#emily and corvo just enjoy being mean to him for no reason in particular

[no-light-left-on]

post-DotO Emily and human Outsider shenanigans, because their friendship needs more love. a little over 800 words

“How do I look?”

Emily looks up from her correspondence with the Duke of Serkonos to see the Outsider dressed in his new clothes. The shirt is of fine ashen grey silk, paired with deep blue pants and a waistcoat to match. He’s fidgeting again, his fingers toying with the corded loop of his top button, but he lowers his hands to let Emily take the whole look in.

She knew why she recommended her personal tailor to fashion the Outsider's new wardrobe for his inevitable introduction to the court.

The clothes suit him.

“You look stupid,” Emily says and the Outsider gasps.

“I will have you know that this style of embroidery and fine cording has a long tradition in Tyvia that predates the Empire of the Isles by centuries,” he tells her. “By incorporating it into the newest fashions of the Isles the people of Tyvia express their connection to their history and tradition while embracing the modern ways of life and cosmopolitanism of the Empire.” His back straightens and he rolls his shoulders back. The fine wool fabric hugs his chest perfectly and the silk of his sleeves falls over his slender forearms like waves of a stormy sea as it spills over into the Void. And yet the clothes make him appear much more human than the leather he wore back when he still was the Outsider.

Emily rolls her eyes. “Wow, you are nerdy and stupid.”

The Outsider’s cheeks flush with irritation and his top lip juts out. He is pouting. Emily chooses to forego teasing him about that.

“I thought you said you want to try something new?” she asks instead, diverting the Outsider’s attention from whatever lecture he had coming next about the importance of tradition and history of Tyvian folk motifs in aristocratic fashion. She vaguely remembers him speaking of it as she wrote a letter to Wyman while he decided how he should present himself to the nobles of Dunwall.

“This is different,” he says. “I’m wearing more colour than you could have ever possibly seen me don in the past.”

“Barely,” Emily shoots back. The blue of the fabric mirrors that of a clouded sky right after sunset. Variety, Emily thinks, is not something that she can expect from the Outsider’s wardrobe anytime soon.

Her tailor, bless her heart, does not say a word in regard to the insults thrown at the Outsider’s personal style and taste. “We can still adjust the fit,” she says, brushing over the differences between black and indigo or ash and slate grey that encompass all of the Outsider’s wardrobe. She’s heard enough on the topic from Corvo in her years at the helm of the royal boudoir. She provides no warning as she grips the strip of fabric at the Outsider’s back and pulls until the fit is snug and the Outsider startles and yelps. She pays him no mind, instead fixes the folds of the fabric fanning out over his backside.

Emily whistles. “Your waistline is incredible.”

“Thank you,” the Outsider says with a smug smile. “I hear narrow waist is popular with the older gentlemen of Dunwall these days.”

Both Emily and the tailor freeze.

“Do not,” Emily stresses, “ever say these words around me ever again.”

“I could fit the waistcoat to this size,” the tailor suggests in a desperate attempt to move the conversation anywhere that is not the Outsider’s subtle suggestion of sleeping with half of Emily’s court to gain their favour and support. “We can keep the clasp, too, but that is mostly seen as…” she weighs her words, “juvenile.”

“Leave it as is,” Emily tells her. “He’s going to fill out some, now that he has real food, and then you’d have to change it again. Save yourself the trouble, please.”

“Real food,” the Outsider mimics with a tinge of sarcasm. Juvenile, Emily thinks, is the perfect word to describe him after all.

“Yes,” Emily says. “You’ve only really eaten whatever in the Void Billie bothered to feed you with. And I would not ever dare suggest that to be real or proper meals, for the most part.”

“How would you even know what she fed me?”

“I spent a couple weeks with her. To call our eating habits proper meals would be an insult. Then again, your habit to eat only pastries is not to be considered a proper meal, either.”

The door opens, then, breaking the awkward air hanging over their little company, and Corvo walks in with a small collection of letters for Emily.

“Corvo,” the Outsider exclaims in way of greeting. “How do I look?”

Corvo does not spare him even a glance, instead passes by him to hand the letters to Emily.

“Stupid,” he answers after a beat of silence, and the Outsider pouts once more.

“I hate you,” he tells him, then turns to Emily, “both of you.”

Emily bursts out laughing.

[wanderingnork]

a prompt for you: 5 times everyone made fun of corvo drinking coffee like an edgelord and one time the outsider didn't :>

This is adorable.

1. Jessamine

“Is it a Serkonan thing?” Lady Jessamine asks with great interest.

Corvo shakes his head and sets down his cup to sign that no, it’s a him thing.

“Oh,” she says. She leans forward, elbows on the table. At seventeen she’s not to be trifled with, and although he’s supposed to be her bodyguard she makes Corvo very nervous for reasons he can’t quite define.

Some of those nerves must be due to her sense of humor.

“Is there any particular reason you like it as black as the Void?” she asks, looking down at the cup of coffee sitting between them.

Yes. It tastes better. Is there a problem with that? Corvo gives her a long look, attempting to be neutral and probably turning into a scowl.

She giggles, propping her chin on her hands. “I’m sure all the would-be assassins in the Empire tremble in their boots knowing that my bodyguard drinks such…manly…coffee.”

This is just plain beyond the pale. To restrain himself from saying something sarcastic, Corvo takes up the coffee and drinks it irritably. It’s just a cup of coffee, not some statement on his…manliness.

Is it?

2. Curnow

Corvo is a generally solitary kind of man, but Geoff Curnow is extraordinarily likeable. He managed to break through Corvo’s self-imposed loneliness, if only by persistently telling Corvo that he’d enjoy at least having a cup of coffee together. Corvo has finally caved, and he’s nervous of keeping Curnow’s good opinion.

“–really thought he’d get away with it,” Curnow says, laughing. Corvo can’t help but laugh along. He’s not privy, despite his status as the Royal Protector, to the day to day life of guards at the Tower. Stories like this are a nice break.

They’re in Curnow’s house, sitting at the table, while coffee brews. It’s fairly late in the evening. Corvo leans back in his chair and asks after the guard. What happened after his little attempt at insubordination?

“He’s been moved to everyone’s favorite guard post,” Curnow says smugly. At Corvo’s raised eyebrows, he expands: “There’s a post that sits right next to a sewage outflow pipe.”

As they both laugh again–what a companionable man–the coffee is finished, and Curnow pours them both a cup. He’s reaching for sugar when Corvo waves a hand–no, no, he’ll be fine.

“…this is strong,” Curnow warns, handing Corvo the cup.

That’s exactly how coffee should be. Corvo takes a sip and nods. Bitter and dark, just right.

“I know it’s your job to be intimidating, but you could manage to drink coffee without trying to scare the world,” Curnow says. He shakes his head and takes a drink of his coffee, cut with milk and sugar. Just the thought makes Corvo mildly disgusted. It’s black coffee, or nothing.

What is it that makes people think it’s any more than preference?

3. Samuel

He spends a lot of time in Samuel’s boat.

In the early morning of this particular day, as they make their way up the Wrenhaven, Corvo is more than a little sleepy. He’s being run ragged. Between nights bothered by the Outsider and days racing along Dunwall’s rooftops in pursuit of Jessamine’s killers and whoever kidnapped Emily, even sleep doesn’t really seem to be helping.

He’s leaning against the side, absently watching the city ripple past, and trying to keep his eyes open, when he’s interrupted. “Here,” Samuel says, and passes Corvo a thermos. “Looks like you need this more than I do.”

When Corvo opens the lid, the heavenly smell of coffee fills the air. He throws a one-handed thanks Samuel’s way and lifts the thermos to his lips. Finally.

“Wait,” Samuel says. “I have milk too, are you…”

No, he is not. Corvo eyes Samuel over the thermos. He is not adulterating the pure coffee he needs for his very survival with unnecessary things.

Samuel sighs. “I know they’re calling you an assassin these days,” he says wearily, “but that doesn’t mean you have to drink coffee like one.”

Corvo squints at Samuel and takes a long, long drink of the bitter coffee. He feels the charge of energy already. Coffee is coffee is coffee.

Why do people care so much?

4. Emily

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Emily says, as they stand in the warehouse observing the unloading of the shipment of coffee from Saggunto, “what it is about you and coffee.”

Oh, Outsider’s fucking eyes.

Not his own daughter too.

Corvo keeps those two comments inside his head. He keeps his expression neutral and his hands patient. What does she want to know?

“Well…you’re the only person I know who’ll just kind of…eat boiled coffee beans, as they are,” she says.

That’s what coffee is.

“No, most people put things in coffee. I mean, you don’t have to go putting chocolate in it like the ladies do, but why not sugar?” Emily looks at him with a smile, absolutely guileless. She’s not trying to be rude.

And yet Corvo feels bizarrely betrayed.

It occurs to him as he makes his slow response that she’s almost exactly the age Jessamine was when they had their first conversation about Corvo’s coffee habits. He appreciates coffee dark because it’s just better that way. Keeps him awake longer, makes his senses sharper.

“It wouldn’t kill you to indulge once in a while,” Emily says dryly. There’s a spark of mischief in her eyes. “I see through you, you know. This is about your image, isn’t it? You can’t be seen drinking something so…frilly and aristocratic!”

Corvo seriously contemplates burning this entire warehouse to the ground, just to prevent any more coffee from ever coming anywhere near him.

5. Billie

Being in Karnaca has a few perks. One of them is a local coffee plantation, which is small enough that its produce doesn’t get shipped to Dunwall. It isn’t identical to the coffee Corvo grew up drinking but it’s close enough. He’d like it for the sheer nostalgia, and the fact that it’s also the best coffee he’s ever had is a bonus.

“Feet off the table,” Billie says long-sufferingly.

Unable to restrain a smile, Corvo takes his feet off the table and sits like a normal and well-mannered man. Billie sets a heavy mug in front of him, full of coffee. It’s just perfect.

“So you won’t be taking anything else in that,” Billie comments, sitting down across from him.

No, he will not. Corvo watches Billie add molasses to hers, stirring it slowly. Molasses is the closest thing he’s ever seen to something he might enjoy, but it’s still too sweet and cuts the bitterness too much. He avoids it, too.

Billie rolls her eye. “I know you’re dealing with some shit right now,” she says, “but the way you act is like some kind of melodrama. I have a soul blacker than yours and I still manage to drink coffee like I enjoy it.”

Corvo resists the desire to break the table by beating his head on it. He does enjoy coffee black. Why is that so hard for everyone to understand?

+1. Outsider

“I refused to try it,” the Outsider admits. He’s still a touch sleepy, an odd sight even now. Green eyes watch Corvo across the breakfast table. “It has addictive properties and I wanted to avoid that when I was essentially starting anew.”

Well, that’s fair enough. Corvo shrugs. He should still try it, at least.

“For you,” the Outsider says, “and only for you.”

Corvo slides his coffee cup across the table. The Outsider wraps his hands around it and stares into it for a moment. He takes a sip, savoring, and his eyes grow wide.

That’s when it occurs to Corvo that he just handed off the bitterest coffee in the Empire to someone who’s never tasted it before.

“That,” the Outsider says, setting down the cup, “is absolutely incredible. I see why you like it so much. Bitter and rich and so many flavors! Why would anyone bother drinking it with anything else?”

And Corvo sees why he likes the Outsider so much.

It’s nice to have someone around who understands.

[darknessfactor]

I just want more of Billie and the Outsider hanging out and being bros post or pre DOTO tbh

A/N: Thank you for your patience with this one!  I was really excited to write it but things kept getting in the way (except that oneshot that I wrote earlier this week, I have no excuse for that).

I actually headcanon that the Outsider gets about ten times more sarcastic as a human.  Like... he’s not cryptic anymore but that just means he’s better at dropping truth bombs on people.

I’m still accepting prompts (any pairing, any character, gen or not gen) for Dishonored, if people want to send them!

They squat in an abandoned apartment for the first week.  

Billie feels like she barely sleeps, spending most of her time hunched over on the balcony.  She doesn’t know why she’s keeping a lookout, unsure of who she’s expecting to come after them.  More cultists?  The Grand Guard?  The Overseers, somehow aware that the Outsider is human once again?

The Outsider gives off the appearance of calm, but he’s pushed his mattress into a corner of the room and sleeps curled up in a ball with his back to the wall.  Billie pretends not to hear his murmurs when he dreams.

They sleep during the day, avoiding the worst of the heat and prying eyes, and Billie brings the Outsider with her when she leaves at night, usually getting a meal at one of the seedier bars in the city.  She’s gotten the Outsider clothes that make him look like a fisherman, baggy and too large, and has taken to wearing a patch over her eye.  

No one ever seems interested in calling the Grand Guard.

It’s on one such night that Billie buys them both beers along with their food, sliding one over to the Outsider.  He picks it up, eyeing it warily.

“It won’t kill you,” Billie says, sipping hers.

“If it’s from this establishment, then I remain skeptical.”

“It’s pretty hard to go wrong with beer.”  Though this certainly isn’t the best.  “Although if you really don’t want it, then I’ll drink it.”

The Outsider sniffs it, wrinkles his nose slightly, and then takes a sip.  He makes a face almost immediately, starting on his potato scallops instead.  “Why exactly do people drink this?”

Billie smirks.  “I guess the Outsider was never that interested in watching what happened in bars.”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“Really?  I can never tell with you.”

It’s the Outsider’s turn to smirk at her, before turning his attention back to his meal.  Billie does, indeed, end up finishing both her beer and his, ordering him a pair soda instead.  

“So,” the Outsider says, raising an eyebrow at her.  “Why the celebratory drinks?  I’m assuming there’s a reason.  You’re not one to splurge.”

“I finally got us passage on a ship.”  Billie drains the last of her beer.  “I’ve overstayed my welcome in Karnaca, and I get the feeling you want to get as far away from here as possible.”

“You’re not wrong,” the Outsider replies.  “Where are we headed?”

He seems content to follow her lead on this one, so she takes a deep breath, unsure of what his reaction will be.

“Dunwall.”

His eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline.  “You?  Willing to go back to Dunwall?”

“I figured you’d want to go,” she counters.  “And I have to talk to Emily.”

A faint smile appears on his face.  “It would be nice to see them again.  But I assumed that you wouldn’t be comfortable with going back there.”

“I never said I was going to stay there.  Though you’re welcome to do whatever you like, you don’t have to stick with me forever.”

The Outsider’s smile dims a bit.  “I can’t say that I haven’t enjoyed your company, Billie.  I’d be sad to see you go.”

Billie rolls her eyes and kicks him lightly under the table, and pretends like she wouldn’t miss him in return.

Dunwall Tower may be a comfortable place to live, but that doesn’t mean that Billie and the Outsider aren’t kept busy.  Emily asks Billie to be her Royal Protector within days of the two of them arriving at Dunwall Tower, and the Outsider starts working for Corvo.  In addition to what he already knows, he’s good at slipping into crowded places unnoticed, and eavesdropping.

It’s not often that either of them have a quiet moment to themselves.  It’s even rarer for them to both have a spare moment at the same time.  In this particular instance, it’s nearly midnight and a charity ball has just finished, during which time Billie had watched, barely holding in her laughter, as the Outsider threw sheer scorn at an increasingly offended Lady Preston.

“It was pure gold,” Billie is telling him.  “‘That was sarcasm, in case you couldn’t tell’ - did you see her face -”

“I was standing right in front of her,” the Outsider says, snickering.  “Of course I did.”

“What got you started on her, anyway?”

The Outsider shrugs.  “Well, for one thing, she was openly contemptuous of my essay on how the whaling trade will eventually lead to the downfall of Dunwall’s economy.  And another, she started questioning your commitment to being the Royal Protector.”

“Cute,” Billie says dryly.  “You know you don’t have to defend my honor, right?”

“Don’t think of it as me defending you,” the Outsider replies.  “Think of it as petty revenge.”

Billie nods.  Petty revenge against the nobles here is something she can get behind.  She’s lost count of the number of times she’s wanted to stab herself in her other eye during Emily’s long meetings with Parliament.

They’re overseeing cleanup from the ball, giving Corvo a break.  Emily is speaking with some of the laborers, thanking them for their services and asking after their families.  Billie and the Outsider hang back on the outskirts, merely keeping an eye on things.

“What a strange life you lead,” the Outsider says.  “You, formerly an enemy of the state, and now you’re the Lady Protector.”

“You’re one to talk,” Billie retorts.  “Going from god of the Void to spy and whale-protecting activist?”

“I aim to cause trouble.”

“No you don’t,” she says.  “You’re actually trying.  Not many people would.”

“I suppose not,” the Outsider admits.  “But I’d be wasting the chance you gave me if I didn’t.”

Billie knocks her shoulder into his, smiling.  It’s nice to have someone who won’t leave, or be left behind by, her.  “Yeah.  You would.”