Mitchell
Varis, was utterly at ease. Some might even say peace. But, there was no such thing for a Telvanni noble, whose shoulders are as well checked as their robes and spells. The Magi had spent the week working hard and slyly silvering his tongue to the right people. Illusion, mysticism, conjuration. A combination that wa most unserene, but incredibly efficient. 

Varis remained in the Winking Skeever on Fredas, conversing with a Nord man in the corner, whose facial hair and braids enticed the Dunmer enough to have a conversation with the snow-man. The Mage's piercing purple eyes would be visible among the crowd shortly after Salen had asked the innkeep to summon Varis, as the mage sat with an arched back and a temptuous grin. 

Salen could look at the Nord, and see the man speak, but he looked at Varis with a dazed sort of submission, as if the man was so enthralled as he spoke to Varis, that all thoughts aside from the bedroom was dismissed. 

Then, Varis looked to the counter. 

Toward Salen.

The tempting grin on Varis' face remained, and even with broken eye contact, the Nord did not take his eyes off the Dunmer clad in opulence. With a glance back to the Nord, the man silenced, and the mage leaned in to whisper a sweetness into the man's ear, immediately spawning a grin across the man's face, as he nodded and picked up is ale.

Varis slinked out of the chair, and moved along the edges of the crowd, before he made his way to the Altmer. His eyes scanned the Altmer, and an eyebrow rose as he said, "Hm. Bold, to come here. My darling wasn't expected to ferry your goods until the morrow." His eyebrows rose, as he leaned against the counter, tilted his head as he looked up at the Altmer, and said sweetly, "And yet, you are here. Good tidings, I expect?"

If Salen had read about the Daedra, then it would be apparent now, more than ever, how thoroughly devoted to Mephala this man actually was, from his body language to tone of voice. Though, it seemed Salen was safe from the mage's seduction, as Varis made no effort to slide in close, and whisper, as he had with the Nord in the corner.
Taylor
Salen looked up and down at the Dunmer. Salen knew very well what kind of fiends the Dunmer worshipped. The particular flavor of prince didn't matter, the act of worshipping them was disgusting in itself. But it was to be expected of a dark elf. Heretics as they are, at least they weren't worshipping the false gods of Men. 

Salen took the amulet from his pocket and set it on the table before Varis.
"It showed up on my nightstand this morning. No one has the keys to enter my room, nor would they associate such a thing with me. I only have so much time to spent cavorting with people like you. Figured I'd return it as soon as I could."
Salen chewed the corner of his cheek slightly. Jaw flexing as he stared at the amulet. 

"I also, have copied a few of the transport records from my superiors office. Footnotes really, Calmoran is always quick to catch his quarry. I had a limited amount of time." Salen pulled his hand close and rested it on his chest. He had tucked the papers within his vest, folded close to his heart. 

Hesitantly he reached into the space between vest and linen shirt. His knuckles pulling several papers, each folded together into a small square. Salen let out a sigh, shook his head and then offered the papers to Varis. His expression was tense, a sort of harrowed tiredness was apparent in his eye.
Mitchell
The Dunmer watched Salen, looking toward Salen's scar, and as if he did not mind, allowed his eyes to travel south, toward his lips, and watch them lock and open as per his accent, and pattern. His eyes traveled north again, toward the Altmer's eyes, and remained silent as the Agent plucked the papers from his coat, with such hesitance it made Varis almost wish to smile from ear to ear. 

He refrained, and instead plucked the papers from Salen's hand with a swift motion, and tucked them into his own robes. "Excellent work," From there Varis slid the amulet into a robe's arm, making it disappear up into the depths of the fabric and folds. 

With Salen's side of the deal complete, for now, Varis straightened his posture, and breathed through his nostrils with some measure of relief as he looked away from Salen, toward the tavern. "I take it you have no interest in the nights' delights?"

The Wizard looked back to Salen. "You've done well. Especially with multiple specimens, if I assess correctly. You've overdelivered, which, is precisely what was needed. Thus, you get a chance at more than I originally offered. What would you like? An enchantment? A sum of gold? Part of a deed to some of my land? Or, a night of sorcery? Not, sensual sorcery, lest you desire it, but, I could teach a spell, or two, if it would be useful to you?"
Taylor
Salen glanced around the tavern from where he sat. He had been in The Winking Skeever only a few times before. It wasn't his usual haunt, nor was it his ideal crowd. Salen often came down to Solitude to indulge himself, debauchery being an easy way to ease the stress and tedium of his work. The Winking Skeever was old, and well known, often the destination for higher class individuals. People who would often stay for a while in Solitude. Salen avoided it when he could, preferring the cheaper and seedier inns that were only available to poorer travelers. Where no one would be around long enough to recognize his face.

Salen glanced back towards Varis. "No, not at this... Place." Salen motioned towards the interior of the dining hall. He thought for a moment, the favor of a Telvanni lord, one currently gaining power in Skyrim. Perhaps his betray was worth it. The question was, does he bide his time and make an investment, or ask for retribution. 

Salen rolled his thoughts around for a moment, glancing over at the patrons of the inn. Nords, Mer, a couple of Beastfolk. The normal crowd for such a place. His fingers drummed the wooden tabletop. Finely manicured, well kept. Delicate altmer rings tinkling together as Salen thought. 

"I would ask of you two things Varis... A name on a Deed, and a cursed item. I have an. Opponent. Within my order that I need dealt with. I am willing to do another one of your tasks, if need be, to sort out the issue."
Mitchell
The Telvanni watched Salen, and offerd a slight raise of brow as Salen motioned toward the dining hall, for a better place to discourse. Varis nodded, and walked toward where Salen motioned, flicking his eyes, causing a group in the corner to rise from their seats and usher away, opening the spot for the duo. 

The Dunmer took his seat, and watched Salen as he made up his mind. *Two things? Now, this is most greedy.*

When the request was stated, Varis leaned back, and smirked a little. They had some privacy, and none would dare approach this corner now that he was there. It was dimly lit, and hidden away from the other tables, mostly, via curtains and enchantments, making the words within a tad muffled to the outside. Just as he had done with Salen a week prior. 

"A name on a deed, and a cursed item. Hm. Very well. I have recently acquired a building in the dock areas. I will have one of the apartments being built there in your name, and the building under your management. Tend it well, like a garden, it will provide many good fruits for you. As for a cursed item, I have many in my selection. How shall your enemy fall, when you utilize it? Provide ideas, and my creativity will select the perfect...*Instrument*."
Taylor
Salen glanced over his shoulder, the action was involuntary to him. He was a suspicious man by nature. He returned to Varis' gaze, meeting the cool purple eyes of the wizard. Salen wanted to make sure no prying eyes, no seeking ears would know of his request.

"There is a new Justiciar at the Embassy. Justiciar Calla Starwatch. She is fresh out of the academies of the Dominion. Naïve to me and the nature of my burdens ... But she also one of the highest ranked Justiciar's at the embassy. Ancient nobility, good ties with the Thalmor before they took over the Monarchy. I can use her to climb up a rung or two. But, I need the tongue of another agent tied, or better yet for him to... Forget a couple of facts about me. I won't ask for anything that will end his life, that would add to suspicion against me."

Salen moved to flick a strand of raven dark hair behind his ear. "I speak of Agent Maevera, he's a senior officer, Been here longer than I have. He reports directly to Elenwen herself. But the Ambassador is not in charge of rank and promotion, Maevera is. Calla is, an interesting woman. Young, a bringer of 'fresh new ideals' into the Dominion. If there is anyone I can convince to promote me, it is her. But, I need Maevera to take a step back in order to press the attack."

Salen let out a tired sigh. He shifted his position, leaning over the table slightly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He oozed a pathetic air of exhaustion and desperation. "Is, there anyway for you to such a thing?" His tone seemed genuine.
Mitchell
"Hm. A senior officer. Very well. I can devise many things to entail his demise, and make it all seem quite natural. I could cast a curse on a trinket, that when he touches it, it will cause a growth in his brain. It will disrupt thought processes, destroy his mental faculties, and begin to reduce him to a forgetful, dementia-ridden fool. A braindead oaf, excellent to cut from the ranks. Mere age, or perhaps his nocturnal habits catching up with him? Who would ask such questions, of a seemingly natural, incurable disease?"

A grin formed. "Or, a curse that causes him to hear voices, from the Planes of Oblivion. At first, they will be subtle, and he should think nothing of them. Just a fallen book, a rolling a pen, such things of that nature. Over time, he hears the dark murmurs of the beyond, of the Shivering Isles, of the Deadlands and Apocrypha. In a matter of days, he will either loose all grip on reality, and become useless to the Dominion... Or, he will end his own life *For* You."

The Telvanni raised his brow. "Do any of these options seem particularly satisfying to you?"
Taylor
Salen moved his face from his hands, his one good eye meeting Varis'. Salen tried to mask what could be described as a confused grimace. He was a bit taken by the rather, gratuitous ideas that Varis' concocted. Salen straightened his back, regaining his composure. 

"I-I think the former, but, ideally not so... Totalic. There is a certain comfort with Maevera still being at his post. He fills a void that would otherwise be occupied by a much more militant individual. If he were totally out of the picture I would not be able to properly get a promotion. No, I need something subtle, perhaps for him to forget me, specifically. A void within his memory. There is nothing that is strictly preventing me from, gaining rank. But it is the bias of my colleges and well, the Thalmor itself. But regarding the processes and what is set in stone within the Dominion, there is nothing that prevents me from rising up. Nay, my family line puts me at an advantage... Maevera must forget about me, and only me."

Salen slowly moved his fingers into a fist. The more he spoke, the more animated he got. He felt the strings of a scheme knot together into a web, Hope at the center of it. Perhaps this was his chance, And with the deed in his name... Salen hoped that he would be able to finally leave this miserable province in a decade or two, and return home to the Isles. He quelled the feelings rising in his belly, he could not risk seeming to excited about the prospects.