#no shot shall miss the mark while i aim it! || dismas

[accusedofsin]

I dont even know how to start explaining why a bunch of spirits and strangers are interestrd in ya, an im not sure you want to know ether if im being honest for once.

Dismas looked up at the stranger, chuckling into his mug. 

“Try me,” he challenged. “After all, we’re in the world’s deepest arse, with things happenin’ here, ya’ll need t’ try n’ surprise me.”

After all, information meant more control of the situation. And while he was pretty apt at thinking on his feet, if he could have more intel, he would gladly snatch it. Granted, if this newby actually knew something of value. 

[bulwark-of-hope]

@accusedofsin cont. from here

The highwayman might think his shenanigans went unnoticed, but Reynauld was a light sleeper, had to be. When you slept in enemy territory, you had to expect an attack and needed to be ready for battle any time. No time for waking up sleep drunk and gather your bearings, you had to wake up and be ready to drive your sword into some sorry bastard that thought you were an easy target.

He woke up when Dismas snuggled closer. A smile tugged on his lips and he pulled the scoundrel in even closer, without knowing  what Dismas was about to do. The knight just wanted to enjoy the closeness and was ready to drift off again when he felt the hand wedged between them. 

What was this guy doing? The crusader was confused until he heard that little, satisfied sigh. And it hit him like a horse carriage. Oh. 

Red-hot embarrassment shot to his face but he stayed still, concentrated on keeping his breathing regular not to tip Dismas off. Now they were both pretending to be asleep. To what end? Reynauld could simply tell him to stop, move away, turn around, do something.

But he didn’t want to. He wanted to see where this was going. Well, obviously the rogue would finish, that was going to happen. But what would that mean for them? Would the highwayman be honest when he was confronted? Reynauld found himself not being mad about it, a little embarrassed maybe, but not angry. They were both men, they both had needs but... he hadn’t expected the highwayman to .. well... enjoy the company of other men. 

He waited patently until Dismas hand movement stopped. The bugger was quick. Probably needed it badly. Another reason not to be mad at him. Though, the crusader decided to give him a good scare. Because he was kind of an ass and the rogue deserved it for being a bastard first.

“Enjoyed yourself?” he whispered with his eyes still closed. So quietly, nobody but Dismas could hear him. 

[accusedofsin]

Dont you reckon Vvulf will find out where you are if you stay at the Hamlet? That's a powder keg waiting to explode.

Dismas took another sip, winning himself some more time to think. The question left his insides feeling brittle, but by this point of his volatile life, he was well-versed in not showing his weaknesses.

Or his fears.

The idea of Vvulf finding his hideout, finding him alive, and wanting him dead - or, even worse, wanting his plaything back, made Dis' guts constrict and made him taste bile in the booze. He was a wolf for long enough to know how the brigand dealt with those who tried to leave. Hell, he executed a few examples himself. It didn't stop him from trying to leave, himself, but that was a bed of worms and bones he had no desire to lay in now.

Worse still, he clearly didn't want to set up Hilde for having her life ruined as well. She just found a place where she could start anew. He just found her and got her back after assuming for a decade that she was either dead or a traitor. They were still figuring things out amidst themselves, but it was clear that he got his lover and best friend back and wanted it to stay that way. He needed Hildegard safe after all they had been through together.

Not to mention Reynauld. Maybe the knight wasn't particularly aware of who tortured Dismas in his nightmares, but if those two met, hiding the shiv in the bag would no longer be an option. And so the crusader would try to protect his pet rat, throwing himself into harm's way, pretty much like he did during the expeditions. Given what Dis knew about Vvulf's methods for those he thought were in his way towards any goal the old wolf had set...

Dismas suppressed a sigh and rubbed his throbbing temple.

What a mess.

Maybe he should leave again...? It would be safer for everyone involved. They wouldn't have to defend him from the mistakes of his spotty past.

In reality, though, he looked up at the stranger, giving him a half-shrug:

"Pal, why'd he e'en care 'bout some rando' highwayman?"

[accusedofsin]

A note arrives with the next pint. It reads: "Wouldn't it be interesting if Reynauld had wandered off alone after someone spiked his drink? He might be getting robbed right now... or worse :)"

Dismas re-read the note again, pausing to mouth the words he wasn’t sure in, and frowned. Carefully feigning ignorance, he crumpled the note and put it in one of his numerous pockets and then sipped his booze, giving a discreet look around the tavern.

Reynauld wasn’t there. 

This could be a trap, Dis reasoned with himself, pushing the worry away. This is too obvious of a trap, he repeated mentally as he stood up, leaving his half-finished booze - he could feign simply going out to piss that way. He was in the tavern for hours, no one should pay attention to that, right?

Habitually feiging being far more drunk than he actually was, Dismas slipped out, squinting and trying to see any footsteps. Calling out was not an option. But there were deep footprints in the mud which led in the nearest alley.

Not for the first time, Dismas wished he had a nose of a hound or hearing that could tell him where Rey was - if that was Reynauld at all. Stumbling over his feet and playing a drunkard (which he arguably was) Dis stumbled into the alley, ready to pull dirk or pistol. 

No one would harm what he considered his.

No one.

[for @bulwark-of-hope]

[accusedofsin]

[a continuation of this because the thread got very scuffed for the mun]

Never run from a dog. Never turn back on a man. Here, both applied.

Dismas stood his ground, cocking an eyebrow.

"Loud words fer s'meone he can snap like a dry twig. But 'm glad yer eyes are workin' fine t' call him pretty."

Rey was friends with Tardif...? Now that was an unpleasant development of events.

[accusedofsin]

[for @bulwark-of-hope]

Dismas sighed, trying to shake off sluggishness. He hated waking up early - early being anytime before noon at the very least. But Sanatorium had a strict visiting hours policy, and there was no way in hell he'd prefer something as stupid as sleeping (especially sleeping alone, for fuck's sake) to visiting Reynauld as the crusader was recovering.

That ghoul got them all by surprise, yet Dismas still blamed himself for that ambush. Where were his bandit senses when the skull-rattling thing appeared? Yeah, he tried his best to disarm a trap at the time, concentrating on having his fingers not snapped off, and maybe that cultist acolyte had to do something about their silent appearance, but...

Rey took that hit for him. That much was obvious. And despite his fancy tin shirt, it got him good - the rogue himself, with his light armor, wouldn't have stood up from that rend, most likely. The highwayman remembered the stench of blood and his own desperate, rage-fueled lunges against the beast. He remembered his blind panic of Reynauld not making it out alive, too.

Thank his god, the crusader was one sturdy bastard. Neat stitches, clean bandage, a bit of holy magic - and he was almost as good as new. Almost.

Hence Dismas was visiting him now, on each morning of his recovery period, bringing some meager treats he could cobble up and keeping the knight company till he was all but tossed out by the grumpy nurses when the visiting hours ended.

Today was no different. Apart from the rogue's whiskey flask being filled not with his usual poison but with stout. He overheard that the doctors said that his crusader was making great progress in his recovery, and wanted to bring him something nice to celebrate it. Why were the visiting hours so ungodly early though, was beyond Dismas. Couldn't they start at... at least at noon for fuck's sake...

[bulwark-of-hope]

@accusedofsin

It was just another dreary day in the hamlet, Hildegard was preparing a few more torches, they nearly ran out during the last campaign because someone couldn't plan ahead and took not enough torches to light the way, so they relied on Hildegard to do thst for them. She grunted annoyed what did those people think she was? a walking torch dispenser?

She just dipped another torch head into a mug full of fat, when she noticed a familiar gait between the people slinking around the plaza. It couldn't be, could it? She did a double take. The face might have been partly hidden, but the size was right, the hair, the nose, there was no doubt. "Papa Rat?" she called out to him and let the torch and mug where they were before she started running towards him.

"Holy shit, nail me to a cross and call me Jesus, if that ain't Dismas!" she could barely believe it! Just a foot before him she stopped and looked him up and down. It was him! "Fuck, I thought you were a goner! Last time I saw you you were ..." she couldn't bring herself to say it. The firemouth looked like she just met a ghost and for her it felt like she did. Disbelief writte all over her face.

How many years were gone since she last saw him? She didn't know, didn't care. He looked worse than she remembered him. But still as fisty as the first time they met, no doubt.

[bulwark-of-hope]

@point-blank-shot​ asked for pain

Just one careless moment. You let your guard down for the blink of an eye and all hell breaks loose.

The party had been ambushed by the swine. Every one was stumbling to get ready for the fight. A blind grenade of the plague doctor gone awry. And Reynauld was dragged of scene. His panicked cries of pain could be heard through all of the warrens until his voice broke and he couldn't scream anymore.

They left him chained to a post in one of their camps, stripped off his holy armor and beaten at the brink of consciousness. Blood was oozing out of wounds where their hooks had penetrated him. Broken ribs hurt with every breath.

A shadow just beyond his vision. How long were they gone? Had they returned to torture him some more? "Light .. smite you... foul fiends." he whispered, his lounges whistling with each laboured breath.

[bulwark-of-hope]

The night had been short, they always were. Plagued by nightmares, the dawn was always a welcome salvation. 

The stagecoach rumbled and bobbed over the old cobblestone road and shook its passengers from side to side. The knight in the armor grunted annoyed when they drove over an especial deep pothole. His two-handed sword was lodged between his legs since it had no space elsewhere and the helmet was fasted on his belt, loudly clanking against the rest of the armor with each bump in the road. 

“Reminds me of my journey to the holy land, but even on the rough sea the ships were not as shaky as this clunker. They could have at least cushioned it better.” he muttered half in jest, half serious to his companion, to get some banter going. They had been traveling in silence for quite a while.

Reynauld eyeballed the stranger, a rough looking fella, probably versed in handling a knife and a gun, he presumed.

@accusedofsin

[accusedofsin]

Sarmenti, after noticing Dismas looking at the crusader for the -nth time: Why don’t you go talk to them? You’re hammered enough to try! And they’re hammered enough to listen. Dismas, sarcastically: Oh. Yeah, sure. Ima go n’ do just that. Obviously. Sarmenti: What? So you go tell them they’re cute, what’s the worst that could happen? Dismas, pouring one more glass: They could hear me.

[bulwark-of-hope]

@wiickedsliice​ wants some pain

This shouldn't have happened. As a crusader he should have an advantage in the ruins. He should have an advantage over the occultists! This should have been easy. But something went wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

A shambler had appeared, out of nowhere. Nobody knew what happened, nobody knew how. But suddenly reality was distorted, nothing made sense anymore, some of them were at deaths door, others stumbled away in panic. When everything was over the cultists claimed their prize, the crusader that was barely hanging onto his senses. They dragged him off to make him a sacrifice to their strange god's.

They strung him up and drove nails through his hands like a mock up to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. They even had the audacity to forge a crown made from their horrible symbol and put it onto his head. The spikes dug deep into Reynaulds scalp and scraped against his skull. Like a sacrilegious caricature of Jesus he was nailed to the wall. His only hope was that another group of adventurers would find him before he succumbed to his injuries.

[accusedofsin]

"Dismas, I have something for you, please try this, I made it myself." the rogue was handed a mug with pitch black, steaming hot liquid. It smelled bitter but also a little familiar.

"Huh?"

The thing was familiar, and the mug was pleasantly hot. He recognized the smell after a few sniffs, half-forgotten as it was. The color was incredibly distinct too. The rogue looked up at the fidgeting crusader.

"Where didcha e'en get it?" he mumbled, sniffing a few more times before taking a sip and letting out a pleased sigh. Yep! That was the same odd black liquid he boiled out of the bitter dry beans they stole. Dismas didn't usually drink anything hot besides broths - mulled wine was too weak to his taste and too expensive for his wallet - so here he let himself relax and enjoy tiny bitter sips. It wasn't booze but it hit all the right spots, and his budding headache seemed to abate, and he grinned, humming in delight. Even though he was probably imagining it, and the hangover would come crushing later on.

"What is this stuff, Rey? Some sort o' an alchemy concoction?" he took one more sip and let out a pleased sigh. "Have ya found it afta' I toldcha 'bout that robbery? How'd ya e'en know what t' look for?"

[accusedofsin]

"Any way, so thats why they had to ban water bording contests. Though one guy had to learn not to let his friends crucify him for a drunken dare on his own."

"Alright, alright, I think 'tis enough stoat fer ya fo' today, Rey," Dismas chuckled affectionately, carefully taking the mug with remains of the booze from the crusader's hand and finishing it for him. "We don't needcha tryna' play out that bugger with m'name's fate on me, aye?"

The night went well! Great even. His crusader was spilling beans about living as a zealous fanatic and Dismas was smashed just enough to find it adorably amusing rather than objectively horrifying. But the booze hit just right, and the previous expedition was hard, and they probably were better off turning in for the night. What the knight had over him in body mass and lighter drinks, the highwayman easily compensated with experience of chugging down questionable substances in extremely high, nearly lethal dosages on a regular basis. Regular enough to be almost functional up to the very point he was passed out in a puddle of his own vomit.

He stood up, offering his shoulder to the other man so they could stumble out of the tavern together. Detachedly, the highwayman wondered in whose room they would end up. Eh, no matter. As long as they slept in the same cot, he was fine with either one.

"C'mon, up, ya heavy git," the rogue chuckled, grabbing his man to keep them both steady and was promptly reminded of their height difference. But for once it was just funny. Yep, he was totally hammered if he thought so. "Ugh, at least yer not in yer tin shirt! C'mon, ya need t' sleep this one off before that mornin' choir o' yers..."

And so started his quest of dragging both of their drunken arses to the barracks.

[accusedofsin]

Any more stories about wearing dresses?

"Ya really love yer dresses, eh, pal?" Dismas chuckled, swiveling booze in his glass, and hummed, digging through the crypts of his mind. He then huffed a peal of laughter. "Aye, there was one! We needed t' infiltrate one o' them nobleman's villas. n' we had one fiery lass on our team, who e'eryone assumed would go in as a lady with me as her bodyguard, n' we'd get floor plans n' guard rotations."

The highwayman chuckled, remembering Firebird's face when he dragged the bag of all the lady shit and dumped it all over her tent's floor. The sourness, the resentment, the rage.

The hurt.

However, just as vividly he remembered how quickly those were washed away when she had heard his plan - and his questions.

The rogue took a swing and shrugged.

"I mean they weren't wrong, technically. Lady Dimass and her guard Hilde indeed infiltrated the villa n' did what needed t' be done." The scoundrel grinned, remembering Firebird's surprise when she saw him rocking the heels like it was nothing. "Wigs don't care if ye have a dick n' those fans are incredibly convenient t' hide stubble, just sayin'."

[@bulwark-of-hope]

[bulwark-of-hope]

Corresponding to this

@accusedofsin

"No, Rey, fer da ninth time, ya need t' hold it differently," Dismas' voice was casual and even, with the slightest hint of a smirk, but his hands were anything but.

The way they moved against the knight's arms and back as the ex-brigand showed the crusader the intricacies of using a flintlock were heavily suggestive - and that was a mighty understatement in itself. Frankly, they were lucky the shooting ring was empty. But then again, maybe that was precisely the reason why Dismas decided to be a handful and make Reynauld's supposed training difficult.

[aka Dis sees a lack of homoeroticism in Rey's attitude towards sparring and takes that personally]

The knight just groaned in frustration. He was set on learning a new skill here and Dismas was acting just... a little distracting, to say the least. He liked to be touched by the rogue, oh by the light his hands felt great on his arms and back, but he really would appreciate it if he was holding back a little.

“It’s only the seventh time, don’t make me look worse than I actually am.” he complained. “It always looks so much easier when you do it. You don’t look stiff at all and here I am, feeling like a broom stick.” he muttered and took aim again, hopefully better than the last seven times.

In his mind he just asked the light for patience, even if he was utterly annoyed and increasingly distracted. ‘ Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.’ he repeated in his head

[accusedofsin]

Sarmenti: Are you a cuddler? Dismas: I've been a highwayman for longer than ya were alive! I’m a rogue, a thief, and a thug, a machine of death and destruction! Sarmenti: ...  Dismas: ...aye, I'm a cuddler.