not builds it. He just comes across as a pompous dick.

Chapter 5

One of the things Tomal had always liked about Imperials was how little time they wasted. Sure, the Nibenese Imperials loved their celebrations and rituals and certainly had plenty of them. But in the end, time was money, and they loved money a bit more. Once business was on the table, they got down to it pretty quickly. Colovian Imperials, like Daria, took this tendency even further.

Not the Dunmer, however.

He'd spent the entire day with his parents and the Grilvayns as they probed for information through a veil of pleasantries. Inquiries about the weather gave some idea as to the quality of the other person's agricultural product that year (or, in this case, the number of eggs produced in the mines that the Grilvayns invested in, because kwama queens laid more eggs during wet years). Talk about neighbors and family gave hints as to who was in and who was out, which could change greatly in a few weeks. All useful, but none of it relevant to what Tomal wanted to talk about.

Dad did this for hours on end, with Mom and Tomal chiming in as needed with praise or witticism. They followed a script both improvised and stifling, the stock phrases inscribed onto their minds and souls generations ago.

On and on, it went. During breakfast, lunch, and dinner, throughout a long midday excursion, and now this interminable sitting (and drinking, ALMSIVI be praised) session in the parlor. Each meal and amenity offered to the Grilvayns served as a symbol of Sloan wealth. Sure, it all belonged to the Ravils, but the fact that the Sloans could get the Ravils to serve the Grilvayns only further reinforced one simple fact: Angyar Sloan was a man of many resources.

The one thing they refused to discuss was Synda.

It was late in the evening, and Tomal now hated the sight of Tamric and Lynda. He hated the way they reminded him of how he'd bungled the whole thing. Granted, if Synda had been half as bad as Daria had said, he was best off far away from her.

This would be his life as an adult. Falsities and fakeries layered on top of each other in a big stack of deception reaching up to the heavens.

That was what he'd liked about Synda. She'd at least had the guts to be offended by his jokes about Morrowind and the Tribunal, his noble status be damned. And being blunt was Daria's nature. He apparently had a type.

"Reputation is a curious beast," Angyar said, refilling his small silver vessel with another finger's worth of Cyrodiilic brandy.

"One that is best tamed and kept in a very strong cage," Lynda said. Everyone faked polite laughter, Tomal included.

But bringing up reputation probably meant they were ready to talk about Synda.

*********

Isolation compounded doubt. Confined to her room, Daria was starting to doubt everything around her. She wanted to believe Tomal was a good guy. Perhaps he'd proven it by taking her punishment for her. But that underlined the bigger problem: that no matter what Tomal said or did, his dad called the shots.

With that in mind, she badly wanted to know what the Sloans and Grilvayns talked about that night. What if it proved easier to expel a troublesome outlander like her? Ravil's constant slights, the way the serving staff talked about her behind closed doors—it all added up.

She didn't have her family to fall back on any longer.

Daria opened the shutters and looked out onto the torchlit enclosure. An armored guard ambled through the grounds, his lantern bobbing through the darkness like some bloated firefly. He walked toward the gate, moving with the easy step of a man who'd patrolled the route a thousand times and expected only the usual.

Pushing away from the windowsill, she hurried through the guesthouse's darkened rooms. She needed to get close enough to hear what the Sloans and Grilvayns said, to find out if she still had a place here or not. Sitting around and waiting solved nothing. She'd rather be Daria Morgendorffer than another Sloan asset, even if that came with a reduction in value.

She opened the door as quietly as she could and peered outside. The guard stood at the gate, his eyes pointed at the shadowed meadows beyond. Masser and Secunda shone in the night sky, their muted colors complementing the twinkling stars. Figuring it was as safe as she'd get, Daria stepped out and shut the door behind her before walking across the cool grass, her footsteps quieter on the vegetation than they would have been on the paths.

Lights gleamed from the manor house's narrow windows. At first, she heard nothing. Had they gone somewhere else? Then she caught a voice coming from the front room, muffled by the closed windowpanes. She crouched low as she drew nearer. Her dress—or rather, Ravil's daughter's old dress—pinched her waist as she did, and she hoped the fabric wouldn't tear. Once at the front, she went along to the right side, where she knew another window offered a glimpse into the manor's dark and overstuffed parlor.

Taking low, quiet breaths, she pressed against the adobe wall and raised her head to the edge of the window, making sure nothing gave her away. Now able to hear their words, she listened.

*********

Tomal slugged back some brandy, already knowing he was going to hate the next few minutes of his life.

"The reputation of our daughter, Synda, is a source of some concern for us," Lynda said. She sounded exactly like her daughter, her enunciation slow and precise, as if relishing her tone of contempt.

"As mothers, our children's reputation is our burden to shoulder," Galas said.

"And you have done so well with your own, serjo," Lynda said, her features nearly lost in shadow.

Tomal could easily imagine Synda sitting on the upholstered mahogany chair occupied by her mother. Maybe it should have been. This affected her more than it did her mother, after all.

"We are honored to palaver with you, Sera Grilvayn," Dad said. "Why is your daughter of concern?"

Tomal gripped the armrest of his chair. Get to the damn point, he thought. Sweat soaked his shirt, and he resisted the urge to pull at his collar. All the air in the room felt like it had been rebreathed a hundred times over.

"Synda is a simple girl, one given to flights of fancy," Lynda replied. "We fear that one such flight may have led her to make a scene at a recent event. Perhaps you know of which I speak?"

Dad nodded. "I believe I have been informed, yes," he said, glancing over at Tomal.

Tomal drained his cup, his head already spinning from an earlier drink. Dad passed him the bottle, and he refilled it. He'd probably had too much. Vomiting on Lynda was one way to end the night, he supposed.

"Truly a regrettable incident," Tamric said. Synda's father had been mostly silent that evening.

Lynda bowed her head. "Synda's outburst has sullied our name, so we must make the effort to restore our reputation. We know that your son, who is truly a sterling example of young Dunmer manhood, had been kind enough to offer her his time. Somehow, she chose to interpret this as a romantic gesture."

Did Lynda truly believe Synda had imagined it? He tried to bring his thoughts together, figure out what to say.

"Ah, well, the passion of youth," Dad said, using the easy but authoritative tone he always used when preparing to settle matters.

"I can forgive my daughter a certain degree of impetuousness, but not at the risk of tarnishing your family's name," Lynda said, affecting a tone of regret. "We have clearly been far too lenient. Thus, we will be sending her to the care of the Tribunal Temple in Necrom. There, she will learn the humility expected of the Dunmer and spend her life in blessed ritual and contemplation."

Tomal looked to his father, trying to find any sign of what the old man intended.

"I am sure our brothers and sisters in the service of ALMSIVI will impart their wisdom unto her," Dad said.

"May ALMSIVI be praised," Tamric uttered.

"Wait." Tomal held out his free hand. The inside of his head twisted like a maelstrom, but he focused his thoughts. "I need to make a correction here."

"Tomal!" Dad warned.

"I did…" he trailed off. What the hell could he safely admit? He had to phrase this the right way. "Your daughter deserves credit for her discretion. She and I did have a romance. A chaste one."

Silence. Thick and suffocating.

"Tomal, you are speaking out of turn. Our guests know their own daughter," Dad said.

"The young serjo is honorable to claim responsibility," Lynda replied, speaking so sweetly that he almost believed her. "Yet we fear that our daughter's foolishness has made her a liability. Certainly, none would believe Synda had won the love of a Sloan. It can only be seen as boastfulness most inappropriate for a girl of her station."

She didn't care at all. Synda was to be cast aside, her life—not just her life, her reality—ripped away from her. All because that made it easier for her parents. Maybe if he took a more conciliatory tone...

"Synda and I were in a relationship. This does not reflect poorly on your family, Sera Grilvayn. It was natural—"

Dad learned over, candlelight revealing the deepening lines of his jowls.

"Tomal, though you are my son, you must still be respectful of your guests. Do not contradict Sera Grilvayn again."

"Truly, I am touched," Lynda said. "Serjo's kindness is a testament to the generosity of the Sloans. Yet it is not necessary. The damage done by my daughter can be repaired. I simply hope that our efforts at discretion are seen as sufficient."

"More than sufficient," Dad said, his voice rumbling with approval. "And certainly deserving of reward. Much of the work within Great House Hlaalu consists of knowing what to say, when to say it, and to whom. A hired accountant can always handle the numbers, after all."

"But what about Synda? Father—"

Dad growled. "Tomal, the matter has been decided! You are not revealing some truth to us. We know the truth. Perhaps Synda will accept it one day."

"I am sure the young serjo is simply weary at the late hour," Lynda said.

Tomal slumped in his chair. They didn't care. He spoke into the void. He imagined his father's wealth, the vast teeming lands, the hundreds of workers, the carts and boats that shipped his goods from one end of Tamriel to another, the houses and gold and silks and furniture, all coming down on him at once, crushing him beneath an immense and gilded tomb.

Yet he had no cause to complain. Not after he'd ruined Synda's life by telling her he loved her.

*********

Her legs burning from crouching for so long, Daria stepped away from the window, not wanting to believe what she'd heard.

She still couldn't pity Synda, not exactly. For all Synda's misery, she'd still been somebody who'd loved cruelty and had inflicted it on Daria. On Quinn, as well. But Synda was a small person in a very big world and as much at the mercy of larger forces as Daria was.

Exhausted and wanting to sleep, Daria made her clandestine journey back to the gatehouse. One thing was certain: she had to leave before she became the next Synda.

Musical Closer - You Oughta Know, by Alanis Morissette

This version of Tom is definitely more involved in the family business than the TV show one. As we continue to see with today's episode. I liked his observations about the pragmatism of Imperials vs the natural obfuscation of the Dunmer. One can also see his frustration at being trapped within this artificial world of pre-determined statements and responses. Clearly he just wants to get down to brass tacks and deal with the silt strider in the room.

Well, I suppose if Tom really wants to get out of the noble life, he too could join the Fighters Guild and become a traveling adventurer with Kavon. Now that would be an interesting bro-venture buddy comedy.

Oooh, Daria the ninja sneaks out. What is her Stealth skill at? This will be interesting.

Wow, so they did keep their threat of packing Synda off to a convent. I don't envy her. But then again, given what a so-and-so she is, I cannot feel sorry for her either. The energy that she put out into the world came right back to her is all.

I can't blame Daria for feeling that she might be the next Synda. I am sure part of that is her inborn cynicism foreseeing the worst. But there is a really, really good foundation for that cynicism in this case. She does live in a different world that the Sloans, and she is a very small fish in their very big pond.

The real question is, what is her next move then? Go back to Balmora and try to rejoin her family? Send them a letter first? Or will it be the Fighter's Guild and Kavon?

Tomal continues to show his admirable character via his guilt and trying to shoulder some of the Synda situation blame. And Daria nailed it wisely by, while not pitying Synda, recognizing that Synda was simply a pawn in the mess known as Dunmer nobility. A culture that simply discards transgressant children.

Neither Tomal nor Daria is keen on the prospect of life in House Hlaalu. Seems to me the best solution might be for them to have an earnest chat and perhaps elope to The Imperial City.

Chapter 6

Daria awoke early, wanting to take a bath but not willing to waste any time. She took out the clothes she'd worn on the journey to Ravil Manor, earlier washed by the servants at her request. Putting them on, the green wool of her coat faded from use (Quinn had told her to get it re-dyed more than once), felt like returning home. Everything fit perfectly, and she breathed easy for the first time since arriving at the place.

Part of her wanted to write a note for Tomal and leave, but she wasn't sure that'd be safe. Humiliating the Sloans might bring more trouble on her head, so she'd best talk to Tomal and at least see if she could get him to understand.

Going here had been a terrible idea, she realized.

"Even worse than going to Sadrith Mora," she imagined Jane saying.

Ravil Manor slowly woke up around her. A servant brought her breakfast in her room while the Sloans, Ravils, and Grilvayns ate in the main house. The Grilvayns had spent the night in a spacious pavilion set up for them at the back of the manor. As Dunmer tended to do, the Grilvayns lingered through the morning. Daria spotted Tomal, squinting at the morning sunlight and walking with exaggerated slowness as if every motion caused him physical pain, a sickly smile plastered on his face. He must have hit the bottle pretty hard the other night. Not that she blamed him.

It was not until after lunch that the Grilvayns departed. Daria watched them leave the manor, wanting to give them time so she didn't risk running into them on the road. All the while, her mind spun new scenarios of what might happen. What if Tomal didn't take her departure gracefully? What if he did, but his dad viewed it as an insult?

Or maybe they wouldn't care.

It was a little while later that a knock came on her door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Me," Tomal said, his voice hoarse. "The Grilvayns are gone. Can I come in?"

Daria gulped and took a deep breath. "Sure."

The door opened. The poor guy looked like he wanted more than anything else to collapse and curl up in a ball. He'd been entertaining the Grilvayns all morning in that state. His bleary eyes studied her, slowly widening as he took in the hints: the old green coat and long black skirt, the rough boots, her few belongings packed up.

"You're leaving?"

"Uh, yeah." She forced herself to look him in the eyes. "Tomal, you gave me a chance at the dream that many young Tamrielic women spend their days hoping for. But my preference for grubby realism means I'm not suited for a fantasy life."

He leaned against the doorway, and that action alone seemed to take more out of him. "But why? I gave you—"

"Are you going to hurt me for this?" she asked.

He blinked and shook his head, then grimaced.

"Maybe you should drink some water," she said.

"Any more water, and I'll pop. Daria, I meant what I said: you can go whenever you want. I'll never hurt you."

"Okay." She mulled her next move, fearing she was about to make a mistake. "I overheard part of your conversation last night. Where Synda's mom decided to pass the whole thing off as a delusion on her daughter's part, and your dad went along with it."

"Are you mad I tried to protect her?"

"No. You did the right thing, albeit rather halfheartedly. It was probably the most you could have done. But you can see why I need to leave. I can't spend my life being at the mercy of something like that."

"I can see that," he uttered, sounding defeated. "I destroyed Synda's life, Daria. All because I thought she'd be fun to have as a girlfriend."

Daria sighed. "You did so inadvertently. The real blame lies with those who did it deliberately. Namely, her parents and yours."

"Not sure that makes me feel better," he said.

"It wasn't supposed to. But you bear far less blame than them. Given that I have much less power than Synda, you can understand why I want to leave."

"Where will you go?"

She decided it was safe to tell him. "Vivec. If I'm lucky, Jane won't shut the door in my face when I find her home. If I'm not? I guess I'll have to play it by ear."

"Vivec can be a tough city to get around. Do you have any money?"

"Just a handful of coins I brought with me from Balmora," Daria admitted, feeling a bit foolish for carrying so little.

"Let me give you some more," he said.

"No—"

"Please! You won't owe me anything, Daria. Let me do something good."

He lurched away into his bedroom and came back a bit later with a bulging coin purse. "Here. The coins inside should add up to around a thousand."

Daria looked at it doubtfully. "The jingling of that purse will call every bandit on the road."

Tomal cursed. He opened it up and picked out some coins, stuffing them into his pockets. "A few hundred are left. Come on, you'll need money for food and shelter."

She thought about it for a bit and nodded, taking the hollowed-out purse. "Uh, thanks. What are you going to tell your parents?"

"I'll lie. Tell them I got tired of you. That's something they'll accept," he said.

"Probably an accurate assessment." She put the purse in her bag and then picked it up from her bed. "I guess I'm on my way then."

"Wait. Daria, was I a good boyfriend?"

She stepped up to him until they were only inches apart and looked him in the eyes. For a moment, just a moment, she thought it might be best to stay. That maybe he could protect her, that together they'd push back against the corruption.

But that was only a dream.

"Tomal, let me put it this way: for most of my life, I didn't think I'd like anyone enough to let them kiss me. Yet somehow, I let you do that. More than once, even. What's more, I enjoyed it. You're not a bad guy, Tomal. I'm sure, some day, you'll find a noblewoman who also sees through the nonsense of this world."

He smiled. "That's pretty high praise from you."

"Don't get used to it."

"I won't."

"And remember how powerful you are."

"It's not something I'll ever forget," he said, "not after last night."

"Okay then."

Tomal stood aside to give her space. She thought about hugging him, but that struck her as unnatural and potentially giving the wrong idea. Instead, she simply walked through the main room and toward the door.

"Oh, Daria?"

"Yes?" she replied, not turning around.

"Don't go to Pelagiad. That's where the Grilvayns will be."

"Thank you. They're the last people I want to meet right now."

"I figured. Good luck with Jane."

"Thanks. I'll need it."

With that, Daria opened the door and stepped out.

Musical Closer - Scandal, Controversy, and Romance, by The Prissteens

The End

Does that hint mean that we will be seeing Jane again? Yay! I was afraid that she was out of the story going forward. It is great to hear that is not so.

Daria is back in her old clothes, and it looks like she is preparing for her exodus from Ravil Manor. I guess that means it is time for a very awkward and uncomfortable conversation with Tom, her soon to be ex boyfriend. It may feel inevitable (especially for those of us who have watched the show), but it is still sad.

You know, Sadrith Mora reminds me of Hermaeus Mora. How many Moras are there? Balmora, Tel Mora. It guess that's mora less of it.

But my preference for grubby realism means I’m not suited for a fantasy life.
Sorry honey, but you are in the wrong game then! Well, if its any consolation, Morrowind is about as grubby as it gets for an Elder Scrolls game I suppose. Maybe she would prefer the Fallout series? Oh boy, Fallout Daria...

So that went better than I expected. Still not great of course. Tom understands the world he lives in, and how that world looks from the outside. That's a level of self-awareness than most of his peers could not hope to achieve. Which I think does make him a good boyfriend. Just not for someone like Daria.

And a possible future uncomfortable encounter with the Grizzlys averted at Pelagiad. Time for Daria to ride the rails like a good old-fashioned anarchist.

Well, I’m disappointed for both Tomal and Daria but not surprised. It was just a bridge too far. Tomal was indeed a good boyfriend. He was honest, tried to protect Daria and do the right thing. I’m glad he seems to understand. And I’m glad Daria said goodbye in person instead of writing a note and sneaking away.

For every door that closes, one can hope a new one opens and I’m looking forward to Daria calling on Jane. Jane is pretty forgiving and, hopefully, Daria has learned enough recently not to screw it up (again). Hopefully Dimartani was right and Daria listened to him.

Yes, that's one thing about Morrowind, the clothing/armor combinations are through the roof, compared to later games. And we can interchange left and right hand / shoulder pieces. I suspect something like this is going to return to the next Elder Scrolls, which I predict will be released in 2025.

Aww, poor Synda.



Mmmm, she doesn't know this for sure though, does she?

Daria is sneaking. Her Sneak skill is gathering! This means she'll get +2 in Agility if she keeps this up. (ha ha, Rosa concurs!)

Synda and Lynda, that's cute. Too bad things didn't work out between them. Wow. Our children's reputation is our burden to shoulder. That's so horrible. It's like they don't see their part in this at all, these parents. Their daughter is obviously a mess, yet they don't see that THEY have something to do with this. I'll never understand that. It happens with real-life parents, as well. But I don't wanna get off-topic.



Ugh.

Alanis Morissette, yes! Just so you know, she was a BIG thing in the world of music (the biggest, in the world of female rockers) for a couple months or so. And then it was like *poof*. But the thing is, that period when she got really famous was a super-busy time: the mid-'90s. All that grunge, all those boy bands, and so on. A lot of competition for radio time. Having a quick look at her page on Wikipedia, Morrisette's sales went from a hundred-thousand or so for her first album (remarkable in itself) mostly in Canada to over 50 million for Jagged Little Pill. And then she went back down to lesser sales.

Anyway, now I'm noticing that Tomal's not spending as much time with Daria. So he apparently got drunk after his family meeting, yet did not spend any of that time with his supposed beau. She's not even much of a guest if this keeps up.

Daria's got her grunge gear on!

Whoa. YES. She's going to Vivec! Cool. I'm glad she's doing this. I mean, in a way it's probably not such a good idea. She's chasing a friend. And as we know, people change over time. Jane's in a different head-space now that she's been in the big city a while. Maybe she won't be happy to see her old friend, come to town without contacting first.

Hmm, now I'm not so sure. This all is pretty impulsive, right? I can't imagine Jane slamming the door in her friend's face (if Dar even manages to find Jane at all). But maybe Jane hasn't got any room to take someone in.

I kind of wish Daria would've tried to contact her family, first. Sigh.

Edit: Prissteens, yet another musical team I've never heard. Listen to the way their voices are slightly distorted, Clavier. Has something to do with the microphones they used. My brother's a musician. They used really old microphones sometimes just to get that sound, rather than new digital equipment which would've been available at the time. Anyway, this song's cute. Another one for my Fallout 3 roster.

Episode 29: Gone Sister Gone

Mom and Dad were still arguing. Actually, it was more like Dad was yelling and Mom was trying to keep him from doing something stupid.

"Jake, Daria's letter said she was fine."

"Yeah! Her letter said that! But what would Daria say, Helen? Maybe the Sloans made her write that letter! They're nobles; they can do whatever the hell they want, and this whole damn system lets them get away with it!"

Quinn rolled on her side and pressed her pillow over her ears.

"Great going, Daria," she whispered. "Run off with a noble and leave me with this mess."

Everything had gone wrong since the pageant! First, it turned out Daria had been having an affair or something with Tomal, Synda's boyfriend. Her ex-boyfriend, now. Then she ran off with him, which was the weirdest thing ever, because Daria was boring. And now everyone was fighting each other about it. Dad acted like Daria had been kidnapped, and Mom was trying to calm him down while also asking some of the army guys in the fort to investigate. Not that they did.

"We're sorry," the officer had said, "but the Sloans are friends of the Empire. Given their status, you ought to consider yourself lucky that their son has taken such an interest in your daughter."

Somehow, Quinn was pretty sure Daria was safe. The letter had sounded too much like her to be a fake. Who else would live with the richest guy in Morrowind and still find something to complain about? But Mom had completely flipped when she'd told her that. Quinn understood why, though. Talking about dating or marrying a noble was one thing, but actually doing it? That could get scary. She remembered how that creep, Turimar, had threatened her and how helpless she'd felt.

"I'm going over to Moonmoth to have a talk with this Varrus guy tomorrow!" Dad bellowed from down below. "See what that squirmy little bureaucrat has to say to an angry Nord father with a missing daughter!"

"Varrus already—"

"I don't care! He didn't do enough!"

Quinn sighed. She remembered they used to fight like that about Daria, forever ago.

At least Fashion Club meetings let her worry about something else.

*********

"Do you guys remember those fashion seminars we tried to hold like, two years ago? Do you think we should try that again, Muthsera Morgendorffer?"

It was Sundas afternoon at the Glass Crown, and Quinn was trying hard to pay attention.

"Uh, yeah, that sounds great, Satheri," she said.

"Best of all, we don't have to worry about Synda anymore."

"Or her Haute Society," Treads-on-Ferns added.

"Synda… needed… to keep a better eye… on her… guy…"

Satheri giggled. "And now she's like, completely disgraced! I don't have to be nice to her anymore." She grinned and got so excited that she started shaking her fists.

"Good riddance," Treads said.

"Has anyone seen her?" Quinn asked.

"I randomly saw her with her parents outside Lli's office last week," Jeval said. "She looked messed up."

"Messed up how?" Satheri demanded. She was a little too into the whole thing.

Jeval shrugged. "I dunno. Like she was trying to hide. She had this big hood."

"Ugh, gross!" Satheri exclaimed.

"Guys, let's not talk about Synda, okay? She's basically history, anyway," Quinn said.

Quinn knew she'd be pretty upset if someone like Daria had stolen a boyfriend from her, but Synda sounded more upset. Like she'd lost everything. Back in Charach, there had been this sweet old lady, Tivulia, whose husband had drowned on a fishing trip. She'd screamed and wailed when his crew came back without him.

Synda had sounded like Tivulia.

No way could a guy be that good. There was always someone else. If you could get one noble guy as a commoner, you could probably figure out how to get a second. Something else had been going on with Synda.

Satheri smiled. "I'm so glad I followed you, Muthsera Morgendorffer."

"Uh, sure thing," Quinn said, getting a little creeped out. Ugh, she needed some time to think and get everything straightened out. No wonder Daria hated hanging out with people.

Everyone looked at her like they wanted her to say something. "Sorry guys, what were we talking about?"

"Doing the fashion seminars again," Treads said.

"Oh, right!" But that was like the last thing she wanted to do right now. Maybe she should delegate this. "So what should we talk about? Tiphannia, I'm sure you must have some ideas."

"I have… tons… of ideas… for fashion…"

At least Quinn could think about something else while she waited for Tiphannia to finish.

*********

Home was the last place Quinn wanted to be, so she walked everyone else home first. Tiphannia and Satheri lived close by, but Jeval lived near the strider port, and Treads-on-Ferns lived in Labor Town by the river, so that let her stay out a while longer. She went south along the Odai with them, the late-day merchants still making their pitches.

Mom and Dad didn't like her staying out late anymore. The Labor Town protests kept getting bigger, and she'd heard a few had turned into fights.

"Is your sister okay, Quinn?" Treads suddenly asked.

"Huh? Uh, I think so. She sent this letter where she says she's living at some manor out in the countryside. I'm pretty sure she's not in any trouble, but my parents are freaking out because the Sloans are nobles."

"I'm sorry," Treads said.

"It makes me so mad! Like she ran off and did this without thinking about anyone else!" Quinn threw her hands in the air, wishing Daria was there so she could like, scream at her or something. "It's what she always does."

"What did she say in the letter?" Treads asked.

"She said she was okay. She was still being a jerk about everything, so she was probably telling the truth. I wish I knew for sure."

"Hey, Jeval," Treads said. "Your dad's a courier, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think he'd take a job to go over to where Daria is? Maybe he could deliver a message from the rest of the Morgendorffers."

"Hey, yeah, that's a good idea!" Jeval said. "My dad's actually out on delivery right now, but he should be home in a couple of days."

Quinn suddenly hugged Treads. She had so many good ideas. Daria was right about that, at least. "Ohmigosh, thank you! It's so scary and weird right now."

"Hold on a sec," came Jeval's voice. "I don't know my dad's schedule. He can do it if he's free, but you might have to wait if he has another assignment lined up."

Quinn let go of Treads and looked at Jeval. Last year, he and his friends would be competing for her, each saying he'd deliver the message and bring her some crazy present. She'd have totally gone for it, too. Or let them keep fighting each other for the best offer.

Ugh, how had she ever been so silly?

"I get it. But if he's free, could you let me know?" Quinn asked.

"Sure thing. Do you know where Daria is?" Jeval asked.

"She said she was in Ravil Manor. I don't know why she isn't in Sloan Manor, or whatever."

Jeval stroked his chin like he was thinking about something. "All the rich guys have country homes out in the Ascadian Isles, so the manor's probably there."

"Would your dad know how to find Ravil Manor?" Quinn asked.

He looked unsure. "I don't think so. My dad doesn't work for nobles; those guys all got their own messengers for this kind of thing. They don't like to advertise where they live, either."

Plus, Quinn thought, she couldn't be sure if the Sloans or Ravils or whoever would take the message.

"Okay. Let me like, think about this for a bit. Jeval, can you tell me when your dad gets back?"

"Promise."

"Thanks. You guys are great friends."

*********

Dad was yelling again.

"Varro was useless! What the hell are our taxes paying for?"

Mom and Dad were down in the kitchen, but Quinn could still hear them upstairs. She turned over in her bed. Her room was way too quiet. She thought about what Jeval had said. Maybe all she could do was send a letter to the manor and hope that the Sloans were nice enough to accept something from a commoner like her. Her cheeks suddenly burned. What was so bad about being a commoner?

Ugh, this whole system sucked. She needed a noble to be on her side. Briltasi? Or wait, didn't Jane work for a noble, now? Maybe Jane could pull some strings or something.

Quinn didn't know the Dunmer that well. Sure, she knew Satheri like a sister. Actually, wait, not like a sister. She barely knew her real sister. But Satheri was almost a loner with the other Dunmer. Maybe that's why she was so happy about Synda's big meltdown.

Maybe Satheri could point her in the right direction.

*********

Everyone knew that Morndas sucked, but it sucked slightly less if you looked your best.

Quinn focused that morning. She put all thoughts of Daria aside and put on her favorite yellow moth-silk gown, the one with the sewn-in lace cuffs, and accessorized for non-formal occasions (so netch leather shoes, a copper necklace that looked gold in the right light, a lapis lazuli brooch, and a few other essentials). For her hair, she decided to go all out like the Nibenese ladies did (or at least, how they did a few years ago, which was current enough in Balmora) by piling her red locks up on top of her scalp and curling a few of them. She'd need a handmaiden or something to do it properly, but looking right was usually better than being right.

She ran into Satheri on the way to school.

"I was wondering something," Quinn said. "Do you like, know anyone who knows the Sloans?"

"Me? Oh, no. I'm not important enough for that. I once met Serjo Sloan. The son, I mean. He seemed nice. Daria must be so happy with him!"

Quinn pretended not to be annoyed. "I know! My mom and Dad are like, super-proud of her right now."

"Oh!" Satheri gasped, clasping her hands together. "I'm sure! My mom says that Serjo Sloan the Younger is one of the most eligible young bachelors in Vvardenfell District. Your sister's so lucky. But I'm sure you'll marry a noble too, Muthsera Morgendorffer. I'm arranged to be married to one, so we'll be in like, the same social circles and can stay best friends forever!"

"I know; I can't wait!" Quinn said. "It's just that my mom wants to send Daria a letter of congratulations, and to ask her to tell us, you know, when the wedding will be and all that."

"That's such a good idea."

Time for the real question. "But we're not sure how to reach her. Can we like, send a letter? Or should we ask someone first?"

Satheri looked down at the ground like she always did when she was trying to figure something out. At least she didn't furrow her brow anymore; Quinn had trained her out of that. "That could be tough. Briltasi—I mean, Serjo Talori—might know him. I'm not sure, though."

"I was thinking about asking her. Oh, do you remember Jane? That friend of my sister's with all the art stuff?"

Satheri nodded. "Yeah?"

"Didn't some noble lady or something hire her? Do you know who? I think Daria told me, but I forgot."

"I'm sorry, Muthsera Morgendorffer. I won't be a noble until marriage, so I don't know much about what they do. I guess I should start learning so I don't look like a complete idiot."

Quinn nodded. Satheri wouldn't be able to help much.

She ditched Satheri (in a nice way) once she got to school and searched for Briltasi. Not like it was ever hard to find her. All she had to do was follow the sound of Dunmer girls chatting. Briltasi and her friends hung out under the big emperor parasol that day. Most of the girls who used to be in Synda's Haute Society had joined Briltasi, which Quinn guessed was an improvement.

Quinn took out her brass hand mirror and pretended to fuss with her hair while she waited for Briltasi to be alone. She knew better than to interrupt a queen at her court, even if the queen was as nice as Briltasi. But she swooped in right when the bell rang.

"Hi, Briltasi! How was that party at Sera Llervis's on Loredas? I wish I could have gone."

"Oh, hi Quinn! Yeah, it was lots of fun. I'm surprised you weren't there."

"I wanted to go, but there was like this big charity thing to get clothes for poor kids," Quinn lied. She'd stayed home because, well, things were a mess at home, and she had to take care of them.

Briltasi tilted her head. "Aw, you're so sweet, Quinn!"

"I try to be! Who was at the party?"

Quinn didn't care that much. But she needed to keep talking about the social stuff before she asked her question. Briltasi went on about it, giving Quinn an idea as to who was in and who was out. In other words, the important kinds of things to know about.

"… Rovern Draalo was there, too. He's like, way bigger than his dad, it's funny!"

"No way! Oh, wait, are the Draalos like nobles?" Quinn asked. That at least got them on the subject.

Briltasi giggled. "No, silly! He's not important or anything. Though his family is respectable."

Quinn made a show of putting her palm to her brow, like she was embarrassed. "Sorry! These are kind of complicated for an outlander girl like me."

"Aw, it's okay! You're not that important, so you don't have to worry about it."

"Speaking of nobles, do you know the Sloans?"

Briltasi shook her head. "Not really. Serjo Sloan the Younger seemed nice. He's sort of cute... oh, wait, your sister's dating him, huh?"

"Yeah—"

"That's so cool! Anyway, the Sloans just got to Vvardenfell, so no one knows them that well."

"I'm trying to write a letter to Daria. I figured if she's dating a noble, maybe she can get me one, too—"

"You could totally get one!"

"—but I'm not sure how to get in touch with the Sloans. I know they're at Ravil Manor, but I don't know where that is."

"I can ask Serjo Driler," Briltasi said.

"Who's that?"

"He hosted the Sloans when they were here."

"Could you?" Quinn got her eyes to water a bit. "Oh, thank you so much, Briltasi!"

"I'm always happy to help."

"I owe you big time."

"Don't worry about it! I owe Daria a favor, so I'll repay her by not making you owe me anything. Daria helped me by not telling anyone I'm dating Kavon." Briltasi's eyes suddenly got big. "Uh, 'cause I'm not dating Kavon! And she didn't tell anyone I wasn't not dating Kavon, so… uh…"

Quinn smiled. "Oh, I had one more teensy question: do you know who hired Jane?"

"Jane?"

"You know, Daria's friend? The artist?"

"Oh yeah, the menial." She looked like she was trying to think. "I can ask Serjo Driler!"

"Thanks again! I gotta run to class, but you're the best, Briltasi!"

"I am, aren't I!"

Quinn smiled until Briltasi turned and then relaxed. She had this.

*********

Briltasi told Quinn the bad news first: she didn't know where Ravil Manor was (or Serjo Driler wouldn't tell her). But she did learn that Serjo Olerlo had hired Jane. The Olerlos had a place in Balmora, but they lived in Vivec, which is where Jane would also be.

At lunch, Jeval told her that his dad was free for an assignment but that she had to move fast before he took another job.

Okay, so nobody knew where Ravil Manor was. She did know where Jane was. So what she had to do was hire Jeval's dad to take a message to Jane in Vivec City. Since the people who worked for nobles still had to get stuff delivered to them sometimes, right?

Ugh, she wished she had a better plan than this. Maybe she could get one.

Quinn looked for Jolda at lunch. She wasn't sure if Jolda could help that much, since she wasn't a noble or a Dunmer. But she did work with like, the government or something, and they had a ton of maps, didn't they?

She found Jolda in the library with this big, scary scroll full of numbers stretched out on the table. As always, she stared at the stuff like her life depended on it. Jolda had such pretty eyes, and Quinn hated to think they'd get bloodshot from all the work she did.

"Hi, Jolda?" Quinn greeted.

Jolda looked up. "Oh, hi Quinn. What's going on?"

"Not too much."

"Have you heard from Daria?" Jolda asked.

"I got a letter from her. That's sort of why I'm here. Daria's staying with Tomal, and we're all worried."

Jolda sighed like she'd heard bad news. "I bet. I feel bad about what happened with her."

"It's not your fault, Jolda."

"I know. I just wish it could have worked out better. What did she say in her letter?"

"She said she's fine, but I want to know for sure," Quinn admitted.

"That's understandable."

"Daria said she's staying at a place called Ravil Manor. Do you think you could find out where that is? My friend's dad is a courier, so maybe I can get him to send something there."

Jolda brightened. "I know where that is! My dad made me intern at the Imperial Cartographic Society office last winter, and we looked over some maps of the Ascadian Isles. Ravil Manor's a little corkbulb farm five and a half miles east of Pelagiad."

Well, that was easier than Quinn had expected. "Oh, that's great! Thank you so much, Jolda."

"Sure thing. I don't like the way nobles run roughshod over people either. I've heard that the Sloans are nice, but who knows for sure?"

"I don't think Daria's in any trouble, but I better write the letter and get it sent! Thank you so much again, Jolda!"

Quinn flat-out skipped Sera Ondryn's afternoon class (because who cared about him?) and walked straight home to tell Mom and Dad her plan.

"I can't believe this!" Dad raged. "We're citizens, dammit! These nobles don't have all the rights. Helen, find me the local Morag Tong office! I'm sure they can track her down for us!"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Jake—"

"Well, I'm all out of good ideas! Time to try some bad ones!"

Quinn imagined what her parents would write to Daria. Dad would get super angry, and Mom would lecture Daria until she never wanted to come home. Clearly, this was up to Quinn. So she crept up to her room and sat down at Daria's desk. Maybe that'd help her get into the spirit, or whatever. She could do this. Letter-writing was for cool people.

But she still wasn't sure what to say. Usually, all she had to say was how pretty or handsome or how cool someone was, and they'd do anything she asked. People loved attention, and they loved it more when she gave attention to what they thought was a big deal about themselves, even if they actually sucked at it.

Daria was tough. She shot down most compliments. When they were kids, Quinn had tried telling Daria how smart and well-read she was, since that was what Daria cared about. Maybe that way they wouldn't be so lonely and could play together the way other sisters did. But Daria got mad and called Quinn a flatterer (which was how she'd learned what flattery meant).

"Concentrate," she whispered to herself.

Should she take the direct but risky chance with Ravil Manor? Or play it safe with Jane?

Clearly, she had to do both. Ask Jeval's dad to try and deliver to Ravil Manor, and then go to Jane if that didn't work.

"Well, here goes," she muttered and started writing.

She did the easy part first: a letter to Jane, asking her to relay a message to Daria, maybe with Serjo Olerlo's personal courier. Then she tackled the letter to her sister.

Daria –

I hope you get this letter. I'm sure you're having a lot of fun with Serjo Sloan. Serjo Talori tells me he's one of the most eligible bachelors in Vvardenfell.

Mom and Dad know Serjo Sloan's a great guy, and that his family is honorable. But you're their elder daughter, and you didn't even say goodbye! That's why they're worried about you. They think they did something to make you run away, and they'd really like to see you.

I want to see you, too. I know we don't always get along, but you've always been like a rock for us. Mom gets so driven and work-obsessed, and you know how Dad flies off the handle sometimes. And me, well I'm pretty great, but maybe I do spend too much time and money on stuff like fashion. You're stable, though. You keep things going.

No one here is mad at you (well, Mom is a little, but she'll get over it). We just want to see you again. If you get this, please come home to say hi. It'd mean a lot.

- Your sister, Quinn

Quinn was crying when she finished. At least she hadn't worn any kohl that day. Tears made her face all gross and puffy, but she didn't care. She sobbed into her silk handkerchief, wishing she'd taken more time to get along with her odd, confusing, difficult, and absolutely fantastic sister.

She kept going until she was all out of tears. Then she walked to her cabinet and took out the small sandalwood box where she kept her coins and counted them out. Unfortunately, she came up short. She'd need eighteen more septims to get Jeval's dad to visit both Ravil Manor and Vivec.

"Ooh," she uttered, frustrated.

Then she remembered something and smiled. Quinn walked over to Daria's bookshelf and rifled through the tomes until she found a bulging cloth bag behind some boring history book that wasn't even written in verse. Opening it up, she took out eighteen septims and then twenty more.

She totally deserved a gratuity for all this.

Musical Closer - The Sign, by Ace of Base

The End

Jake is overreacting, as usual. Though granted, your daughter suddenly running away with some aristocrat is a good reason to overreact.

I can just imagine Jake at the Fort: "Varus, give me back my legions!" Oh wait, that was that other guy...

Oh boy, now Quinn is turning into Daria, getting all introspective and *gasp* antisocial. And Daria has turned into Quinn, literally stealing her dream of running away with a hot rich guy. Except of course, not, because its a lot more complicated than that, and a lot more messy.

And Quinn does have plenty of time to think while Tiffany finishes a sentence...

So Jeval's dad is that guy in Skyrim who is always telling me that the Jarl of Falkreath wants to talk to me, and that a museum just opened in Dawnstar...

This has been a fun digression into Quinn's post Daria world. It shows a lot of maturation on her part. Especially concerning her relationship with the Three Stooges.

I love how Quinn's quest to deliver a letter to Daria is taking her through the backlist of characters we have or have not seen in a while.

“Well, I’m all out of good ideas! Time to try some bad ones!”
Now that's the spirit Dad!

Quinn definitely deserves that gratuity for her face getting all puffy!

A very fun and quite deep episode from Quinn’s perspective. You continue to delight with how you consistently capture the style and mannerisms of Quinn and her fashion guildmates and friends.

I agree with SubRosa’s insights on the irony of the two sisters doing some things that are totally in character with their generally opposite sister.

Treads' idea of trying to send Daria a letter is a good one and Quinn displayed some guar with a bone determination to see it done.

Yet, there is still no doubt that, thankfully, Quinn is still Quinn as evidenced here:
’…but looking right was usually better than being right.’
Or as Buffy might say, ‘What’s the use of doing something if you don’t look good doing it?’

Episode 30: The Cantons of Vivec

Chapter 1

Contiminus Merro, the first Imperial to visit Vivec City and come back to write about it, described the place as "… a city of shrines and saints that lies within hollow mountains rising from the churning sea, built by the living god Vivace [sic] as a home for his followers."

Daria leaned her aching body on a sloping stone barrier above the sea. Maybe Merro saw Vivec as a city of shrines and saints. She saw it as a city that future generations of urban planners would use as a warning of what not to do. Winding stairways led to monstrous ramps, and then to mazes of cramped tunnels, and then back down to the shadowy lower waistworks where sewage infrastructure coiled around obscure shops, every step of the way reeking of sweat and saltwater.

And that had just been in the Foreign Quarter.

She finally stood on the first level of what she was pretty sure was the Hlaalu Canton. The cantons were the mountains that Merro had described: buttressed ziggurats of dull green and gray stone, each three to four tiers high, their foundations embedded into the seafloor. Ovoid entrances to shops and apartments pitted the canton exteriors like the marks of some particularly virulent pox, while grime from countless generations darkened the walls of the interiors. Everything about the city dwarfed the people within it, as if to remind them of their insignificance before the glory of God-King Vivec, who allegedly still lived in the Palace Canton at the city's south end.

Daria had arrived in the Foreign Quarter early the previous evening. Unable to find a reputable cornerclub and confused by the directions people gave her, ("Go to the upper waistworks from here, past the 5-2, then take a left and keep going until you take two stairways, one up and then one down, to the main mezzanine, and then go down the leftmost passageway to the 8-2 and take a right at the shrine of St. Roris with two statues. If you hit the shrine of St. Roris with three statues, you've gone too far. Now quit bothering me!") she'd slept rough in the lower waistworks and emerged, stiff and exhausted, to continue her search.

Worse, she'd emerged poorer. Someone, at some point, had nabbed her purse. A bit of the money Tomal had given her still resided in her coat pockets, but she no longer had enough for a silt strider trip back to Balmora.

The sun was setting, and she still didn't know how to find Jane. Jane had to be somewhere in this canton, she was sure. Serjo Olerlo was a Hlaalu noble, after all. But searching even one of these monstrosities proved an enormous undertaking.

"Face it," she muttered to herself, "coming here was the latest in a long series of bad ideas that might have started with being born."

None of the passersby, mostly middle-class Hlaalu retainers and ship officers, took any notice of her. People had given her strange looks when she asked where she could find the Olerlo residence. Given how private nobles tended to be, she supposed she should have expected this.

Daria pushed herself off the wall and went across the wide walkway to the stone railing. She gripped the stems of her glasses to keep them from slipping off and looked down at the web of docks and quays connected to the first tier by rickety planks and rope. Plenty of ships, mostly fishing and some trade, were coming in for the night.

"Let's see," she said. "If this big pyramid in any way resembles the hierarchy of Hlaalu society, it's a safe bet that the workers all live at the bottom and the nobles…"

She looked over her shoulder at the bronze dome atop the canton.

"... are at the top. So, if Serjo Olerlo lives here, it's probably at that level."

Mentally prepping herself for another exhausting search, Daria navigated the dense crowds and the traders hawking grilled fish and kwama jerky. She bought some jerky with her dwindling funds and ate as she walked, wondering exactly what would happen if she failed to find or reconnect with Jane. She ought to have considered that more seriously back at Tomal's place.

She marched up every ramp and staircase she found, both in and out of the canton. Wrong turns and dead ends slowed her progress, and night's darkness soon spread over the sky, but she kept walking. Living in Morrowind at least taught patience.

Heavy clouds blotted the stars by the time she reached the enclosed plaza at the top. What looked like an entire Dunmer village had been built upon the plaza's stone surface, plunged into perpetual night by the great bronze dome overhead. Lanterns glowed in the darkness, while the soft radiance of fungi revealed stunted trees and bushes growing in the planters. The thick and sour smell of kwama clung to every surface, joined by the subtler scents of brine and burnt incense.

Now to find which of these manors held Olerlo. Randomly knocking on doors struck her as a bad idea. She'd tried that on the upper level of one of the other cantons (possibly the Redoran Canton) and had simply been told to get lost. She remembered Tomal mentioning that the Olerlos had earned their reputation by talking the Elder Council into reducing a tax on tanna root. Maybe she could pass herself off as a representative of a tanna root concern?

She scoffed at the thought. In her ragged state, she'd be lucky to qualify as a representative of Stendarr's lowliest mendicant order. Maybe her best bet was to rent a room in a nicer cornerclub and hope that they had a bath.

Of course, that meant finding one.

She spotted a human porter resting on one of the planters, his black hair shorn almost to his scalp. He might've been a Ynesai, or a Keptu-quey like Tiphannia. A fellow outlander would probably be more inclined to give her good advice.

"Excuse me, but do you know where I can find a decent cornerclub? For outlanders?"

The porter chuckled. "Well, for that, you're best off going to the Foreign Canton," he said.

"I've spent two days trying to find this place, and I don't want to lose it again."

"That determination will serve you well in this city! There's a storm coming, anyway, so you don't want to be walking tonight. If you have a bit of coin to spend, you can try the Elven Nations Cornerclub behind me." He gestured with his thumb. "It's where some of the foreign merchants stay."

"How much for a night?"

"You're asking the wrong fella, I'm afraid; I only know it by reputation. But hey, don't step foot in the No Name Club on the other side of the plaza. That's where the Camonna Tong types gather for drinks, and they don't like us humans."

A faint chill ran through Daria. "I'll avoid that place. I still have a bit of cash, so guess I'll try the Elven Nations. Thank you. You're easily the most helpful person I've met in this place so far, though that's probably not much of a compliment given the competition."

He laughed. "I see you've been given the runaround. Vivec's got her charms, but they take a while to appreciate."

"By avoiding the No Name Club, I might live long enough to do that. Thanks again."

Daria walked to the cornerclub that he'd pointed to. Like most of its kind, it bore the sign of a coiled-up scrib, though it was hard to see in the dark. At least the interior turned out to be well-lit. The Elven Nations didn't look all that fancy, with faded tapestries covering the gray walls. The fact that they used rugs (however threadbare), instead of rushes or keeping the floor bare, told her that this was a place for drinking but not for drunkenness. A good sign.

"I've already done some covers tonight, so my next song's going to be an original. It's called: Holes in My Heart."

Daria followed the familiar voice to the corner of the parlor where he stood, lanky and perfectly unkempt, addressing an all but nonexistent crowd. He strummed his lute and closed his eyes.

"I followed you in the dark,

When you hooked me by the heart,

I lit up like a spark,

When you made me feel so smart,

But oh, now I know you just want to hurt me,

I've got holes in my heart,

And it's all your fault!"

Daria hadn't found Jane. But she had found Trent.

Musical Closer - Daria, by Cake

So Daria is brushing up on her Contemptuous Contemplatious Confoundious Conspiratorious.. whatever Merro.

I always imagined that Vivec was too constrained, and trapped in its original planning to ever be able to expand in the future, like real cities do. Once you fill up all those cantons, there is nowhere else to go. Unless you build a whole new canton I suppose. But that would be a huge undertaking that would require massive central planning. Not the kind of organic growth that cities normally undergo. So Vivec feels like an ornament or showpiece to me.

Daria gives us an outsiders look into this giant, grubby, busy place.

Holes in my Heart? I know who that singer is! Yaay!

I join Daria in not being a fan of Vivec City. I only know the one in ESO but it matches her description pretty well. Mostly confusing!

Damn, getting robbed in her sleep was the pits.

Turns out that her fellow human gave her a good steer to that cornerclub where she finds none other than Trent! Whew, finding Jane should be easy peasy now.

I'm wondering if Edie Brickell ever got played on Daria. She was another one-hit wonder from the '90s with this song. Although Edie & her band were more hippies, like the teacher on Beavis & Butthead, mmkay? Not grunge or rock. Anyway, she had that ONE hit and it was huge.

I'd better not get off-track here though. A lot of story to cover! - My bro plays guitar (classical & jazz these days, but he was also rock & grunge) and also sax and probably one of the woodwind instruments. ... and I figured you played piano. One day I looked up "clavier" because I had no idea that's similar. 🎹

Cool, back with mom & dad. Nice. I'm glad dad is pissed. DAria deserves some concern. Go dad!

... Because Daria was boring!

The part when all the Fashion constituents are supposed to be pitching ideas. Treads speaks, Satheri speaks, and it's indicated which one is which. But when ... the other ... fashionista ... speaks .. there is no .... indication. But there doesn't need to be, because we all know how Tiphannia talks!

Anyway, I get the feeling Synda's not done. I love Quinn's version of reality. It's always so mall-princessy. 🫅



Hee hee hee hee! Omigosh. It seems like Quinn's pretty darn concerned about her sis. And so is dad. Maybe the two of them will put ideas together. Yeah, I had to shed a tear after reading that letter, too. It does hit home.

Looks like the former leader of the Mystik Spiral is here. Something dramatic. You really describe Vivec well, too. Sounds like a really crowded place. And I notice that Daria had her purse lifted, yet nobody cared if she was sleeping in the avenue.

Chapter 2

Jane kept her head bowed as Serjo Felvane Olerlo examined the rough draft of her half-length portrait. That's how Serjo Olerlo liked her employees: humble so that she never forgot how great she was compared to them.

"I want it to look a little more… Cyrodiilic," she said. "You're from Cyrodiil, aren't you Jane?"

"Yes, serjo. But I wasn't there for very long."

Saying she wanted it more "Cyrodiilic" could mean a million different things. It could mean that serjo wanted more emphasis on realism, like what someone might get from Colovian portrait painters in the west. Or maybe more vibrant colors, reflecting the lush Nibenese arts. Or that she wanted Akaviri motifs subtly woven into the image, like a gilded dragon-serpent stretching along the margins.

It actually meant that she didn't know what the hell she wanted, only that she wasn't quite satisfied with Jane's work.

Serjo Olerlo waved her hand. "Nonsense, that sort of thing stays with you. Why, if I were a painter, I'd be influenced by Morrowind since I was born here! Yes, a bit more Cyrodiilic."

"Of course, serjo."

As always, it was Jane's job to help serjo figure out what she wanted.

"Do you want brighter colors?" Jane asked. She turned her head slightly to look at the painting. It portrayed her boss standing in three-quarters view with an immense scroll in her hands to reflect wisdom hard-won from years of cosseted luxury.

"No, no. More… striking! Yes, striking! I want them to truly see me."

"I could go for bolder line work." Which was a Dunmer style, not a Cyrodiilic one. But whatever.

"That would work. Also, get rid of the scroll. I don't want to appeal to those dreary scholars any longer."

I'm sure the scholars would be relieved by that, Jane thought but didn't say.

"Replace it with, oh, I don't know, a baby guar. Yes, a baby guar!"

"Are you thinking about getting a pet, serjo?" Jane asked.

Serjo Olerlo sniffed. "Oh, goodness, no! I hate animals. But it'll be a good look for me; baby guars are in right now. All right, Jane, you are dismissed for the evening. Have the new version for me in a few weeks."

"The honor is mine, serjo," Jane uttered.

She waited for her boss to turn before straightening up and rubbing her neck, the muscles sore from long hours of work. Serjo Olerlo was a lot to deal with. But she also paid a lot. For the first time in her life, Jane had money to burn.

Ready to go back to the dingy apartment she shared with her brother, Jane took her lantern, lit it, and walked out of the manor and onto the top plaza of St. Olms Canton, where a lot of the leading Hlaalu made their homes. On a different night, she might have headed over to a cornerclub in one of the other cantons, but the closed bronze dome over her head meant it was raining outside, and she didn't feel like going far in a storm. St. Olms Canton had bars, but they all catered to long-standing regulars who gave odd looks whenever someone new tried to join in. Best to walk home.

Like most nights.

It'd be nice to have someone like Daria around to puncture some of the snobberies. Except it wouldn't be that nice, not really. Daria would go after Jane for working with the snobs instead of making some defiant stand against them. Defiant stands were a lot easier when you knew where your next meal was coming from.

Her thoughts darkened at the memory of their last, bitter exchange. Daria had seemed so perfect at first. Jane didn't have to be a cringing outlander or a haughty Dunmer around her. She could just be Jane. Until suddenly, she couldn't.

Enough. No point in dwelling on the past. People didn't stick around. She wasn't going to apologize to some spoiled Imperial girl for doing what she needed to do to survive.

"Hey, Jane!"

It was her friend and fellow artist, Celengor. He strode toward her, his smile insouciant and frame relaxed. Exactly who she needed to cheer her up.

"Hey, Celengor! Done for the day?" Jane asked.

Gods, she wanted to paint Celengor. There was something about the way the young Bosmer moved, each motion swift and fluid but precise like living quicksilver.

"For this day, yes. But many days yet remain. Serjo Half-Troll's pleased with my progress."

Jane had long known that some Hlaalu nobles were also outlanders, but it still felt weird to hear a Nordic title after "serjo".

"I'm sure he is. As for me, Serjo Olerlo is guiding my brush to create something more Cyrodiilic. Shows how, uh, wise she is that she knows Cyrodiil so well, even though she's never been there. Did I get that right?"

Since living with nobles meant you could never say what you thought of them. Celengor had been training her in the subtle art of complaining without complaining.

"Oh, I understand completely. Would that we all had her penetrating insight, so wise that she doesn't need to travel to the province from which she draws inspiration!"

He said it so perfectly, like he meant every word. Only his smirk, the gleam in his black eyes, let her know that he got it.

She and Celengor walked through the side gate leading out to the exterior walkway. Sheets of rain splashed down on the canton's sloping walls, so they grabbed each other with their free hands and hurried across the slippery stones until they reached the nearest door to the upper waistworks. Damp but not soaked, they laughed in victory as they passed into the hallway.

"Okay, so have you heard the news?" Celengor asked. His voice was taut, like he couldn't wait to tell her all about it. The corridor barely gave them enough room to walk side by side. They kept brushing up against each other, but Jane was okay with that.

"Can't say—"

Celengor didn't wait. "New show at the Black Shalk Cornerclub next Fredas! Just heard today. And get this!" He jogged out ahead of Jane and turned to face her, moving backward as he pointed at himself and then at her. "A show for our kind of art."

"Portraits of stuffy people?"

"Jane, come on! You know what I'm talking about. Those charcoal drawings you do—the crazy ones, the ones straight outa your heart!"

Jane stopped and crossed her arms, flashing him a little smirk. "Are you calling me crazy?"

He grinned. "Yeah, visionary crazy! The organizers don't want these boring old Imperial-style portraits. They want the artists who aren't afraid to do something different. They want us."

Vivec did have a real artistic community. Artists like her; professionals who flattered the wealthy by day and lived their dreams at night. Plus, plenty of blowhards out to live the bohemian life for a few years before trudging back to their parents' estates.

Not Celengor, though. He was the real deal.

Celengor stepped to the side and fell in with Jane as she walked. "I'm going to submit that piece I did in yellow and green," he said.

"Ooh, that's a good one! Show them what a real artist can do with colors."

"And textures!"

"Wait a sec," Jane said. "Who'll be seeing this art?"

Celengor raised his eyebrows. "Here's the best part: some rich types from Cyrodiil. More of an appetite for this kind of thing there. Could be some nobles who aren't afraid of pushing the boundaries."

"You mean respectable people might pay me to pour my inner angst out onto canvas?"

"For sure! Then you can get out of this dump."

"I have to work for Serjo Olerlo a few more years at least," Jane said.

"Sure, sure. Not saying we'd run out on our employers. But, you know, couldn't hurt to make connections with the more forward-minded aristos. What are you going to show?"

His eyes got all big, like he needed to hear. Jane had left some of her personal, expressive works back in Balmora, but she'd taken some with her and had made a few more in Vivec.

"Wait," he said. "Do the one with the screaming lady with the claws! That one, like, jumped right into my brain and isn't ever going to leave."

"Yeah, I should probably give it a title," Jane mused. "Screaming Lady with Claws?"

"Works for me."

"I got some time to think about it. But this is cool."

"Better than cool, Jane. Folks like us? It's going to be our time pretty soon. I'm sick of putting new wine in old mugs."

"New wine in old bottles," Jane corrected. She frowned. Critical old Daria hadn't quite left her brain.

"Whatever, whatever. Point is, too many artists are still painting like nothing's changed for the past two hundred years."

Jane shrugged. "I love a lot of that old art."

"For real?"

"Yeah, for real!" she protested. "Like Gwylain painting the Chaledone wedding and doing the entire scene again in that little background mirror."

They reached the Llayn apartment. Living close to her main client made things easier, but Jane wished she'd lived further away that night so she could walk with Celengor a little longer. Part of her hoped he'd ask to stay a while. She'd let him in; maybe take out that jug of mazte… Trent was actually performing for once, so he wouldn't be home for a while. It'd be her and Celengor, two bright young Mer in one of Morrowind's greatest cities…

Celengor made a so-and-so gesture and pulled her back to reality. "Gwylain had some good stuff, sure. But he already did it. We should do something new."

"The art world could stand more variety. Anyway, I'm in."

"Hell yeah! In a couple hundred years, they'll be trying to paint like you and me."

Jane laughed. "Aren't you full of yourself."

"Hey, I'm good with the brush. Good-looking, too. Why not be a little full of myself?"

She reached out and messed up Celengor's hair. He laughed and darted back. "Trying to mess up my carefully arranged locks?"

"Trying to fix them. They don't look like they've seen a comb in days."

Celengor grinned, teeth flashing in the lantern light. "You're going to have to get a little closer if you want to do that," he said in a low voice.

Were they dating? She wasn't quite sure. Every conversation they had turned to flirting eventually.

"Maybe I will," Jane said, reaching out to him.

"Janey!" Trent's voice echoed from farther up the corridor.

Dammit. "Hey, Trent," she responded. She guessed Celengor wouldn't be visiting that night, but maybe it was for the best. They'd known each other for a while, but work meant they hadn't actually talked that often.

Trent's lantern shone in the darkness ahead, by the door to the apartment where creepy Llendri muttered to himself and stacked furniture all night. She squinted for a better look. A shadow seemed to follow Trent.

"Howdy," Celengor called out, waving with his free hand.

Someone definitely walked behind Trent. He stopped at the door, and his mystery guest stepped to the side to reveal herself.

"Uh, hi Jane," Daria said.

Jane gasped. It was her, all right: the same stoic and bespectacled face, one far prettier than Daria would ever willingly admit. But she saw differences, too: her hair in disarray, her clothes shabby and dirt smudged on her face and hands. Plus, she kind of stank.

Jane gasped. "Daria! Are you okay? What happened? How'd you get here?"

"It's a long story," Daria said.

Trent stepped in. "We ran into each other over in the Elven Nations Cornerclub." He looked at Daria. "Had a pretty fun time reconnecting, huh, Daria?"

"As much fun as anyone could have in a state of near-total exhaustion, yes."

Celengor snapped his fingers and pointed at Daria. "Oh, hey, you're that glasses chick Jane told me about!"

Daria glared at him. "Believe it or not, I do have an identity beyond my optical accoutrements and gender."

Celengor was fun, active, and passionate about something beyond making sarcastic remarks. All traits that Daria hated.

Jane smiled and gestured to Celengor. "This is Celengor! He's one of my fellow artists in this crazy city."

"Heya," Celengor said, waving. "Seriously, it's a real honor to meet you. Any friend of Jane's is a friend of mine."

"Then I'd say you're a little too quick to assume friendship," Daria said.

Celengor blinked.

"Daria's got… a way about her," Jane said. She stepped toward Daria. "Seriously, though, are you okay?"

"From a historical perspective, lots of people have been less okay than me. From a personal perspective, well, I've been better."

"What about your family? Do they know you're here?"

"They're fine, and no, they don't. I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"Hey, would you be okay if Daria stayed with us for a while?" Trent asked, though it sounded more like a suggestion.

Their little apartment barely had enough room for the two of them. She didn't have room for any Daria-based drama in her schedule any longer. But something was wrong with Daria. Jane could tell. It'd take a lot to get her to leave her comfort zone of school and home to travel out to Vivec. By the looks of it, she'd been traveling rough.

"I have some cash, so I can pay my own way for a while," Daria said. "If worse comes to worst, I'm sure I can get a job as an exotic dancer."

Jane wondered how much money Daria had. A septim didn't go as far in Vivec as it did in Balmora. Living with her didn't promise good times. But for all her faults, Daria had always been there for her.

Well, almost always.

"Sure. Here, let's get you set up," Jane said. "One nice thing about living here: all the apartments have running water. And you need a bath."

Daria's eyes widened, and then she sighed. "I slept in a place that stank of hobo pee last night, so I guess I couldn't come out of it smelling particularly pleasant."

"Don't worry, me and Trent scrubbed the hobo pee out of the apartment as soon as we moved in," Jane said, opening the door and ushering Trent and Daria inside. She gave an apologetic look to Celengor.

"I'll see you later, Jane," he said.

"You too! I'm definitely going to submit some works for that show," Jane said.

She would. Unless Daria made things complicated.

Musical Closer - Sweet Jane, by The Velvet Underground

Bam, it starts with a kick to the commoner's chops right from the start. Keep you head bowed in reverence of my aristocratic grandeur.

Given that start, I am now wondering if Jane is already considering ditching her patron, and joining Kavon, Daria, and Tom as a wandering mercenary in the Fighter's Guild?

Jane might be burning money, but boy, a baby guar because its in fashion at the moment? Oi!

Sounds like Jane might have her eye on Celengor. Now I am trying to remember him from the series. Is he the creepy artist from the art summer retreat in one of the movies? The one where the female artist put the moves on Jane, and later hooked up with the art guy to further her career?

I like the way Celly uses the term "aristos", it reminds me of the old Scarlet Pimpernel TV show from the UK, where Richard E Grant (the Red Pimp himself) like to use that term.

Trent is back early? I bet with a prodigal former best friend in tow.

Daria is still Daria, exhaustion and all. I wonder if Celly knows that she is the Misery Chick? Well, if she spent the night sleeping in hobo pee, then I am sure that moniker fits, for the moment.

Well that reunion went better than I had expected. Daria showing up hat in hat pulled at Jane's heart-strings. Granted, the real reunion is yet to come. Daria has a lot of explaining for herself to do, and if she is wise, groveling for forgiveness. Hopefully her romantic escapades has helped her grow as a person, and realize that not everyone in the world has the privelige of being able to simply snark at the ugliness of the world, while living safely above it all.

Neat to have this episode from Jane’s perspective. She is true to her nature – doing what she needs to do to survive. To include putting up with pompous nobles who paid well.

The wisdom she espouses to herself here has kept her fed and housed -
’Defiant stands were a lot easier when you knew where your next meal was coming from.’
- Daria would do well to embrace, or at least understand it.

You did a good job painting the flirty uncertain dance she managed with Celengor while trying to divine his intent.

And look what Trent dragged home!

At least Daria is showing about as much humility as she is capable of while still being Daria. It will be interesting to learn if she has learned from her experiences since Jane left and if it helps her repair their friendship.

Chapter 3

Sitting in a wooden tub almost too big for the coffin-like space that passed as a bathing room, Daria wondered how clean the water—pumped up from the seafloor and desalinated by divine will, according to Jane—really was. But it was warm, at least, and that came as a relief. Jane sat on a small stool next to Daria, practically wedged between the tub and the wall. Flat arcane light glowing from a wall sconce cast a sickly sheen on her gray skin.

"You have been getting up to a lot," she said after Daria finished her story. "Fighting cliff racers, having affairs with nobles, breaking up with the same nobles, and then hiking to Vivec. I'm starting to feel like I was holding you back all these years."

"Please," Daria said. "I've spent my whole life avoiding society, and the episode with Synda and Tomal proves I was right to do so."

"Guess so," Jane said, sounding distant. She glanced at the door, and Daria couldn't help thinking she wanted to leave. Jane had listened dutifully but hadn't responded with the wry enthusiasm Daria had been craving.

How low have I sunk when I'm expecting enthusiasm from others? Daria wondered. She splashed her face with more water, wishing she could sink into the bath and become one with it for all time.

"Jane?"

"Uh huh?"

Daria squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm, uh, sorry about what I said at your going away party. It was insensitive and callous."

"Water under the bridge," Jane said. Then she yawned.

Daria tried to read her friend's face and body language for hints as to what she truly thought. The tightness in Jane's voice and the weariness in her movements didn't exactly suggest forgiveness.

Jane yawned again. "Sorry, I had a long day working for Serjo Olerlo."

"Uh, it's okay. You can go to sleep if you want. We can talk more tomorrow."

Jane stood up and tiptoed toward the curtain hung over the door. "Sounds good. I won't be free until the evening. Seeing a new potential client in the morning."

Daria blinked. "Wait, I thought all your work was for Olerlo?"

Jane shook her head. "I wish. She's my patron, so she offers a lot of support, but I still do some extra work on the side. Gotta keep adding to that portfolio."

Daria nodded. She'd suspected this would happen. For all of Jane's hustle, her situation hadn't improved that much.

"I'm sure my mom would admire your obsessive drive," Daria said.

And probably nag me to be the same way, she thought.

Jane disappeared through the curtain, leaving Daria alone in the dim, humid room. She breathed in and let her head sink beneath the steaming bathwater. Heat seeped into her bruised body to soothe pains and loosen stiff joints, and she held her breath a few moments longer before letting it all out in a stream of bubbles. She emerged, drenched and relishing the feel of the water in her hair and on her scalp.

For now, she had to figure out how to start her new life in Vivec.

*********

Daria spent the night on a makeshift mattress constructed of sheets and spare pillows spread out on the living room rug, and awoke to an empty apartment. Too sore and tired to move, she lingered in her makeshift bed for a while longer. The lack of windows concealed the passage of time. Only the canton's heavy gray stone surrounded her, the musty space illuminated by the wan light of the wall sconces.

Maybe, she thought, gods weren't the best when it came to designing habitation for mortals.

Getting out of bed proved an ordeal of frustration and false starts. Exhaustion seized her after every few inches of movement, and she'd plunge back into sleep and wake up yet again—moments, minutes, maybe days later, for all she knew. Finally, she forced herself to tear off her bedsheet, grab her glasses and put them on, and get to her feet.

Daria walked, on legs as heavy as lead, to the counter extruding from the wall. A plate of cold saltrice porridge and a pot of scrib jelly had been laid out with a note. She held the paper up, squinting as Jane's clumsy handwriting came into focus.

Hey, had to leave early. Got you some breakfast. Cooking isn't an option here, so we grab meals from the big public kitchens. Take it easy today and we'll chat more later.

- Jane

She stared at the note a while longer, only the apartment's silence seeming to speak back to her. No wonder Jane and Trent spent as much time as they could away from their home. Putting the note down, she ate her breakfast and poured herself a cup of water from a small, noisy spigot behind the counter.

She needed a job. The 133 septims left in her pack wouldn't last for long, and she didn't want to impose on Jane's hospitality any more than she already had.

"Now, Daria," she imagined mom saying, "any business would be glad to have a diligent and educated young worker like yourself. You simply need to show some enthusiasm for the job!"

"Right," she said, her voice sounding flat in the stale air. "Since it's so natural to feel enthusiasm pitching someone else's shoddy product."

"Well, it'd certainly be easier if you didn't assume said products were shoddy. Give it a try! And smile; that always helps."

Daria pressed her teeth together and gave the ghastliest smile she could. Then she wondered who she was smiling for. Her mom's imagined voice faded, leaving her alone in the stuffy little room.

*********

The Brewers and Fishmongers Hall smelled exactly as awful as its name suggested. Daria's eyes watered behind her glasses as she waited at the counter, thinking she should have applied at one of the less fragrant work halls.

"What do you want, outlander?" a sharp-faced Dunmer woman demanded.

"Uh," Daria hesitated, trying to ignore the ways that the stench of fish worsened the stink of fermenting yeast. "I was wondering if there were any jobs that I could apply for."

"Jobs?" The Dunmer woman said the word like it was something from a foreign language. Then she shook her head. "This isn't a place for outlanders. Go look in the Foreign Quarter."

"My olfactory sense thanks you for your rejection," Daria said.

The woman glared as Daria turned around and walked out the door as quickly as she could, and from there, marched back into the St. Olms waistworks, where she breathed in the less objectionable smell produced by the generations of Dunmer who'd crowded into the canton's cramped space over the centuries. She'd gotten the same response at the other trade hall she'd tried. Apparently, the Foreign Quarter was her only option.

It took what felt like an hour of winding through crowds and going down twisty passages before she emerged onto the exterior of St. Olms Canton. Bright afternoon sun pierced her eyes. It was already late in the day, but still felt like morning somehow.

Daria stood in the shadow of the entrance for a minute and waited for her vision to adjust. When it did, she tried to orient herself. She faced south, looking at the three-pronged sanctuary atop the Temple Canton. Its design made her think of three big stone tents set in a row. Above it floated the enormity of Baar Dau, a mountain-sized meteor supposedly halted in mid-air by Vivec's will and kept in place by his love.

Love didn't strike Daria as the most reliable way to keep a natural cataclysm in check. The rock shadowed the entirety of the Temple Canton. If it ever fell, Daria suspected it'd wipe out a lot more than just the surrounding city.

Anyway, if she was looking south, that meant she was on the wrong side of the canton. Not wanting to get lost in the waistworks again, she decided to hike around the canton to go north.

Some time later, she reached the northbound bridge, a ponderous construction of arched stone that looked like it should have long ago collapsed under its weight. If she crossed that, she'd still have to go through or around the Arena Canton to reach the Foreign Quarter.

Jane had mentioned a gondola service connecting the cantons. A glance below revealed boatmen in broad conical hats plying the treacherous waters. Of course, to get a gondola, she'd have to march down to the first tier and find a gondolier who wouldn't overcharge her for being an outlander. Whatever way she took, it'd be well into the night by the time she found anything in the Foreign Quarter.

Maybe she should call it a day and head back to Jane's apartment. She knew how to get back there, at least. All she had to do was go back around to the western gate on the south end of the second tier, then take the hallway to the big mezzanine, then go…

She frowned. Right? Left? Or wait, there was a staircase she needed to climb before she reached the mezzanine. Wasn't there?

"Dammit," she uttered.

Musical Closer - Sloop John B, covered by The Beach Boys, originally a Bahamian folk song

Well that apology was a start. Not great, but a start. For all the hot water, things are still frosty, I would expect.

Maybe the lack of windows was lobbied for by Big Lamp and Big Candle?

Daria is seeking gainful employment? I wonder if she will end up working at the nut stand in the mall with Kavon?

Like Daria, I don't read the Baar Dau as an act of Vivec's love. It tells me that he was such a dick that someone threw a giant space rock at him. And then he left it hanging there as a threat to the rest of Vvardenfell. Never stopped me from killing him though...

Maybe Daria could try out the Arena, and become a gladiator!

It sounds like a long, depressing, fruitless day spent trapped within the byzantine bowels of definitely unusual city.

I did not know that The Sloop John B was a traditional Bahamian folk song. That's interesting. I might use that in the Crowverse. I need a name for Calypso's sailboat, and she is Bahamian (born in the Bahamas, from Haitian expats).

Welcome to the gritty world where Jane lives, Daria. Nicely done with the apology and, hopefully, it will take once Jane has some time to think on it. Well, a bath and place to sleep count for something in this confusing and unfriendly city.

Out job hunting the next day. Uh-oh, looks like the only thing Daria’s getting is lost.

Yes, well Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians had that one song, and then they went *Poof* like Alanis. In the case of Alanis it was simply a fickle music market, whereas with Edie, it was because she got married to Paul Simon, who would've been about 20-30 years her senior. At least this is what a lot of folks assumed. Paul & Edie got married, and *poof* Edie was then set for life. Because Simon's career spans well back into the '60s, and he & his co-singer Garfunkel have got all those mega-hits which we hear all the time in supermarkets and elevators. So now she's super-rich. Who needs to actually work??

She ditched her band, or so went the rumors. Having a quick look at Wikipedia of course, it didn't happen quite that way.

Anyway, Vivec must be like some third-world areas which are crowded and dangerous, I think I've read lore which supports this. In the base game there's a lot of stuff which gets assumed due to RAM limits of the time, and so on.

Yeah, how is Jane supposed to know what "Cyrodiilic" means? And the thing is, it's not like she can just ask questions. Pretty soon she'll hit that wall. "Don't you know what you're doing?" and so on. Let's see if I'm right. ... Oh gosh, speaking of fickle! Seems this lady doesn't know what she wants! And yet it's Jane's job to interpret correctly, or else...

Jane's finally getting paid? Nice! ... Aw, she's thinking of her friend. Well, she won't have to think much longer.

Sounds like Celengor is striking out to become an Impressionist. Manet, Monet, Van Gogh, etc. Which I know were seen as rebels back then.

Oh man, here's the moment of truth. Wow, Daria's a mess. And ah geez.... she's already got the torch to burn that bridge to Celengor even before she's gotten to know that guy! ... Easy hon, easy!



Is this why Vivec is so oddly-designed? Granted, the pyramid is supposed to be one of the most durable structures, an idea handed down from the Gods themselves. But yeah, maybe these cantons were not originally designed for habitation, huh?

Baar Dau is the "moon" which floats over the south of Vivec, eh? That's where my archer lady levitated to a couple weeks ago. Weird. I didn't know it's also a meteor which got halted in place!

Anyway, I feel for Daria. Many, many times I myself have been confused about which canton my character's in (without looking at the map) and I've been playing Morrowind since the summer of 2017! We think we're in Arena, when we're really in Hlaalu. Argh! Half the time those ferry boats go to every canton EXCEPT the one we need to get to!!!

Chapter 4

Ten days into her stay in Vivec, and Daria hadn't gotten used to the stink-eye from the woman who doled out the saltrice porridge at the public kitchen. The kitchen was a low-ceilinged warren filled with the paupers of St. Olms Canton and the smell of burned food. As an Imperial (the only outlander present most days) able to afford glasses, she didn't exactly match the rest of the clientele.

The Dunmer woman grunted and glanced at the beetle-shell badge pinned to Daria's coat, emblazoned with the numeral two to show she was getting food for two people that day: her and Trent. Daria declined to meet her judgmental gaze as she heard the wet plop of plasticine gruel in her outstretched wooden bowls.

She left as soon as she got the meal, hurrying past the lines of tattered Dunmer and feeling the resentment in their eyes.

Trent waited back at the Llayn apartment, sitting on the counter with his back against the wall as he plucked the strings of his lute.

"I live in a shell, 'cuz you put me in hell… nah." He scratched some words off the paper next to him.

Daria placed the bowls on the counter and took a few wooden spoons from the drawer. She put a spoon in each bowl and wondered exactly how much labor had gone into producing the food that she, poor only due to pride, prepared to eat. She'd insisted on fetching the food though. The chore distracted her from the fact that she still hadn't found any kind of job.

"Hey, Daria," Trent said.

"Yeah?" she replied between mouthfuls of the blandest porridge she'd ever eaten. The stuff was like clay in her mouth, but somehow less appetizing.

"Jane said she'd bring some dinner from Olerlo's tonight."

"Great. I'm sure the public kitchen's hardworking staff of irritable old people would be thrilled to know we're dining off a noble's table."

"Hm…"

Daria looked up, wondering what Trent would say next.

"I live in a shell, you rang the death's knell… nah." The scratch of his quill consigned another line of poetry to oblivion.

Jane did come back that night, bearing a smile on her face and a sack bulging with herb-roasted kwama meat and a jug of mazte. The smell took Daria right back to the open-air markets of Balmora, back when the only restriction against buying food or drink came from potentially spoiling her appetite. With 98 septims left to her name, Daria had to be careful.

"Should I be thankful to your boss for gracing us with this bountiful meal?" Daria asked. Gods, the worst part was that she did feel grateful. Days of porridge did that to a person.

Jane made a dismissive gesture. "Eh, she's got plenty to spare. It's not like we cost her anything with this housing arrangement."

Jane had explained the arrangement not long after Daria's arrival.

"See," she'd said, "St. Olms Canton's supposed to be for poor people. That's why you have all the free kitchens and public housing. Now, you do have some Hlaalu nobles—like my boss—who live on the top level. They worked out a deal with the temple to let their menials live in public housing since that means the nobles don't have to feed and shelter us."

"What did the temple get out of this?"

"Political support."

"Classic Hlaalu."

Back in the present, Daria sipped mazte and hoped that the alcohol would make the situation easier to accept. It didn't.

"Doesn't it bother you that we're occupying an apartment meant for paupers who have nowhere else to go?" Daria asked.

Jane shrugged. "This living arrangement isn't my idea. It's how Serjo Olerlo wants it. She'd rather have me use public housing than pay me enough to afford a regular apartment."

"But you're going along with it."

"We sure are," Jane said.

Daria didn't miss the emphasized collective pronoun. "Because I lack the strength of will to make a big deal about it when I'm also a beneficiary."

A beneficiary not only in shelter and sustenance but also in clothing. Jane had given her money to buy some new outfits. Important, since Daria had come to Vivec with only what she wore. She'd bought cheap and durable, and green and black, as always.

Jane took a bite of kwama, looking at Daria while she chewed. "You said it, not me."

Gods, she wanted to say something. Weren't they on the same side with this? Pushing back against the absurdities and inequities of life?

"I kinda like the apartment," Trent said.

"Yeah, I can tell," Jane replied. "You hardly ever leave it."

Daria noticed the irritation in Jane's voice.

"It's a good place for me to recharge my creativity," Trent said. "I'm soaking up the Vivec vibe."

"And you show off this creativity when you play at Elven Nations one night a week."

That was odd, Daria thought. Trent used to travel all over Vvardenfell to play his music.

"It's about the quality, Jane. Not the cash flow," he said.

Jane shook her head. "You're both lucky that I'm working for Serjo Olerlo."

Daria supposed if she were serious about this, she'd find a job and get her own place. So far as she could tell, most of the people in the Foreign Canton lived six to an apartment since rent was sky-high and kept soaring higher. That's what happened in a holy city where urban development constituted literal blasphemy.

"Sorry," Daria said. Yet what she wanted to say churned deep within her, bubbling to get out. She knew it wasn't fair to Jane. She owed Jane, not the other way around. Why couldn't she let these things go?

"It's okay," Jane answered, still not looking up.

*********

The late morning sun beamed down on St. Olms Plaza the next morning, the canton dome retracted to bring in fresh air and light. Jane crossed the plaza toward Olerlo Manor, where she'd spend the day working on her employer's latest commission. With any luck, Serjo Olerlo would let her paint outside.

That was the problem with Vivec, Jane thought. Living in the dark made you lose your sense of color. Balmora hadn't exactly been a riot of hues, but at least the houses there had windows. She wondered what Vivec himself thought of the city.

Jane checked her own thoughts. Not that she minded living in his namesake city. She loved how its grandeur sang of his glory and knowing that thousands upon thousands of pilgrims had walked across the same stones she now walked. The problem, she figured, was the Dunmer. As vain as always, her people had turned the holy city into a glorified money trap.

Maybe, one day, crafty Vivec would teach them all a lesson. A reminder that for all their wealth and power, he was greater still. But he'd do that on his schedule, not on hers. She bowed her head, focusing on the letter V so he knew that she still thought of him and always would.

"Hey, Jane! Ready to rock the artistic world to its core?"

Celegorn strode toward her, his hair incandescent in the sun's light. Seeing him move was like watching nature bloom in the middle of this stone-clad city.

"I do whatever Serjo Olerlo wishes," she said, and then lifted her eyes heavenward to show how much she hated that.

Celegorn laughed and got next to her. "We can both rock it for real at the art show tomorrow night. You submitted your entry, right?"

"Yeah, 'Screaming Lady with Claws' along with a few others. That one's a good expression for how I feel right now. I'm stretched pretty thin between Serjo Olerlo and Daria."

"The glasses chick still giving you trouble?"

Jane couldn't help but giggle. "Daria will kill you if she hears you calling her that again."

"She'll have to catch me first. Us Bosmer are pretty quick. But are things okay? You were pretty tight with her back in Balmora, right?"

"Living with her is a little tough, is all."

Celegorn gave a sage nod. "It's hard to share these dinky apartments with anyone. My roommate's a great guy, and I still feel like strangling him to death half the time."

"Living with someone's the first step to hating them," Jane said. It sounded like something Daria would say.

But that didn't sit well with Jane. Life before Daria had felt like a prison. Back then, she'd wake up in a box, pretend to pay attention at school, and then work her fingers to the bone, all to go back to the box, sleep, and do it again. Come to think of it, that's kind of how life after Daria felt, too.

"Kick her out then," Celegorn said.

"No, I don't want to do that. Daria is a good friend... most of the time. She's the kind of person who speaks her mind. I guess that's why I liked her so much. She said the things I wasn't allowed to say, and she could get away with it. Hanging out with her let me feel like I could do the same."

"She could get away with it?" Celegorn snapped his fingers. "A ha! She's rich!"

"Kind of. She's lucky in a lot of ways, but she hasn't always had an easy ride, either. Telling the truth to people doesn't earn you a lot of friends. But I don't think Daria always tells the truth to herself."

"How do you mean?"

"She says she can't go home to her parents because she flunked some job offer. Which is crazy! I know her mom and dad, and they love her to bits. Not like my folks, who don't even know if I'm alive. Though I guess I don't know if they're alive, either."

The thought cast a pall over Jane. That was the one thing that always bugged her about Daria: the way she pretended to be alone.

"Yeah, I get that," Celegorn said. "Don't know if my folks are still around, and the world's for sure better off if my dad isn't."

"Anyway, Daria goes on about how unfair the world is. She's not wrong, but sometimes it being unfair helps her, and she isn't comfortable admitting that. And I don't like it when she judges me, because then I wonder if maybe I could do better, and the reason I don't is because I'm as corrupt as everyone else."

"No one gets through life clean," Celegorn said. "Way I see it, her family has cash. Your family might as well not exist, so you gotta get ahead however you can."

"I know. Daria's an Imperial, and you know how they are; think they can fix the world and make it perfect if they pass the right laws."

"Then they pass the laws and make it worse." He grinned. "Sounds to me like you need a break. Why don't you come over to my place for dinner tonight?"

Jane's heart leaped. Oh, she'd been longing to hear him say that! She reached out and took his hand, a surge of energy running through her arm as skin touched skin. His black eyes widened a bit, but he didn't lose his cool.

Unfortunately, she couldn't.

"I'd love to, but I'm doing the finishing touches on Serjo Olerlo's latest commission."

"Tomorrow then. We'll do lunch and then go to the show. I'll see if I can sneak out something good from Serjo Half-Troll's kitchen."

Jane smiled. "Yeah, that sounds fun."

Still, she had to be careful. She didn't know him that well. Maybe a date in a public place? Or maybe…

"Is it okay if I bring Daria?" Jane suddenly asked.

Musical Closer - Come Monday Night, from the God Help the Girl OST

I found that the levitate spell makes Vivec a lot easier to get around within. I just fly from one canton to another.

St. Olms always makes me think of John Holmes. So I always think its the St. John Holmes canton of porn.

It should be:
"I live in a shell
Because this is Morrowind, we all live in shells here, have you seen how big the bugs get!"

Maybe Daria could try working for J'basha at his bookstore in the Foreign Quarter?

It sounds like House Hlaalu is run by the Walton family. Come to think of it, Hlaalu does = Walmart...

Well Jane, turns out that Vivec is indeed going to show them all, in just a few years in fact. Hope you are not there when it happens...

I loved Jane and Cele's observation about Imperials and their penchant for passing laws to make things better, which in actuality only make them worse.

I’m glad to see Jane and Daria inching back together, albeit not without some bumps. Daria has learned enough to bite her tongue sometimes and even occasionally apologize. And Jane has recognized what it is that she likes about Daria, irritating sometimes as she can be.

Celegorn is pretty astute in his observations and comments about most things – clever elf he is. Jane is still not sure where she stands with him. And I’m not sure she knows even what she wants in that regard. . . .

Trent is so low key and unflappable that you have to like him. He kind of digs that tiny apartment.

Fabulous reading, this character development under the dreary banner of life in Vivec City.

Chapter 5

If Jane had suddenly turned around and told Daria that she was being marched to her execution, she doubted she'd dread it any more than the upcoming lunch with Celegorn. Execution might be an improvement. A slice of the headman's ax would at least be quick.

"Are you sure you want me along for this?" Daria asked as they scurried down one of St. Olms' corridors. "You know I don't make good company on this kind of thing."

"It'll be fine," Jane said.

"It was anything but fine with Natalinos. As I recall, you got pretty frustrated with me for being my usual charming self."

Jane shrugged. "You were also right about him. Look, I'm a little nervous about going to Celegorn's apartment on my own. He seems alright, but you can never be sure. Think of yourself as an insurance policy if it makes you feel better. Insurance doesn't have to be charming."

"Okay, but Trent would have probably been a better choice for that."

Jane didn't respond. Daria plodded along behind her, more and more certain that this was a trap to get her to say something so obnoxious that Jane could kick her out and feel good about it.

"I don't like Celegorn," Daria admitted.

"You've barely met him."

"Since when has barely knowing someone ever stopped me from hating them?"

"Anyway, that means if he turns out to be a jerk, I know you'll be on my side," Jane said.

Jane stopped at an anonymous-looking door and rapped on its worn, wooden surface. Celegorn opened it, and the bright grin on his face wouldn't have been out of place on a Hlaalu shyster.

"Come on in, come on in," he said, beckoning with his hand.

Daria followed Jane into an apartment that felt like all the other interior spaces she'd seen in Vivec: gray, small, and smelly. Celegorn gestured at the table, already laden with earthenware plates of fish and other delights.

"I got the best for you ladies! Grilled fish from the loudest fishmongers of the Arena Canton; a kwama egg omelet, also from the arena; a few glasses of Surilie Bros. wine that I won in a particularly vicious game of backgammon with a one-eyed Breton sailor; and the piece de resistance, beetle pie from Serjo Half-Troll's kitchen, courtesy of a cook who now only owes me one favor."

"This looks great!" Jane said.

Celegorn pulled a seat out for Jane, and she gave him this adoring look completely void of thought or critique. At Daria's worst, she was pretty sure she'd never have given Tomal that kind of a look. She was about to say something when Celegorn darted over and pulled out a chair for her.

"And for you," he said.

She glared at him, annoyed that he'd moved so quickly to be polite. Then she muttered a thank-you and sat down.

"Daria," Celegorn said, as he settled down on the seat next to Jane, "did Jane tell you about the art show at the Black Shalk Cornerclub tonight?"

Daria nodded. "I guess one good thing about Vivec is that it's big enough to be culturally innovative. Not that it cancels out the city's inequities."

"Oh, Vivec's a sleazy, dirty place," Celegorn said. "Probably why I fit in so well." He looked to Jane and grinned, and she giggled.

Gods, Daria hated this.

"Nothing like rolling in the mud to show how above it you are," Daria muttered, making sure she said it loud enough to be noticed.

Was Jane trying to bring things to a head with this? If so, maybe it was time to indulge her.

"Hey, we're all pigs, right?" Celegorn replied. "Just trying to get ahead any way we can."

"You seem pretty comfortable with that proposition," Daria said.

"I keep it real."

"Said with all the satisfaction of someone who benefits."

"Mm, you picked some good fish," Jane said, a little louder than she needed to.

"Oh, I know. Live here as long as I do, you know which fishmongers sell the best product. The key," he said, lowering his voice as if sharing some kind of state secret, "is looking at their hands. Lots of scratches mean that they used to work with lines and hooks, and that means they actually know about fishing. The lady I buy it from, Nevasa? Her hands are all scars. And she sells the best fish."

"See," Jane said, looking at Daria, "this guy knows Vivec."

"I've been roaming since I was a kid, so I got pretty good at figuring things out."

Celegorn was so damned sure of himself. Why did Jane always fall for these thinly veiled confidence men? Her friend's terrible taste in significant others aside, Daria knew she had to behave, so she focused on the food and let the lovebirds do the talking. It was pretty good. The fish tasted fresh, like it'd been snapped out of the ocean and plopped right on the grill before being served. Daria doubted that Celegorn knew how to pick out a good fishmonger (given the sheer number of people in Vivec, she figured the anglers focused on volume rather than quality), but he had found a good source at the very least.

Daria tried to figure out what she'd tell Jane later if she asked for her opinion on Celegorn. Then again, Jane giggled at every forced witticism that came from Celegorn's mouth. She only wanted Daria's approval. The same way everyone wanted approval, to hear that they were great for taking part in a corrupt system. So that, maybe, they didn't have to listen to that nagging voice that told them they weren't so great after all. That maybe they could do better.

This was a trap.

Did Daria deserve it? She'd showed up in Vivec unannounced and criticized Jane for accepting public housing while taking advantage of the same, all on top of treating her shabbily back in Balmora.

Hell yes, Daria deserved it. She'd blown things up with Armand, with her family, and with Tomal. At this point, she might as well go all the way. She took another draught, one big enough to make her a bit light-headed.

"Hey, Daria," Celegorn said. "How are you liking Vivec so far? Must be a pretty big adjustment after Balmora."

"Vivec's a place where the corrupt rise to the top and exploit the system to stay there. So no, not a big adjustment at all."

Celegorn smiled like he knew exactly what she meant, and for a moment, Daria saw what Jane saw. "Guess the Empire's the same all over. But you can't be that far from the top yourself."

"Yes, which is why I came here with the clothes on my back and stinking of the road with barely over a hundred septims in my pocket."

"Yeah, yeah, I get that. But you could always go back home. Those glasses?" He pointed two fingers at her eyes. "Those cost a lot."

"Celegorn…" Jane said, and Daria couldn't quite tell if Jane was warning him or admiring him.

Maybe it didn't matter. A strange sort of relief swept over Daria. After tonight, she'd be done.

"I am, in fact, a beneficiary of a crooked system. Much like your bosses, though at their positions they're some of the people actively keeping it crooked. You help them with the visual flattery you call art. In return, you receive the largess you need to live comfortably and feel good about yourselves. Unlike you, I won't make any pretense that I'm doing this out of some kind of authenticity. Fundamentally, I am a bad person. But I realize it."

"Wait, Daria—" Jane started.

Standing up from the table felt like breaking free of chains. This was the thrill of the void, casting it all aside so she could hide away in obscurity until she died and left this miserable, rotting world.

"And," Daria continued, "since I realize it, I'm going to put my money where my mouth is and attempt to find some way to separate myself from the corruption."

Daria ignored their objections as she opened the door and stepped into the hall. Not knowing where she wanted to go, other than far away, she took long steps down the corridor and through every side tunnel she crossed until she knew they wouldn't be able to find her. Now she truly was alone in the big city, with barely any money and no idea what to do next.

"How's this for keeping it real?" she muttered.

Musical Closer - Gouge Away, by The Pixies

Uh-oh, beetle pie is the piece de resistance? Yum.

By Dibella’s silky breeches! I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jane act so. . . ‘schoolgirl with a crush-ish’?

Daria, on the other hand, seems to have her daggers out for Celegorn. Even as she realizes that her mouth is generally her own worst enemy, Daria can’t stop atagonizing Celegorn. I can understand her reservations about the Bosmer’s notable smoothness, but it’s like she has no brakes or impulse control. Looks like she’s going to screw this up just as fully as she did the Armand job gig. And, yup, she does just that. . . abandoning Jane who asked for her ‘chaperone’ help. And given Jane’s uncharacteristic infatuation with Celegorn, Daria’s counterbalance is just what Jane needs. . . just not quite so. . . unleashed on a path of destruction.

I guess we should hope that Daria is not her usual charming self this time...

It's not a Dunmer meal without that good old beetle pie!

“Vivec’s a place where the corrupt rise to the top and exploit the system to stay there. So no, not a big adjustment at all.”
Just like back home in Cyrodiil.

So Jane seems to really be taken by the young Master Celegorn. And I am sure that is one reason why Daria was so deadset against him right from the start. I think Daria has some deep-seated jealousy and fears that someone is going to take Jane away from her. Which is understandable given that Jane is literally her only friend. Or at leas she was until the last time she acted like an ass.

So Daria just decided to double down again. *sigh*. She really seems bent upon self-destruction here. At this point, I don't think even Kavon would put up with her in the Fighters Guild.

Chapter 6

Daria was halfway through her cup of mazte when she finally accepted how foolishly she'd behaved that evening. Maybe it didn't matter. Things would have fallen apart sooner or later, anyway. Jane wouldn't put up with Daria's constant obnoxiousness any more than Mom would put up with a daughter who burned bridges with a pyromaniac's zeal. But the fact remained that Daria was stuck in Vivec with barely any cash.

She didn't fancy the idea of sleeping rough again.

Finishing her drink, Daria bought another. Mazte, at least, made her situation seem slightly less scary. She sat at the Elven Nations Cornerclub in the Hlaalu Canton, surrounded by soberly dressed outlander merchants going over accounts or discussing business in the low tones of people haggling over the very last septim. That she'd found her way there from St. Olms counted as a small victory, at least.

Maybe her best bet was to hike over to Ebonheart and beg the Imperial Cult for alms. Do that long enough to save for a sackcloth robe, and she could spend her days working as a penitent for Stendarr. Not too different from Synda's fate in the Tribunal Temple.

"Here's to you, Synda," she said to herself quietly, "from one horrible person to another."

Daria raised her cup in mock salute, not caring if anyone saw her toast the empty air in front of her, and then took a drink. Someone sat next to her as she put the cup down on the counter and stared into the foamy brew within.

"Hey, Daria," came Trent's voice.

Daria froze. Because, of course, she'd end up in Elven Nations on a night Trent was playing. Why not draw out the pain a little longer? He might not know what had happened.

"Hi, Trent," she said, not looking up.

"Figured I might find you here," he said.

So, he had been looking for her. She sighed. "I suppose that's the problem when you've only been in town long enough to become familiar with a single cornerclub. I guess you heard about what happened at Celegorn's."

She finally looked at Trent. No anger or frustration in his face; only the perpetually relaxed expression that came from any major emotional display being too much effort. He ordered a pot of greef and then gave her the same all-knowing half-smile that had captured her heart a few years ago.

"Jane was looking for you in St. Olms. Her boyfriend was, too."

"Great. Jane's missing her big show because of me. If she didn't hate me after lunch today, she definitely will now."

Trent shook his head. "Nah. She won't miss her show. Anyway, I told her that I'd find you. They'd been looking up and down the waistworks, but I figured you'd go someplace cooler than that."

"I'm not sure how a bar for bored commercial travelers counts as cool, but okay."

"Cool's just a state of mind, Daria. Trust me, I know."

Stupid though it was, she couldn't resist smiling at that. His confidence was totally unearned and entirely authentic.

"So, what's your plan?" Trent asked.

"My plan is to finish this drink. Beyond that?" She sipped and then shrugged. "I guess I'll hike to Ebonheart and see if I can find someone who needs a scrivener." Admitting her charity plan to Trent felt a little too pathetic.

"Strike out on your own. Very cool," he said, with a sage nod. "You know, you can stay with me and Jane if you feel like it."

"It's still hard for me to believe that Jane isn't angry at me."

"She's a little mad. But friends get mad at each other sometimes."

Daria shifted in her seat. "It's the principle of the thing that's bothering me. Jane's been nothing but patient with me. The kids I grew up with turned me away if I said a single wrong word. Now, I meet someone who doesn't just not mind me; she enjoys spending time with me. But instead of appreciating this, I criticize her and make my problems hers. Jane worked hard to get her career off the ground. Now that she has, the last thing she should have to worry about is offending my ethical sensibilities. Sensibilities that, in all likelihood, are a paper-thin mask for my pride."

The bartender handed Trent the greef, which he took with a quick thanks. Then he looked at her. "Jane misses you. She's been talking about you a lot ever since we got to Vivec."

"Sometimes, I think Jane's a little too forgiving."

"That's her call to make, Daria."

It was Jane's call to make. But it didn't seem right to let her.

"Are you going to see Jane's show tonight?" Trent asked.

"Uh, I'm guessing Celegorn's going to be there."

"Yeah, he will."

"What do you think of him?"

Trent took a sip. "He's okay, I guess. Kind of full of himself."

"That's putting it mildly. I shouldn't have let him get under my skin like that."

"It happens. Jane seemed kind of mad at him today."

"Mad enough to break up with him?" Daria asked.

"Probably not."

"I guess that's her choice. Jane's showing her personal art at this show, isn't she?"

"Yeah. She never thought anyone would be interested in that. It's way cooler than the stuff she does for her boss."

"She's a visionary." Daria took another long drink. "Okay, you talked me into it. I don't know if I'll stay after, but I guess I should see this show at least."

"Very cool."

"Can you show me how to get there? I don't trust myself to find this place."

"Sure," Trent said. He downed his drink in a single swig, left a few coins on the counter, and led Daria out.

Faint stars gleamed in the purple sky as they emerged from the Elven Nations Cornerclub. With the dome retracted, the plaza that had looked so dark and ominous to Daria upon her arrival now looked like any other upscale Hlaalu neighborhood: tidy, wealthy, and more than a bit stuffy.

She followed Trent as he crossed the big bridge connecting the Hlaalu Canton to the Redoran Canton, the towering bulk of the Foreign Quarter within sight to the north. Something about the scene—the darkening firmament and the fresh spring air—took her back to her first months in Balmora, when the world seemed to consist of hanging out with Jane, longing for Trent, and blessedly little else. As if things were returning to normal.

Except they weren't. Time moved on. But if Jane forgave her, she'd at least have this night as a reminder of how simple things used to be. Which reminded her of another difference between then and now.

"Trent?"

"Yeah?"

"You used to travel to gigs all around Vvardenfell. Are you not doing that anymore?"

Trent didn't say anything at first. A row of guar-pulled carts rumbled past, leaving a spicy aroma in their wake.

"I'm keeping it local. It's better that way."

"I guess I can see that, given that Vivec's the biggest city in the district."

Though Jane had said that he only ever played at the Elven Nations, and not very often at that.

"Travel's not really my thing anymore," he said in a resigned voice as they turned left at the second-tier walkway of the Redoran Canton, its broad surface only occupied by a few Dunmer pilgrims kneeling at a saint's shrine carved into the stone.

Some part of Daria flashed back to the days when she'd wanted to know every last thing about Trent, her ears hungering for his voice, her eyes craving that self-sure smile. He no longer had that pull on her. Now she saw someone hurt and lost, much like herself.

"Saw everything there was to see in Vvardenfell?" she asked, suspecting there was more to Trent's story.

"Uh…" Trent trailed off as a white-robed and steel-masked ordinator swept past. "Did Jane, uh, tell you that I got robbed a while back?"

Daria nodded. "I remember."

"I've been robbed before, up north. You can't get too worked up about that. The north's always been dangerous, so you gotta accept that going in. But these robbers took everything the Spiral had, and they did it in the Ascadian Isles. That's supposed to be the nice part of Vvardenfell."

"Nice in the sense that the ugly parts are hidden instead of obvious," she said.

"Heh, yeah. But it was usually pretty safe to get around. It made me think of that time the nix hound went after you and Jane, back on her pilgrimage. If stuff like that happens here… makes me feel like things are falling apart."

"How do you mean?"

"Maybe it's just me. But yeah, I stay in the city these days," Trent admitted.

"Did you talk to Jane about this?"

"Nah. She's got enough troubles without worrying about me. I'm the one who's supposed to take care of her anyway."

"Hmm. Well, as a wise man once told me, maybe that's her call to make."

Trent was silent for a bit, and then he chuckled. "That is pretty wise. Maybe I should let her make it."

"Jane's pretty good at that," Daria said, her heart lightening as they neared the Foreign Quarter.

Musical Closer - Perfect Situation, by Weezer

Okay, so it's probably like Molag Mar. The top area of that canton is about half open-air. Perhaps they couldn't do this in Vivec since all those other cantons are nearby. The original Xbox's RAM back then was only like 256 mb (I think) which got expanded to 512 when the 360 was released. It would bring that unit to a crawl if all those canton-tops were being processed.

How neat that you've considered the effects of population growth over time. Some of your college instructors would be proud. Since you've noted that Vivec really can't be expanded, does this mean there is any sort of urban sprawl located around Vivec made by the Tamriel Rebuilt team?

Oh, that meteor is a prison, huh? No wonder they chased my gal out of there after she levitated. And yeah, I agree about it being realistic to navigate that confusing city does add to its mystique.

-----------------

I like Trent's lyric-writing process! Now we know how he was able to come up with "Ouch, my face!" Kurt Cobain's lyrics were often written on-the-fly. He'd be in a bar or at a party, and think of one line, such as "He'll put you in a jar, and now you'll think you're happy..." He would write that ONE line on whatever: a matchbook insert, a paperback book half-read, and so on. Later on all these lines would be compiled to make the entire song.

But anyway, doesn't sound like Daria's having much fun here. But at least she's trying something new. Probably better for her to be doing this than stuck back home. See, I bet her mother's really worried now. Serves that dragon lady right! 🐲

Geez, Daria, SHUSH!!! I swear, it's like she goes out of her way to make everyone around her... attempt to be just as miserable with her ideals. I mean, you can't just walk into someone else's lives and expect to amend stuff, especially as you're mooching!

If anything though, you are perfectly capturing the "slacker" vibe, Clav. If you know anything about the '90s, Generation X were mostly called slackers, because that's what a lot of us did--we'd sit around and complain about this and that, often mooching & sponging off those who had jobs and so forth. There were true artists back then, along with those of us who actually worked crap jobs. And there'd also be those who were (as you've noted) cramming illegally into rented homes & apartments, skimping out on rent, but cooking the entire household a huge pot of rice & beans scored after dumpster-diving to make up for this lack of cash input.

Anyway, Jane's discussion with Celegorn is quite revealing. She can't get rid of her friend because she'd be betraying some part of herself, I think.

Jane is doing the "bring a friend along for the date" trick. And this is a valid trick for us ladies if we don't know someone that well. But the fact she's doing this for the date with Celegorn is revealing. Because we all know Daria's going to mess this up in some way.

Wow, Celegorn's got some Surilies! 🍷 Oh gosh, but this is awkward, this date. It is truly cringe-worthy. I mean, geez girl (Daria). Keep this up and pretty soon you're going to be tossed out to become bandit fodder in Addamasartus.

Ah, the Pixies! What a great band. Gosh, I loved them back in the day.



Heh, does she think? Truly destructive, and she knows it.



Wow. She replies without being sarcastic or demeaning in some way, for once! Maybe she's getting tired from the drink. In fact, the whole latter conversation with Trent, she is being more considerate.

Now, let's see this art show.

Drowning her troubles? Be careful with the matze, Daria. I don’t think much good comes from more than one mug. It's good that Daria realizes how counterproductive her actions have been. She just needs to take that information to heart and actually change how she does things some.

And there’s Trent, a most welcome rescue. And with some sage advice even. Whew, glad she’s going to that show, and with an escort. Daria even gets to return the favor (some sage advice) to Trent over his apparent fear of leaving the ‘safety’ of the city.

Okay, Daria, going to show support for Jane’s art is a good first step. Trent’s company is a bonus. Don’t let your mouth sabotage you. Again.

Glad to see you back. I was starting to wonder if you had joined the Fighters Guild, and become a wandering mercenary with Kavon...

Well at least Daria is willing to admit to herself that she has a pyromaniac's zeal for destroying her relationships. Of course whether she is willing to ever outgrow the teenage edgelord stage is another matter entirely.

Hey its Trent! He's usually got a pretty chill, level head on his shoulders. When he's awake.

“Cool’s just a state of mind, Daria. Trust me, I know.”
I trust him, because he does.

Trent's decision to stop traveling adds a definite ominous undertone to the story. Here is a regular Joe who has noticed that things in Vvardenfell have gotten more dangerous. Something is happening. To quote G'Kar from Babylon 5:

"I searched for days, going from one system to another. Then, on dark deserted worlds, where there should be no life, where no living thing has walked in over thousand years, something is moving, gathering its forces, quietly, quietly, hoping to go unnoticed. We must warn the others, Na'Toth. After a thousand years, the darkness has come again."

Let's just hope that there is a Joan of Arkay out there in Daria's world, or a January, or a Blood Raven...

This ends on a hopeful note, in spite of Trent's vague yet dire warning of impending doom. Let's just hope that Daria can go at least a few hours without putting her foot in her mouth again...

Chapter 7

On most nights, the Black Shalk Cornerclub would have looked much like the Elven Nations Cornerclub and probably every other cornerclub in Vivec. But when Daria and Trent arrived that night, the place had garbed itself in art. Not the quotidian portraits and nature scenes of the Empire, nor the jagged saints and gods of the Dunmer, but images and textures from the souls of a restless avant-garde.

Most of it, in Daria's opinion, wasn't that good. And judging by the dutiful, incurious expressions on some of the two dozen or so visitors, she wasn't alone in her opinion. Yet one artist stood out to her and the others. A full half of the attendees crowded around Jane's table, their dreary eyes suddenly lively as they studied, with fascination, the works she'd kept secret for so long.

Jane presided over them like a goddess greeting her petitioners. Her usually guarded expression glowed with untrammeled enthusiasm as she answered their questions and told them what went into the creation of each work.

"I guess I always had one foot in the Empire and the other in Morrowind. Blending the styles came naturally," she explained to a Nibenese Imperial cloaked in scarlet silk.

Her eyes caught Daria's gaze for a moment. Daria offered a faint smile, and Jane raised her eyebrows to let her know that she saw, that all was forgiven.

This was what Jane could be. Artists weren't rare in Tamriel. There was no lack of nobles, merchant princes, and prospective brides who wanted their likenesses captured in paint. But Jane did more. She followed her vision and, what's more, got people to follow with her.

Daria realized that things would never be the way they once were. Maybe that was a good thing. Greatness had always been inside Jane, but she'd have never been able to let it out if she'd clung to the past in her little apartment. Jane had adapted to the world while staying true to herself. If she could do it, maybe Daria could walk a similar balance. Stasis asked for nothing but offered nothing in return.

"Hey, Daria. Glad you showed up. Me and Jane were pretty worried."

It was Celegorn, leaning against the wall next to canvases of abstract colors that no one seemed to care about. Daria still didn't like the guy, but that wasn't Jane's problem.

"Hey. Uh, I suppose I owe you an apology."

He waved it off. "Don't sweat it. I shouldn't have needled you like that. Kinda my way, I guess, but sometimes I need to know when to shut up. Jane lectured me on that."

"Think you've learned?"

"Nope. I'll always shoot my mouth off. But I do know when to say sorry. So yeah, my bad."

"It's all right. Regardless of what we think of each other, we should probably keep things civil for her sake."

"Yeah." He looked over to Jane, his eyes alight with awe. "She's amazing. I knew that everyone here would go to her paintings. No shame in being beaten by her."

Daria took a closer look at Celegorn's work: bold swaths of color, mostly yellows and greens, that didn't seem to show anything in particular.

"Your work is, uh, colorful," Daria said.

Celegorn laughed. "Go ahead; tell me what you think. Don't hold back. I have a thick skin."

"Hm, maybe you should tell me. I'm not as well-versed in art as you or Jane." Saying that made Daria feel a little better.

"Alright, what does it look like to you?"

"Colors," Daria said.

"Exactly. All most of us do is use the great colors nature's given us to paint these stuffed-up jerks who run the show. Or we try to paint nature, but come on, do we ever succeed? So, I did pure color. Let people see how it looks when it isn't shackled to something else."

Daria peered a little closer. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she noticed a subtle gradient in the greens and yellows—how they clashed in sharp contrast at some points but subtly mingled in others.

"I think I can see it," she said. "You didn't mindlessly slather paint onto the canvas. You put a lot of thought into this, intensifying the hues here and there. It's not only yellow and green, but yellow and green in all their varieties."

"Only some of their varieties, there are way more than what you see here. That's the idea though, yeah."

"It's not my kind of art," Daria said, looking Celegorn straight in the eye. "But I can see the value in it."

"Then my mission here is accomplished," he said, with a smile.

Daria walked around and studied some of the other artists' work. Some, she had to admit, did nothing for her and probably still wouldn't after an explanation, like a display of wooden plates skewered on spears put together by a young Nord. Others possessed an undeniable skill and elegance, like the complex abstract patterns done in watercolors by a Khajiit woman. Another display, a set of red and black demon statuettes that a bald Dunmer had carved from volcanic ash, disturbed Daria for reasons she couldn't quite fathom.

She rarely saw much that was new in the art world. That night, she saw plenty. It still wasn't what she'd want to hang up in her room. She was probably more old-fashioned than she cared to admit. The safe and the familiar always beckoned. But she could still explore and appreciate the new while being rooted in the old.

The crowd around Jane finally cleared, and Daria approached her friend.

"Sorry I ran out on lunch," she said.

"I'm glad you're okay," Jane said and suddenly hugged Daria.

Daria stiffened for a moment, not quite sure how to react, but then relaxed. Jane disengaged a moment later.

"I'm sorry Celegorn kept bugging you," Jane said. "I told him not to."

"He and I both bear some responsibility for how it turned out. We were talking a few minutes ago, and I think we've put aside our differences. I can tolerate him, at the very least."

Jane glanced over to Celegorn, who was chatting with Trent. "So, what's your honest opinion of the boy?"

Daria gathered her thoughts. She'd be honest with Jane. And honest to herself as well.

"Celegorn's the kind of fun-loving person who'll always grate on my nerves. I don't think he's a bad guy, though. He seems genuinely impressed with you as an artist, and he's aware of his occasionally obnoxious behavior and makes some attempt to ameliorate it."

Jane crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "You're getting soft on me, Morgendorffer."

"I'd attack his fashion sense, but that's probably more my sister's field. On a more serious note, he does seem to take a free-wheeling approach to life, so I don't know if he'll be one for commitment."

"Oh, I don't expect anything too long-term from him," Jane said. "Neither of us is going to be in Vivec forever, anyway. But hey, my house is always yours—in Balmora, Vivec, or any other city where I make my home."

Daria shivered. She'd done nothing to earn such a good friend. Maybe that was the beauty of it.

"Uh, thanks," she managed to stammer out. "I'll find some work in the Foreign Quarter so I can contribute a bit."

"Take your time. You know, I was thinking about what you said about the public housing; how it's crummy for me to use something intended for people who need it."

"It's not a great situation, but from what you tell me, it sounds like you didn't have a choice."

"I don't. But I do earn more than enough money to buy food from the vendors. Me and Trent went to the public kitchens because we could and, well, because I'm still kind of scared to spend money. That's not an excuse, though."

"Your half-hearted commitment to a more ethical lifestyle is an inspiration to us all," Daria said.

"Yeah, I'll have to do some more Hlaalu-esque things to make up for it. Embezzlement? Blackmail? Ooh, I like the sound of blackmail," Jane said, rubbing her hands together.

"Given your clientele, I'm sure you'll never be lacking for sources."

"Thanks for coming to the show, Daria. You were with me when I did a few of these paintings. Didn't seem right to show them without you."

Jane gestured at one of the works on her table, showing a feminine figure tucked into a fetal position and drawn in thick black lines, surrounded by concentric strokes that somehow suggested both comfort and restraint. Daria did remember whiling away a spring afternoon on the balcony as Jane had painted that very image. She understood it immediately: Jane as herself, both Dunmer and Cyrodiilic but neither, and glorious for that uncertainty.

"I'm glad I'm here. It occurs to me that I'm not always the easiest person to be friends with. And that, in a lot of ways, I'm actually pretty lucky to have you," Daria said.

"You're not as unlikable as you think. You've made other friends, too: Jolda, Amelia, that random Ashlander kid… hell, you had a noble boyfriend, and you broke up with him, not the other way around!"

"You mean my efforts at flinty misanthropy were doomed to failure?"

"'Fraid so, Daria."

Daria smiled. "I guess I can live with that."

Musical Closer - Vincent, by Don McLean

Quotidian – nice!

Wow! Without copping out Daria actually thought before she spoke and restrained her mouth. Words have consequences and she is taking more care in choosing them. You go, girl!

And it was gratifying to see how graciously Jane rewarded Daria’s effort. These two really do like each other. It is easy to see why Daria likes Jane. Jane’s affection for Daria is a bit more mysterious to understand but Daria would be wise not to look a gift quar in the mouth.

It is great that Jane has this moment to show off her creations and get noticed for who she is.

I don't like the sound of those red and black demon statues. Better have one of the Blades follow that one. It sounds like a sleeper has awoken...

It is nice to see that for once Daria has learned to reign in her pyromaniacal desire to destroy every relationship around her. It looks like she's managed a happy ending here. Honestly, I think the Tribunal should make Jane a saint for her efforts here, because she has a patience of one.

The Heart of Velothi sounds interesting, for sure. 🗿 Although I'm not writing, I do still play some Morrowind here and there. Everytime we go to Vivec I can't help but imagine making the place even more vibrant. I've added some NPCs who randomly wander around, as well as barrels and crates and stuff. But it'd take a lot of work to make the place truly feel like an urban center. Like it does in this story.

Then again, some of the original city's feel (its sparse alien feel, that is) would get lost as more and more stuff gets added. Ach.

The main things to remember about Gen X and slackers is that we didn't sit around calling ourselves that. I'm just using those terms because that's the best way to refer. My parents were almost proud to refer to themselves as former hippies, for instance. ☮ There was no pride in saying "well, so like, yeah, I'm a slacker," not that we'd even say such a thing!

We had nothing grand to rebel against. No great war being forced upon us from up high to protest, Affirmative Action (for what it was worth) had long been in place; I never EVER have seen any overt displays of racism for instance, yet we'd sit around complaining and whining about this or that anyway; the endless whining you hear about is not an unwarranted sterotype! --- Also this: Our parents' generation already made all the great music; any music we made would often get termed "derivative". Grunge was really a mixure of rock, metal, pop, and punk, for instance.

And also this. When our parents went to college, this could actually mean something. My father graduated on Friday and had a tidy job as an engineer waiting for him on Monday, and from I understand, this was how it was! In comparison, graduating in the '90s did not necessarily mean you were set for life. Plenty of folks I knew who had degrees in this or that, yet they'd wind up working in an office cubicle, manning phones and making just enough money for next week's rent. Or at Starbucks or Quiznos or Kinkos.

We still hear stories like this today of course, although my daughter's generation at least has the benefit of Mad Technology to exploit. Technology (smartphones and such) rule every facet of her life, much as I hate to say it. It is possible to build an entire career, or at least a portfolio, with those damn pocket computers.

Ooh, that's another thing. The Internet was brand-new during the '90s, I think it changed the way a lot of us interacted and planned our lives. The stock market was also strong (yet really corrupt) not that this mattered to most of us. Society had this odd mixture of being really intolerant from some of our elders, while also becoming way more expressive. Watch any talk show from those times: Jenny Jones, Montel, Geraldo, Ricki Lake, Sally, they all had this theme as a topic. An example: back then, somebody who'd walk around with green dreads and a nose piercing might get sneered and jeered at for being a "freak". Nowadays, such a person is so normal, she might not warrant a second glance. What we now know as LGBTQ also became more accepted overall, although this depends which facet of society we're talking about.

Hee hee, sorry, I just wrote a novel! It's just that Outlanders is partially based on this phase of history, so I hope you don't mind.


Anyway, let's get into it. We've got a history of shows going wrong in this story, so I'm really hoping this art show doesn't turn into a slanderous mess like the Balmora Fashion Show recently did, and also the fight club thingie which turned into an outright brawl.

Doesn't seem so bad. Right, most of what Daria's looking at sounds like Modern Art here on Earth. It's hard to get. While most of the traditional art she's been used to seeing (which isn't at this show) sounds like Realist movement stuff. Landscapes and portraits and such.

Nice, it sounds like Jane's getting a lot of positive attention. People really like her work. I like that she's courting those who have come to her section of the cornerclub. She's not being standoffish and aloof like some artistes.

Aw.



Damn. Celegorn just nailed it. So this is what some artists are doing, when they wring a canvas with nothing but a few basic strokes. Is this a conclusion you came to on your own, Clavier, or I'm wondering if some real-life Modern Artist said something similar?

The red & black statuettes sound wicked!

Good to hear Jane and Daria have made up. I have a feeling it's going to last. *Renee sheds a tear*

Chapter 8

The weekend felt like old times again and was all the sweeter for being so very temporary. Done with her show and with her boss's latest assignment, Jane finally had time. So she and Daria chatted aimlessly in the apartment and explored Vivec, the city's monumentalism no longer so bleak.

On Loredas, Daria accompanied Jane to the Temple Canton, where she gave thanks for her success. Jane entered its shadowy and smoky confines with her head bowed and her hands cupping a glass-like coda flower to give as a symbolic offering and a pouch full of coins as a more concrete offering. Daria waited outside and wondered how things were going back in Balmora.

Sundas evening took them back to the Elven Nations Cornerclub, where Trent tried out a few questionable tunes to an audience that (save for Daria and Jane) didn't give a damn, and it was wonderful.

Jane stopped by the Olerlo Manor on Morndas morning and returned at noon with a sealed piece of paper in her hand and a curious expression on her face.

"Hey, Daria. A courier came by with a letter for you."

Daria looked up from her book, the slender twelfth volume of Perus's Interviews with Tapestrists that had been left behind by a previous occupant.

"For me?"

"Yeah, there's a note here from Quinn telling me to ask Serjo Olerlo to send this letter to the Sloans," Jane said, handing Daria the paper. "I guess she still thinks you're with Tomal."

From Quinn? Suddenly faint, Daria held the letter up to the nearest sconce.

Daria –

I hope you get this letter. I'm sure you're having a lot of fun with Serjo Sloan. Serjo Talori tells me he's one of the most eligible bachelors in Vvardenfell.

Mom and Dad know Serjo Sloan's a great guy, and that his family is honorable. But you're their elder daughter, and you didn't even say goodbye! That's why they're worried about you. They think they did something to make you run away, and they'd really like to see you.

I want to see you, too. I know we don't always get along, but you've always been like a rock for us. Mom gets so driven and work-obsessed, and you know how Dad flies off the handle sometimes. And me, well I'm pretty great, but maybe I do spend too much time and money on stuff like fashion. You're stable, though. You keep things going.

No one here is mad at you (well, Mom is a little, but she'll get over it). We just want to see you again. If you get this, please come home to say hi. It'd mean a lot.

- Your sister, Quinn

Daria read it aloud, each word sinking in with the weight of gold. Jane gave a long, low whistle when Daria finished.

"Told you," Jane said. "You're more likable than you think."

"I didn't expect this." It couldn't have been easy for Quinn to arrange the letter. Did Mom and Dad know she'd hired a courier?

"What are you going to do?"

Daria thought about it for a bit. It had seemed like such a clean break, too. But maybe that had been too easy. Maybe, as she had with Jane, she should give her family a chance to decide if they wanted her around.

"I should probably go back," Daria said. "Quinn's right. I never said goodbye."

Jane nodded. "Family can be a pain. But yours isn't that bad, all things considered. At least they talk to you."

"I do owe them an explanation. And right when I was starting to get comfortable in Vivec, too."

Part of her didn't want to leave, not so soon after things had gotten back to normal with Jane. Except they wouldn't stay that way. The world moved on, and she couldn't—she shouldn't even if she could—hold it back.

"You know, Daria, I'm free this week. What if I went back with you? There are always silt striders going between Vivec and Balmora, so it'll be easy to get a ride. Plus, I should probably check in on J'dash."

"You coming along would provide a welcome distraction from dreading the talk with my mom. I'll need someone to guide me to the strider port, anyway. When can you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning's fine. Think you'll be ready by then?"

"Probably not. But I won't let that stop me," Daria said.

Musical Closer - A Down and Dusky Blonde, by God Help the Girl

The End

Last episode we were struck by both Daria’s ability to think before she talks and what a great friend Jane is. This episode continued that with Daria managing to not antagonize her friend and Jane volunteering to travel to Balmora with her friend.

Wow, if Daria can properly tend her friendship with Jane and patch things up with her family, that’d be awesome. I’m confident that Daria’s family will not act like. . . Dunmer.

Quinn’s letter was touching while also pure Quinn and fabulously done.

Sounds like a pretty good time. Amazing how one's vibe can change how a place feels. I can just imagine Trent's show. Probably either Ow! My Face! or Icebox Woman. Truly, underappreciated genius.

Quinn's letter comes out of the blue. I suspect that it will crystallize Daria's future plans. What little she may have of them. It's time for her to go back to Balmora and face her family. After that, well I doubt she will have any idea of what she is going to do.

And time for two bus strider tickets! Like Acadian, I am sure her family will not act like Sydna's. Mom will be mad, but overjoyed and relieved at the same time. Dad's eye might pop back into his skull. And Quinn will actually be glad to have Daria around. Though she is still not likely to acknowledge that she is her sister at school...

Episode 31: Bad Day in Balmora

Chapter 1

Red Mountain fumed in the north, and Balmora's people fumed in the streets.

Maiko stood at attention behind a wooden barricade as what looked like half the city yelled invective at Great House Hlaalu. Would be nice if someone from Hlaalu came down out of High Town, maybe listened to what the folks in the street had been trying to tell them for the last five months. If they'd done that, he and his buddies might not have had to haul ass out of bed that morning to play cop.

He glanced over at Sergeant Prajeau, who stood at the front of the small legion detachment. Prajeau wasn't much older than Maiko and brand new to Morrowind. Not a bad guy—wore the uniform well and stood up straight—but didn't know how to hide the fear in his eyes. He'd spent his whole career up 'til now on the Gold Coast with nothing worse to worry about than looking good on parade.

The heat didn't help. Maiko's steel helmet was already hot enough to cook on. A bead of sweat trickled down the bridge of his nose, lingered at the tip, and then spattered on his cuirass. It was the kind of weather to make a bad mood worse, and it had been like this since yesterday, when scorching winds that felt like sandpaper on skin first howled through the foyadas.

"You can't take any more from us, you bastards!" yelled a dirty-blonde Nord woman in a shellbreaker's ichor-spattered apron.

Maiko eyed the Hlaalu guards on the scene. They were scared kids in armor. Like him, but not trained. Not trained well, anyway. Wouldn't take much for them to lash out and make the situation way worse. It was a miracle that hadn't already happened.

"Trooper Maiko," Prajeau said in a quiet voice. "Captain Varro said you know this place pretty well."

"I've been here awhile, sir."

"What's your assessment? Is the city about to… blow up?"

Varro should've given Prajeau a better briefing.

"Too early to say, sir."

"But you have sources in the city, right? Captain Varro said you did."

"My sources say that people are angry because the taxes on goods coming into the city mean they don't have enough to get food, sir."

Said source being Andra. Maiko had spoken to her last week.

Prajeau blinked like he was processing the information. "They can't be crazy enough to fight the Empire, can they?"

"I don't think they want to fight, but they are hungry. These are local taxes, so they're mad at Great House Hlaalu, not at the Empire, sir."

Prajeau shook his head. "They look pretty mad. Gods, this province is a mess. Guess that's why they sent us."

"Yes, sir!" Maiko knew better than to voice his actual thoughts on the matter.

It was almost noon. Most of the city went on with business as normal, but it wouldn't take much for that to fall apart. Jolda was probably okay. Her family lived close to High Town, and he knew the guards would crack down hard if the protest reached the richer parts of Balmora. Which, of course, was exactly the kind of reasoning that made people go out onto the streets in the first place.

Maiko's vision caught something hurtling through the air, followed by a loud smack. Prajeau grunted and fell to his knees, blood streaming from his nose. Then he pitched face-forward onto the street.

With that, Maiko became acting sergeant. He did not hesitate.

"Shields up! Weapons sheathed! Do not escalate unless I give the order!" he bellowed as the city erupted around him.

*********

The first hint that something was wrong came from how few stevedores manned the strider port's loading platform as Daria disembarked, Jane a few steps behind her. The place usually bustled with workers running like ants to load or unload the thorax nets and cargo shells. The scant crew held up everything else. Red-faced traders and angry passengers crowded up at the edge, demanding to know what took so long.

She heard it, too—a dull and distant roar that periodically broke over the noise around her. The sound of a lot of people yelling in unison. Worse than that, the hot winds from the north carrying swirling specks of tainted ash.

"You hear that?" Jane asked, craning her neck to look over the rooftops.

"If I were to guess, I'd say those are probably the tax protests."

"Oh, so those are still going on," Jane said, a note of approval in her voice. "I don't think the Hlaalu will listen, but I hope it makes them squirm a little."

"I'm sure they're squirming plenty in their silk-upholstered furniture."

A sheen of sweat covered Daria's face by the time she reached street level. Nothing like Red Mountain's vulcanism to make spring feel like summer, but she guessed that was her fault for living so close to an active supervolcano.

"Any idea what you're going to tell your parents?" Jane asked as they trudged past the Council Club, where a bunch of Dunmer toughs hung out around the door with sheathed daggers on display.

"Let's see: I caused a scandal, ruined my best job opportunity, missed about a month of school, and dated one of Vvardenfell's richest noble scions and then dumped him without getting anything from it. I'm starting to think I should claim amnesia and see if that gets me a clean slate."

"Want me to knock you on the head for that extra bit of believability?"

"Hit me hard enough, and maybe I'll go back to my Plan B of seeking a life of penitence in the Imperial Cult."

"You'll be okay, Daria. Your family doesn't hate you."

Daria sighed. "It was a lot easier to believe that when they weren't so close."

"Just be honest. They already know about the scandal and the thing with Armand, and they've had a month to cool down. As for Tomal, your mom and dad will probably just be glad you got out of that safely."

They reached the Commercial District riverbank, which finally gave them a view of the protest. It was enormous. Hundreds of people vented anger, their scalps sizzling under the hot sun. This was far bigger than the ones she'd seen in previous months.

And like that, it boiled over.

The crowd suddenly moved forward as if a single collective entity, a mass of frustration pushing against its tormenters. Bottles and rocks flew, breaking on or bouncing off the beetle-armored guards standing watch on the rooftops. Some of the protestors at the edges split, running away and keeping their heads low.

"Now," Jane said, taking Daria's hand, "we should focus on getting us out of this safely. Come on, let's go to J'dash's."

Daria followed as Jane hurried toward the Foreigners' Span, but she kept her eyes on the protest, fear growing in her heart as chaos spread through her hometown.

Musical Closer - World Destruction, by Time Zone

I liked your first fuming line here.

Ahh, it's a bread riot. Or the makings of one at least. This will be interesting. These things have the makings of more than riots, and outright revolutions. Though I doubt the latter will happen here. There isn't enough of the other things necessary for that, like a cohesive political opposition leading the fighting in the streets.

Now they are throwing rocks. Getting more interesting. Maiko seems to have a level head though. I don't think he will go the Boston Massacre route of having his men open fire into the crowd.

And through it all the Kona Winds...

Some nice banter between Daria and Jane that reminds me of the old days, amnesia and all.

Look on the bright side Daria, a life of pertinence in the Imperial Cult means she gets to rub shoulders with both Joan of Arkay and January of Detroit.

And it looks like things are boiling over, and Daria + Jane are getting caught up in the now actual riot. I guess the heat made that bread riot rise after all. Not the best pun, but I'm shameless.

Maiko is savvy and the Legion is lucky to have him. Sergeant Prajeau seems smart enough to listen but is clearly new to Balmora’s unrest. Captain Varro is inexcusably missing. Too bad about Prajeau going down but, thankfully, Maiko quickly takes charge and is the right man in the right place at the right time. Though that may not be enough to control this potential powderkeg. Crowd control is tough enough for those trained in policing to do it; much tougher for young military troops trained primarily to kill foes. The bad guys here (House Hlaalu) have basically pitted the hapless hungry crowd against the hapless bound-to-duty soldiers against each other. And you did a superb job of casting the heat, ash, humidity and wind as contributing accelerants for this situation.

Enter Daria and Jane. Daria’s biggest concern used to be her family being mad at her. Now, her own safety and that of her family and friends is foremost.

I note that the super savvy super nobles astutely left Balmora for their country retreats quite some time ago.

If you've never seen Slacker then that is something you should check out. Gosh, I'm wanting to spoil some things so badly! Well, I can only tell you this: Slacker is really unique. It may have been based on some idea from some other movie from the '60s, but the way it's presented is unique. Not just low budget, almost NO budget.

Yeah, the Cold War sucked. I can remember being a kid, thinking damn, all of this could be gone if some bozos with sinister agendas push a few buttons. But as Frank Zappa used to say: "the Cold War will never turn hot. Too much real estate involved."

Yes, Ilya Repin! I have seen one of his paintings back when I was more active studying art. Impressionism is my favorite type of painting. I can't look at a Van Gogh or a Manet and not get emotional.

----

I like how Daria walks alongside of her friend as Jane takes part in the more religious aspects of her life. There's a barrier which would normally be there, but it's long been broken. That must be sort of fun, to explore Vivec with a mate.

Uh oh. What's this letter? Who the heck would know she's in Vivec? Mm, I'm gonna guess it's Tomal Sloan. NOOOO whoah whao.. it's from QUINN!!

Ha. Seems this letter was written during circumstances which are now way out-of-date. The Mall Princess still thinks Bookworm Big Sis + the Big Mer are together. Cool. I'm glad the parents are worried, especially mom. I hope mom realizes she's lost something precious.

I wonder how much trouble that courier had to go through, right? First, he or she would've went to the Ascadian Isles, after all. ✉



Thorax! I love all the insect terminology that gets used in this story! - Anyway, geez. So they arrrive in the middle of an ash storm. I hate those things. It's not so much the storms themselves, it's the way they always linger for frickin' hours and sometimes days. Go to sleep for X number of hours, the storm is still raging. Press the Wait button for X number of hours, the storm's still raging. Sigh.

I actually agree with Daria this time. She's finally feeling as though things are getting settled in the big city, yet now she has to return. That's a tough call. Because I have a feeling things aren't going to go so well. Her family's gonna be stressed if all this turmoil is happening.

In any event, I REALLY got the urge to fire up Morrowind now. 8 in the morning here, is that too early for some gaming?

Chapter 2

Ugh, volcano days were the worst!

Okay, sure, Red Mountain wasn't actually blowing up or whatever, but volcano days still meant ash drifting down and getting on clothes and hair and stuff. Quinn wore one of Mom's old hats that day to keep her hair ash-free, but the pink was a little too bright to go with her blue wool dress, which she had to use because she didn't have a good spring dress and Mom was making her earn money for a new one. Plus, she'd woken up with her hair practically perfect, which was like a total miracle, and now she had to hide it under a hat!

"Okay girls," she said, as she and the rest of the Fashion Club left Drenlyn Academy for the day, walking past the sketchy-looking guards that Lli had hired last month. More security against the protests, she'd said.

"And guy!" Quinn added, for Jeval's sake.

"Thanks," he said.

"I'm calling an emergency meeting. We need to figure out like, a thing we can do when the weather gets all gross like this!"

"We really do," Satheri said. "I hate it when Red Mountain spews ash."

"Ew…. Satheri… spew…?"

Satheri gasped. "I'm sorry, Tiphannia, I didn't mean to be gross!"

"Anyway," Quinn said, stepping in before Satheri got too freaked out over a word, "what we want to protect most is hair."

"This ash isn't great for my scales either," Treads-on-Ferns said, her gills flaring.

"Exactly! This concerns everyone in Morrowind. It's pretty hot, so let's meet somewhere close by. Walking around all sweaty is not something Fashion Club members should do, though Jeval has a waiver 'cause he's a guy."

"And some of us plain don't sweat," Treads said.

"Lucky," Satheri muttered.

"Not as much as you think," Treads answered. Quinn got the feeling that Treads hadn't wanted anyone else to hear that.

That's when everything went crazy. Something like a hundred people suddenly charged into the street leading out of Drenlyn, fighting guards with fists and sticks. A thrown bottle knocked Quinn's hat right off her head a second later.

"Okay, change of plans!" she shouted, stepping back from the fight and putting her hand over her scalp. That thing had almost hit her! "We have the emergency meeting at Drenlyn instead!"

She raised her arm to make sure the rest of the club saw her and turned around to lead the way back to school... where the new guards were already shutting the gates.

"Wait!" she cried out. "We're students; you have to let us in!"

Jeval grunted and ran ahead. "Hey, stop!"

He ran as fast as he could, but the gates shut before he got close.

"Open up, we go here!" he bellowed.

"I'm not opening anything!" came Director Lli's voice from up above.

Quinn followed the voice to three guards in bonemold armor on top of the gates. Then she realized that Lli was one of them. Bonemold armor looked so gross, too. Legion armor was way more stylish, plus it let people see your face. Though, with all the junk flying around, maybe that wasn't always a good thing.

"Muthsera Lli," Quinn said. "Could you please let us in? My parents—"

"I'm sorry, young people, but I can't take the chance that you might be with the rioters!"

"But we've been students here for years," Jeval said.

"Student today, criminal tomorrow. My duty is to protect the school, which is why I've been pouring so many funds into security measures, like the armed guards and reinforced doors that are now keeping out the undesirable elements!"

The sounds of fighting kept getting louder. Quinn looked back. All she saw was dust and a bunch of legion soldiers trying to push people back with their shields.

"Please, muthsera. My friend here, Satheri, is from a very good family—" Quinn started.

"Not good enough! You'll have to find your own place to wait out the storm." Lli chuckled. "Oh, I've been waiting for this day. Fortress Drenlyn, at last!"

Jeval stepped back from the doors. "You suck, Lli!" he yelled.

"Careful!" Lli warned. "I wouldn't want my mercenaries—I mean, security detail—to get the wrong idea about your intent."

Jeval took another step back. Oh no, was he going to take like a running leap or something? But then Treads took Jeval's arm.

"Forget her, Jeval; it's not worth it."

Whew! She didn't think those thugs would kill a student. But they carried real spears…

"Yeah, fine," Jeval said. He looked at the rest. "Let's go to my place. It's close, and I want to make sure my family's okay. Maybe we can hide there for a while."

"That sounds like a great idea, Jeval," Quinn said.

Jeval led the way. Quinn had gone up and down the street a million times, but it felt different now. Shops closed up, people running down alleys to get away... it was scary.

"I can't believe these protesters are causing so much trouble!" Satheri complained.

"You'd cause trouble too if you couldn't afford food," Treads-on-Ferns said.

"Yeah, it's getting pretty bad," Jeval agreed. "This is all Hlaalu's fault."

"You can't say that!" Satheri protested. "I'm sure Great House Hlaalu had a good reason for those taxes."

"Satheri is… like… right. Fighting makes everything like… so dirty…"

"Look at it this way, Tiphannia," Treads said, "the taxes also mean that dresses and accessories cost more."

Tiphannia's jaw dropped. "Those taxes… are like… a crime… against… fashion…"

Treads nodded. "Among other things."

"But Great House Hlaalu needs money to keep the city safe and to do like, business and stuff!" Satheri's voice was getting squeaky, like it always did when she got flustered.

"It's okay, Satheri," Quinn said. "We're not mad at everyone in Hlaalu. I'm sure someone just made a mistake, and the company will fix it soon."

The last thing she wanted was for them to start fighting. Jeval was right, though; this was totally Hlaalu's fault.

"This way!" Jeval said, pointing left at a side street up ahead. He ran ahead and then skidded to a stop. "Oh crap!"

Quinn lifted the hem of her dress and jogged over to him. What seemed like half the city fought in the street in front of Jeval's house. Guards beat protestors with clubs, protestors threw rocks, and it kept getting worse.

"Quinn, can you see anyone in my house?" Jeval asked. "Dammit, I need to know they're okay!"

"I'm trying, Jeval! But I can't see through all this dust and stuff."

One of the guards stumbled out of the fight.

"Oh man," he wheezed. He leaned against a shuttered flower shop. "This is intense."

"Excuse me," Quinn said, going over to him, "but do you know if the people in that house are okay?" She pointed to Jeval's place.

The guard took off his helmet. Quinn was sure she'd seen him before. He was a big Dunmer guy with messy black hair—kind of cute, but not that cute.

"Uh… I'm pretty sure they left," he said.

"Do you know where they went?"

"Yeah! They're being escorted to High Town! I think. Or wait, was it Labor Town? Someplace with 'town' in its name."

High Town had big walls and towers and stuff, so that's probably where they went. "Thanks!"

"No prob! You should probably get out of here, though."

Quinn hurried back to the rest of the Fashion Club. "The guard said that people are being evacuated to High Town. Jeval, he said your family is probably on the way there already."

He nodded. "Good. Let's go."

"I bet everyone in our families will be there," Quinn said. Actually, she wasn't so sure about that, but she needed to keep the club safe and keep it together. "Let's go! They'll have snacks and stuff for us, too. Healthy snacks!"

Quinn straightened up. She had to look her absolute best if she wanted them to believe in her.

"Be with me, Talos Stormborn," she said to herself, "and someday, I'll give the Empire the Fashion Guild it needs!"

Musical Closer - The King of New York, by Fun Lovin' Criminals

What a neat thing you did here, showing us this riot through the eyes of the fashion diva herself. Despite the real threat, I could not help smiling at Quinn and how she processes things.

Yeah, sweating is okay for guys, and Argonians needn’t worry about it.

Damn, Lli really is a heartless creature to turn her own students away!

Quinn is wise enough to realize that Treads has the right of it regarding House Hlaalu.

And when the going gets tough, Quinn really displays solid leadership, trying to keep up the moral of her little group and taking responsibility for the safety of the fashion club members in her charge.

Volcano days! That sure sounds exciting. Though probably a bad day for Tom Hanks. That guy has bad luck with planes, ships, and volcanoes...

Poor Quinn, the trials and tribulations she must endure...

More security guards. Great, I guess they can just raise the taxes that everyone is already complaining about to pay for them.

Note to self, future Fashion Club meetings will be spew free...

Oh boy, bottle to the hat! Now things are getting interesting!

That is Principal Li, keeping out the undesirable elements, like students.

I think Jeval might have the right idea. Time to grab some bottles and start hucking them at Li!

Is that Dunmer guard guy Kavon? I can't remember if he was a Dunmer in this story or not. He sure sounds like Kevin though.

Hopefully Talos Stormcrown will come through and lead the Fashion Club to safety. Then in the future we will learn that it was Quinn who designed the Imperial Dragon Armor worn by the Champion of Cyrodiil. Acadian is correct in that she is showing a lot of maturity in taking responsibility to lead the group to safety, and to prevent in-fighting (even though this is all on House Hlaalu).

Chapter 3

Daria stood on the roof of J'dash's house as ribbons of black smoke rose from the streets of the Commercial District. Adobe didn't burn easily, of course, but the contents of the homes and the stands in the street certainly did. The smoke joined the swirling ash and grit, coagulating into a noxious haze above the tightly packed city. Watching it felt like watching the end of the world.

Jane and J'dash were catching up in the shop, the old Khajiit glad to see his former tenant. He looked older than Daria remembered, his movements slower and somehow more painful. Daria had excused herself after the required niceties, wanting to keep an eye on things. Things kept getting worse, so far as she could tell. She turned her gaze north, to where her family lived. No smoke there, not yet anyway. Labor Town seemed almost normal. Porters and scrib jerky sellers carried on as usual. She supposed they couldn't afford to take a day off.

She felt safe, at least. Maybe because the little square of adobe she stood on, and the squat apartment perched upon it, had been the place for so many of her best memories from the past few years. Here, she and Jane had blocked out the world and created their own, one of shared references and sharp wit, refined and pure. Part of her still wished that Jane hadn't moved.

A familiar black-clad figure stepped into view on the street, her pallid face smudged and her shapeless dress tattered at the edges. It was Andra: Thieves Guild member and Reachman. Or Reachwoman if gendered ethnonyms applied. If anyone knew what might be going on in Balmora, it'd be her.

"Andra?" Daria called out.

Andra looked up, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "Oh, I remember you. Good to see you're breathing."

"For the time being, anyway. Uh, I just got back into Balmora after being gone for a month."

"You picked a weird time to come back."

"Yeah. Could you fill me in on what's going on and what might happen? Or do I need to do another favor for you first?"

Andra smiled. "Nah, stuff related to the protest is public info. But come down from the roof. I don't think I need to explain why I don't like shouting out my conversations."

Daria nodded and hurried down the staircase to reach street level. A bearded Nord hovered near Andra, his brown cloak not quite hiding the sheathed sword on his belt.

"Don't worry, he's one of ours," Andra said. "You're here on your own?"

"Jane's inside. She's back visiting."

Andra nodded. "Got it. So what do you want to know?"

"How bad do you think this will get?"

Andra shrugged. "Me? If it can get worse, it probably will. The guild's playing it cool. Some of us know what it's like to be poor, so we get why people are protesting, but guild business comes first."

"Business in this case being…?"

"Making sure our people and our bases of operations stay safe. We're not worried about the protestors going after us, though. What worries us is that we've seen a lot of known Camonna Tong associates at the smaller protests. They're always riling people up."

Daria sighed. It did get worse. "What did the guild do to stop them?"

"Apparently, not enough. A lot of poor outlanders and Dunmer are working together to get rid of this tax, and that's the last thing the tong wants. So, if the protest goes violent, that means the CT can blame it on outlanders, and the Hlaalu will be happy to buy that story. Easier to blame outlanders than to stop squeezing poor people, I guess."

"I take it you don't have much faith that the guards will manage it well," Daria said.

She scoffed. "Come on. You've seen what losers they are. We also know for a fact there are tong members and sympathizers in the Hlaalu guards."

"So, the Balmora riot's another murky, intrigue-ridden mess caused and worsened by major economic, political, and sociological factors. I have come home."

"Heh, see? Just another day. Anyway, me and Nils here better get back to patrol."

"Wait," Daria said, "how far do you think the violence will spread?"

"What? Scared your nice little middle-class home will be next?"

"Given that it's my home, I do have a certain vested interest in it."

"If the guards know what they're doing, they'll keep it in the southern Commercial District. But you already know how good these guards are…"

Andra and Nils left, leaving Daria alone in the street. Maybe, she thought, it'd be wise to head home and check on her family. With any luck, her parents would be distracted enough by the chaos of the protest that they wouldn't come down on her too hard. Since the violence was already there, she might as well leverage it. She wondered how Quinn would react. Probably give her an earful about not marrying into Vvardenfell's richest family.

Except Quinn wasn't home. She was at Drenlyn Academy, in the middle of the southern Commercial District, where the fighting was thickest.

"Oh, no," she uttered.

How could she have been so careless? She'd blithely walked past the danger, so focused on her parents that she'd forgotten about her sister. Her heart pounded, and she pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to think, trying to focus. She ought to have gone straight to Drenlyn the moment she saw trouble. Panicking solved nothing. Not that this kept her from panicking, not entirely. Fear roiled under her skin, a scream locked in bone and muscle. But she had to control herself. Quinn needed Daria: calm, analytical, and cool-headed.

First thing first: tell Jane.

Daria opened the junk shop door and strode inside, where Jane chatted with J'dash over a pot of tea.

"… Trent's doing a little better," Jane said. "He's mostly playing in Vivec. Might be a while before he travels again, but he says he'll do it when he's ready."

"Jane? I need to go," Daria said.

Jane looked up from her tea. "Go where? You want front row seats to the riot?"

"A riot happening right around Drenlyn Academy. Where Quinn is."

Jane's eyes went wide. "Oh gods! I didn't know that she'd be there today. I'm so sorry—"

"We both lost track of time. But I need to make sure she's okay."

"Sure, but you don't think I'd let you go there alone, do you?"

"This isn't your fight, Jane."

"That's where you're wrong. J'dash, do you still have that club?"

The Khajiit nodded. "J'dash does. But Jane should be careful. Jane should not seek a fight."

"I won't, I promise. I just need a little insurance in case a fight comes looking for me."

J'dash stood up and hobbled over to his counter. Bending down with painstaking slowness, he reached inside and took out a club that he carried, with both hands, over to Jane.

"It gives J'dash great shame to let Jane go alone. But Khajiit has stiff joints and can no longer strike with sure swiftness."

"It's okay, J'dash," Jane said. "You've spent years looking out for me. I can look out for myself."

Then she turned to Daria. "Let's make sure Quinn's okay."

*********

Thank the Divines for Jane, Daria thought as the two of them walked back to the Foreigners' Span. Daria had been in dangerous situations before, and the one hard truth she'd learned is that survival often came down, at least partially, to luck. What might have happened to her if Johanna had cast the wrong spell when dueling her rival? Or if Dimartani hadn't been quite fast enough to defend her from the cliff racers?

Jane didn't know much about fighting, but it never hurt to have a friend. Her breezy confidence lightened the load. Here was Jane, smart and quick and a survivor. That was only an image, but sometimes that was enough. Daria needed that projection of quiet certainty because of all the fears eating away at her brain. Quinn reigned supreme within a very specific social scene, one supported by the vast infrastructure of laws, customs, materiel, and personnel stretching across Tamriel. Take that away and she was a kid: vulnerable and oh-so-easy to hurt.

If something did happen to Quinn, that was it. Daria really would have to seclude herself in some monastery to Stendarr because that's where she would belong. For all time.

They reached the Odai, its waters dark and murky before the wall of smoke in the Commercial District. Overturned carts and broken crates littered the riverbank on the other side. She didn't see any fighting, but that didn't mean it wasn't still going on.

"Hey, Daria," Jane said. "Isn't that Treads-on-Ferns and Jeval on the bridge?"

Sure enough, the two were hurrying across to Labor Town. They might have the answers she needed. She just prayed that those answers were the ones she wanted to hear.

Daria ran to meet them. No surprise that Jeval abandoned Quinn right when things got bad. Her suitors had always been trash. She'd expected more from Treads, though. Another example of Quinn's terrible judgment, and by all the Divines, Daria hoped that judgment hadn't taken too great a toll.

"Where's my sister?" Daria demanded.

The two of them slowed to a stop, disbelief on Jeval's face and an expression Daria didn't know how to read on Treads's.

"Daria? When did you—" Jeval started.

"I'm asking the questions! Is she still at Drenlyn? Is Drenlyn being attacked?"

"I don't know," Treads said, her nostrils flaring. "We got separated from her. She's not at Drenlyn, though."

"Why not?" Daria asked.

"Because Lli closed the gates right when things turned messy. She's spent the last month hiring security goons for this kind of thing, and now she's gone wild. Not even Satheri could get inside."

"Some guard guy told us that everyone's being evacuated to High Town," Jeval said. "Quinn was gonna take us there, but me and Treads got separated from the rest."

Or maybe they'd run off. Daria wasn't sure she believed that High Town's residents would share their space so willingly, either. "Then why are you going to Labor Town?"

Treads's pushed her head forward, the scaly edges of her mouth peeling back to reveal sharp white teeth. "Because the Commercial District is a mess right now! Who the hell are you to interrogate us like this?"

"Seriously!" Jeval said. "Look, Daria, we tried to stay with Quinn. But it's crazy over there. We were going to regroup here and get to St. Roris Bridge. That way, we can cross close to High Town and meet her there or something."

Daria stood in the hot sun, taking this all in.

"Sorry," Daria said. "Sometimes my older sister instinct rises up. I, uh, shouldn't have assumed the worst."

Treads nodded. "I get that. I have a little brother. My family lives here in Labor Town, but none of them are home. My dad's working at the fort today, and my mom took my brother to work with her over in the Commercial District. So yeah, I'm hoping they're also in High Town."

"Quinn's not alone. She's with Satheri and Tiphannia," Jeval explained.

"That does not make me feel better," Daria said.

Jane finally stepped in. "It looks like we're all headed to the same place. Maybe a team-up's in order?"

"Cool, strength in numbers," Jeval agreed. "Should be a straight shot north from here."

Daria looked up along the river. This side of the Odai stood quiet. But a new pillar of smoke oozed into the sky above the northern Commercial District. The violence had spread.

"It's a straight shot for now," Daria said. "We'd better take it while we can."

Musical Closer - Go With the Flow, by Queens of the Stone Age

The Great Balmoran Tax Riots continue. Glad Daria and Jane made it safely to J’Dash’s place and that the old Khajiit is okay. Uh-oh, Daria is going to leave the relative safety of their small adobe sanctuary to venture out in search of Quinn. I do believe Daria overestimates her ability to safely help Quinn and that she also underestimates Quinn’s ability to survive. But so it is with family and sisters. Despite the insulting banter that normally characterizes conversation between Daria and Quinn, the last few episodes have clearly shown how much the two sisters care about each other.

And like the shining star she is, Jane volunteers once again to accompany her friend out of the frying pan and into the fire.

This riot storyline is getting to be quite the nailbiter as things in Balmors seem to be getting worse. And the Tong’s involvement certainly doesn’t help.

I went back and found your post with the Map of Balmora. It helps to keep oriented while reading these current episodes.

I like that you are inserting lore events into the plot of the story. Of course a really big lore event is coming in a few years that all of the characters involved would prefer not be inserted...

This is Daria's first end of the world. Well, at least she is getting experience for what is coming next. In a decade this will be her

I spent the day learning about the Molly Maguires on the Cool People Who Did Cool Stuff podcast, so I am up for good old direct action! Free Balmora!

But Daria would probably rather Balmora be freed without her house burning down. And without a rock getting surgically implanted in her skull. Real life is real messy, that is for sure!

I do like the added political intrigue you put in with agent provocateurs deliberately riling up the crowd. That is so very standard thanks to COINTELPRO that it would be very unusual if there were not undercover agents agitating for escalating the violence, in order to generate an excuse to crack down harder.

Uh oh, Quinn. Daria's sudden realization that she might be in the middle of things provides our heroine with her call to action. Time for Daria to start her Hero's Journey! Well, in the very least go into the heart of the storm to rescue her sister. Now we are talking, bring a club Jane.

A piece of luck, with Treads-on-Jevvie on the bridge. And Daria, being Daria, assumes the worst. Wow, she actually apologized though. That is... actual character growth for her. Good on you D! Maybe she did learn something from that whole dark age she's lived through recently.

Let's just hope that Napoleon is not around those bridges. A whiff of grapeshot is the last thing Daria and company need...

I notice Quinn is wearing one of her mom's hats. Seems she doesn't want to get one of her own hats messed up! Hmm, they're having a meeting. Is Daria here, yet? Doesn't seem so. I bet this'll be a surprise.

Treads-on-Ferns has gills. I recently learned this about Argonians, that they have gills, which means they can't be considered pure reptiles. They're more like a cross between a reptile, amphibian, and a person.

Bonemold armor DOES look kind of gross! Gosh, this is true! Hadn't really thought about it, but it's true. I mean, those who get suited up in some bonemold are wearing actual inner parts of .... some undead?? Hmm. Not sure how that works.

Gosh this is weird. Magistrate Lli won't let her own students through. That b1tch really is delusional.

Yeesh, stuff is on fire, what the hell? 🔥 Does this scene correspond to anything which happens on the show? Does Lawndale ever deal with some sort of riot? Funny thing, I was living in Lawndale when the riots of '92 occurred. I saw the news mid-afternoon, got all freaked out, drove up to Palos Verdes where it was nice & safe. Actually watched the city burn to the north from my vantage point. Lawndale didn't get looted like South Central and all those areas north, but I think Hawthorne (town immediately north of Lawndale) did.

--------------------



You said it right. Sometimes it's good to watch something which is more ordinary. Every one in that film seems like they're just living their normal, everyday life. There aren't any bombs going off or CGIs causing havoc, everyone is dealing with situations which are more ordinary, yet these situations and people are quirky enough to be interesting. Which sort of ties into the vibe of Outlanders, especially with characters like Trent, and Daria herself.

Okay, got it. So it's not an ash storm. Yeah, that makes sense; there aren't ash storms in that part of the world.

I saw the Santa Ana winds on the day I left California, driving my little pickup. Clinton had just gotten elected, I was listening to the radio as I headed east. 🇲🇾 I remember driving through Riverside & San Bernadino (probably on the 10 or the 210), and all the sudden these winds just came blowing down the hillside *WOOSH!* blowing all this dust all across the road! I thought my little truck might get swiped right over the crest!