<div class="floatleft">(http://i1240.photobucket.com/albums/gg481/indytims/azmantazzi1_zpsde91a8b0.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Anders<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Riften, Dockside<br/><strong>Time:</strong>2:45 am<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>La'Ora<br/><br/>In the few movements Anders had made since she surprised him, the dampness of the air or the moisture on the dock's wooden surface did not seem to hinder him at all. Perhaps he was comfortable or familiar with moving and walking on slippery surfaces, perhaps he used some type of magic spell or special boots to allow him to find purchase on its sometimes-slick surface. Or, perhaps he simply possessed a better sense of balance and agility than he let on.<br/><br/>Anders listened to her respectably. She could have harmed him, but she didn't, which meant that she was curious, or perhaps saw something in this for herself. If he showed any signs of being intimidated - or impressed - he wasn't showing them whatsoever. His steely gaze was serious, alert, and obviously focused on the object of his search, that much was perfectly clear.<br/><br/>She then began to dispense -advice-, which he didn't think he needed, nor was he looking for. For sure, he did not request it. He let her speak, though, as those who are overconfident often enjoyed doing. That was usually when they dropped bits of information that he might use, though he noted that this one was quite careful in what she said.<br/><br/>"While your advice is... appreciated, I didn't come all this way looking for that," he said. "I speak as loud as I wish because I know the timing on the guard's route, I know precisely how long we have to talk," he said. "And I simply do not care if your 'organization' is fond of me or not," he admitted frankly, "But I know your organization -is- fond of septims, as I imagine you are."<br/><br/>He watched her hop about like a cat on a hot tin roof, and a spark of amusement filled his eyes for a moment. "As for knowing what I want - if I was worried about that, I wouldn't have told you. But how else would you suggest I acquire the information I seek, unless I explain to you what that is?" he asked. "As I said. I don't care who knows what I seek. In fact, if the person I seek -knows- I am coming....," he didn't finish the sentence, he simply shrugged. "However, if you wish to fall over the railing, and spend your time dashing across Skyrim to inform this individual that I seek him out, and then expect some sort of payment for this information from him - I regret to inform you that the only payment he will likely afford you is a quiet beheading in an undisclosed location. This man has sired a -flock- of bastards: the knowledge that you know of one who seeks him will likely neither be new - or interesting. But, that is for you to decide if it is worth your time."<br/><br/>He had expected some heavy-handedness in order to up the price of his offer, but the threat of turning the information over to the person he sought simply didn't seem to bother him in the slightest, either.<br/><br/>Seconds passed as she grew silent - and he remained so, as well. In his mind, Anders ticked down the time as he had been doing since the guard's last round, or at least as close an approximation as he could come to. She was waiting... stalling... for help? No, she was overconfident and likely believed she didn't require any help. No... she was proving a -point-, as she had done in small ways since she had made herself known: showing up dramatically, quietly, behind him, catching him off guard, the way she moved and leaned over the railing... she, like himself, feared nothing. And that included the guards...<br/><br/>...Who were not appearing when they were supposed to.<br/><br/>"The guards are on your payroll," he said, a knowing smile crossing his lips for a moment as he nodded to her in understanding, drawing the only other conclusion that made sense. Well, the guard in question -could- be laying in a pool of his own blood now someplace down the dock, but La'Ora seemed -intelligent-, and killing a guard simply to have a short conversation with a possible 'customer' didn't seem like it would be her style. His lips curled again into a small smile. "Lady La'Ora, from what I have seen... I think you're overpaying them," he said.<br/><br/>She leaped, and landed on the dock in front of him. He didn't move or flinch, except that his eyes followed her every move. There were dunmer who were easily as agile and quick as her, but she was no dunmer - he knew that her moves, should it come to blows, would be far more unpredictable.<br/><br/>Then she denied his offer out of hand, and made a counter-offer of her own. "Two hundred and fifty septims for the name and location of this individual?" he asked, the obvious sound of disbelief in his voice. "Perhaps you mistake me for a local merchant, or the son of a jarl. With two-hundred and fifty septims, I could pay someone to slit this man's throat while I sit in my cozy home enjoying a good book," he said. "Something this simple could not possibly be worth more than fifty septims," he countered, more than doubling his original offer. It was also more money than he had, but if he could keep the cost reasonable, he would find a way to make up the difference. But if she were going to try to high-ball him, he had little choice than to play that game with her, because he knew the truth - he had as much chance of collecting two hundred and fifty septims anytime soon as he did growing wings and flying to Daggerfall.<br/><br/>"Or, perhaps we could go to the tavern you hinted at, allow me to buy you a drink, and then we could get down to -serious- negotiations," he added, returning her confident, toothy grin with one of his own.