Just Checking Up

Atalmo smelled Garan even before he saw him. The stench of carrion and ash filled his nostrils the moment he set foot outside the Arcanaeum. The cold midday light flooded the corridor, but this was no deterrent. He clutched several books under his arm that Elneri had asked him to fetch from the library and which, after a thousand warnings — as if he were some pathological book-burner like so many wizards here — Urag had finally handed over to him.

“Stop hiding,” Atalmo said without looking in any particular direction; he wouldn’t have found him on his own anyway. The smell was all around him and had manifested out of nowhere; he didn’t know how Garan did it, only that Elneri did the same sometimes: she just appeared. She, however, concealed the smell of death well and perfumed only of flowers and medicines.

“What in Oblivion do you want, this time?” he repeated.

“How hostile... like a real hound.” The voice came from behind Atalmo’s back. “I hope you won’t bite. I’ve only come here to have a look; that’s my duty. To check on good friends, to make sure everyone is well. Including you, my dear.”

“Spare me the trollshit!” If he wanted Elneri to report to him, he should just say so. Atalmo would go to inform her himself; he certainly didn’t want her to be blindsided.

An icy touch settled on Atalmo’s back. He was wearing three woollen shirts, all enchanted for frost resistance, yet the insidious shiver crept up to the nape of his neck. His ears twitched, annoyed.

Now at last Atalmo could see Garan and not just smell and hear him. The vampire looked as usual: well dressed in his white brocade robes and the cheeky smirk plastered on his face. At every twitch of his head, his ponytail swished, cat-like.

“Does this scene have to repeat itself every time?”

Atalmo should be the one to say so!

“Suspicion and sharp words. As sharp as you can think of, of course, but I don’t want to disparage a Nord-raised mer.”

Atalmo gritted his teeth at Garan’s sardonic laugh. This filthy—

But he held back. Elneri didn’t want Atalmo to lay a finger on him. She said that, of all those to whom she might have to answer, Garan was the lesser evil.

“You might not believe me,” Garan continued cheerfully, “but remember that I harbour no ill will towards you. In fact, if you really want to know, I’ve asked all my brethrens to treat you with respect: you’re practically family, after all. On the other hand, you detest me, my dear beast-mer, simply because you’re convinced there’s a slight conflict of interest between us.”

Atalmo stopped. He turned towards Garan, who, utterly unconcerned, flashed a wicked smile. The books creaked dangerously in his grip. The leather cover of one began to bend.

Garan gave his arm a light tap and a few more friendly pats on the back, which served only to make his fist and teeth clench harder. “What you don’t understand is that our interests don’t overlap at all! They are, quite literally, the natural continuation of one another. Simply put, you’re a mortal, so it’s only right that you should enjoy the present. I’ll wait with utmost patience; after all, I’m very good at consoling widows.”

Atalmo didn’t need to think; indeed, for a most pleasant second, he didn’t think at all and even forgot Elneri’s warning. He revelled only in the squelching sound his fist made against Garan’s face and the sharpness of a cheekbone against his knuckles. The bliss was, alas, brief; it vanished in a damp waft of mist.

“You have a nice, heavy punch to you, no doubt,” mumbled Garan. He had reappeared a few paces away, half his face shielded by a hand. When it moved away, his face had returned to its usual sneer, unmarred, as if he hadn’t even grazed him. Dumbfounded, Atalmo checked his hand: his knuckles were bloodied still.

“Damn you...”

Garan kept walking, and Atalmo hastened to keep pace. He noticed with satisfaction that, despite his untroubled demeanour, now Garan was keeping a slight distance.

The rest of the walk was uneventful. Garan’s inane chattering droned over Atalmo’s thoughts until they reached the door to Elneri’s study, down in a refurbished section of the Midden.

“Don’t bother, don’t bother, she doesn’t need the doorsman when it’s me.” Once again, Garan slipped away from Atalmo and rapped by himself on the door. To Oblivion with Atalmo’s proposition of sparing Elneri such an awful surprise!

“Come in,” echoed Elneri’s soft voice.

Garan opened the door and motioned Atalmo to enter. He winked and said, in a whisper, “anyway, as I was saying, I’m a quite good consoler. If you don’t believe me, ask later Elneri.”

Garan being a creep and spewing utter bullshit to piss off Atalmo :3 there's a reason why he decided to Turn someone like Tafir and that's they're not much different under the surface.

Garan belongs to Bethesda.

Atalmo belongs to me.