Stephaine
*Hjalmar had just arrived at Solitude. He had grown up in a large city, Markarth, with its stone foundations and extensive underground sections, but Solitude was an entirely different beast. Compared to the old and impoverished feel of Markarth, Solitude was a living city. Vibrant and active. It almost unnerved him to see that such a place existed in Skyrim after spending so much of his life in the Reach.*

*For his part, Hjalmar stuck out like a sore thumb. He was massive for a human, his menacing steel Longsword strapped across his back and his wild red hair swaying as he made his way down the street. He decided to make his way to the Dragonborn Museum. He'd heard many tales of the Last Dragonborn, and he could spare the time for a look before he found some mercenary work.*

*He pushed through the doors and stepped into the museum, navigating the displays dedicated to the mysterious hero and his misadventures during the turbulent period of Alduin's attack.*
Wanda
Salen detested man, as much as any good Almter did. It was drilled into him since birth that humans were beneath the races of elves. That their accomplishments would never even scratch the basal
Works done by mer of yore. And yet, he found a certain peace within their buildings. Often when Salen needed quiet, away from his colleagues and work he would be out in nature. But the day was growing old, and Salen never fancied a walk in the woods at night. 
He had learned on more than one occasion that an angry human will strike like a cat, quietly and in the dark. The museum was the next best thing, he couldn't stomach the Imperial's temple to the divines. It was crass to his point of view. But the museum, well, it would do.
During his tenure within Solitude Salen saw the creation of the museum, it's most crowded moments, and now it's gentle quietude. It was never truly empty, tourists and devotees, and adventurers would stop by. But never at the levels that were present when it first opened.

Salenthrial stood facing a display, there, set atop a finely carved pedestal was a taxidermized mammoth. The massive beast staring ahead with glassy eyes, Salens nostrils twitched as the funk from the beast was finally reaching him. Disgusting. Salen heard the approaching footsteps.
It was quiet within the hall, more so than normal. Salen was dressed in his dark black robes, the emblem of the dominion proudly glinting in golden thread on his back. It was clear who he was, who he served. In a way it put a fine target on his back. Best to make it known he was aware. 
Salen turned, to face the intruder of his quiet time. Staring ahead with one good eye and one milky one, he scanned over the approaching Nord.

"Awfully late to visit the museum, Citizen." His tone was almost haughty, but a detectible air of exhaustion was present. The mer was clearly tired, or bored. 
"Hm, You missed the tour, last one was an hour ago. Scholar would have gone home by now." Salen examined the armaments' of the Nord, his face, his body language. This was obviously a skilled fighter, not one to cross. But also unfamiliar. 
Generally the Thalmor liked to keep a head count of incoming human mercenaries, a small precaution. This one must have slipped into the city recently. Another one for him to catalogue for his superiors.
Stephaine
*Hjalmar eventually came to the display with the mammoth, where the High Elf stood opposite him. Instead of the lumbering beast, it was the symbol of the Dominion that caught his attention. As much as he was loyal to the Empire, he despised that symbol and what it stood for. Oppression of Skyrim. And his potential death since he was a secret worshipper of Talos. Yet that was neither here nor now. They were simply two guests in a museum right now. Still, if the Mer tried anything, his blade was just over his back.*

*Hjalmar approached with a smirk, not seeming to take what Salen had said earnestly, chuckling softly.*

"I was never one for group tours anyway, and I prefer to see the museum alone. And if it's late for me, it is certainly late for you. Or do agents of the Thalmor not bother with sleep?"

*After speaking, he would seem to ignore whatever Salen said in response. He walked up to the mammoth, looking up at its lifeless eyes. The Dragonborn must have been a great warrior to take down such foes and the magic that kept these dead beasts in place. The whole museum was full of them. Even the bones of the immortal dragons. Or once immortal, before the hero had killed then and consumed their souls.*
Wanda
Salen's face remained impassive. The Nord gave well, a typical response. Salen glanced him over again, guard still up but less worried about a sudden attack. Fate had smiled upon him once more, this nord wasn't looking for a fight. 

"The doors aren't locked until late in the night. But, I haven't seen you within Solitude before. Figure a newcomer would be inclined to learn all about the, 'Famed Hero of Skyrim.'" There was a slight mocking tone in Salen's voice. He couldn't have suppressed it even if he tried.

"This hall here celebrates the greatest kills of the Dragonborn. But, the whole museum is just one giant trophy. Kills here, weapons stolen there. Exciting, really." Salen spoke aloud, his one good eye trained on the Nord as he went to look at the mammoth. There was a sense of curiosity bubbling within him. Many different types of people came to this place for different reasons. Of course he had to parse why, there was always a chance that this nord could belong to that detestable human cult. It was more out of a sense of duty, rather than actual wanting. 

"Now, why do you come here Nord? Hero of yours? Or are from one of those backwoods villages, who worship the Dragonborn as the next god-king of Tamriel?"