#what about you daud? did you wish you could stop time? did you wish your allies were as safe as you? did you wish you weren't alone? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

laur-rants · 4 years

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Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 3

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud/The Outsider. yes, I made that executive decision.

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. The story centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the outsider and his formulation of the Whalers. Notes: There probably won’t be nsfw content in this fic, but it WILL be… violent. I want to play with my own boundaries of written violence and also Daud’s start wasn’t nearly as clean as Corvo’s. Their contrast on dealing with the werewolf transformation is one of the things I want to really explore, and Daud gets very close to falling off the wagon.

CHAPTER TAGS: Daud transforms. It’s horrible and wonderful all at the same time. There is a mild description of consuming a person, but I wouldn’t consider it cannibalism. Necessarily. Werewolves sometimes... eat people. AO3 link First :: Previous :: Next

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Dunwall, Gristol

Month of Clans -- 1820

Daud set up a meeting with the contract creator the next night. It gave him time to prepare, to consider his options and perhaps, to look a little less frightful for the person he wished to work with. The address given on the contract was nondescript; a small general practitioner's office, tucked away in Draper's Ward and identified by the universal dual-snake staff on the window. Daud chose to drop by after hours, of course; no need for others to see the owner conversing with an assassin. He had planted an earlier note to say he would be visiting unconventionally but the individual inside the office room still jumped when suddenly a whaler mask was knocking gently at the upstairs office window.

It was a small man with a round face and large eyebrows that greeted Daud, glasses getting pushed up as he quickly came over, unlatching the terrace doors and allowing the assassin entry. Daud slipped in, silent and stealthy despite the tremble in his hands and shoulders. He hadn't expected his client to be a doctor and quietly hoped the man wouldn't pay close enough attention to ask questions.

"Thank you for finally getting back to me on this contract," the man -- Misha Romanov, if Daud remembered the contract properly -- nervously said, looking over Daud. His eyes trailed from the mask and hood to the black clothes to the whaler blade at his side. He swallowed, clearly intimidated, walking around the office to physically put distance between the two of them. Daud tilted his head, clicking his tongue.

"You've never hired a hitman before," Daud remarked, posing it more as an annoyed observation than a question. It was clear; from the man's unease to the amount of coin offered, he was a novice when it came to dealing with and understanding the job he was asking for. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all; but Daud was here, and it would be ludicrous to turn around now. Might as well make the best of it.

"This is my first time, yes," Misha replied, choosing to busy himself with one of his displayed medical instruments instead of looking Daud in the glassy eye. "I have never had a need before. I try more to save lives, rather than take them, you see." He wrung his hands, then offered a small smile. "But now... my brothers are dead and I have no idea what happened to them, or their dogs. They were the only family I had left… I didn't know where else to turn."

"Misha Romanov then, right?" The doctor nodded, confirming what he knew. "What happened to your brothers-- before they disappeared?" Daud asked, his voice muffled behind the thick mask. Misha, emboldened by the question, answered as clinically as possible, recounting how his brothers had gotten into a dog fighting business over the last few years, completely sucked in, throwing money into dogs and gambling over Fink's wagers. It had been an obsession -- one that ultimately, they didn't return from. Naturally, Misha feared the worst and blamed Eustace and Howard Fink for their disappearance.

"I saw the one brother, Eustace, sulking near the cafe one morning soon after Adrian and Mikhail didn't return at their usual time," Misha supplied, "and that's when I knew I'd be powerless to get justice unless I hired an assassin. So I posted my contract and waited. And waited. I had almost given up on anyone taking the job, until you contacted me. Your interest in this hit is greatly appreciated."

Daud held up a frustrated hand. "Please do not offer appreciation, not until my work is done. I'm not doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I'm doing it because it's personal, and the pay is so low only someone like me would take the contract anyway. If anyone is the lucky party in this deal, trust me, it's you."

Misha blinked. "Oh? You… you know Fink?" He then blanched, his face going terrified. "You didn't work for him in the past, did you?"

"No, nothing like that," Daud said, taking a too-ragged breath. He could feel the sweat trickling down his neck, across his wounds-- even that simple contact burned. "I actually was contracted to kill Eustace's brother, Howard. The same day your brothers most likely perished, I almost died, too. Lady Luck herself is the only reason I'm still alive; the Fink brothers were into some deep, disgusting shit."

Misha blinked, adjusting his glasses before giving Daud a more thorough look-over. Daud stiffened under the gaze, suddenly self-consciousness, and he tried to still the tremor of his limbs.

"Are you well now? You appear in pain, or feverish."

Of course this guy could tell. Daud cursed him for being such an astute doctor.

"You're not being paid enough as a doctor if you can tell that just from looking me over," Daud sneered, hiding the rasp of his voice. This only furrowed the man's brow further, his tone growing serious.

"If you need me to offer medical assistance before the mission, I'd be more than willing to--"

"I'm here for a job, doctor. Not a diagnosis."

"Right, of course, of course… But, if you're still in a state when the job is over, consider it part of the payment. I can easily add it to the contract between us, mister…?"

Void-- "Daud. Just Daud." He said, annoyed. "No Lord, no mister, no honorifics at all. I'm an assassin, not a noble."

"Sorry, just trying to be polite. And you know my name, of course, but I can supply a business card if needed--"

"No. All I need is half payment up front, and as many details on Fink that you can provide." Misha nodded; he went to a dusty safe in the corner, opened it, and pulled out a small purse of 100 silver. Daud noticed very few valuables in the safe and wondered just how lucrative being a general practitioner was in the Draper's Ward. Or, perhaps, his gambling brothers had preyed on his meager earnings too, an addiction that drained the doctor and ultimately tore apart their family. He felt the urge to ask, to reach out and inquire, but he managed to keep his curiosity to himself. It wasn't important to the job, and it wasn't Daud's business to know how wealthy his clients were, or where they got the coin they paid him with.

Misha returned with the coin and Daud carefully pocketed it. Misha also handed over papers: they contained a few addresses, including one not too far from here. Daud frowned under the mask, his breath hissing out of the respirator.

"That's his home and work addresses," Misha explained. "I tend to see him at this cafe, Swinney's, down off Cashmere Ave in the mornings. I pass it on my way to the clinic in the mornings."

"That's quite a ways from here," Daud muttered, before he could stop himself. Misha just shrugged.

"The commute is long on foot, but it's what I can afford. Most nights I just stay here. Cheaper that way."

Daud said nothing. Just crumpled the paper in his hand before folding it up and tucking it away, next to his contract.

"Do not be surprised if this takes some time. Assassination is not easy, nor is it quick in the way you expect it is. I will seek you out once the hit is complete, understood?"

Misha nodded, and if he had any further questions, he didn't ask them. "Whatever you need to do, I suppose."

"That's why they call it 'wet work,' Romanov," Daud told him, a hint of dark humor coloring his words. Daud then took his departure, leaving Misha and the office as silently as he had entered.

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It should be simple. An easy set up: an easy take down. Silent, efficient, no trace to let anyone ask after. Eustace Fink was not well guarded, not spatially aware, and he was incredibly routine. Textbook, really.

Instead, it was shaping up to be one of the hardest stake outs of Daud's career.

He had spent a few days setting up the kill, pulling himself through the motions. He cached any necessary food, plenty of coin, and a few changes of clothes. He knew where he needed to be and when. He had all of his equipment restocked from the black market right outside of the Distillery District, where nobody asked twice about his mask or his stance. It was all ready to go.

But of course it couldn't be that simple. Nothing of importance ever was.

It was the fourth night of his stakeout when it happened. As soon as he settled in to make the hit finally happen, his fever rolled him over like a riptide.

It came on quickly, the nausea. He hadn't expected it; for the last week his fever had been low-grade, barely noticeable. He had, effectively, learned to ignore it. But it came roaring back up as if it was the day he spent crawling out of the sewer. One second, he was relaxing, waiting for Fink to be alone in his own home; the next he was lurching, tossing the whaler mask up and over his head just in time to empty the contents of his stomach over the side of the roof.

It stank so bad he reeled, dry heaving again. He managed to keep the rest of it down, the sweat drenching his forehead as he wiped his mouth with the back of a clammy glove. He growled in frustration, his arms barely holding his weight, but he spent the extra moments to breathe, evening out his heartbeat and emotions. He looked over to the estate; Fink was alone. Daud felt his stomach flip again, making itself known. He swallowed back the sensation; it was now or never.

Sickness be damned, he needed to get this hit off.

He stood and his feet were surprisingly steady for the vertigo he was experiencing. Not that he was worried; Daud had stalked and successfully killed someone drunk before. It was a dare, one that Rulfio didn't think he would go through with, but he was even younger and cockier back then. A little head sickness was nothing compared to that job, but the thought of Rulfio sobered him enough to keep focused on the task at hand. He lithely jumped from the roof, heading to the Draper's Ward residence, as silent as a street cat.

He kept a bead on Fink even as he felt the sweat gather on his forehead again; something in his chest felt like it wanted to burst, and Daud vaguely hoped it wasn't his heart. He slipped on a roof tile, steadied himself, then listened intently, hearing Eustace's voice float up.

"I should be fine, but I can't help but think that I should be more worried about what happened that night. I mean-- I woke up and Howard was dead and so was that huge black magic brute. There was another person, dead in the corner, and so many unlucky bodies that didn't make it out alive… there will be questions soon. So many questions. How do they not smell it there under the Pub? Maybe the rats ate the bodies… how convenient if so. Nothing to investigate, nothing to convict. If the City Watch ever got wind of this..."

It took Daud a bit of processing to suss out if Eustace was speaking to someone else in the room, but no; the beat and cadence was reminiscent of someone recording an audiograph. If he listened closely enough, nearing the balcony door, he could hear the whirr of the machine, the click of the hole punch. His breathing hitched and his pulse thundered in his ear.

His prey was so, deliciously, tantalizingly, close. Daud stayed his hand, listening closely.

The machine stopped, pushing the card out and finishing the audiograph. There were footsteps, and Eustace walked out onto his balcony, his hands tight as he tucked the audiograph away in his vest, where he clearly thought it safe. His back was to Daud and the balcony door, lighting a cigar, the smoke curling up into the warm summer night air.

The wind roared in Daud's ears. It would be so easy to drop down, slit his throat, watch the blood spill over his gloves-- and suddenly he was aching for it, longing for the crunch of bones, the heat of crimson rivers running from a burst vein, the thrill of a new kill…

The thoughts were intrusive and revolting, nearly causing him to heave again. He still managed to hold himself together, not wanting to drown in his mask, even ignoring the persistent itch on his face. The rising threat of bile burned at the back of his throat but he swallowed it down, his grip growing tight on the roof's edge. He held his position and waited, patience baked into him from years of careful practice. Fink eventually finished enjoying his cigar, extinguishing the butt before turning back to his room.

Daud waited for Fink to pass under him. He then slipped down, his boots silent against the stone. He crouched, righted himself, and pulled his blade from his side. His thumb found the notch in the metal.

When Eustace Fink turned around to close the balcony doors, Daud was there, glassy eyes and muzzled mask glaring down at the second noble that had caused this nightmare of his to happen.

Fink opened his mouth to scream. Daud rushed him, faster than he's ever moved. A powerful hand gripped Eustace by the throat, silencing him and guiding him over to a wall far from any escape route. He felt like nothing in Daud's grasp, like he was a weighted bag that Daud had the displeasure of carrying for a friend. The man was larger than him, heftier, and yet Daud could take him and lift him with a single arm, his right hand still holding the blade he'd drawn. It was heady and unbelievable, Daud didn't know where this power was coming from but it surged through him like a rising storm. He tapped further into that tempest, slamming Eustace into the wall next to his desk.

The man whimpered. Daud snarled. Fink flinched and gasped and Daud almost laughed. He can't believe someone so weak-hearted tried to command a literal monster.

Or perhaps, a nasty little voice in his head supplied, the monster was the weak one... Show him that you are different. Show him what your Power is.

"You and your brother sure made a lot of enemies, didn't you, Eustace…" Daud growled out, his teeth feeling oddly heavy, morphing his words as he spoke them. They came out graveled and sharp and he suppressed the urge to lick his lips as he continued. "If I'm here, you have a bigger problem than the City Watch finding bloated bodies under a riverside bar."

Fink said nothing. Instead, he started crying. Of all things, the man wept in front of his soon-to-be killer. Daud almost recoiled in disgust; this man wasn't even worth the coin. He slammed Fink against the wall again, eliciting a startled yelp from him.

"Do you even know why I'm here, Eustace Fink?" Daud spat the name out like it was undercooked blood ox. "Do you know who killed your brother? It was the assassin who you thought was dead in the sewers when you woke up. Your brother's monster ruined me but I survived and if you value your life, you're going to give me the answers I deserve."

His voice grew in power despite the low whisper he spoke with. His words filled his own ears, reaching the room around them, and Fink gulped visibly. He looked Daud over, rasping against the hold that kept him in place.

"Did it mark you?" He asked, finally. "The Outsider's monster?"

"And if it did?" Daud threatened, mask dangerously close to Fink's face. "What does it matter?" He brought the blade up, his head tilting. "What do you know, Eustace Fink?"

"Ah, I-I don't know as much as Howard did! He found the original beast, not me! But it… they always changed. The curse was always passed down. There isn't a cure for it. They all went mad and eventually--" Eustace gasped and his words died as Daud's grip dangerously tightened. He recalled what Brimsley had said to him, the words burning in his ears.

"You're one now too, aren't you?"

Daud's body lurched. His grip loosened, freeing Fink as that nausea filled him again, along with a different sensation, one where his head, his chest, his limbs wanted to burst, his skin scorching him all over.

"No," Daud rasped out, his eyes far away. "I am not--" He stared at his gloves; his vision blurring dangerously. When Fink tried to crawl away, however, his sight caught the movement, head turning sharply. In a flurry, the blade was singing through Eustace's heels; the tendons sliced like butter and Fink collapsed, crying out. The blood pooled around his ankles, the smell of it sharp in Daud's nose. Eustace stayed prone on the floor, whimpering, his face rapidly losing color as shock set in.

Pathetic.

Daud hunched over Fink's form, his breath ragged and heavy. Eustace stared at him, eyes wet and terrified, and Daud felt his seams unravel, his body falling apart.

"It's happening? Here, now? Oh Void, oh Outsider's eyes…" Fink continued to babble, crying out for the fabled god of the Void, as if such an entity existed, could even save him from what was happening. Daud opened his mouth to refute Eustace; it came out as a splintered roar, words failing him.

"Where is your god, Eustace?" His voice boomed, but he did not know where the words came from, not when his mouth was making such unearthly noise. "You were the one who played god, killing assassins for your games, your bloody gambling coin. Did you think yourself honorable, setting such a trap? How many men died to serve you and your fucked up brother?"

Eustace paled and he looked so small, so tiny, so weak. To think this man and his brother succeeded as much as they had, enslaving unknowing participants for entertainment…

His head reeled in anger and rage. He pulled the man close, his hands curling into smoking, burning claws that dig deep into Eustace's clothes, ripping at skin.

"Stop praying to a god who won't listen! This is your reality! Now face your judgement!"

Daud ripped the whaler mask off and underneath was no longer the face of a man. A true muzzle burst from his face, black and filled with glistening, razored fangs. His wounds burned and steamed as his eyes bulged and he screamed, the pain of the last month consuming him entirely. Ribs cracked and bones shifted and he grew, his body doubling, tripling. His skin was tearing off and it felt so good, like he had been waiting his whole life, his whole existence, for this singular moment of unbridled ecstasy.

He roared and it was like the land, the sea, like the Void itself, shook under the sound of his cry. He laughed, eyes watering, filled with relief and pain and it was all so much, too much. He screeched, the sounding reminiscent of a dying whale, before his teeth slammed together like a crashing wave. Fink was still in his vicinity; he could smell the fear, hear the pleading, but all it did was anger him further. He didn't need this sniveling worm of a human.

A clawed hand grabbed Eustace and in the next second his body was in ribbons. Guts spilled and a head rolled and Daud felt his mind flee, the smell of iron and heat overwhelming his senses in a way he'd never known after a kill. Suddenly he was ravenous, he needed that blood on his tongue. He obliged his primal desire, ripping the man's arm off with ease, letting bone and fat and muscle fill his mouth with the heat of a fleeing life.

There was a scream. Daud's ears caught it and he turned, lip curling. He had nothing to say to the woman standing in the door, hair tied back and clutching her dress. The sound of her distress continued, unwavering. Daud stepped towards her, snarling.

She ran.

He was moving faster than he could ever have imagined, his legs possessing a strength that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. His body moved on its own accord, spurred on by the thrill of the hunt, of the pursuit of prey and he was giddy, drunk off it. The house was a maze but his nose cut through the turns, following the fear and nausea, the horror of his unhinged rampage left in his wake. Walls and doors meant nothing; his body either forced its way through or smoked through openings, dissolving and coalescing in ways he didn't understand and spent no time dwelling on. He was consumed instead with the goal of reaching for and pouncing on his next victim, then the next. He caught sounds over the rush of his own blood; a tiny shrill voice here, a male voice there, the howl of hounds released upon him. All of them meant nothing; their teeth could not hurt him now. Their attacks were just pin pricks of lucidity within his fever dream, all dying or cowering before his unbridled wrath. Two dogs were bodily thrown, another bitten in half, still another tossed at a human handler, throwing both dog and man through a wall. He pursued, determined to not let anyone in the house escape. Not this time. Not after this hell month, not after everything--

A drop of water rippled through the chaos of his mind. The scent of the sea filled his nostrils, the sound of whales keened in his ears. Daud stilled, suddenly entranced, and turned his head.

A rune chittered and vibrated and sang on an ensconced shrine. The room was small, perhaps a hidden pantry; it had been revealed when Daud had thrown the body through the wall. Purple cloth fluttered from the disturbance of the crash and used candles scattered about the floor and table.

Someone was sitting on that table, cross-legged: someone lithe, dark, and still holding the ageless beauty of youth. Despite the slim, ethereal frame the person presented, Daud could sense the incredible shadow lurking just out of sight, the leviathan crying from the deep.

The figure smiled, his black, endless eyes glittering. He beckoned, and Daud obeyed. Like a leashed hound, he was irrevocably pulled under the waves, his huge body buckling before the sight of something greater, something far more ancient than he could ever fathom to be. He bowed his giant furred head and cold hands ran over his wounds, calming the persistent itch and smoothing away his month-long fever. Daud whined, giving himself over entirely as the figure held him close, arms embracing him like a long lost lover. The voice in his ears calmed his storm and soothed his pain and called him Home.

"Oh, Daud, beautiful Daud," the man cooed and Daud was enraptured, a whale's cry leaving him like a warbled gasp. The grip tightened on him and suddenly his body was melting away, the fur turning to ash to reveal his human skin underneath. He breathed, his left hand itching pleasantly where the figure held it, the other hand running smooth circles across his shoulders and down his back. Daud looked up into that ancient face and when it smiled, there was no warmth, no stars in those endlessly black eyes.

"I knew you would come back to me, Daud. After all..." the god's smile spread, breaking his face.

"...It was just a matter of time."

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of-tatooine · 4 years

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honor him. | chapter 2 - red crosses

the thought of assassinating her troubles you and he needs to know.

This one would be different.

There was a reason everyone on the street fled for their dear lives at the sight of him, his blade reflecting his scar under the moonlight for all to see. They did not call him the Knife of Dunwall for nothing - his stone-cold heart and blood, dead-silent movements and ability to take lives like he was a reaper through wheat gave him the recognition. He had done this countless of times before, with and without the wretched mark on his left hand. Fulfilled contracts, asked for extra coin for his trouble without feeling an inch of remorse as he washed some noble’s blood off of his hands.

It was not common for him to hesitate, for him to reconsider any deal he made as an assassin. Ever since he came to the unforgiving streets of Dunwall, killing and taking heads for favors or some other ulterior motive had been the reason he was still alive.

She had just been a contract, after all. Kill and get paid. In and out quick, without any survivors, just the way Daud had done things all along.

Then why did his thoughts stall for a minute, every time he thought of the contract in his pocket that Burrows made him sign? Why did the mark on his hand cease to glow as he pictured the Empress and her little heir, governing the Isles the best they could inside the Dunwall Tower?

As his darkened gray eyes looked over the damp streets and molding rooftops of the Flooded District, the whale songs echoing in his mind did not cease to remind him that the otherwise fortune of coin would never be worth Jessamine Kaldwin’s blood on his hands. He could never mute the screams of her daughter, ringing in his ears for years to come, if he were to take her life away in front of her juvenile eyes.

It was only natural for an assassin of his caliber to let go of his feeling of guilt - at this age and experience, with all types of blood coating his leather-gloved hands, Daud was not even sure if there was enough heart left in him, maybe he was not even capable of feeling it anymore. Sure, some missions had been harder to forget than others, keeping him up at the night of, knowing he was serving only to some noble bastard’s needs and wants - the next day he would be back to business as usual as he cleaned his sword.

With every step taken in the streets of the capitol of the Empire, every poster plastered on the brick walls, every bust and every painting and every monument after the Kaldwin name, he knew the memory of her death would hurt his skin like a burning fire.

“I can’t do it.”

Words he wanted to say for a long time but never could were spoken out as the feminine voice echoed through his quarters. Words he never thought he would hear from you. There were very few people who were allowed to step into his chambers unannounced and uninvited - being one of those who had the privilege, you made your way up the stairs where he usually slept.

It was Daud’s day to be surprised, it seemed, as he turned around to be faced with your bare face, sans the vapor mask you usually sported around the compound. All those years working alongside the assassin had not changed your pure and simple beauty, he would think - you had still been the girl he had taken under his wing from Karnaca, with the ever-lasting talent for sword fighting and the burning fire in your eyes.

Somehow, you had managed to keep a piece of you whole inside despite the cruelties you have indicted upon others, emotions and traits that defined who you were as a human - something Daud wished he knew how to do better.

“Sit down,” the older assassin would say in his usually gruff voice, this time etched with a slight concern as he pulled a chair out for you, as he opted to sit down on a nearby shipping crate facing you. You obliged with a silent nod - the mere gesture itself suggested he had been thinking about the same thing but did not want to admit it.

He had to look strong for his assassins, after all. Just like he had been all these years as he trained them all. He had to be undefeated for you, so you would have someone to look up to, to follow after. To kill and die for.

The assassination of an Empress to send the Empire reeling into the hands of dirty conspirators was not exactly the example you wanted to follow.

“Daud...” you started with a solemn voice as you looked up to meet his eyes, his arms folded on his chest. It was at that moment he noticed the redness in your eyes - you had trouble sleeping last night, maybe had not slept at all. “I’ve been... thinking. About what would happen to us after tomorrow. What would happen to you.”

The assassin shifted ever so slightly on his feet as he adjusted his sitting position, leaning a bit closer to your frame on the chair, your arms crossed although not in a threatening stance. “Haven’t I taught you enough to know that I will not fail a contract?”

You knew. You knew too damn well. He would go to the ends of his means to execute, capture, neutralize - whatever cruel action he was getting paid for. The huge board downstairs in his office was adorned with portraits with red crosses, if anyone needed proof of just what the man could do. “This time, I’m worried about what will happen if you don’t fail.”

Piercing orbs stared into his darker ones, able to spot the slight glimmer of doubt, of concern in them. Then they spotted the edge of the paper visible through his red leather overcoat. Daud ran a hand over his face, his mark glowing in the lightest shades of orange as he did so. A low sigh leaving his lips.

“The Empress will be dead tomorrow with the heir delivered to Burrows. Campbell and him can reap what they sow themselves - that’s none of our business. You understand me?”

Daud tried so hard, and succeeded, to not show any signs of weakness as he spoke in a stern manner, the words only aimed to make you focus on the task at hand and not distract yourself with any and all consequences that may come their way. It was not your vendetta to fulfill - you had been merely an agent to greater means in the scheme. That was what Daud had been telling himself since the day he picked up that pen and signed at the offices of the Royal Spymaster.

“You remember how I ended up in the streets of Aventa to begin with?”

Right after you uttered those words out of your lips, your tone noticeably softer yet your eyes glassy, was when he stopped. Jaw-clenched as vivid memories began roaming around his clouded mind like wolfhounds on loose. Memories that belonged to you, that you let him into a long time ago.

His usually domineering stance was slightly weakened as he took a deep breath, looking down on the rusty metal floor. This contract was proving to be one of the hardest things, if not the hardest, that he had to do during his entire life of sorrow and bloodshed - yet another decision loomed over in front of him.

Did he have the luxury to put his most-trusted protégé and killer on the sidelines for the mission of their lives?

If it had been anyone else but you, he would not.

Emotions, history and ethics did not mix well with the line of work they were in and every seasoned assassin knew so - hence why most of his Whalers kept their families, old lives and stories to themselves, if they had any. But, you... he knew exactly where you were coming from. What you went through - he witnessed with his own bare eyes. How the fire in your eyes dimmed as you lost so much in your life. And how training with the assassins helped you win that spark of serving some purpose back in your orbs.

He was going to stab a sword through an Empress the next day - if he indeed wanted to pursue his redemption, showing mercy and empathy to his favorite would be the start.

The man got up from his seat, determined, calmly walking over to the map of Dunwall Tower that was laid on over his bed - he must have been studying all possible strategies, playing out scenarios in his mind all night. Pointing to the furthest tower to the planned assault location, his tall frame partially turned to you. “You’re on watch duty tomorrow. No killing,” he ordered you, with a slight nod.

Even when his emotions had been willingly suppressed to prepare himself for the upcoming battle, you read through his actions and words. A man like Daud did not help you out by hugging you every single time you had doubts and telling you everything would be okay. He instead gave you a way out, some much needed leeway, however temporary it may be.

You accepted it with gratitude, sending him a faint smile accompanied by a nod as you got up from the chair.

“Thank you,” you would add in a whisper, your gloved hand gently lingering on his leather-covered arm for a moment before you took a quick glance at the map you had memorized over the past month, your boots slowly carrying you towards the double doors of his quarters.

Watching you leave with his stare softening, Daud ran his long fingers through his dark hair as your red-leather silhouette dissipated into thin air.

Tomorrow, he was going to initiate the fall of an Empire into ashes in the hands of some traitor dogs. All he could hope for was for someone to forgive him, somehow, at some point in time.

#I AM ABSOLUTE DAUD TRASH TOO #but this is a corvo x reader story so bear with me #honor him #val writes #dishonored #dishonored 2 #dishonored fic #corvo attano #daud #corvo attano x reader #corvo attano / reader #corvo attano x you

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winter-is-lost · 4 years

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TRANSFORMERS : MTMTE

Rodimus x Cybertronian! Reader

Y/n = Your name

Y/f/c = Your frame colour

Warnings : I'm honestly gonna stop adding these 'warnings' cause trust me even I have absolutely no idea how it's gonna turn out. But I hope I can do well and hopefully, it turns out good. :)

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《 Reader's P.O.V.》

Betrayed...Tired..Exhausted...No. All this felt like an understatement.

..I was done..

My autobot badge, that I once wore with such pride and joy had long since lost it's shine, now rundown and broken, covered with my energon. One could only imagine how it still managed to hold on to me. Then again, I wasn't in a good shape either now, was I? No. I had managed to snag a ship and barely escaped.. My ship crashlanded on some random planet. I didn't care which as long as it was away from there.

Pulling myself out of the wreckage of my ship I proceeded to make my way towards an urban inhabited area. I struggled to maintain my balance, stumbling here and there before my body eventually gives up making me fall like an asteroid. I place my hands near me, trying to push myself off the ground.

A futile attempt...

..What's the use anyway..It's not like I have any place to go to...any one to return to..what does it matter..

I lay there on the ground. Bright red warning signs flashing infront of my sight. It was happening...Is this how I was gonna go...

I laid there for God knows how long before I heard the sounds of pedesteps rushing in my direction before coming to a stop near me.

I felt someone placing a servo on my shoulder plate and shaking it gently, as if in fear of causing any further harm to my already damaged body.

"-eed a doctor. You los-"...barely being able to listen, I somehow managed to catch a glimpse of the bot...Orange..with..with glasses.

"-be ok. Just..just hang in ther-"

That was the last thing I could make out before my optics offlined...

===============================

{ years later }

"-so, I think it would be a nice experience for us to go." Rung turned away from his datapads to look up at me with a soft smile gracing his faceplates.

We were both preparing for the journey we were to take part in. Rung informed me yesterday of a mech designated Broadi..no wait - Daud..no,no..YEAH! Rung informed me yesterday of a mech by the designation Rodimus who had proposed a journey across space in order to find the Knights of Cybertron.

Unsurprisingly, Rung wanted to leave on this journey too. Of course, not because of finding the Knights or anything, but because of his love for space ships and the journeys they bring.

I mean, it was pretty obvious to me as I was placing his models of the ark ships into a box so it would be easier to carry while he was making sure he handled all the data and knowledge of his clients properly before leaving.

"Yeah, you're right. It does seem like it's gonna be fun, so why not." I reply as I place another one of the models into the box.

It was kinda true. I was actually going along because of him.

You see, after the war has just barely ended mostly everyone knows how to fight. Then, there's Rung. Now, I don't mean to sound like I'm berating him but he just...he can't fight..he doesn't even have the build most average mechs have. On top of that, he's kind-hearted and a gentlemech, which is nice but makes it all the more easier for someone to harm him.

People are willing to use others for their own benefit, to achieve their goals, even the ones you know for the longest of time, trust me, I'd know...and that's where I come in. I make sure to keep him out of harm's way to the best of my abilities, he's someone that I care for and respect like a..a..what was the organic term for it...a brother, yup, like a brother. The universe needs more good people like him.

Besides...he did save me all those years back, so God forbid if I let anything happen to him. Of course, he doesn't know that..or maybe he does but just pretends that he doesn't, but let me tell you, aside from physical *ahem violent* confrontations, he can handle himself just fine - the guy's been aboard all the Ark ships, that's gotta mean something right.

===============================

"NEXT!"

Finally. After standing in the long line of passengers waiting to board the Lost Light for what seemed like a thousand cycles. It was finally our turn. Rung and I made our way towards the 'Head of Security' for one final inspection before being allowed aboard the ship. Since I was Rung's assisstant, sort of, I remember this guy, he was Rung's client for a couple of centuries. His name was..Red Alert, I think.

"ONE HUNDRED MILLION! That's an impressive serial code,..Er.." Red Alert looks up at Rung with a suprised expression plastered across his face plates. I clench my dentas together in an attempt to hold my laughter.

After everything and everyone was on board and with our ship Quantum jumping God knows where.

Everyone was called by Rodimus, the ship's captain for a debriefing about the current events. I didn't hear much because I don't know why but there was something about this guy...something familiar...weird because I don't remember seeing him before.

The longer I looked at him, that feeling of familiarity turned into a slight feeling of unknown dread settling itself into my fuel tanks.

The debriefing was done and everyone around me was leaving to handle the task at hand, just as I was going to leave as well, I ended up making eye contact with Rodimus.

That feeling of dread and slight anger mixed with some sadness came back to me as I stood there frozen in my spot. I could tell he felt something too just by the way his optics widened and his jaw hung open. As if something unexpected had happened. As if someone you had once lost to the realm of death had come back...

I saw his mouth move slightly, as if trying to whisper out a name. MY name..?..

"..Y/n." I was brought back from my trance when I felt a servo touch my shoulder. Looking down at the owner of the hand, I was quite relieved to see Rung looking back up at me with concern evident across his faceplates. "What's wrong Y/n?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," I give a small smile to reassure him. I decided not to worry him about something like this, afterall, it could just be a side effect from that faulty quantum leap.

《 Rodimus' P.O.V. 》

There had a been a breach in the hull caused by the sudden quantum leap. We had 40 crew mates drifting across space that we had to save. We NEEDED to save. No way am I gonna leave MY crew behind.....Not this time.

After giving everyone a brief idea of what had happened and what needed to be done. I was preparing to leave for the mission - gathering back the 40 lost crew members, when my optics landed on a familiar Y/f/c bot. Is that...No. It can't be. Nope. Not real. She/he isn't real...is she/he?

She/he turned her/his helm in my direction and our optics met....it was her/him...But how..I..I thought she/he had...I thought she/he had died when our team was attacked back on Ki-Aleta...

But she/he was here, right here, on my ship, right in front of me...

I wanted to call out to her/him, but before I could I noticed a slightly smaller mech with an orange frame and slim built approach her/him. Their interactions reminded me of how we used to be like this back in the day. She/he was always there to lighten up the entire team even at the darkest times, no matter how tough or impossible a mission would seem, she/he never gave up. She/he always had our backs..My back. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel something more for her/him. I thought I had lost her/him back on Ki-Aleta. She's/he's here..I need to talk to her/him..

As I look back to see her/him and the orange mech making their way back to their quarters, I push back my thoughts of her/him and attempt to focus on current mission.

===============================

{ A time skip to when the Lost Lighters found a sparkeater aboard the ship, brought to you by Rung's adorable noodle arms }

===============================

《 Reader's P.O.V. 》

As I was sitting on the edge of the bridge in the Oil reservoir I couldn't help but let my thoughts run back to that Rodimus guy and this dreadful feeling of familiarity. He did remind me of someone though... Someone I'd rather forget about. His optics, I had a feeling like I'd seen them before, but I hadn't even met this guy...right?..

Though I was getting kinda suspicious of him being someone from my past. The similarity between the names. The way he had addressed the crew, the way he spoke, even his colour scheme was similar...so similar to an old friend..one that I was close to, one that I loved, one that I trusted....all just to see him leave me behind admist the enemy and the dead bodies of our team mates.

I had hoped that he would return, he might have just gone to get help. How silly...

I was brought out of my thoughts when I heard the sound of emergency sirens going off. As I made my way out of the ship's oil reservoir, a voice on the hallway's comm informed everyone of a little inconvenience that had occured and advised everyone to find a room and lock themselves in for a short while...for safety reasons...

Just turning around the corner and witnessing the dead body of a crew member I sadly did not remember the name of, was enough to convince me that this was more than just a 'little inconvenience'. Approaching the dead body I did what any rational bot would do,

I poked it.

I flipped the dead body over and instantly wished I hadn't. This guy wasn't just plain old dead, he was completely sliced up. His brain module had been torn out, his chasis was ripped apart...But what horrified me the most was his damaged spark chamber. It was as if..as if something had clawed it's way through.

I nearly jumped when I heard the sound of the elevator door opening in the distance, followed by the sounds of rushing pedesteps. Leaning from behind the corner I saw Rung running down the hall with a blue bot, Skids as I remember, seconds later a Sparkeater running after them.

Wait..

A SPARKEATER?!

I moved out into the hallway and saw an elevator with the door ripped open. Inside there was a yellow and blue bot with a briefcase strapped to his arm looking back up at me from his place near the far back corner of the elevator, obviously terrified. Suddenly it hit me, there was a sparkeater on the loose...right now after Rung...

I turned around and tore down the hallway to where I saw them going. The Engine room, that's where I found them.

My eyes landed on the Sparkeater as it was rushing towards..towards..RUNG who was being held in place by Rodimus?!

Infuriated was an understatement. I was beyond that. HOW DARE HE?!

"NOOOO!!" I dashed towards them but before I could reach I felt someone stop me and hold me back in place as I continued to kick and move out of there grasp.

I had to do something. I wasn't gonna let anything happen to Rung. I couldn't.

Not only had he saved me, he was my closest friend. I couldn't just sit back and watch him die, I couldn't just not do anything. I couldn't LEAVE MY FRIEND.

Then I saw it, admist it all, the resemblance, the similarity. It was him..It was him all along...Hot Rod...and he was still ready to give up someone else to save himself.

I glared at Rodimus as he held Rung in place despite hearing him protest. HOW CAN HE DO THAT TO A CREW MATE?!

I kicked myself free from my captor but ended up getting hit behind the helm by someone. The last thing I saw before blacking out was Rung being shoved to the side.

===============================

When my optics onlined I came to realize that I was laying on a metal berth probably in the medical bay.

Slowly getting up I placed a servo behind my helm where I was hit.

"You're up early."

I snapped my helm towards the source of the sound, clearly not expecting anyone to be there before.

When my optics landed on the all-too-familiar flame design. "You..." I glared at him.I clenched my servos and through gritted dentae I tried to control my anger. "Where is he .?.."

"..I'm righ-"

"Not YOU. Where is RUNG!?" The scowl on my face probably showed him that I was not in the mood to joke around.

*sigh* "He's fine. He's in his

habsuite."

I nodded my helm slightly in acknowledgement.

He managed a small smile, "Your

new friend was quite stubborn.

He refused to leave and wanted

to stay in case you woke up.

Ratchet sent him to his habsuite."

My 'new friend'.?...

"Yup, he's like that. Doesn't like leaving his friends behind." I remarked, putting a subtle emphasis on 'leaving' and 'friends'.

His smile faltered as he turned his gaze away from me before he stared at me again, this time there was a sad look in his optics which almost made me soften before I remembered all he had done both to me as Hot Rod and to Rung as Rodimus and I hardened my glare further.

"I..I'm sorry Y/n. I kno-"

"What for? Letting others die? Prioritizing a stupid oracle over the lives of our friends? Abandoning us just to save yourself? Leaving me behind in Ki-Aleta between the enemy fires and the dead bodies of our fallen team mates?" Speaking those words it came back to me, all the pain, the hopelessness, the anger, the sadness..the betrayal...

"For all of them Y/n. I'm sorry.

I regret leaving you like that

but I had to do it."

I let out a dry chuckle at that,"Of course you had to."

"I was under strict orders Y/n.

Orders the rest of you didn't

know about."

"So?.. I thought we were a team. Do you realize if only you had informed us of these 'strict orders' before, we would have gone there better prepared. GIZMO AND DOWNLOAD WOULD STILL BE ALIVE!" I felt my voice waver at the mention of our long dead team mates.

"Y/n-"

"SAVE IT HOT ROD! Even when you had a chance, you chose to save yourself. When you left us..left ME behind, Rod, I was in denial. I still believed like a fool that you would come back. You'd be there. You wouldn't just abandon us like that. I kept hoping that you'll be back.....but I could only keep hoping so much. One day I realizd you weren't coming back. That was the day I realized we were all just acceptable losses to you, just collateral damage.."

I placed a servo across my optics to hide the Lubricants threatening to leave them, "..And to think I loved you..Trusted you with my life.."

"Y/n..Look, I know what I did was

wrong, but like I said, I was under

the strictest of orders.." He paused,

probably to see if I would interrupt

him or not, before speaking again, "I should've told all of you. I thought if I did then it would complicate the mission too much. But now, seeing how things turned out for all of us, it would have been better if I had."

"Rod..sto-"

"I went back."

I removed the servo covering my optics and looked at him. Instead of anger, there was slight shock mixed with sadness in them as I processed what he just said.."Huh..?.."

"I went back for you. All of you. I couldn't find anyone except Dealer. I thought you had died Y/n and it was my fault. I spent so many sleepless nights wondering all the different ways I could have saved you, all the different 'what ifs'. I was frustrated and angry at myself for letting you suffer that fate."

He reached his servo out for mine, holding it gently, softly as if I would break.

"I know..It's not much use saying sorry now. Nothing I say can ever excuse my actions, but please Y/n. Give me a chance. A chance to make up for all of it. I finally found you after so many eons, after I thought I lost you forever. Even though I know you hate me, just give me one chance to rebuild our trust and all that we had. Just one more chance to make things right. Hmm?"

"Rod.." I looked up at him. I saw the sincerity in his optics. No matter how much I tried, even after all that happened, I still couldn't hate him, my anger was slowly fading, giving way to sadness. The sight of our servos clasped together, drowned me in nostalgia.

"..I could never hate you..*sigh* It may take a while for us to go back to the way we used to be. Rod..I may be able to forgive with time but..but it's gonna be hard to forget.." He gave my servo a small reassuring squeeze. "But I'm willing to take a chance and start over."

I looked at him and saw relief mixed with happiness in his optics.

"I'll never abandon you..never again."

A small but genuine smile spread across my faceplates as I felt my spark warm up. The feelings for him, I had once buried within me started to resurface, slow yet steady.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Aightttttt peeps so that was it with this one-shot. I hope you had fun reading this (I know it was kinda long and maybbbbe sort of all over the place, sooooo thank youuuuu for bearing all that.)

I'm open to all advices and suggestions, so please feel free to speak your mind on how I can improve.

Have a good day everyone~

#transformers #transformers+headcanons #optimus prime #rodimus #lost light #red alert #mtmte rung #transformers idw #idw tf #tf idw #mtmte drift #mtmte cyclonus #mtmte brainstorm #mtmte rodimus

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screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse · 5 years

Text

I Shall Rise, Dishonored OC Commission (EXCERPT)

Thank you, @landakguling 💖

When he woke, he found himself in a strange room. The door opened, then, and a tall man strode inside. His uniform was odd because it was obviously carefully put together, yet it was attire that no-one else in Dunwall wore. That, along with his shirt, dark hair and beard, the stark brown eyes, and the weapons on his belt, marked him as someone Matthew had seen in person only once, but glimpsed in the papers often enough.

Lord Corvo Attano, the Royal Protector and Spymaster, and father of the Empress. Shame and red-hot embarrassment flooded Matthew at the thought that it had been Lord Attano who had found him — saved him. Oh, Void.

“How are you feeling, Matthew? And pardon me if that question sounds trite,” Attano said.

Oh Void, he knew his name.

“Where am I?” Matthew managed to ask.

“Market Street,” Attano replied. “You are safe here. Do you remember what happened?”

Tears welling up in his eyes both at the memories and Lord Attano’s gentle tone, Matthew nodded. “I do. I—I don’t know how…” He trailed off. “Are you going to take me back?”

Lord Attano looked aghast for a moment, then schooled his features. “No. Not unless you want us to. Please understand that we are deeply concerned, but we would rather give you time, first.”

Matthew averted his gaze.

“It might be difficult to explain,” he said softly.

“We’re good listeners. Well, he is,” another, deeper voice suddenly said, and Matthew startled and looked up. A man, shorter than Lord Attano by a head and clad in a dark grey coat that vaguely matched the Protector’s vest, had entered the room seemingly out of nowhere and was now regarding Matthew with clear eyes.

Lord Attano looked mildly cross.

“Don’t scare him,” he admonished, and the other man raised a brow.

“As if you don’t, the Royal Protector coming in all your state to see him. This is my apartment,” the strange man said. “One of mine is something of a doctor, he’s going to look after you.”

“Excuse his bedside manner,” Lord Attano cut in. “He has none.”

“Seems to suit you just fine,” the other man shot back, then laid a hand on Lord Attano’s shoulder. “I’ll be downstairs.”

Lord Attano nodded, and the man left.

“Who was that?” Matthew asked, confused.

“That was Daud,” Lord Attano said simply.

Presently, Matthew wished he had not asked.

Later, Matthew had another question: “Why did you save me?” He could not keep the misery out of his voice, nor the doubt.

Lord Attano — Corvo, he had insisted — tilted his head. “Are you angry that we stopped you?” His hand twitched, as if to call a guard inside the room immediately. “Or are you questioning our motives?”

Matthew clenched his jaw. His voice shook a little when he answered, “I am asking why you would bother with someone like me.”

“Someone like you?“

“I am not important to the Empire. Nor to my family.” He swallowed. “My death wouldn’t have had the slightest consequence.” Matthew bit his tongue, ready to be chastised for his weakness of character.

Instead, Corvo’s expression softened. “Look… Aedan told us about the scars. The less recent ones, too. I think it might be time we talked. Don’t you think?”

Matthew bit his lip.

---------------------------------

“We could throw him into the bone grinders in Slaughterhouse Row,” Daud suggested darkly.

“Daud,” Corvo cautioned, but Daud only glared in return and nodded towards Matthew, who was, despite himself, smiling a little. Less at the thought of gruesome patricide and more at the fact that Daud — formerly known to all as the Knife of Dunwall and who, as rumour had it, had not killed in years — had listened to an abridged but no less truthful version of Matthew’s life up until this point, had said nothing for a solid minute, then stepped up to where Matthew was sitting up in bed, put a large hand on his shoulder and asked him, in all seriousness, whether he wanted his father ‘taken care of.’

Matthew had refused, and would refuse, but Daud had taken a liking to the idea, if just to rile Corvo.

“You’d think after eight years of this I’d have given up,” Corvo said to Matthew, dropping into the chair by the window. Mirth made way for consideration, though. “What do you want to do?”

---------------------------------

Hi there! If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, you can commission me on ko-fi! Links in replies 😽

#Dishonored #oc commissions #writing commissions #fanfic commissions

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aimlessfool · 5 years

Text

Four years, One Night

Prompt: Kisses under an umbrella Thank you so much for the prompt, Spider! :D (tagging in case the ask got lost :’) @exalok ) And here you go! :D

Pretty much this is an AU where Corvo was given to Dunwall at the age of 20, and he and Dàud had a relationship that is low key still there, even though they haven’t seen each other for four years. And Daud has no bounty on his head yet. :’)

Seventy four in coin. Corvo had counted them all, from his coin purse in the innermost pockets of his coat, sewn in there to not be easily lost. It was all he had to spend this fugue, and all he had ended up being left with at the end of the year. A year that had little excitement in it, little sorrow else from what was left over soon two years ago. Only a month or so after he arrived. The death on an Empress or Emperor had always weighed heavily on the Empire, at least the closer to the capital you would get.

The man facing the pubs from the rooftops remembered well how news such as these reached Karnaca and his mothers stories of them, and how most of the grief took seed in the nobles, and those few middle class and lower class citizens that were loyal enough to grieve. He had rarely understood the great devotion to those above others, and how much a leader of the Empire was loved. But little did it matter, and little could he dwell on those thoughts as of years and counting, considering that he had to keep them to himself just about every day of the year, else from these few precious days. Perhaps in time he would understand. He figured so, considering he had the rest of his life left in the Tower. Forever watching over the Empress, until the day she would eventually fall. But it would not be because of him... He would make sure of this. He supposed that any child of the Empress would cast him to the hounds once he was too old. Hrm, that day that sorrow.

It was time to continue on his way to reach the pub and docks, to wander about and see how much things had changed for the last four years. Corvo had found himself wanting a break from watching over the princess, who by now had already settled into her little safe room where she told Corvo sternly, to "go out and do something" for the last hours of the fugue. So with her orders, Corvo followed what he wanted for the first time in a while, heading out and leaving his work behind for once, this going to be a secret kept from the Emperor. The thing was, for the last three fugues, Corvo had ended up only watching over the royal family, not doing much of what he wanted. This was something he had accepted very early in all this, so it was no problem, for honestly, nothing more was to be expected.

This had been fine, until he was stuck needing to do something with his time on his own, and not having work. Soon four years of this had Corvo's mind go blank, as he moved along the chimneys like a cat, crawling his way over the dirty and slippery roof titles.

At least it was fun enough to use the city's roofs to continue the training he haven't had much of, for it was perhaps best to not show off too much of his abilities to the Emperor and his sly spymaster, who often eyed Corvo with suspicious eyes when he trained, Corvo going about like a whirlwind on the training fields. If Corvo ended up showing off too much, he might end up being questioned of where he learned such things, as stealing coin purses and slipping away from sight without a trace. It would be bad enough as it were in general, but the other consequences that would follow with it would be even worse, if he were forced to reveal who he learned this from. A man that he...

...

Corvo kept moving. Slowly but surely, as he was careful and certain with his steps, Corvo reached the pub he wanted to see first. After an easy climb down and without much fuss, Corvo found himself back on the cobblestone of the city streets, right beside an old brick building, where his hand resting against it. He slid his hand along the building as he went, an old habit of his that apparently wasn't fit for the buildings of Dunwall, as he scratched his palm against the rough brick, not to draw any blood, but enough to itch. So scratching at his hand, Corvo went out from the alleyway, opening the cracking metal fence door with his foot as he went along, not bothering to use his hand, despite them both resting at his sides by now, to appear more casual than others. He was wearing an outfit of the few items he had from home of his casual clothing, the shirt draped over his chest bigger on him than it should be, with reason too. All this, so he would fit better in with the others in there, and not be as recognisable. Yet, Corvo doubted nobody but court members would even bat him an eye, for there had been no mention of his status or arrival in the newspapers. So few would know of him. Walking in with a hand lingering on the door handle, Corvo took a gander over the open floor ahead of him, seeing many being... To put it lightly, stretched out over them, enjoying their time. There were music, some song that Corvo did not know of, perhaps it being a local variant of songs that he should know, from listening to Jessamine play some on her harp. Yet, he had paid little attention due to other thoughts in his head about music, so... He could not name them, but did feel a sense of familiarity with the violin. It almost sounded like how... Daud played to him. Corvo pretended to walk in with alcohol on his mind, stepping along the drunks and tables as if he had done this several times, which wasn't that far from the truth. Thinking little of the state of the bar, Corvo still approached it, finding a seat empty beside a man that looked like a sailor, draped over the counter with his hand clenching around a glass. Hrmp, one can't choose your neighbours in a bar at fugue, Corvo knew this.

The bartender wasn't thinking of the new arrival, nor was Corvo, who by now leaned on his hand, propped up by his elbow, looking over the rest of the room, from what he could see of it. There were life, akin to those at night in Karnaca. Men howling with conversation and laughter, the thick ooze of beer and general alcohol in the air, and music, though more sombre than those songs he would listen to back home. It was like he had wandered back home, a gateway more suited to him than a ship.

Sighing, Corvo actually tapped the counter for a moment, to see if he gained the bar tenders attention. It ended with Corvo offering some coin, for prices were random at fugue, he knew this, and he was given a glass of beer, one that Corvo very, very slowly started to chip down with as he sat there, watching the life, his chest growing warm with alcohol and the warmth of a good bar, where there were merriment and good times. Not as dreadful as the rainy streets outside.

About halfway done with his beer, the man beside him apparently woke up, looking to Corvo from the counter, his face drunkenly flushed. It was a guard, one he knew from the barracks. Smiling as he sipped his beer, Corvo patted his back a few times, a friendly gesture to tell him to get up.

The man obliged, groaning as he got up, his balance pretty much off...

... And for a moment he was about to topple over Corvo, who quietly reached out a hand towards the man's collarbone, stopping him from falling. And the poor drunkard started huffing, though found that what he thought Corvo wanted wasn't right, as he was met with a amused smile, something that he truly did not expect. So he got himself back on his feet, and headed off to a table, to switch seats... And Corvo had a slight understanding as to why, and paid it little mind afterwards.

Half an hour later, with Corvo oddly enough immersed in this whole cosy and fun atmosphere, he was out of beer. And knowing how it was with prices, Corvo decided to stop there, and just slide the glass between his hands, in a bout of boredom. It had the bartender take the glass from him in mid movement, Corvo's eyes going straight to him... And he just chuckled. Smiling a little.

Bartender paid little mind to this, and just let Corvo be, supposing he have had enough, though... Today he wasn't actually allowed to stop him.

Corvo didn't mind, stretching over the counter and ending up people watching again, idly wishing that there were some Serkonian blabber about, to just feel even more like home for this very slight moment. He rested his head against his arm for a moment, head facing the room and tables out there, and the men and women there, some even starting to get frisky.. That came naturally with the hour, so it was nothing Corvo hadn't expected. He had a smile, still, and it hadn't waned often the last half hour. He was even slightly red, though he was far from tipsy, a half litre of beer far from enough to get him properly flushed. He just enjoyed this. The taste of the beer wasn't too bad either...

Though he wouldn't be idle for long, as the same man that nearly flattened him to the bar stool earlier now suddenly grabbed at Corvo's collar, this instantly causing Corvo to look to him alarmed, and trying to get the hand off it, before it could do some damage. But he failed as he stumbled off the stool, and was promptly dragged out of the bar's back exit, closer to the waterfront than he wanted to be with a drunk guard at the moment. There were little resistance from Corvo, though he truly wished he could wring himself away. Having a feeling he knew where this was going, and once he was let go, Corvo quickly turned to the drunkard, though still with a lighter expression, not going to let this ruin his night. It was just a minor thing.

"What do you want?" Corvo asked, a hand reaching to the back his collar to check for holes... None.

"A fight." The man blabbered out, his slurred speech revealing just how damned drunk he was. "Royal Protector an' all, you got a fight in you I want." Corvo snorted. This felt somehow familiar, like a lot of things tonight. Corvo considered the request...

And promptly punched the drunkard in the face, retaliation for what he did to his shirt, as he truly felt like that was something he should not have done.

The man did budge, the first too sudden and very hard hitting for him not to. And he then promptly attempted to punch him back, failing first, but with a very dirty trick of kicking Corvo's feet off balance, he managed to get him down to the cobblestone, some of them stinging as they hit Corvo's back individually and causing some pain. And then a fist came flying at Corvo's face, exactly where he should not be hit, and due to the shock of it all, Corvo got a fistful of pain right into his cheek and eye, grunting and ending up kicking the guard down, not going to take this laying down.

And with him down Corvo moved to his feet again, and ended up kicking the drunkard in the stomach, with the aim of letting him have a hangover before he would actually get it.

Hopping back right after the kick, Corvo's hopes where fulfilled, and the guard started to vomit out his very expensive alcohol right after the kick. He howled in anger and pain as he did, spitting curses at Corvo who stood over him, actually not wanting to punch him further. A punch for a punch, after all.

"Have fun with your coin then, Gallwood." Corvo muttered, ending up chuckling as he turned on his heel, and waved to the cursing idiot on the street floor.

Now, Corvo supposed he could continue his sightseeing, since the good idiot was too brick brained to understand Corvo didn't want him falling on him. So, he slipped out of sight and into an alleyway, idly wandering with a little hop in his step as he did, just happy and somehow feeling a bit more energised after getting punched in the face. He supposed within a few minutes he would have a bruise, but it would just have to be. It just might end up with others wanting a fight from him keeping away, which was good. ... And about that, for a moment, Corvo felt watched. So he stopped, suddenly and all, and looked behind him, into the darkness of the alleyway he had just turned into, and found... Nothing but rats, scuttling over the cobblestones and to his feet, passing by without much fuss.

... Tossing whatever thoughts he had out of his mind, Corvo continued.

Now turing, the docks stood before him, a little bit from the side of the whole thing, though. There were not much life, just a few sailors here and there, with the increasing intensity of the rain surely having chased off most of the people out in the streets. At first it was a drizzle, now it was getting worse. Which Corvo had found to just be good, he liked it when the rain was "warm" like this, and not icy cold as it usually where. Now at the side of the river, Corvo moved along the rock formations, and past so much rope and cargo crates. He saw shirts, coats, fishing rods, umbrellas... A lot of things, just strewn about as if in their owners where in a hurry. And from experience, Corvo knew this was the case, as it were how most dockworkers and sailors would end their day as soon as the fugue was rung in.

Now humming at a Serkonian song from the back of his mind, Corvo idly wandered along this place, and soon ended up on the other side of the docks after having picked up one of the umbrella's at the side of a barrel, wanting to just fool about with it, as he would back home, if he ever found one. He thought of many things as he wandered, the hop in his steps having started to waver to a normal walk.

This whole night had felt like he was back home, more a feeling than anything else, though. He had been content, forcing himself to think that he was, thus feeling it. For despite him having fun, despite it feeling like home, something was gnawing at him, something missing. Daud.

Even with his shirt, Corvo still couldn't help but to want the man himself there, wandering along with him. He thought, for a slight moment as he dressed himself back in the barracks, that the shirt would be enough to keep the... Longing for Daud at bay, but... Despite trying his best, it just wasn't enough. He was supposed to be there now. Like back at home. When he had work, it was easier to just use his shirt as a familiarity and distraction, but now...? It wasn't... Right. Things felt like back home, but really wasn't, due to missing Daud. ... Thinking of things to help take his mind off this, especially now that he was close to where he ultimately realised what had happened, four years ago, Corvo fished up the cigarette case of... "His."

Fished out a cigarette and his lighter, and lit it, the umbrella helping with this. Perhaps he had it in mind once he picked it up.

For years he hadn't thought of him. Until now. ... Void damnit.

Corvo stood there for an hour. He smoked three of the cigarettes, the third just being lit as he heard something at his left. Corvo paid it little mind, supposing it was a sailor looking for something he had dropped here, or whatever else.

But when a hand reached out to the cigarette he had in his hand, out of the blue, Corvo reacted with a silent shock, mouth very subtly agape as he turned to see who was that blunt as to simply take the cigarette from his mouth like that. And with the light of the smoke, came the view of a familiar face, a familiar nose... A familiar man, with Corvo's cigarette in between his lips. ... His chapped lips.

"I was wondering where my shirt went." The very familiar man muttered, his voice rougher than before.

... Corvo froze as he stood. Slightly leaned over a railing separating him and the river, with his head ever so slightly tilted towards the left as the gears in his head turned, to understand what was just happening. To get it into his brain that... This man right beside him, coming closer and inching under his umbrella... Was Daud.

... Corvo tried to say something, tried to move when Daud got so close to him their shoulders touched.

In order to break the silence, Daud leaned along with Corvo as he hummed for a moment, though half of his body was still exposed to the rain as he did so, the man not minding all that much, though.

"Took my cigarette case too, then." He said, voice trailing off as he ended up looking to Corvo, with a half smile on his lips. Corvo's mouth was still slightly agape, and first now it sank in that... This was Daud. Corvo's fist clenched, and he was about to move, about to turn sharply and punch the man before him in the face, for having been gone for four years, for not having sought him out, but... It wasn't certain that he got the letter. It wasn't certain he was aware of where Corvo had been for the last four years. He didn't know if he had gotten caught up in anything- he didn't have the right to punch him. Yet he wanted to, so badly.

"Daud?" Corvo finally managed to mutter, his voice revealing his feelings about this meeting all too well. There was a certain vulnerability in his voice too, a sadness in it. As if he wasn't able to accept what was there, right in front of him.

There was a nod from the man, and he tilted his head to meet Corvo's, the cigarette safe between his lips. "Corvo." He said, his eyes saying a lot about how he was feeling for the moment.

"... Where?" Corvo finally managed to ask, aware of Daud being within reach, if he just angled himself slightly to the side.

"I would ask the same, had it taken me longer to find you." Daud muttered, and knew that it wasn't a satisfactory answer, so he continued, his arms resting idly over the railing as he apparently relaxed. His answer was... Guarded too, which Corvo picked up on easily.

"I got caught up in something. What, you know." The man took a drag, and blew it out, towards the rain and away from Corvo. "I only got home a month ago." Corvo's heart sank, as now that Daud was closer to him, he saw an angrily red line down the side of his face, just as Daud turned to look to him again. It wasn't only the reason his heart sank, though.

"I ended up travelling. Finding things, stealing for them. A lot happened, Corvo. Thus why I didn't seek you out before now." Daud lifted his arm up, and patted his chest, just where Corvo knew he usually sewed in pockets in his coats. Like he did to his. Corvo understood what it meant, Daud always kept the things most important to him close to his chest.

... A long pause of silence followed. Daud didn't feel like he could ask Corvo what he had been doing, not because of privacy reasons, but honestly... He wasn't sure how Corvo felt about him anymore, and he wouldn't take any chances either. It would make things more difficult. "... I'm pissed." Corvo said, and had a slight smile on his face... A smile that Daud knew, but if it meant the same, he wasn't aware of.

"I told you to quit while you were ahead... Then, you end up gone for four years..." He said, looking over to Daud again, and gaining another look at his face. "And yes, I do believe you... Those bastards were the types. I just don't understand what happened.. How did they keep you?" Daud... Sighed, turning to look to Corvo more, as if seeking-.. Something. He wasn't sure what.

"Things meant little to me. My own life, less so." Daud muttered and trailed off, his eyes set on Corvo's, and his right hand, ever so slightly moved against Corvo's, all without the man realising it himself. Corvo did, though, and didn't even flinch, nor look to it... He was about to move to the others hand.

"... If I knew you had left and were safe, I'd... Quit sooner." Daud finally said, moving his hand away just as Corvo was about to touch it.

Corvo sighed, deeply, and lightly tapped Daud's hand with his finger, Daud noting it. "Yes, you should have." Corvo muttered, frowning slightly... To then just full on frown, the drag Daud took from the cigarette showing more of his face...

"... I was taken, three days before you were supposed to come home. It was a hasty delivery, they wanted me gone as soon as possible..." Corvo started, turning away from Daud, as he just... Couldn't look at that wound.

"So I took what I could, went to my mother, and said goodbye to Karnaca... To home..." Corvo sighed, a lopsided smile showing on his lips now, as he reached for the cigarette Daud had in his mouth, and took it from him, to take the last drag. "I'm sorry for the mess I left.." Daud huffed. "Don't be. It wasn't that messy."

"So they left it alone, then?" Corvo seemed.. Hopeful as he spoke.

"Yes. Most of Karnaca knew that was our place, so they left it well alone." Almost as tidy as it had been for the two years the two of them had been together.

"Good..." Corvo seemed almost relieved.

"So... What did you do?"

Daud watched the cigarette bud fly from Corvo's fingers down into the sea. "I sold everything but your things... The apartments is sold off, I needed the coin."

... Corvo's heart... Now truly sank into his chest, the man even feeling a sting from the feeling of it... Not because of his things, but.. The place he and Daud had called home... Was gone. Really so. He had already accepted that he wouldn't get home again, but... Maybe not as much as he had hoped. Biting as his lip, Corvo calmed himself down, taking a deep breath as he sighed again.

"... You knew I'd not be able to go home again." Daud nodded, picking up on the sadness in Corvo's voice. And thus, figured that... He could maybe... He reached out the same hand to Corvo's again, who didn't budge. He let Daud place his hand on his.

"So, my things are at the usual spot?" Daud nodded.

"I'd best get them delivered soon. Conrad, he's still working at the docks?"

Daud nodded. "He arranged the passage for me."

"Good." Corvo acknowledged, and finally looked to the hand on his, to Daud.

He wanted to say something that had been on his mind all night, something that most likely... Wouldn't be all that welcomed, so... He instead trailed back, trying to figure out something to say.

".. I've been appointed Royal Protector of the princess... Jessamine." He explained, finding that it had some good timing... Yet, these sort of news were never good timed, no matter what, especially to a man with such work as Daud had, and most likely... Wouldn't be able to escape, if Corvo's fears were great enough.

"So, I've been busy making sure her and her family is safe... For the last four years I've been sleeping in the barracks, but within a month of two, I'll be moved. To the Tower."

Daud's face was hard to read, but one thing was for certain. He was happy for the man before him. And Corvo, who knew him, now twisted his hand around, and entangled their fingers. A subtle way to tell him to stay. "Climbed your way to the top... Never expected anything else." Daud said, a sort of chuckle present in his voice as he spoke. And he found, that he didn't mind the entanglement.

Corvo nodded along, with a slight smile. They were worlds apart now. It was easier back home. Corvo sighed, deeply. He didn't want to ask this, but it was a given that it were. So there were no other choice.

"... What are you doing here Daud...?" He asked, as he was the one who most likely, followed him for a while. And first after the words left his mouth, he understood how they sounded...

Daud took a moment to reply. Corvo swallowed. "I came to look for you. Took me a few days, until you happened to punch a loud bastard behind a pub." He chuckled, smiling. "I knew it was you just from the shirt alone."

Corvo smiled, the smile lopsided and without much merriment. "So you're back for the shirt, then?" He asked, looking to Daud again, now noting that Daud hadn't pulled back his hand yet.

"You can keep it. It looks good on you." Daud muttered, and looking to Corvo, their eyes met, and he... Promptly looked away.

"... Sorry I took most of your clothes." Corvo muttered back eventually. "No, you're not." Daud chuckled, and found himself looking back to Corvo, starting to understand a little bit more about how things were now. Corvo was an open book to him, always were, and the more they talked, the more he understood what he meant with all.

... Soon Corvo moved, fishing his lighter up from his pockets using his left hand, and.. Lit it close to Daud's face, the man looking curiously to the flame, them to Corvo.

"... What happened to you...?" Corvo found himself asking, eyes wide at how... Bad the wound-... No- scar, looked. Daud's lips thinned, and once he spotted Corvo's face... He knew where it was from, yet.. Got a bit of a serious look in his eyes.

"Still a sucker for face punches, I see." Daud joked, but did have some concern behind it. "Don't avoid the question." Corvo replied sharply back.

Daud... Sighed. Then looked away, the lighter being put back into Corvo's pocket. That's when Daud noted a hand, moving up to him. To his face. ... Then some pressure at his cheeks, along his chin. Warmth. And the handle of the umbrella...

... Daud leaned in to it, closing his eyes, just for a moment as he exhaled.

"Sword fight getting out of it. A year ago..."

Corvo huffed.

"Fucking bastards..." He said, voice dripping in malice.

Daud... Nodded.

Corvo's hand lingered, not sure what to do with it, else than to pull the man in front of him closer to him. To untangle their fingers, and reach out to Daud, who. Was here now, and most certainly wouldn't reach out to him, the damned idiot. At least he managed to find him. And to talk, explain whatever he needed to explain.

He removed the hand eventually, and untangling the hand with Daud's, to hold the umbrella with that hand. "Tonight, I was forced to not work... Went to a pub, and spent an hour or two there... It was like being home, you know." Corvo started, just to talk. "Felt a lot like those times, when we ended up together at the bar... We would people watch, see them go by, get drunk... Even music, though it was worse here than home." Daud kept quiet.

"I miss home." Corvo muttered, the meaning behind these words more loaded with meaning than he realised himself. And looking at Daud, this statement was something he too felt. Maybe the same way that he had.

"... So, no new home?" Daud asked, knowing he had to.

Corvo shock his head.

And watched How Daud's free hands moved up to his face, first stroking a thumb against Corvo's now bruised cheekbones, while his other hand cupped his face. Corvo's lips parted, like taking in a breath.

Then Daud waited, for a moment. Asking for permission. Which Corvo granted, leaning ever so slightly down to the other, as Daud tip toed to reach him, as they had done many times. The first kiss was a light peck, lips meeting lips, testing the waters. Then another light peck followed, and more after that. Daud's lips were dry and chapped, while Corvo's warm and dry too, yet it didn't really matter for either of them. Now Corvo's left hand cupped Daud's face, and the other, draped over his shoulder, to then hold a hand on the back of his head, as if he didn't want him to leave. Which he did, just for a moment, their lips lingering so close they brushed against each other, and noses nudging against each other as they moved to... Inch a little bit closer, in a moment of needing to breathe. Their lips met again, this time leaving out the pecks, and instead pushing against each other with hunger behind it. They didn't care if anyone was watching, didn't mind if someone saw them. This was all about them.

Not knowing nor caring how much time had passed, eventually they separated, Corvo mostly breathing through his nose, but finding it to not be enough to manage to stay with Daud for any longer than this. Daud pulled back too, though oddly enough his hands had moved, down to Corvo's shoulders, and had rested there for a while, and wasn't moving even as they pulled from each other. Between parted lips, Corvo was catching his breath, Daud too, and it ended with both of them crashing together again, their kisses intensifying with every breath they shared between each other.

They ended up so caught in this that they leaned over the rope railing, Daud stopping them though before they toppled over the railing, by taking a hold of Corvo's waist and angling him away from this, Corvo gasping in between kisses as he was moved, though he had yet to realise that was why Daud touched him like that.

Eventually, they both parted, cheeks flush red and lips slightly swollen from playful bites, both happy to see each other in their own little way.

When Daud parted from him, he stopped being on his tip toes, and now, leaned his head against Corvo's collarbone due to Corvo kinda making him, who slowly stroked his hand through Daud's hair, as if trying to soothe him. It didn't really, but it didn't mean Daud didn't like it. He just wouldn't admit to that, even though his cheeks revealed his feelings very well... Good thing they were both hidden under darkness.

... Usually it wasn't this... Longing. Grumbling internally, Daud just... Relaxed. Corvo as well, the man actually slightly dizzy.

"... Got a bed tonight?" Corvo asked, a fair question for Daud. With his home sold, it was likely he hadn't spent his coin on a new one.

"No." Daud muttered, sort of understanding the more "hidden" question behind Corvo's words, but still being blunt about it.

"We're allowed visitors in our rooms." Corvo muttered, Daud feeling the vibrations from Corvo's voice on his forehead, as he had angled himself to lay his head like that, nose tucked up against the lower parts of Corvo's neck.

"Hrm. Tempting." Daud rumbled, smiling. Corvo swore he could feel that, how his shirt ever so slightly moved up where Daud's cheek where resting.

"Been a while since I've slept in a proper cot." Daud joked, and nudged with his head that he was standing up straight, which Corvo let him.

Once he stood facing Corvo again, Corvo smiled. "It's not big, but we'll make do."

"Agreed. But I'll have to collect my things first. I'd rather not have it found by any quick witted thief."

"That can be arranged." And with this, Corvo took a hold of Daud's arm, and started to pull at him, all while holding the umbrella still, having made sure that they were both under it during their first moments of reuinion. Daud didn't even hesitate as he let himself be dragged along, the two of them idly chatting on the way, about things they've learned, Corvo more than Daud, but that was usually how it was always.

Over a few rooftops, and down into a window, to then end up in an apartment left empty for what seemed to be years, Daud collected his bag and gear, his sword always having been on his hip from the moment he decided to hold it. As he went back to Corvo, he showed Corvo his new crossbow with lots of pride, the two men swinging out of the window afterwards, Corvo challenging his partner to a race. One that he won, though he could swear something was up sometimes as Daud wasn't heard for a moment or two. It was most likely in his head.

Eventually Corvo went back to his room, one more "special" than the others, as it wasn't anyone in there else from him. With his position came some benefits, of course. And it wasn't exactly at the barracks, so it was easier to sneak in there than elsewhere.

Daud came in through the window, just for the fun of it, and eventually, they both slotted themselves to sleep after a meal, enjoyed over silence, as they would back home. They fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow.

Corvo woke up to Daud still sleeping beside him, drooling ever so slightly on his arm he was resting his head under. Corvo didn't care, and found himself huffing while tossing an arm over him.

Enjoying the moment.

Once both were awake, Daud the more grumpy morning person than Corvo as he hadn't had a lot of sleep as of late, still found himself relaxed enough to eat another meal with Corvo, and promise he'd come back later that day.

And he did, wearing the same shirt he had "happened" to take by "accident". One of Corvo's.

#Dishonored #asks #corvo x daud #corvodaud #knifecrow #corvo attano #daud #prompt fill #this was so fun to write #thank you so much for the prompt again! :DD #i'm pretty rusty so I hope this is ok!#young fools being in love #i didn't have many ideas and this was all I came up with... :') I'm so sorry

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septemberskye · 5 years

Note

Angst/fluff prompt #78 - “You’re worth it.” Corvo/Daud pretty please :D

Head’s up: there’s on-screen bone-breaking in this one, but it’s not graphic.

Daud has words for whoever gathered the intelligence on Dapper Rodney. It’s true that he and the Roaring Boys are “poorly organized and supplied, with no detectable power structure” but “a minimal threat” they are not.

He rattles the handcuffs.

Some half-wit (and he knows it wasn’t one of his Whalers, they would’ve given him an accurate report) is going to catch it if he can manage to get loose. He doesn’t like his chances, though.

With the Geezer finally dead and buried, Rodney had the idea to form a gang of his own and started operating out of a tumbledown warehouse on the edge of Draper’s Ward. Daud had suspected the power vacuum left from the Hatters’ collapse was the only thing that let them last long enough to become a problem, and now he knows he was right, along with a few other things that aren’t very important at the moment.

He’d just meant to get out and stretch his legs a bit, investigate a little. He hadn’t even left a note to say where he was going, thinking he’d be back before he was missed. And it has been easy, so easy to sneak in, look around, and take some notes, all while perched safely up in the rafters.

Well. He thought.

Dapper Rodney has a tallboy.

The ground had started shaking and he recognized what it was immediately (though all the tallboys were supposed to be decommissioned and hauled off for scrap, how had the Roaring Boys gotten their hands on one?) and dropped his pen as he fumbled to get it put back in his pocket because he had to leave. He watched with mounting horror as it fell, tumbling end over end, and hit the ground, springing apart into so many incriminating pieces. It was a fancy one too, with little bits of gold here and there. Not the kind of thing that might blend into all the dirt on the floor.

Someone walking past had noticed the pen scattered around, then he got the tallboy’s attention, and he’d been the one to actually see Daud. He imagines they wore about the same looks of surprise. And it had all been downhill from there—he’d abandoned stealth in favor of speed and tried to run, and then they all chased him, and then—

Well, it doesn’t matter how he got caught and he doesn’t want to think about it anyway, it’s pissing him off too much. Nothing like this has happened since Black Sally tried to put his eye out.

The Roaring Boys had a fun time roughing him up and crowing over his Mark, and now he’s handcuffed to a leaky pipe in a mostly-dark room, he might have a couple of cracked ribs, he certainly has more bruises than he wants to count, and the whole left side of his face hurts—Dapper Rodney has a vicious right hook. He doesn’t know what else they’re going to do to him—doesn’t think even they’ve figured it out yet—but he doubts it’ll be pleasant.

He just hopes they don’t try to ransom him to the Abbey.

He uses his Void gaze to get a better look at his surroundings. It’s some kind of storage room, there’s shelves on the opposite wall, maybe he could—no. He can’t pull his hand out from behind himself far enough to tether anything helpful. There’s a big tool chest a few feet away he could probably get, but that would knock it over and get everyone’s attention.

There’s nothing for it, he supposes, and tries to just pull his hands through the cuffs.

He stops at that when he notices he’s chafed himself raw and leans on the pipe, grimacing at everything that hurts. He’s been an idiot, a thrice-damned fool, and now he’s paying the price.

A few minutes later, there’s voices outside. They go on for a little while, then there’s a sound like someone being shoved into the door and Daud hears, “Just do it, you piss-ant, I don’t need a reason!”

A scrawny, greasy character with the worst half-assed beard Daud’s ever seen comes stumbling in, adjusting his crumpled top hat and grumbling under his breath, but he stops when he realizes he’s being looked at and his lip curls. Daud tries to hide the hitch in his breathing as he saunters closer, not wanting to give him an easy target.

“Not so tough are you now, eh?” the man says in a thick Morley brogue. “Knife of Dunwall.”

Daud doesn’t dignify that with a response.

“You’re stuck.” He pokes Daud’s chest with a very grimy finger. “And we did that. Us, the Roaring Boys.”

“Are you sure?” The man’s probably scared of him, Daud thinks. His eyes keep flickering around like he’s half-expecting Daud to break loose and come for his throat, and he wouldn’t be trying so hard to gloat if he wasn’t at least a little afraid. If he can push him just far enough, he’ll go away.

“Shut up,” he snaps, but he doesn’t look so brave now. “We can take anybody that would come for you.”

“I doubt—” before Daud can even finish his sentence, the man rears back and hits him right in the solar plexus, hard. He doubles over as much as he can, breath leaving him all in a rush as most of his vision goes dark with spots, and fucking Void, that hurts.

“Shut up!”

Daud’s feeling very spiteful, and wants him to piss off and leave him alone, so he turns his hand and tethers the tool chest. Everything in it spills out all over the place and the man just about jumps out of his skin before he flushes an ugly red and grabs a pipe wrench.

Daud feels the bones in his calf break before the pain registers. Then it’s all he can do to stand somewhat upright as the man waves the wrench around and shouts, “None of that shit! You do it again and the other one goes, you hear?!”

“Hey!” Someone else looks in. “Leave him alone, the boss wants him one piece!”

“Leon just told me to—”

“Shut it! I don’t want any lip from you!”

He makes a rude gesture at whoever told him off and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him and muttering, “Fuckin’ witch…”

Daud eases himself onto the ground, breathing shallowly through gritted teeth. That did not go the way he’d planned.

Nothing is going the way he planned.

He’s not sure how long he sits there in the dark. Eventually he starts getting hungry and it finally sinks in that he’s going to miss dinner. Void, what’s Corvo going to think? Wyman? Emily? They’ve just started building a fragile trust, and now he’s gone off and left without a word to any of them, with no idea of when he might be back.

Or if.

He can’t even walk.

Fuck, unless the Roaring Boys try to give him to the government to collect the price that’s still technically on his head because he technically isn’t spymaster yet (unlikely) he might die still handcuffed to the pipe.

Oh, Void.

He feels a couple of tugs on the other end of the arcane bond—someone’s looking for him but he’s not going to take the bait, not even enough to check who it is. He’d need four, maybe five of them, all fully armed, to get out of this scrape and he can’t summon that many, especially not with the shape he’s in.

And—oh no.

If he dies, all the Whalers will know instantly (he thinks) because the bond will break. Leonid and Montgomery would take it especially hard, and he doesn’t want to—

He’s just going to have to get out.

Somehow.

As soon as he has the thought, the temperature in the room plummets, feeling like winter seawater, and Daud can see his breath fog in the little light there is until most of it is blotted out by a shadow that slowly grows denser.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Not you.”

“Oh, Daud,” the Outsider says. Interestingly, he gives off a faint blue-purple light of his own. “What trouble you’re in this time.”

“Don’t remind me.”

He drifts closer, a few inches above the ground as always, and lays a hand on Daud’s calf, right above the break. He comes close to snapping at him for it, but his hand weighs nothing at all and is so cold it dampens the pain. “And yet you’re still so determined to escape—”

“I know,” Daud interrupts. He’s very short of patience and knows the Outsider won’t do anything worse than give him the silent treatment as punishment. “Are you going to do anything useful or just float there and talk?”

“Dapper Rodney found his tallboy by the Wrenhaven. It’s operator abandoned it, hoping no one would ever find out what he’d done, and he drowned when he tried to swim across the river. I suppose his wish was granted, in a way.”

Daud blinks. That’s…surprisingly straightforward, and gets rid of the worries that someone—an officer looking to flee the country, maybe—had sold it to the Roaring Boys.

Of course the Outsider has to go and ruin it.

“Just how do you propose to escape? Your hands are bound, and unless you can fashion a splint and hobble off, I don’t see how—”

Daud grinds his teeth. He doesn’t want to hear it. “Can you do something helpful and go away?”

“Hmm,” he says, and then he’s gone.

*****

Corvo, Emily decides, is worried.

It’s always hard to see on him, but he’s looking at every noise just a little too fast, and he fidgets with the silverware, running his thumb along the engraving. She’s certain it has something to do with Daud’s conspicuously empty chair. There’s a full place setting waiting for him, so his absence is probably unplanned, which would fit with Corvo’s nervousness. She knows they’re…close, even if she still can’t bring herself to like it. Or him.

She gives his chair a hard look, hoping he’s not gone strange again. He’d done that—holed up in his room or his office depending on the time, just about refusing to come out of either because of some odd sense of guilt. Corvo had been horribly worried when he found out, and now Emily has to live with the knowledge that they’ve started sharing a room.

Wyman comes in and sits down beside her, but she doesn’t feel like talking and mostly ignores them even though it makes her feel a bit badly, folding her hands in her lap and picking at the cuticles. Callista would scold her for it if she were here, but she’s not and can’t do anything about it, so there. In the corner of her eye, she can see Wyman glance between her, Corvo, and Daud’s empty chair, and they hum softly. They’re clever, they’ll figure it out.

Emily sighs and hears a strange not-sound, everything going muted like the room is full of treacle instead of air. She shivers, glances up, and the table—no, everything is grey, with a strange distortion making it all look just slightly wrong. She raises her eyes and gasps because there’s a person in Daud’s chair, a young man, dressed very nicely and sitting very upright. There’s darkness spilling off him like smoke, and his eyes are pitch black from edge to edge.

“Room for one more?” he asks, smiling slightly.

Corvo does not have the reaction Emily was expecting.

“No,” he hisses, half-standing and pointing an accusing finger the intruder. “I told you, you’re not to talk to Emily, she’s had enough trouble without someone finding out you’ve spoken to her. She doesn’t need the Abbey breathing down her neck, they’d want Daud and I killed—”

“Relax, Corvo. I’ve halted time.”

Emily stares at him. What?

Corvo grits his teeth and sighs. “Why have you come?”

“Really, I thought you’d be more pleased to see me. I’ve just spoken to Daud—”

“Where is he?” The intruder levels him with a look like Corvo’s the rudest person he’s ever met, really, he cannot believe people these days, and he quiets. “I apologize.”

Now Emily stares at the intruder, because she’s realized she’s sitting across from the Outsider (she’s almost angry at herself for not figuring it out earlier, but she wasn’t exactly expecting the whale god to appear at her dinner table, of all places). The Outsider gives her a look like he’s read her thoughts, and she hurriedly looks away, unnerved.

Wyman just stares, transfixed. The Outsider barely looks any older than them.

“Where is he?” Corvo asks again, his voice low and quiet like he’d much prefer to be louder.

“Draper’s Ward.”

*****

“So,” Slackjaw drawls. “You want me to round up a few of mine and go down to Draper’s with you ’n them”—he nods at the Whalers—“so you can pick up someone you’re sweet on while we beat all of Dapper Rodney’s within an inch of their lives.”

Corvo crosses his arms, wishing Slackjaw wasn’t quite so observant. All he’d called Daud was a friend. “Yes.”

Slackjaw sighs, considering. Then he levers himself off the edge of his desk and says, “Of course we’ll go. Rodney’s been pissing me off lately, anyway, he needs the lesson. Let me find a few of the boys.”

*****

Daud grits his teeth and tries to breathe deeply and slowly. Montgomery had explained to him once how shallow breaths did more harm than good, and it all made perfect sense at the time and sounded wonderfully logical, but he aches all over and it’s hard.

His calf hurts, his boot feeling strangling tight around it, and he’s grateful for the dribble of water leaking out of the pipe. It’s cool and distracting. His one consolation is that his ribs might not actually be cracked, just bruised, except when he thinks that, he starts to laugh.

He’s probably going to die, but at least his ribs are alright.

Oh, Void.

At least no one else has come to bother him, that’s a small mercy. He closes his eyes and tries to get as comfortable as he can. He doubts he’s going anywhere.

A few minutes later, someone goes running past the door, boots pounding heavily. Then another person, and there’s a sound like a grenade’s gone off somewhere. He hears the tallboy stomp away, and things suddenly get much louder.

Daud just stares at the sliver of light shining under the door. It sounds like there’s a full-fledged gang fight happening just outside the warehouse.

He sighs.

He certainly doesn’t want to be involved in it, and resignedly tries to pull his hands out of the cuffs again. He has no idea what he’ll do if it actually works this time, but he’d rather not be a sitting duck for whoever else has shown up to find. He supposes he doesn’t even really have to get away, just find someplace out of sight and hunker down long enough for the gangs to sort themselves out. Then he can summon Thomas and Tynan and have them help him while the Roaring Boys are distracted.

Of course, that plan goes about as well as all the others he’s made, and he’s still well and truly stuck.

A soft voice outside the room says, “He’s in here,” and Daud goes very still, thinking shit.

The door opens, and the person responsible is very short, they don’t look like any of the heavy-built thugs Dapper Rodney seems to favor, but he can’t make out any other details because the person is backlit. Then they turn their head, revealing a Whaler’s mask and what in the Void is Leonid thinking—

She steps aside, and Corvo comes in, followed by a slightly bow-legged figure that can only be Slackjaw. Corvo hurries toward him and drops to his knees, touches his face with gentle fingers and draws back when Daud flinches.

“Are you alright?”

“‘M fine.” Fine enough, at least. He’ll live. “They handcuffed me—”

Corvo glances up at Slackjaw, but he flaps a hand dismissively. “Relax, I brought my picks.”

He crouches down, knees popping loudly, and sets to work, finishing surprisingly quickly. The cuffs fall with a clank, and before he can protest, Corvo and Slackjaw have each taken one of his hands and heave him up like he doesn’t have broken bones.

He can’t stop the strangled, pained noise and gasping breath that follow, but at least they’re quick to catch on and rearrange him so he’s between the two of them with an arm draped their shoulders.

“Seems to me you’re not fine,” Slackjaw says cheerfully.

Daud rolls his eyes.

When she catches sight of him, Leonid bites her lip and furrows her brow, clearly worried, but she keeps her head. “This way,” she says, and starts walking. Daud’s proud of her.

She leads them past the worst of the fighting, though they do have to duck to the side and wait for Tynan and one of Slackjaw’s men to finish dealing with a few of the Roaring Boys. Then they’re out of the warehouse and hurrying down the street—though they’re still not very fast.

There’s a rail car waiting and Thomas helps bundle him into it, then they’re off. Daud leans into Corvo’s side, tucking his face against his neck, and he lets him, even wraps his arm around him to pull him closer. Daud has questions he’d like answered, but he’s exhausted.

Questions can wait.

*****

“It’s good to see you’re feeling better.”

Daud pauses in demolishing his plate of peppercorn blood ox and potatoes long enough to glance up at him, then grunts and sets back into it like he’s not going to see food again for a month. Corvo pulls a chair up to the bed and lets him, they can talk when he’s done. Between the cast, the rings of bandages around his wrists, and the black eye, he looks terrible—but, Corvo tells himself, it could be much worse. This isn’t anything he can’t recover from, even if he will be sullen until Montgomery lets him get back to life as usual.

Eventually Daud lays his fork down and pushes the tray away, finished.

“What happened?” Corvo asks.

Daud sighs, frowns. “Thought I’d go see what the Roaring Boys were doing, the report I got said they weren’t good for much of anything, but I dropped my fucking pen and their tallboy saw me—and they modified it somehow, it doesn’t have the bow anymore—but they caught me and I think Dapper Rodney came from one of the illegal boxing rings, he acts like they do, and he did this.” He gestures at the black eye and Corvo nods, trying not to smile. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but Daud never rambles like this unless he’s had medication and it’s endearing.

“And then they stuck me in that damn room and one of them sent in some idiot to see if I was,” he waves one hand like he’s trying to grab words out of the air, “still alive, and I pissed him off so he broke my leg. And then the Outsider showed up so I told him to leave, I didn’t want to deal with him, and he did, and then you got there and now here I am.” He sits there silently for a moment, and then his eyes narrow. “Wait.”

Corvo lets him think, wondering where his mind’s gone now.

He points an accusing finger. “You brought Slackjaw, why didn’t you take the Watch? If anyone finds out you were there, you could—” Corvo tries to head him off, but Daud won’t have it. “No, you should’ve taken Curnow instead, if someone saw you were with Slackjaw you could get sent back to Coldridge, why did you—”

“Daud—”

“Why did you come at all?”

Corvo stills. Surely he can’t think—

“Daud, listen.” He catches his hands, giving him one less thing to distract himself with. “Listen to me. You’re worth it.” Daud tries to protest. “You are. And if something like this happens again, I will come for you again, alright?”

Daud looks stunned that he would say such a thing, like he doesn’t really believe it. “Alright.”

“Do you want me to sleep here or in my room?” Corvo doesn’t want to run the risk of hurting him by shifting around in the night, what with the broken bones, but he’ll stay if Daud wants him to.

He falters. “Here.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He gives his hands a squeeze, rises from the chair, and leaves the room. Out in the hallway, he sighs and scrubs his hands over his face.

He and Daud will need to talk in the morning.

#veechaos #this got longer than anticipated #corvo x daud #dishonored #hope you enjoy :3 #prompt fill

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elaianna · 5 years

Text

Old

[ Music ]

There was a calm in the ocean surf. Not entirely unusual, but a blessing nonetheless. The coastlines of Stormsong Valley had a propensity for difficulty, and it was always a boon to any sailor when her waters sat as glass. The only turbulence in the evening tide was the 'slosh!' of a particular sailor's boots as he wade through, hands set to pulling the timbers of his rowboat. Of all the harboursides that Tom could have taken to with a grand greeting -- he was a Duke now, after all -- he still preferred to arrive home surreptitiously. Thus it was that he dragged his rowboat to shore and settled her in the soft sands of Stormholme's beachhead. A few shakes of the leg, and he had dislodged the majority of the seawater which clung to him. A cursory glance at the moon pickled his stomach -- he was definitely late.

Pregnancy had a way of either making one sleep too much, or making sleep seem impossible. Tonight it was the latter. Tossing and turning, Elaianna could not rest. Not with how active the little one was. Nor with the knowledge that Thomas hadn't arrived home yet. She worried, even more than she often did. When pacing within Stormholme Castle no longer sufficed, she had taken it upon herself to wander down to the harbor, despite protests from a handmaiden. Protests that only made Elaianna send her handmaiden away for the eve so she needn't listen to them. She didn't remember how long she had waited atop the wharf. She just knew that she had sat there long enough that she didn't think she was getting up without any help. Karma, perhaps, for sending her handmaiden away. At the sight of a rowboat, she squinted until it came closer in view and she made out the familiar form of her husband. Relief.

There was a trepidation to Thomas' steps, even visible in the wide-spread of moonlight. He seemed to be trying to step quietly, and without inviting attention. An admirable attempt, but he was quite wet and treading through ankle-deep sand in boots coat with briny water. The totality of effect was ... humorous, to say the least. He looked a bit like a crab with booties on as he made his way toward the wharfhead -- apparently not noticing his wife above.

Perhaps she should feel frustration at his attempts to sneak around, but as she watched him try to step lightly and quietly, she couldn't help but feel amused. Her head turned as she followed him make his way around the wharf's stairs and up, unknowingly, towards her. She waited for the moment he'd realize she was right there.

It did not take long -- Thomas stopped mid-step in the middling of the staircase up the wharf. The bloom of moonlight illuminated her form, and he had his ankle in the air when he made eye-contact with her. A short pause was punctuated by the comical 'creeeeak!' of wood as he plant his foot down. One of his hands rose like molasses, eventually wiggling in a greeting to her.

She didn't speak. She didn't smile, nor did she frown. She gave him the same passive expression she wore in meetings and in public, hiding her emotions and thoughts from her face-- and lifted her hand to wiggle her fingers in greeting to him.

“-- Uh, hey gal. Didn' figure you ta' be up at this hour.”

The Admiral attempted, without much earnest success, to seem nonchalant about his peculiar timing of arrival. He knocked one boot against the wharfhead to dislodge some sand.

Elaianna held her hand up and out towards him in silent indication to help her up. At least she had finally acquired a helping hand without needing to call out for it. "Nor did I figure you would be out and about at this hour." There was no hesitance. He came forward with an immediacy, one of his fat-fingered hands stretched outward to assist her. He came closer at that, a defensive nature to his posture that had become all-too-common in her pregnancy. His voice lacked some of it's usual boister, ".. Took on some errand a' task out in th'city. On th'upright, it was a pleasant spit a' sail and rowing t'Boralus. Figure't it'd be less wholesome considerin' the Spring-time tides, but -- was pleasant."

She rose to her feet with the aid of her husband, her hand catching on his arm as she stood, to keep herself steady. "What business? I don't recall mention of it-- I don't think the baby brain would have made me forget that." Yet, she was doubting herself.

Thomas puckered with some colour of humor at the phrase 'baby-brain'. He hid it well enough though, only allowing the corners of his lips to really suffer for the thought. "-- Ain't a man allow't a pinch a' secrecy? Mayhap I took occasion t'find you a gift a' some proper such-and-such ... " He let his voice trail off, allowing his eyes to bubble open in his best 'puppy' expression. It was not entirely cute, given his stout features, but it approximated such.

That caused her to raise a brow as he asked about being allowed a pinch of secrecy. She wrinkled her nose, the start of a frown tugging at her lips. They had never had secrets before. At least, he hadn't, and she didn't lie to him about Daud. She just omitted. "I don't believe you," she told him simply. "But... Evidently, you do not wish to share, and I am your wife, not your keeper."

Thomas brought his own face into a frown. It was not subtle, like her sensation of such. There was little room for subtle expression in Thomas' facial features -- his rubberized expressions were all-or-nothing, on most occasions. A slight sigh passed his lips and he looked about, as if there were someone about to listen in on them at their own harbour. "-- Do ya' think I'm old?"

She blinked a few times at his query, looking up to him with confusion. "Old?" she asked, as if she hadn't heard him right. "No, and... Even when you do become old, and grey," she reached up, curling her finger around a lock of his ginger hair-- silently thankful that gingers didn't show their age as quickly as others--, "What will it matter?"

He pinched his lips -- and indeed his whole face -- to one side. There was a momentary cooing expression at her touch, as was so common to himself at her barest affection. But the roll of his brows and the furrow present, with a mild squint, left him looking unsatisfied at her answer. "... Right, right. I s'pose I ought be thankful a' that."

“Thankful that you're not old? -- I'm sorry, dear, but you've got me terribly confused.”

“Thankful --” Thomas paused, looking a little squirreled up in the face. “ -- that y'don't mind it so much, s'pose. I'm gabberin' wholesale, sorry gal. Think I may've swallowed a cup too much a' seawater.” He pushed up his cheeks, allowing a bubble of laughter to leave.

Elaianna raised both brows, allowing the barest hint of a smile as he laughed. "Is that a new drink? Seawater Whiskey?" Placing a hand upon his shoulder, her head tilted to the side, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "What's all this about? There's nothing to mind, and yet, you're minding something an awful lot, Thomas."

He pushed out his lower lip, a sausage-finger waggling at her in gesture, "-- I think it ought ta' be, perhap. Seawater Whiskey -- coul' be my brand someday, when I get all old n' grey an' retire t'make whisky all day." There was a chuckle to him, but it sounded somewhat hollow. ".. Mind? I ain't mindin' nothin' -- we both know I ain't exactly well-burdened in the 'mind' department, love."

“Thomas..”

At her tone, Thomas raised a brow to his wife.

"What's gotten into you?”

A passing glance fell outward to the sea, and he shrugged a shoulder. "Ain't nothin' gotten inta' me, gal. Jus' spittin' gob-all as I do, y'know. Mayhap someday I'll get aroun' ta' putting in a filter between ma' mind and ma' mouth -- reckon it'd be a useful investiture, aye?" A sense of humor came up in his voice, eyes pinched in a squint from the rising of his cheeks.

Elaianna placed her hand on his cheek, gently guiding his attention back to her. "I think that'd be a terrible idea. It'd change you too much, and to be quite honest, I much prefer the Thomas wherein I can tell when something's bothering him. Even if I don't quite know what." She gave his cheek a gentle pat before lowering her hand.

Thomas inched himself toward her out of instinct, the touch of her hand a comforting sensation. It was apparent in the way his blood ran hotter against his skin, and the glide of her palm gave his eyes to a momentary flutter. Quite a contrasted, school-boy demeanour in comparison to his salt-weary exterior. At her departure, he tilt his head to eye her face.

“... If'n you laugh at me on occasion a' this -- I warn ya' -- I'll have t'go to th'Cathedral in Stormwind t'invest in a chastity belt. Aye?”

At his words, Elaianna placed a hand on the swell of her stomach. "Fortunately, I've already got what I need in that department." Her features split into a grin. "I tease. I won't laugh. I promise. When have I ever laughed at anything that's so profoundly bothered you?"

Thomas looked away and to the side, his vision settling on the rolling of the surf. Gentle, earnest, consistent. A comfort in all ways -- any sailor would agree. "... Aye, aye. I reckon m'due is paid there, mm?" He pushed out his own humor, a sidelong grin planted on his lips. "... It soun's damned stupid, an' it is." He looked at her fully, his features showing something of his weary state. "Folk keep crackin' at me fer' being ... old. Used ta' be just a gas, a wily snip at th'fact of m'earlier birthin'. I reckon that, I do. I get it well-on, a ribbin'. But now ... seems like -- " He sighed, head shaking. "-- dumb, dumb. Dumb thing ta' fuss about."

She bobbed her head with a small nod in understanding. "If people say something enough times to you.. if you hear it often enough... it wears on you," she spoke in understanding. She may not have been called 'old' but she had been called plenty else in her time. "But... you know what?"

He pushed up a caterpillar at her query, looking uncertain. “-- What?”

She smiled up at him. "You've more life in you than anyone else I know. Even those younger than both of us. Life. Fire. Passion."

Thomas brought his lips to something of an amusement, his chin flexing beneath the scrape of his stubble. A softness ate up his eyes against the weary circles beneath them, "I .. try. Folk keep on gettin' younger an' younger, seem'st to be." A small acre of fondness kept one of her caterpillars aloft, ".. Th'little ones keep me feelin' alive, I will admit. Damn't if I don't feel ten years younger whenever I have ta' chase Nerina with a handful a' cake, tryin' to 'save it for later' in the pockets of her skirts ... "

Elaianna laughed softly and shook her head as he spoke of Nerina's antics. "Tides know I can't chase her these days." Looking up to him, she kept her smile. "They keep getting younger, because we keep making them," she added, with a pat of her belly. "They don't get much younger than this."

Thomas looked down at her stomach, following the 'pat' of her hand. What soft smile he wore came to full light, the moon's illumination providing a plentiful source with which to reflect upon his toothy smile. "-- Well it ain't my fault. You're th'one what does all the seductifiying. Ain't my nature t'be so, obviously -- " He gestured to himself, salt-tinged tricorne and all. With a tilt forward, he came near enough to plant a smooch to her forehead, mumbling, ".. I love ya', Anna. Sorry I'm so ancient as I am."

She rolled her eyes as he accused her of being the one to do all of the 'seductifying'. She seemed to recall a particular birthday present. "Oh, please. You say that, but all you have to do is look at me, and I'm... what was it you called it? 'Seductified'." Her head tilted forward to meet his, the top of her head pushing his tricorne up and back on the Admiral's head. "I love you too, Thomas... and, I'll accept that apology when you're ancient, but that time isn't yet."

Thomas hummed at her accusations in the field of seductory behavior. He looked unconvinced, lips pulled taut. "That th'fact of it, then? Well mayhap I ought not ta' make so much eye-contact with ya', then, love. We'll have a whole host a' heirs all stuffin' cake down their drawers." Both nostrils flared, forcing air out in a stifled laugh. He came close enough to embrace her, laying both arms about her shoulders to hug her to him. ".. Gimme another fifteen minutes or so, gray-hairs will kick in proper." At the risk of dislodging his hat, he leaned down to nuzzle the tip of his nose against her hair.

Elaianna slipped her arms around his torso, leaning in to the embrace. As he nuzzled her hair, her eyes fluttered shut- content. "Is spending fifteen minutes with me truly so stressful?" she prodded with a lilt to her voice betraying her own humor.

@thomasstalsworth @atc-wra

#The Stalsworths #The Lady and The Sailor #RP #WRA #IC #Canon

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srrrokka · 5 years

Note

Wip meme: blood (ik you'll have fun with this one :)

[Give me a word and I’ll quote it from my fic WIPs]

Please note that my WIPs are mostly a mess of notes, half written scenes, dialogue snippets, and so on, therefore this might look a wee bit weird.

Blind AU

But the moment burst like a soap bubble when a trickle of blood suddenly poured out of Corvo’s nose. Corvo licked his upper lip reflexively and frowned. He touched it and looked at his fingers to confirm his suspicion. He sighed but didn’t look alarmed.

“It’s fine, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He tried to reassure both Thomas and Daud who in the meantime approached the other two and was now having a closer look at Corvo with a deep frown on his face.

Out of lack of better options Corvo put the hem of his sleeve to his nose to soak up the blood that only started flowing heavier.

Corvo grinned widely, teeth red with blood. But his triumphant demeanour got instantly broken by a coughing fit that pulled on his muscles and bowed him over in half.

“I get to see–” He covered his mouth with his left hand, an unpleasantly wet cough shook his body furiously. A single drop of blood rolled from between his fingers. “–you get to be seen.” He finished with some difficulty.

He looked at the palm of his hand, covered in splotches of blood, and made a face. The taste of copper in his mouth was overpowering. “You picked a gruesome one this time, huh?” He rasped out, the next inhale came out as a painful wheeze.

That’s a single scene hahahaha

“That won’t be necessary.” He pointed with his chin in the direction of the assassin’s blade. “Unless you just really want to kill me, then by all means, but I personally didn’t come here for bloodshed.”

“Why are you here, then?” Daud lowered his sword but didn’t put it away.

“See, I heard you have my daughter.”

It hurt. It hurt so much. His fingers touched a large, sharp splinter of the Void sticking out of his chest. It was slick with blood that was slowly dripping down onto the ground, a single bright flash of colour in an otherwise colourless world.

The Outsider slowly strolled into his field of vision. His hands were clasped behind his back and he looked with calm curiosity as Corvo struggled to catch a breath, as his knees buckled underneath him and he fell to the ground.

He pushed Corvo’s chin up with two fingers. A pleased expression was painted on his features, a stark contrast to desperation, fear, and suffering on Corvo’s. “You can see me now.” He brushed a bead of blood from the corner of the man’s mouth with his thumb, creating a long streak on his cheek. “The dying and the dead can always see me, my dearest Corvo.”

________________________

Soulmate AU

Paloma’s lips parted around a silent gasp and her eyes widened as she took in the splatter of blood on her son’s palms. It stood out with bright crimson against his olive tanned skin. She took his smaller hands in hers carefully and rubbed her thumbs along the splotches. He was right, it wasn’t coming off.

The person on the other side of the bond spilled blood. But was it someone else’s or was it… their own? It wasn’t that uncommon to find a singular splash of blood on your hands and then never hear from the other again… She hoped, for her son’s sake, that it was not the case.

________________________

With Your Single Word (Token)

It felt good. It gave Corvo a sense of dark joy to see the hand that hit him so many times over the last months, fall to the ground in a growing puddle of blood, to see shock twist Campbell’s features briefly before he grabbed his throat and drove the sword all the way to the hilt in the High Overseer’s torso from between his collarbones.

Corvo can’t stop looking at where the blood amber and bone are touching Daud’s skin.

C: I can take care of myself. I don’t think–

D: I know. I know you can. But you said it yourself - you’re my responsibility now. If something happens to you, it’s all on me. I don’t need your blood on my hands as well… [jaw tightens, looks away, his fingers close over the Token]

Daud believes him. There is something in his voice that sounds like blood on the edge of cold steel and screams of pain deep in the night. And Daud knows it, he knows the feeling of it intimately. Corvo’s cold fury resonates with him as if Corvo is speaking of what curls in his own chest.

D: That’s why you were so off…

C: What?

D: When we went to break out Stride.

C: [Stops for a moment] I spent many, many hours in that interrogation chair. My blood is probably a permanent fixture on the floor… But as happy as I was to see that place shredded, it was still– I still– [takes a deep breath] It’s not a good feeling to be back there.

“I imagine now you know how Corvo felt when you murdered the Empress with cold blood.” The voice came from just above his ear. “He held her the same way you’re holding him right now. Funny how both of those deaths were your fault.”

________________________

Inhuman AU

A silver spike he abandoned on the ground earlier pierces the monster’s head from the back, splattering blood onto Corvo’s face and then collapses on him, just a limp corpse.

As the corpse drops, Corvo sees Daud, who was standing behind it. He’s panting, absolute fury is lighting his eyes up.

Corvo wishes he could pass out…

________________________

Save Game

He finally stands up. His eyes seem to be unseeing, empty. Daud grabs his face with one blood-covered hand and forces him to look at him. “Corvo. Listen to me. If you don’t move, we’re both going to die.” Still no response, although his eyes at least look at him and not through him. “Just follow me, can you do that?” Corvo moves his head, shifting his jaw out of Daud’s fingers. Daud decides that it must be good enough.

________________________

High Corvo’s Chaos

C: So this is the part where we fight and one of us dies. Or neither. That’s also an option, I guess. Or both. Although, I find that rather unlikely. [Slowly advances towards Daud while touching and inspecting various things on the way like crates and bookcases, isn’t really looking at Daud but keeps him in his peripheral, sword still at his side and not in his hand] I must be honest with you, Daud, I don’t feel like this… clash between the two of us is going to resolve anything in particular. I’ve read some fun things about you in Burrows’s journal and well… I’m rather less inclined to cross blades with you than before. I especially don’t fancy spilling your blood, believe it or not. [he finally reaches Daud and stops a meter or so away from him, fingers lingering on one of the pillars holding up the small balcony in the chamber, he turns his eyes to him, gaze intense in a bit manic way] Do you want to spill mine? [tilts head]

________________________

Amnesia

There is a heartbeat of a moment when nothing happens. Everything stands still. There is just the rise and fall of Corvo’s chest, his hot breath in Daud’s ear, and the rush of his own blood, deafening in the silence. If Corvo Attano has been playing a really long game this would definitely be the culmination of it. The type where Daud ends up drowning in his own blood…

“Daud, please.” A shade of desperation creeps into Corvo’s voice as he cradles Daud’s cheek with his left hand, putting his unpleasantly dangling head upright again. His fingers leave smears of blood on his skin.

A bang on the door makes him jump, muscles tensing, and he squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees white as pain shoots up his side. His bloody fingers slide to Daud’s collar and he presses his forehead into his shoulder.

________________________

Witch!Corvo AU

‘Don’t let them touch us! Make them stop! Their hands are soaked in blood!’ Jessamine screeched in the back of his head, fury painting her voice.

Jessamine was in his arms. Blood was soaking through the front of her coat. “Corvo!” She called as if she was pulled away from him. And then her head fell limply to the side.

[…]

For a short moment there was only darkness and a sense of despair so overwhelming he couldn’t breathe. A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air.

Corvo touches the back of his head and comes up with fingers covered in blood. He raises one eyebrow at Daud pointedly. Than makes a symbol of glasses with his thumbs and pointing fingers in front of his face and then motions with his thumb in the direction of the infirmary.

Corvo was sitting cross-legged on the ground in the middle of the room. All around him, every reachable surface was covered in symbols drawn in whale oil and something else, maybe blood. The sigils seemed to form concentric circles with Attano at the very centre.

________________________

Body Swap AU

D: Black-eyed bastard.

C: Outsider. [Corvo nods in greeting]

O: It’s good to see the two of you getting along so well. [Appears behind Corvo] I see that you decided to take your fortune into your own hands, Corvo. Good job. Although… [Floats to in front of him] It would seem that your choices have very bloody consequences. [He takes Corvo’s chin in his long fingers to look at the drying blood still clinging to his skin]

D: [Grabs Outsider’s wrist] Don’t touch him.

O: [Slowly looks down on where Daud is touching him and the Daud in the face]

D: [Lets go]

O: [Appears on Daud’s other side] I never took you for a jealous type, Daud. Seems like I was wrong.

________________________

Scratch Session

He collapses, blood is flooding his lungs, pain makes him feel distant in some way. He lies on the floor, a growing puddle of red underneath him, and he watches Daud as he touches Jessamine’s cheek and the stone recedes. And he watches Daud hug his daughter. And then there’s nothing.

Something Daud did not expect was an actual fight. The Whaler holding Oz runs out of Pull and so the Lord Protector joins the fight but is stormed by Whalers so Corvo is still on his own against Daud without any weapons. He is half blind because of the blood pouring into his eye and he pleads with Daud to stop. He tries to knock him out but it’s really hard in that state.

The Whalers get Oz again and Corvo is getting woozy because of the pain and blood loss. Daud grabs his throat and pushes him against one of the balustrades and raises his blade to put it through his heart. Corvo gasps his name, clutching onto his arm with his left hand, the Mark stark as the day on his skin, and Daud freezes. He drops the sword and pulls Corvo, who is honestly ready to faint, into his arms. (“Void, Corvo, no no no no!” “You better fix this, Daud, because I am not being the Heart again…”)

In his open palm lied an intricate, silver brooch in the shape of a bird mid-flight, holding a round, polished piece of blood amber in its talons. He brushed his thumb over the meticulous detail of the minuscule engraved feathers and hummed in thought.

It was a crow.

________________________

Dark Matter

Corvo falls to his knees in the puddle of Daud’s blood. He touches his face, his eyes the colour of the clouds look unseeing into the sky. He scoops him up into his arms.

A drop, black like ink, falls onto Daud’s cheek. And then another. And another. And Corvo realises he’s crying. He didn’t notice. Everything is so distant…

Corvo couldn’t protect him. The same way he couldn’t protect Jess.

Everyone he loves dies.

________________________

TRC/DH1

Either way the Empress died because Pull still works on Corvo, but instead of being hurt after falling Corvo just gets up and continues fighting until Daud runs a sword through him and… nothing happens. Corvo looks Daud dead in the eye and the assassin takes a step back. his sword doesn’t have even a trace of blood on it.

________________________

Fugue Feast Story

“I don’t understand killing for fun.” Corvo signs, and sits down on the curb. “There is nothing fun in violence. I can accept killing for a reason - in defence, for revenge, for honour, even to some extent for money. But for fun? No, never.” Corvo touches the deep cut on his mask, not much longer and he would have probably lost his eye… He looks up at Daud “Murder is never fun.”

He looks to the side where the blood of the Butchers nearly reached his feet, crawling slowly towards him in the cracks in the pavement.

“Let’s go somewhere else…” he signs at Daud and gets up.

________________________

Apocalypse AU

“That is true… But have you?” His gaze rolled over the men and women surrounding them in a loose formation, whatever weapons they had out and ready to strike. They were all scared, apprehensive, unsure, Corvo noted. Several seemed to harbour a deep discontent towards him. Corvo grinned, after making sure his fangs were big enough to make them wonder if a well-aimed bite would be lethal. “You even brought friends with you. Just like old times.”

The knife pierced Daud’s skin and the man twitched in his hold, as a stream of hot blood spilled down his neck. Fear and intense anger swirled in him and Corvo couldn’t help but smile, eyes narrowed in delight.

#ask meme #replies #yo stuff #boringid

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exalok · 6 years

Text

Prince!Daud AU, part 4 (repost)

My dearest Corvo, the letter began, and Corvo heaved a long, deeply relieved sigh and settled down in the armchair to read.

I would ask your forgiveness for my silence, but I know you have not held it against me. I have been terribly busy setting up the necessary means of distribution for the supplies Serkonos will be sending us shortly. Prince Daud assured me the ships would arrive within the month; it has been hardly more than a week and already I am impatient to see the sails cresting the horizon as they sail up the Wrenhaven.

The plague continues to ravage my city. I fear for my people, but I know Serkonos will remain true, and our philosophers are hard at work looking for a cure. I know we will surpass this. Only believe me and it will become truth, rather than faith.

Tell me about your first days of marriage. Is Daud as sour as he seems? Does he sleep in the nude?

Corvo covered his face with his hands. It did nothing to stop the flush in his cheeks. Jess had always had a... very healthy sense of curiosity, and been entirely unafraid to sate it. Half anticipating disaster, half biting his lip to keep in his laughter, Corvo rested his head in one hand and kept on.

Tell me everything about his strange little habits and embarrassing secrets. I promise not to use any of it as blackmail, or spill a thing to my Spymaster. You know I will keep my word.

The smile choked him against his will. Corvo breathed in deep, then back out through his nose.

I began by saying I would not ask your forgiveness, but now I think I must – for I have taken this long to tell you something you have, I believe, waited to hear for nearly a year.

I gave birth. Two days ago. Another reason I did not write sooner.

Her name is Emily. Please forgive me for making you wait all this long letter to know.

Corvo's hands didn't shake, but still he heard, rumbling from the depths of the bed, Daud's voice:

“Attano.” A rustling of blankets as Daud moved, and the dry sound of paper. He'd been reading. “Something wrong.”

“Mm,” Corvo managed, his voice hoarse. He scraped away the wetness from his eyelids. “No.”

She is a wonder. Her hands and feet are so small, and her eyes – the truest blue! I wish you could see how beautiful she is, and hear how strong: I do believe she woke half of Dunwall Tower with her wailing when she found her first breath. She will amaze you. I imagine she does already, my dearest friend.

Waiting for your swift reply,

Your Empress,

Jessamine Kaldwin

Jess held a strange and special place in his heart; she knew this as well as he did, and the opposite was just as true. Not siblings, but just as conspiratorial; not lovers, nor sweethearts, but just as generous with the tender parts of themselves. Corvo shared in her joy for the existence of her daughter like the child, a child he had not even seen, was his own.

They had slept together once – when Jessamine was eighteen, a gorgeous and infuriating woman, some wild and momentary loss of control. The morning after she had looked at him from her seat at the vanity, him with his hair tangled in sleep, bleary-eyed, apprehensive, and she'd laughed and jumped on the mattress next to him, stroking the hair from his forehead.

I enjoyed last night very much, she'd said, cross-legged, her painted smile soft and genuine. But I don't think it should happen again.

Oh, yeah, he'd said right away, a certain tension running right out of him. I mean, no. I agree.

And she'd grinned and kissed his forehead, and had spent an hour brushing his hair into a silky ponytail.

They had never felt the urge again. Jessamine had fooled around with her fair share of lovers over the years, since – it was anyone's guess who Emily's father was, though when asked, Jess would always share a small, secretive smile, like she knew exactly who and wouldn't tell.

But –

Another series of rustles interrupted his thoughts as Daud shifted again, and the light in the room suddenly dimmed. The Prince had shut off his lamp. All that was left was the flickering glow of Corvo's candle.

“Goodnight,” Daud rumbled, or something close enough. The words were mostly muffled by the blankets. Within minutes his breathing had deepened, evening out, the rasp fading and dying out entirely.

Right. But none of that could change that she was an Empress, and Corvo existed to serve her. She'd never told him what the real purpose of this marriage was. He knew she kept certain things close to the chest – not even he knew her every secret – and he didn't fault her that caution, or that desire for privacy, but sometimes he didn't understand the reasoning behind any of it. He wished, a little, that if he had to be away from the closest friend he'd ever had, he could at least have been allowed to escape the opaque world of the court.

No luck: married to a Prince. He would have to make do.

His mood only slightly dampened, Corvo drew out a blank sheet of thick, expensive paper, grabbed a pen from the holder at the edge of the desk by the armchair, and started writing.

Jess,

I have seen with my own eyes the hours it takes you to keep your Empire going, so no, I don't fault you the time it took to write this letter. It is the same over here in Serkonos: Daud spends most of the day in his office, dealing with correspondence, or in council arguing over the state of the law, and only finds time for himself late in the evening. Quite a bit of it all has been about the supplies, what to send and where to take it from. Be certain Serkonos will keep to the deal.

Have more staff at the Tower fallen ill? Be careful. I worry now that I'm not there to shield you, should you need it, though I know you wouldn't have sent me away without ensuring your own safety first.

But my believing you, and believing in you, has never been in doubt. You will guide Dunwall through this. The plague won't know what hit it.

Now –

Corvo glanced back at Daud, the pen stilling in his hand. Silence at first, like a veil in the darkness of the royal bedroom, then the sound of cloth as Daud moved in his sleep. Corvo bent over the letter again.

Daud is quiet. Not so much sour as disapproving. He glares at my nails when they grow too long and my hair when it isn't tied. Other than that, he keeps to himself. His hands are always stained with ink, which I think is why he wears those gloves, and – I almost laughed when I found out – he puts lifts inside his shoes to look taller. Really he's an inch or two shorter than me. The glaring is almost endearing for it.

I'm not telling you what he looks like when he sleeps. You'll just have to find out for yourself.

Aside from that, he's terrible. No sense of self-preservation. You'd think he would know to keep himself surrounded, being the prince of an entire country, but no. It's very frustrating.

I am

Corvo swallowed, emotion getting the best of him again as he imagined that pink, wrinkled face in the crook of Jessamine's arm. The desperate surge inside him was difficult to couch in words. He hardly knew what to call it.

I am so happy. Emily is a beautiful name. Maybe you could convince Sokolov to paint her, and send me the portrait, so I could see her real face rather than let my imagination try to do it justice. It might even teach him to draw something other than sad, tired faces.

Tell me as much as you can about her. She'll have already grown so much by the time I can visit you in Dunwall.

He signed it with his name – nothing like the flourish Jess could trace from the tip of a quill, but familiar, the same as what he would have written at the end of a note left on the edge of her desk. There was no need for fancy curls between them.

Folded, addressed, and sealed with Daud's Karnaca-blue wax stick, imprinted with the ring Jess had given him as a parting present. Simpler than her own signet ring, but detailed enough: the head and long neck of a bird, bracketed by graceful curves like upraised wings. Her symbol. It was a little like he was still hers, when he pressed the mark into the hot wax and left the letter on top of the messages to be sent off in the morning.

The linens, when Corvo slid underneath the covers as quietly as he could, were still as off-putting as they had been the other times he'd slept in them: being Royal Protector gave him certain privileges, but these sheets were cool and smooth as water on his skin, quickly radiating back his own warmth, the kind of quality he'd only expect of his Empress's things. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of that night he'd spent in her bed, four years ago.

As quiet and discreet as he was, that didn't change the indent he made in the mattress as he lay down, and he expected Daud to at least resettle to compensate – but the Prince lay still and silent; not tense, and his breathing was still deep and even, but – he wasn't snoring, either. Corvo frowned.

“You're not sleeping,” he murmured, brushing Daud's shoulder. The only reaction was a pause in the Prince's breathing: an emptiness, where before there had been sound.

“No,” Daud replied, a bass rasp, like a quake in the earth.

Corvo hesitated, drawing his hand back, then said, “Does that happen often?”

The Prince said nothing for such a long moment Corvo assumed he'd either properly fallen asleep, or hadn't deemed the question worth answering. His voice drifted up out of the formless dark, wry, an edge of mockery: “Sometimes.”

Corvo dropped the subject, and some time later the Prince relaxed again. It was unsure which of them fell asleep first, but when dawn pried through the gaps in the window shutters and stirred Corvo out of slumber, the other side of the bed was empty and cold.

#repost from my old blog #dishonored #corvodaud #prince!daud #writins

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doctorpariahdax · 6 years

Text

New Years Mr. Machairi.

His home was small, not as small as when he was a child, this was an actual home - not something transformed into a living space from an outhouse. It smelled better too. He had moved around - he wasn’t exactly on the run anymore...he just wasn’t used to settling in one place - he wasn’t used to having ‘neighbors’, he supposed.... When he awoke in the morning his neck was always a bit stiff, though it never hindred his movement. Across from the narrow space of his bed there was a stove, in the ground an ice box covered by a whetstone, and the door to the shop. He always kept the door locked, even when he was just outside the room. The few people who meandered into his shop thought that was peculiar, but he was a quiet, older man, he was bound to have a few quirks. After he’d made an unsubstantial breakfast, usually having several cups of coffee throughout the day - he briefly tried to abstain from alcohol, but he ended up drinking at night - he’d dress modestly in an overshirt, suspenders, trousers and maybe a jacket if the weather was cold. He didn’t often have enough money at the end of the week to buy wood for the stove. Most of the wood he bought was for his craft. All the accidents he’d use to cook and heat his hovel at the end of the day. The store wasn’t bad, it had few shelves, nothing in the center except a rug for guests to wipe their feet on, though that was often wishful thinking. He’d mostly get older women coming in. It didn’t escape him that they’d flirt with him in their own gentle and subtle ways, never really meaning anything by it, most of them were married besides. It wasn’t as if Daud actively tried to show any interest. They understood one another in some fashion, and without a bother, the hints of flirtation would continue. Sometimes children would come in but it was always a specific type - the bookish ones, looking for something less gaudy to have as a toy, or maybe as a model as they’d try their own at whittling and carving. His wrists started to hurt more. The joints would pop, uncomfortably. Maybe arthritis wasn’t something the Outsider’s mark protected against. Hah... No one asked about the scars on his hand or the compressive bandage he had over the palm and back of his left hand. Marks of the trade, everyone supposed. They treated him nicely. A few of the older boys and girls tried acting rowdy around his store before, he didn’t mind them so much until they tried smashing his windows. It took a very quick second thought to not blink to them just out of habit. But Daud was always careful. He had to pretend to act his age, his stature, but he was a broad looking man, people figured maybe he was a port master or a sailor before hand. Either way, no one was surprised he had the endurance to chase the shit-buggers and scare them with threats made so quietly the wind would barely hear. They didn’t bother with his shop or bugging his customers after that. Everyone’s attitude towards him changed a bit too, he wasn’t just another ‘old man’. After his hair greyed, turned silver, even though he didn’t have much of a relationship with anyone, customers and neighbors down the street would bring him things from time to time. Sometimes a whole meal, a pot of stew for him to heat up and they’d come back for the container. People he hardly spoke to started to take care of him, loiter around his shop, try to start a conversation with him...and naturally, since he didn’t have to try hard to make the conversation halt, they’d just talk about themselves, their family. People were too trusting...but it was nice. Calming. Made some part of him feel delighted and peaceful. But he wasn’t satisfied like this, not truly. While he did not look it there was a piece of his heart, in ever fiber of his muscles that wanted him to have an urgency to move, to run, to hunt. Sometimes he could calm the urge with a cup of tea the girl with the black hair would bring, or listening to the elder ladies gossip around his wooden owls and wolves every Tuesday as they’d come to buy something for their grandchildren. His life for a time was quaint. Erula was a nice young girl who didn’t talk much either and rarely came to his shop, but she brought him nice gifts, treats more than anything; a bottle of brandy, seasoned raw salmon, buttered goods so sweet they’d probably kill him in another 5 years.... His store was closed around the end of the year. People would be out and about either praising or cursing the teachings of the abbey. Erula came in on the new year. He was back in his room, the door locked, reading one of the many books he kept stacked beneath his bed. He hardly heard the knocking. When he unlocked his door and opened the store door, Erula came in with a rare smile and handed him a larger package. They sat down in his store on the counter, and underneath there were fine winter clothes, and a stamp for wood purchasing. Her father worked at a lumber mill a few towns over, near Karnaca. She told him the clothes were for him, and the stamp, hopefully it’d tide him over for a while. She had found a job around the ports. Free housing, free food, subsidized pay, but that was all right for her. She’d be working with a fair number of other women, married to the miners. She’d be hunting and cleaning the whales off the port. They’d give her leather clothes and a mask to protect her from the factory fumes. “You’re a whaler?” He said, not so much asking... “I will be, yes, there will be training, and it’s not so much as dangerous as it used to be. There’s more safety precautions. I heard whaling was dangerous in Gristol, in Serkonos they take a few more precautions, divide the labor more.” she gave a small smile. “I’ll be gone for the better part of a year, but I just wanted to say goodbye to some of my neighbors. And, and happy new year, in advanced...just in case.” she gave a small laugh. He opened the door for her an thanked her for her kind thoughts. She stopped before going up the street. “You know, I heard they stopped calling it whaling for a time after that one Queen died?” “...Ah, Empress.” Daud nodded. “Yeah....” Erula hung her head for a while. “It was a gang right? But they called themselves ‘The Whalers’. But someone renamed the profession after that to whale butchers, or something like that. Now it’s back. I just....I don’t want to project too much, but, I really enjoy your company Mr. Machairi. My grandfather died from blood flies two years ago, and I think you would’ve liked him. That’s...that’s all.” Daud chewed the inside of his lips and gave her a small, quick, smirk. “I’m sure you’ll be safe. You can always quit and come work here if you decide you don’t have sealegs....” he held up the clothes to her with a nod. “Thank you. Safe travels, kid.” Died after three months. Daud wasn’t surprised, but the rest of the block was. What bothered Daud was how attached he became to her. Erula was like Thomas and Billie, and the reason she died was because she had all the wrong parts of Thomas and Billie; Thomas’ naivety and Billie’s impulsive fortitude. And none of the Outsider’s aid, or Daud’s for that matter. Daud was getting bored of the quaintness of his carver’s life.

#daud #dishonored #predoto #yeet #his name is knife in greek #that wasn't randon

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laur-rants · 4 years

Text

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 5

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud and the Whalers, some Daud/Outsider on the side

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Werewolf!AU :: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. Origin Story, pre-canon. Centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the Outsider and his formulation of the Whalers.

Notes: Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Daud goes back to where it began, spurred to action by the Outsider’s words.

AO3 link

Previous :: First :: Next

____________________________________

Dunwall

Month of Songs, 1820

He was running. He was running, throwing his surging body forward, every step pounding into the ground with the force of a full stampede. The scent of blood, of fear, was heavy in his nose; it drove his senses to a pinpoint, beckoning him onward. Weariness fled from him as his skin was shed, scars blazing and teeth shining with a manic light. He breathed and his body breathed with him, contracting and expanding, growing with every filled lung. He gulped air like a whale before the plunge; muscles rippled, launching, claws ready to rend, to tear, to savor.

He was a killer; he was born for this. His prey was fully unaware; fur flew and bone crushed and his jaws longed for the warmth of blood, the tender tear of flesh rending between his teeth. A limb was shorn from its body easily and his long nose plunged into the cavity left behind, rooting for soft, vulnerable organs. He closed his eyes and worshiped the entrails he found within. He was drunk on it, drowning in the life-giving red water, offering reverence to both god and devoured flesh. Somewhere far away, a whale keened; he bellowed his own song, body rippling with the sound as it morphed into a roar, then a scream. His voice dripped with Void but still the whales cried and burned; he could feel their dying songs reverberating in his ears, his whole body resonating with the call.

------

Daud lurched forward, gasping for air, returning to the surface of his dreams. His body was slick with sweat and smoke and his nose burned with the smell of burning oil. Whalesong mixed in his ears with another unearthly sound, a keening note that he realized, belatedly, was a sundering howl ripped from his own throat. He fell from the bed, all too aware of his teeth clashing, his claws ripping, his body shaking from an exertion he didn't know it was experiencing until now.

He tried to still his panicking mind but his body spasmed of its own accord, as if trying desperately to break free of it's human-shaped prison. He fought for lucidity against the instinctive desire to shift into something else. He bit down on his tongue, rolling it through too-long teeth, and clenched his left hand so painfully it bled. He tasted iron on his lips and gasped out, trying not to fall apart at the literal seams.

Human, human, you're still human , he reminded himself, trying desperately to convince whatever shift was happening to reverse itself. A dark part of his mind snarled back, telling him he was only lying to himself, that humanity was now beyond him--but he snuffed it out, shaking his head as the world swam with void and smoke. He clenched his fist even tighter; he snarled and his scars smoldered like they would sear his face right off, but he finally got his body to settle. Claws melted away, fur and ears and snout left on a non-existent breeze. His chest exhaled; with it, the beast succumbed, returning to rest in the coil of his ribcage. His limbs shook, his body was slick with sweat. He wanted to be sick.

When he pounded his fist into the flooring, the wood creaked, splinters biting into his skin.

A week. He'd had this Mark for a bloody week and still, everyday was a fight. A fight against a body that didn't want to be confined to skin, with claws that itched to grow, with teeth that begged to be bared. The Mark on his hand and the whispers of the Void that were supposed to help him maintain this mess seemed only to encourage the beast of him. His dreams were vivid bloodbaths coaxing the monster to burst from his skin. The Outsider had wondered how long Daud could control the beast; Daud wondered if he even had control to begin with.

His hand seized and he shook it, flexed it, then concentrated. His breathing returned to normal, his shivering stopped. He willed those claws to grow long and deadly before whispering them away again. He watched as the inky black fur broke apart and turned to ash, as if the fur wasn't made of hair, but actual voidstone, muttering secrets even as it dissipated away. Daud frowned, sat back on his legs, and closed his eyes.

This time, he felt for the Void. He searched for it with purpose, his hand the part of him that was allowed to plunge across the barrier. The chill was bone deep, the pain of it followed by a tingling pressure that begged him to stop-- but he found it. The tendril of magic he was searching for. He tugged on it like a spider testing its web, following the vibrations towards its intended goal.

Daud kept his eyes closed until he felt the cold burn up his arm, filling him with magic. When he opened his eyes, the world's colors were muted but her secrets lay bare; people far below him either still slept or paced paths around their beds. Scent trails wafted in front of him, the smells of whales, of oil, of burnt skin traveling through his apartment. When he blinked again his normal color vision returned, the murmur in his ear fled from him, and his mark faded from a bright screaming white back down to a faded black.

He drew breath and heavy air filled his lungs; a cold hand materialized on his scarred cheek and he stilled, blinking, until a smirking figure appeared before him fully. He swallowed, still very aware of his position on the floor, and lifted his gaze to meet endless black.

"My, learning something new today?" the Outsider asked calmly, stroking a thumb across Daud's cheek. The sensation of the touch across his scars sent a shivering jolt all the way down to his feet and he gasped at the sensation. He tried to regain composure, tried to scowl at the god.

"It's not like I've been given many instructions," Daud complained. "So I've had to learn to take what I can get when I find it."

"You have been quite busy seeking out my shrines," the Outsider noted. "But they are easier to listen for than to see. This new power will help you hear their songs. Once your ears hear it, you will know. And you will be drawn to them."

Thin fingers moved from his face to his hair, carding through the loose black strands and Daud's eyes slid closed, his body entranced under the touch. It was soothing and suffocating; he let himself be set adrift, the current pulling him where it wished. The Outsider smiled.

"A mother from Pandyssia, and the bastard father she murdered on her way to Serkonos. She was called a witch, people thought she worshipped me. But she didn't; you knew it was all slander. You didn't even believe I really existed." He drew his hand away and Daud whined, unbidden. Free of the trance, he stood up; the Outsider floated above the flooring, his shadow immeasurable.

"Why believe in a god that didn't pay attention to us, or the suffering of others? It was pointless."

"And yet, here I am. In truth, I'm glad you weren't devout. Would have made it so much less interesting to approach you." The Outsider turned away, though Daud felt as if his hungry dead eyes were still watching his every move.

"Tell me, Daud, did you ever hear the fables of whale-wolves in your youth?"

Daud blinked. "My mother mentioned them under a different name. Wolfbanner, those cursed as wolves. It was fanciful, like anything from Pandyssia. I didn't pay it much mind as I aged, when I had other things to worry about."

"Like murdering your abusive captors," the Outsider supplied. He turned back to Daud, studying him. "Not your first kill, and not your last." He disappeared, reappearing at Daud's side, facing the opposite direction. A hand hovered over Daud's arm, the sensation of promised contact prickling against his skin.

"You are by far the most bloodthirsty of my Marked, the first in a long time."

There was a sadness there, but also an interest, a hunger. Daud leaned away a little, trying to meet the Outsider's eye.

"How many have you Marked?"

"There are a few in every age. You are one of six, all scattered in the Isles. The last time I marked someone, you were still a babe in Serkonos. The last time one of my Marked died, it was here, under this very city, just over a year ago." His face fell serious, a terrible gaze that chilled Daud to the bone.

"The one Fink found," Daud surmised, and the Outsider's form flickered dangerously. He chose to dissipate, forming again to sit on Daud's bed, a foot resting over the opposite knee.

"My whale-wolves are not the playthings of men. They are individuals who make their own lives, their own paths, their own choices. According to legend, the original were whales that left the water to walk on land; they possessed humans, and their form changed to suit their bodies and their environment. It was not so easy on the humans; they eventually lost their minds to the whale's overwhelming presence, ravaging their villages and infecting their others, and were ultimately killed." The Outsider looked away, his gaze far off.

"But that was thousands of years ago, when whales were more powerful. My Mark gives humans a fighting chance, but it also changes them forever. You are now more than you ever were before, Daud."

"I was quite fine being human, you know," Daud snarled. "I didn't want to become some furred whale that walks on land." The Outsider gave him a sad look.

"Unfortunately, few get to choose this path. Those who have the option of choice are rarer and more powerful than you could ever imagine. You could have been one but…" the Outsider flicked over to him again, his hands and eyes fixated on the scars marring his face. Daud inhaled sharply, not expecting the touch.

"But you were attacked before that choice could be offered to you. I'm sorry. So please, do not take what I've given you to waste."

The god's voice was barely a whisper, but so loud within his ears, like rushing water. He turned toward the Outsider, unbidden. That slender face smiled.

"What would you see me do, then?" He asked, eyes dark and entranced again.

"Return to where you started," the Outsider offered. "And keep your friends close. You will need them, soon."

And then, just like that, Daud was alone again. He shivered, his body alight in a very different sense, limbs tingling with phantom pain. He breathed, trying to ease his mind, but it was no use. He settled instead for a cold shower but all it did was remind him of those icy hands, the rush of water in the Void, and the whales that kept crying from their death row in the slaughterhouses.

------

Rulfio was early to his meeting with Daud by approximately ten minutes and 45 seconds.

Apparently, so was Daud.

This wasn't completely unlike the other assassin, if Rulfio was being honest. What was unlike Daud, however, was his vulnerable position-- sitting against the chimney, his arms resting on his knees, his mouth nervously rolling a new cig. Daud didn't even look at Rulfio as he cleared the roof, swinging his legs over the edge before straightening up.

There was no mask, this time. A welcome return to normalcy -- until, of course, Daud turned his head towards Rulfio. Without thinking, Rulfio's eyes shot over to Daud's scars and he stilled. His beard pulled into a frown and he crossed his arms; Daud sighed. The younger assassin didn't stand up, just kept sitting there, too open and languid.

"Do I even want to know the trouble you've been into since the last time I saw you?" The words were rough but held no venom; Daud responded by looking down and away, the shadow of a smile twitching on his lips as he pulled at his cigarette. The smoke billowed up as he breathed out.

"Maybe not. If I had the option of not knowing, I would take it, to be honest."

There was something ruined there in those words that gave Rulfio a pause. He unfolded his arms, instead opting to set his hands into pockets.

"Well, did you get it done, then? It's been near two weeks."

Daud nodded. He then dug into the bandolier at his chest and pulled out a small pouch. He tossed it to Rulfio, who caught it easily. He noted the red velvet of the purse's fabric, opened it to gold coins, and laughed.

"Steal everything but the bathtub?"

"I burned the house. The whole family is dead. Except, well…"

Rulfio tossed the bag up, catching it easily as it fell. "Well?"

Daud sighed. He shot Rulfio a look. "There was a kid."

Of course there was. "And where's the kid now?"

"In the hands of a physician. She was hurt, but she'll live."

"Have you been stalking her?"

Daud's expression went deadly sharp. Rulfio blinked; a dark emotion hung in those edges that he had never seen on Daud's face before. But then it passed and Daud just grimaced, puffing on the cigarette in his mouth.

"I've been trying not to. I don't need to interfere with a kid who's life I ruined."

"And yet you pulled her from a burning building after killing her parents."

"I wasn't gonna let her die, Rulf."

Fair enough. He tossed the coin purse again, finding the clinking pleasant in his ear. "Did that physician fix your face up too?"

"No, that was…" his hand clenched, as if his wrist hurt. "It healed on its own."

Rulfio knew a lie when he heard one. He laughed, waving at a bug hovering too near his ear. "Daud you're a better liar than that. If you have a secret, you can just keep it, you know." Interestingly, Daud's jaw worked; the fly in his ear grew more insistent. Rulfio wasn't the twitchy type --having a steady hand and low jumpiness made him great at his job-- but when he swatted and nothing flew from his hand, he turned his head, looking around. The air was empty, but the sensation tickling at his nerves remained. He scowled, and then caught Daud watching him curiously.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Dunno," Rulfio confessed. "Thought it was a fly, or a mosquito. But there's nothing there."

Immediately the twinge on his nerves receded, but Daud remained far too impassive. Rulfio squinted at him, folding his arms in again.

It took a few ticks, but Daud finally twitched, his fingers moving back to his cigarette.

"What did you do?" Rulfio asked, like he was talking to a petulant child. Daud exhaled, the sound roughened with smoke.

"I need your help," he said, skirting the question. "It's not a contract, it's a… personal favor." His head tilted, his eyes softened. "I don't really have anyone else I can ask to come with me on this one."

Rulfio considered. If you asked him, he wasn't the superstitious type, but something wasn't right. Daud was acting strange. Void, how long did Rulfio think him dead? Long enough to come to terms with the fact that his partner was well and truly gone. Then he just reappeared, with that haunting face and those seeping, infected wounds, and things changed. To be honest, Rulfio isn't even sure if Daud was still real, or some phantom sent to haunt him.

"Sure, I'll help you out, Daud. I've owed you for a while, anyway." He settled down on the roof next to the scarred man, nudging his boot amicably. "What do you need to see to?"

Daud sighed, weary. He ran a hand over his hair.

"It's the Hound Pits. I have to go back there, look around. Something doesn't add up, like I missed something the first time around. I don't want to get my information crossed, but some of the papers I found in Fink's place allude to... unpleasant practices. " Daud pulled the papers he recovered and easily handed them to Rulfio. He took the proffered articles, smoothing his beard as he read. That insistence itched at the back of his skull, ringing like tinnitus.

Eyebrows up, Rulfio simply said aloud "do you mind?" while his eyes skimmed over the words, and was mildly surprised when the sensation obliged, backing off. The ache it left behind was dull, and Ruflio gave Daud a very pointed look.

Daud, to his credit, tried to remain neutral. Rulfio sniffed. Daud blinked innocently.

"Are you using some kind of magic on me, Daud?"

"Don't start with me, Rulf."

"Look I know you said your mom was from Pandyssia but--"

"Just read the damn articles," Daud growled out, "and maybe then I'll tell you."

Rulfio went back to the papers, smirking, but the smile fled as something dark settled into his chest. He read it, then read it again. He swallowed heavily and when he handed the papers back, he found his steady hand shaking.

"Jerome," he managed, "it says he changed? And that they were looking for assassins to…" he cast a nervous glance at Daud, who was watching him very carefully. Rulfio's gaze flicked to those gastly scars, the lines dragging over his face and across his jugular, and he could feel the sweat beading on his own forehead.

"What the fuck happened under the Hound Pits, Daud?"

Daud didn't blink, his expression dark.

"It's easier to show than tell on this one, Rulf."

------

The trip to the Hound Pits Pub took longer than Daud wanted it to. After a week, he was used to these powers taking him farther and faster than his own legs could, to the point where walking was an overt annoyance. However, he couldn't trust to show his powers to Rulfio, not yet, not until his fellow assassin fully understood why. So, by simple flesh and steel they both traversed the rooftops, knowing the routes through Dunwall better than anyone. Blessedly, Rulfio asked no questions on the way, letting Daud take the lead and direct Rulfio where they needed to go.

As they neared the establishment they settled down, carefully perching on a nearby apartment roof and simply observing. It was late afternoon, which meant the pub was getting ready for dinner and a long night of pleasantries. Someone in an upstairs apartment aired out some dirty laundry, getting spooked when she caught them lounging out of the corner of her eye. Daud grimaced, motioning to Rulfio; they hopped down after that, mingling with the streetside crowd.

"Go on inside," Daud suggested, as they eyeballed the front door of the Pub. "See if you can't distract the staff for a while. I'm going to scout around for where we need to go."

"And how will I know you're ready for me?"

Daud worried his cheek and resisted the urge to push his thoughts towards Rulfio. It was an addictive side effect, one he didn't totally understand or have control over, but he knew Rulfio's mind now, had a bead on it, and it would be so easy to…

"I'll come in and grab a drink myself," he supplied, pushing down the ache to reconnect to Rulfio's mind. "I'll grab a whiskey if I'm ready to go, a wine if not. How does that sound?"

Rulfio nodded, good with the plan, and Daud relaxed. He nodded, then eased back against the wall, pulling out a cigarette to light. He lounged casually, wearing a loose shirt over his bandolier to conceal the majority of his weapons and equipment. He waited until Rulfio disappeared, nursing his cigarette between his lips.

Then, he pulled the spent butt from his mouth, flicked it to the floor, and disappeared.

He transversed through the Void, his body leaping to a new location, again and again, effortlessly. He had been practicing with the power, honing the feel of it over the last week, his confidence growing with each successful jump. He allowed the power to flow through him now, breathing in the ash it left behind, feeling his chest swell with unspoken exhalation. He circled the Pub, gathered a loose key from an upper room, and disappeared briefly into the sewers connected to the establishment.

There, he let himself take a breath. His hand itched with long claws, his black gloves melting into oily fur. Daud looked around and sniffed; the sewers still stank, but not of death. Perhaps the rats or the hagfish got to last month's massacre, tearing apart any remains. He carefully traversed the tunnels, found the door he had used when he was first here, and unlocked it with the stolen key.

Then, as silently as a spectre, he slipped into the main body of the Hound Pits Pub.

The place was bustling, the smell and sounds of the brewery and its customers hitting him full force. He staggered for a moment, nose curling, before making his way to the broad chested Tyvian. He knocked on the counter and Rulfio glanced at him, but said nothing else.

"Can I get a whiskey?" Daud asked gruffly. "Dunwall's finest." The barkeep nodded, sauntering off to get the drink. Next to him, Rulfio shifted.

"There is a door to the sewers in the--" he whispered, but just then, the rabble rose up, drowning his words. He glanced at Rulfio, who shook his head. Of course, he hadn't heard him.

Daud huffed. And, without thinking, he shut his mouth tight and reached his mind out to Rulfio's.

"Adjacent brewery has a door to the sewers in the back. It's unlocked. No guards. I'll meet you there."

Daud could feel Rulfio's mind flickering through confusion, realization, shock, and-- the emotions flashed by so fast Daud's head felt heavy but he drummed on the counter and cleared his throat. As the barkeep brought his drink and he dropped his pay, he chanced a glance at Rulfio.

His partner's face was a wall. He was looking at Daud, his eyes unblinking, and Daud could sense the disbelief. He frowned; he needed to get Rulfio moving, damnit.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Daud growled, lifting a dangerous lip. Across the weak connection he felt confusion, then understanding. Rulfio cleared his throat, then shook his head.

"No sir, just thought I recognized you from somewhere."

"With these scars? I doubt it. Now back off."

Rulfio nodded and behind them, someone laughed. Daud turned away and nursed the whiskey; when he looked back, Rulfio was gone.

He dropped a tip, downed the rest of his glass, then exited the way he entered.

When Daud next met up with his fellow assassin in the sewers, Rulfio was livid. He grabbed Daud by his too-loose shirt, shaking him roughly, and snarled in Daud's face.

"What black magic was that? Where is the bone charm? Who gave it to you? Damn it all, Daud!"

Daud let himself be handled before carefully prying Rulfio's fingers off his shirt. He then pulled the shirt off, storing it near the door, and then checked his equipment and adjusted his hood.

"It's not a bone charm, Rulfio," Daud said, hating how strained his voice sounded. It was easier to count his bolts and darts than look at the dark, angry eyes of his partner in crime. "It's just how I am now, Rulf."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" There was the sound of a blade unsheathing, and Daud started, not expecting the weapon now pointed on him. Not Rulfio. His stomach dropped with the realization that somewhere along the way, he'd made a deadly mistake. He whirled towards his partner, putting his hands up.

"Rulfio, wait--"

The tip of Rulfio's dao blade pressed into his stomach, silencing him. Daud's mouth snapped shut and he shook his head, unmoving.

"What were you doing in my head then? Are you like Jerome? In the note, how it said he could invade thoughts… is that what you're like now? Are you even Daud anymore?"

Daud licked his lips. He chose his words carefully; he really didn't think Rulfio wanted to see what would happen if he tried to spill his guts here and now. Daud didn't really want to see what would happen, either.

"Rulfio, I swear to you, I have not been body snatched, I'm not some weird animated corpse. I just need you to trust me--"

"Trust you, when you were coming in my head and talking to me? I didn't give you permission for that, Daud!"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," he whispered lowly, his voice echoing against the water and the walls. Rulfio had no response to that, but the blade didn't move. Carefully Daud moved to take off his left glove. "I just want to show you, so that you don't make a terrible mistake, right here, right now."

"And why's that? You some witch now?" The sword pushed into his stomach.

"No, Rulfio-- fuck! I'm a Wolfbanner, I'm a cursed fucking whale-wolf!"

The silence at the declaration hung heavy between them. Rulfio then laughed, singular, in disbelief.

"Yeah, right. Those are just old wive's tales, Daud. There's…" but he trailed off, the look on Daud's face stony. Rulfio's eyes flicked to the scars. His hand shook.

"Let me show you, Rulfio." He tugged at his glove. Rulfio shook his head, but didn't take his eyes off the motion. "Just please, don't gut me, that's all I ask."

The glove slid off. The Outsider's Mark gleamed. In a swarm of ash, black claws grew.

The sword clattered loudly to the floor.

Daud's jaw clenched tight, working as Rulfio stared, fascinated at the action. Worry crept in, and Daud took a step back for distance.

"I didn't want this, Rulf, but I'm not lying, and by some god-given power, I haven't gone completely insane. I didn't think--I'm not here to-- I thought I could trust you with this because I hate lying to you, Rulf."

"And the mind tricks? What is that?"

"I…" Daud clammed up, and had the audacity to feel ashamed. "I don't know. I just realized that I could reach out to someone else's head, read their emotions, talk to them. I'm still learning this shit and I'm sorry, Rulfio. You couldn't hear me and I just acted without--"

The thwip was near silent. Daud didn't catch it soon enough; the punch in his leg caused him to buckle and grunt. He looked down; the bolt stuck from his thigh at an odd angle, but the blood poured from it all the same. He groaned again as the pain burned down his leg and up his spine.

"Rulfio, what the fuck--"

But it wasn't Rulfio. Daud's second stood, watching agape as a second bolt hit his right arm, in the bicep. Daud growled in annoyance, the sound guttural in his ears. He could feel his teeth growing heavy and he gnashed them together as he pulled the first bolt out of his leg with his free hand.

"Rulfio," Daud rasped, feeling his mark burning and begging to be used. He dodged; another bolt whizzed past his head. "I swear, if you're in on this--" He didn't mean to sound so rough and angry but someone was shooting at him and he'd been too distracted to notice. But Rulfio just shook his head, his face pale. He reached for his sword but another bolt nearly struck his hand and he pulled back, cursing.

It was enough to make Daud's blood boil over. His fist clenched; with a snarl he was rushing forward, ignoring the pain in his limbs. There was an exclamation, but he was already too far to make out the words. Ugly claws sprouted as the world greyed; a body to his left lit up and he sneered, teeth sharp. The individual was slim, hooded; they realized how close Daud suddenly was and they stumbled back, surprised. Or perhaps, terrified.

It didn't matter. Daud's fist clenched and he pounced; another bolt whizzed past him, the shot going wide as Daud collided with his assailant. He pulled his blade out immediately, pulling it to the throat of--

Daud cursed and the person under him shuddered from where his hand lay clasped around her throat. Because now he knew it was a she; the long brown hair tied back in her hood and those sharp blue eyes were sign enough. He sighed out a growl, keeping his blade on her neck.

"Jordan. You better have a good explanation for this." He heard a yelp from Rulfio in the distance, the call of his name. Jordan sneered and Daud was suddenly very aware of the steady drip of blood from the bolt still in his arm.

"Daud, what the shit was all that-- Jordan?!" Rulfio finally moved over to them, wet from the sewers, and he looked at her, equally baffled. He looked at Daud, then Jordan, and his face went severe. "Oh, you didn't… Seriously , Jordan?" He sounded like he was chiding a child which, to be honest, wouldn't be far off the mark. Jordan was even younger than Daud, fresh into her second decade, and sometimes her recklessness preceded her.

Jordan, for her part, at least knew better than to struggle against Daud's grip. Her eyes darted to Rulfio, then back to Daud; she put her hands up, swearing.

"Okay, okay, shit, you caught me. Now let me up you assholes."

"Not until you explain what you were thinking, shooting me in the fucking sewer," Daud growled out, his teeth grinding together in anger.

"There's… there's a hit on you, Daud."

It was Rulfio who responded. He sounded defeated, almost ashamed. Daud swore, nearly dropping his blade as he turned to Rulfio, livid.

"There's a hit on me and you didn't tell me? Since when?"

"It's that prick, Brimsley," Jordan supplied. "Said he was threatened by you, that you killed someone else and he wanted you gone. It's good pay, you know," she twitched, her eyes darting between the other two assassins. "15,000 coin, Daud. I thought it'd be easy enough, but he didn't say you were a heretic too."

"I'm not a heret--" he cut his own words off with a groan, finally pushing Jordan away in anger. His claws left no marks, for which he was grateful. She rubbed at her neck anyway, trying to ease the pain away, checking for blood. "Whatever. Fuck Brimsley. I'll kill him myself and collect my own bounty." With an annoyed grunt, he pulled the bolt from his arm, letting it clatter to the floor, unphased by the blood weeping from the wound.

"Does that even hurt?" Jordan asked, stupefied.

"Like a bloodfly sting," he responded. Jordan blanched.

"Yeah okay, fuck Brimsley, you're a scary man, Daud. 15,000 isn't even close enough to be worth it. 20,000 maybe. But Outsider's ass, you really ate two bolts like it was nothing."

"Yeah, well, at least you didn't try to kill me," he said, and his mind remembered that grey wolf's-- Jerome, his name was Jerome, he reminded himself, sickened--split neck, stitching itself back together. "There's a good chance it wouldn't have worked."

"I wager not," she said, her wide, nervous eyes trailing the scars on his face. "So what, you a fuckin' witch now? Give your soul to the Void so you can't ever die?"

"He's a whale-wolf now, Jordan." Rulfio said gruffly. Daud spared him a glance; Rulfio was watching him carefully, but there was no skepticism in his gaze. Daud savored the small amount of vindication that brought him, before turning towards Jordan's laughter.

"Yeah, right. Those are just fiction, Rulf. I know you love your conspiracy theories, but seriously? A whale-wolf? I'm supposed to just believe that?"

Rulfio flushed, the grip on his blade tightening with the creak of leather. "Did you not see what Daud just did? He disappeared and then reappeared like it was nothing. He's even Marked--or tattoo'd, depending on how you see it."

"Don't need to be a giant beast to use magic, Rulfio."

"Oh? You think those witches you see at night aren't also beasts too? You think Granny Rags isn't more than just an old crone?"

"You ever see Granny look like a giant monster? No? I didn't think so! But she still brews those concoctions and talks to rats and leaves carved bones lying about!"

"Just because you ain't seen it doesn't mean it's not true," Rulfio defended.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you," Daud finally snarled, his whole body bristling. Jordan and Rulfio both stilled, acquiesced, though Jordan's eyes still darted skeptically between them. "Rulfio isn't wrong, Jordan… I got attacked. In these very sewers, even. It's not something I really enjoy, but--

"Show me, then," Jordan bit out, stubbornness taking over as she steadied her crossbow at Daud, "or I'll turn you over to the Overseers. I bet they'll give me more coin for a marked heretic than Brimsley will for your head."

Daud sighed, aggravated. "You can't be serious."

"And if I am?" She tilted her head. "What, you suddenly shy or something, Daud?"

He snarled, the sound rumbling out from deep in his chest. Jordan faltered and Rulfio stepped back; around them, the air grew heavy. He stuck out his left hand; still gloveless, he clenched it and it burned, the smoke and ash giving away to fur and muscle. Jordan's eyes went wide and she lowered the crossbow as Daud's scars glowed hot, the smoke revealing fur and ears. His teeth clashed together as they lengthened in his jaws and became something other than human. Rulfio cursed, Jordan held a silent scream. His bones cracked unpleasantly but he willed the rest of his body to stay put, despite the heaving of his chest and creeping fur down his back. He felt his wounds steam away, the flesh knitting back together with his partial transformation.

Jordan gaped like a fish. Clearly, neither of them had expected -- this . Daud could hardly blame them. He sneered, his lip curling up, hating the looks on their faces. He let go of his magic; immediately, the fur dissipated, melting away like fog over water.

Nobody said anything. Daud could feel the anger rising in his chest and his left hand itched.

"Any other stupid questions?" He rasped out, his voice ruined after the transformation. Jordan just shook her head, the crossbow falling from her hands.

She ran.

Daud caught her before she took more than two steps. Rulfio's hand flew to his blade, anticipating a fight.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"I'm not sticking around so you can kill me like that!"

"Daud frowned. "I'm not going to kill you." His mouth twisted up into a nasty smile. "Unless you're off to snitch, that is. Then I might reconsider."

"Like anyone would believe me anyway!" She shrieked, her voice cracking up an octave. Then, she relaxed, though the sweat on her brow lingered. "What are you going to do with me then?"

Daud blinked, then looked at Rulfio, who shrugged.

"I think you'll just have to come along for the ride, now," he sneered, putting his blade back on his hip. "You followed us down here, after all. Aren't you curious as to why we're here under a dirty old dog fighting pub?"

Jordan looked skeptical, but Daud knew her curiosity would win out in the end. Her fingers twitched, and she licked her lips.

"It got to do with that hit you took for Brimsley?"

"The very one that fucked me up and almost killed me? Yes."

"Fine. Just don't kill me and leave me a mummy for someone to find in 200 years, alright? I got a lotta living still to do."

"We aren't going to kill you, girl," Rulfio sighed out, exasperated. That seemed to convince her; she wiggled out of Daud's limp grip and wiped herself off.

"Alright then. Where to, wolfman?"

Daud sighed and rolled his eyes; he was already regretting the decision to bring anyone along. But the Outsider had told him to keep his friends close, and maybe this was why.

"Give me a moment," he muttered, then waved his left hand again, burning through more magic. The Void laid bare the secrets of the world and in his ears, a faint ringing began. He frowned; the sound was like a tuning fork, resonating in his chest and limbs. It tugged him down, deeper under the tunnels, to where the dog fighting amphitheatre was. As his vision returned to normal, he started moving, motioning to the others.

"It's this way. Come on."

#dishonored #daud #the outsider #whalers #werewolf au #wolfssegner #blood wolf #long post #rulfio #jordan #fic #my fic #fanfic #my fanfic #not much rambling in the tags on this one #just struggled with this one a bit #a lot of dialog to juggle #both myself and daud are exhausted by jordan

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emsiider-blog · 7 years

Text

Nightmares & Pity

Emily had made her way across the Dust District in search of Mr. Stilton’s manor throughout half of the day, but now finding that precious time trickle down getting closer to night, she knew she was going to have to bunker down before it got dark... the dying sun she had seen as she retreated through a window had told her that much. So the Empress, not wanting to travel in the dead of night settled down in an abandoned home, which had dust piled at the corners of each room. The air began to lift, becoming less thick as the recent storm settled. Emily was grateful for the mask she had to cover her mouth and nose, it prevented any of the sentiments to find their way to her lungs and she’d happily pay the price of having a dusty attire than the possible sickness from the weather. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.” Emily breathed, starting to explore the house she’d call home for the night. With no surprise, the door to enter the small home was barricaded shut, meaning no one could enter aside from the window she had slipped through. At least then Emily knew she didn’t have to worry about any Howlers barging in or the Overseers sensing the Outsider’s Mark following them to call for treason. The idea of such a headache made her mind throb slightly… or was it really her lack of sleep? The day had drawn most of the energy from her having to hide from several Overseer hounds, half of the city’s population, and the threat of Pablo’s gang. A soft groan, passed pursed lips, wanting to finish looking over the rooms so she could actually get some rest. It didn’t take long for her to do a quick check over of the kitchen and half of the dust-filled bathroom to know she was mostly safe. Now for the last place, the bedroom.

The sound of her boots resumed until Emily stopped at the entrance of the room. The door was broken, hanging on one hinge as she stepped passed it, gazing around. Dirty paintings hung sideways on brown walls, one side of it was cover by grey dust and the other was clear enough just for one person. Coughing into her sleeve, boots sounded across the wooden panels, over to where she spotted a bed rested against the wall. This would make a good cushion, much better than the dusty floor. She’d check it over, patting the dirt off and wiping it down one final time before she let it fall into the mostly clear area. Emily lowered onto it as a low sigh brisked her lips. “Much better.” Her voice hummed, unholstering the weapons she had, soon placing them by the bedside. As she began to lay, pulling her mask off, and settling down for the night she went over the things she’d do in the morning, knowing that whatever Delilah was hiding she’d figure it out and exploit its uses fully. Her mind was a roller coaster, rushing past all the objectives needed to be done, conjuring expectations but finally wondering what would be her next move once she did come to know the witch’s secret. There was no telling until tomorrow’s events played out.

It took several minutes for Emily to finally find sleep, it’s darkness blanketing over her eyes, clouding any thought in her mind as the Void took her to a dream she’d wish to escape from. A dream that haunted the Empress. The death of her mother…

Tall white walls rose around her, the small girl taking her time as she followed Corvo, a little breathless from the game of hide and seek the two had just played and the many stairs she had to climb to get to where the sounds of her mother could be heard. Her voice didn’t sound pleased and as it seemed the spymaster was talking as if the Plague couldn’t be cured. Even if it didn’t seem like it now they still had to have hope, didn’t they? Sokolov said his Elixir would cure it so they mustn’t give up! Emily maneuvered past the Royal Protector, over to where the Empress stood speaking harshly with the other man. “Mother, Corvo is back!” Her lips pulled in a smile hoping to ease the tension between the two as she dismissed the spymaster. The old crow. Brown eyes dared to look up into his wrinkled face but quickly snapped back to her mother’s after seeing his narrow beady eyes. They seemed to burn into the pale skin of the little girl sending shivers down her spine. Before long Corvo replaced the croon, Emily stood back watching attentively in hope of hearing the good news he brought. Her foot lifted pressing against the marble floor as her hands folded behind her back in anticipation. Dark eyes not moving from the letter the gentle hands of her mother held. Though as the Empress would continue to read her expression would lower, shadows casting worry, making the young woman look much older than she really was. By then Emily knew the news held bad intentions without her mother saying so. “Are you okay, Mother? You seem sad.” Though Emily shared that emotion. Anger filled the young girl, not understanding why the other Isles weren’t as merciful as theirs were. They helped them, the least they could do was return the favor! Jessamine's sadness mirrored onto her own and before she knew it her gaze tore from the letter, moving closer to her mother, outstretching a hand for comfort. It was only a light gesture but she knew it meant the world to the now distraught Empress. A comforting mother’s hold reached back to her child, cupping Emily’s cheek as a small smile lifted her lips, speaking encouragement to her heir.

The sweet, caring moment had passed as soon as it came, the world around her glitched violently to the dark atmosphere of the Void and back again, continuing to do so afterward. Disorienting her mother’s figure and changing Emily’s dream to where she now seemed to be having an out of body experience as her older self. The white marble structure would move to thick black rocks and cold drafts but would always come back to where she still stood next to her beloved mother, peering past the columns out towards the rooftops. Spotting the assassins as they rushed across them headed straight for the trio. The older Emily who watched helplessly as her younger father fought with brawn to protect his family. Killing each assassin as they made the attempt to take her mother’s life. Once they all disappeared in green fragments, the little girl ran over to the Lord Protector, hugging him in relief but Emily knew better, she knew what was coming. “No, the threat isn’t gone!” She’d call out wanting to run over to her mother, but some unspeakable force was keeping her down. Gluing her to the floor and no matter how hard she tried to struggle there was no use as the last assassin came into view grappling Corvo immobile. “Mother, run!” Emily cried, watching as Daud’s vicious hands grabbed Jessamine’s brown hair pulling her to him. “Please, not her. Not this!” The dream glitched once more, visions of black tears streaming down the mother’s face as her child was thrown back. Emily stood there watching with pain, not even realizing the piercing scream as it ripped her mouth open, watching the blade run through her mother’s corpse.

“NO!” Blood ran cold, sweat covered her forehead and tears wetted her cheeks as the now older Empress shot up from her bed. Brown eyes wide with fear as she came face to face with the black pupils of the Outsider. They shifted looking at her own irises, their noses brisked each other's for mere seconds before a gasp breathed past her lips. She’d quickly scurry back putting distance between the both of them, hands fumbling as they slid down the fine sand. “What do you think you are doing?” Emily’s voice was filled with irritation, the idea of him seeing her like this struck a cord wrong within.

A dark eyebrow would raise as her answer. He hadn’t been there the whole time just a few minutes before she had actually awoken, though by the way she tossed and turned one would think she was already awake. He had wondered if it was his presence that had sent her into the nightmare or was she deep within it when he had arrived. Unsure of the answer, he had decided to stay out of pure curiosity. The Outsider knew what she was dreaming, like any child their fears eventually came back to them in the darkest of nights. Dear Emily, poor Emily. He had watched her expression tighten in pain, he had seen her restless movements and the tears that watered her lashes. If he knew any better he’d feel sorry, the sympathy which would make someone conscious of their past actions… maybe even guilty because of them. The Outsider made an expression of sorrow, raising his eyebrows as he gazed upon the Empress. He felt bad that there was nothing he could do to quell her dreams but knew that those were lessons being replayed, the importance of letting her learn to not make the same mistake was a greater mercy than waking her up. Upon a moment of peace in her restlessness, he progressed drawing closer to her, curious that maybe he could help in some way, anyway. The black smoke that flickered and disappeared behind him drifted over her being, his cold eyes looking at the marked hand that sprawled across her chest. Maybe if there was a comforting touch, she’d calm. Slowly the Outsider extended his own pale hand over across the space between them, cold digits brisking against hers, black eyes taking in the soft glow the mark emitted as his hand grazed it. His mouth opened wanting to say something to the sleeping Empress, but before his digits could wrap around her palm or his words left his lips, Emily had shot up in that instant waking up. He lacked any surprise but instead looked at her as if he knew she’d wake up from his dead touch. And that’s where her question was asked, then answered though lacked given a very good explanation.

“Well?” His gaze would flicker down to the hand he had been touching seconds ago, thinking. “You twist in your sleep, afraid of the past, fearful of the future. Your dreams are plagued with haunted memories but still, you hide them behind stoic expressions and determination. You slept restlessly and in your dreams I found it benefitting for me to watch. To understand.” His words were carefully picked, rising from his knees to his feet. No evidence of dust was left on dark pants or in the world he had been kneeling on. It was as if he was a ghost passing through the tangible universe leaving his touch and mark on the people who inhabited it. “You were watching me?” Her incredulous questions began again. So many questions. “Yes, but I watch the world, not just you, Emily.” He took note of how her gaze lowered. “Your nightmares have a heavy effect on you. Tears from an Empress is certainly a rare thing.” His steps carried over to her, leaning down again so he could gently brisk a finger against her wet cheeks, feeling the warmth of her skin and sensation of her sadness. Though it wasn’t long until Emily pulled away from him, brown eyes giving him a warning glare before shoving to her feet. “You shouldn’t be watching me. You shouldn’t be here.” The Outsider rose alongside her, watching with darkened eyes as she brushed herself off, straightening the attire she wore. “For what it’s worth, I am saddened by the pain you have.”

Pity. If it’s one thing Emily hated more than the men who took her mother’s life, it was that. Her jaw clenched with anger, brown eyes burning with a fierce intensity. “I don’t want your pity, I’m just fine on my own.” Strapping the pistol against her hip, the Empress gave the Outsider a narrowed glare. “Don’t treat me like the child I was so many years ago, I’m much older now and I don’t need the sympathy from you or anyone else.” With that she angrily strode towards the door, leaving the whale god to ponder on her words as she started her day early. “I… Emily.” Though he had no words to say, whatever was there, stayed.

#◾ || RK's Rambles #the outsider #emily kaldwin #emsider #writings #jessamine kaldwin #corvo attano #fanfic #drabble #◾ || Touched by the Void ||#( hope you guys like it! )

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chaosbrought · 7 years

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30 Uncommon Character Development Questions

What position does your character sleep in? ( i.e; stomach, side, back, etc. ) Describe why they do this – optional.

He sleeps on his back or his side, I don’t think there’s any real reason for it that’s just the way he sleeps. Perhaps it’s because he’s always ready to jump out of bed, and defend himself? He doesn’t sleep well anymore.

Does your character have any noteworthy features? Freckles? Dimples? A scar somewhere unusual? etc.

Daud has a scar down the right side of his face and neck, a deep scar I might add, as well as wrinkles and a lighter scar along the left side of his forehead.

Does your character have an accent? What does it sound like?

No accent, though his voice is very deep and gruff. It’s a bit sharp and harsh when he needs it to be, enough to instill fear and respect into the Whalers and all that cross his path, but alternatively it can be soothing to listen to if he’s musing to himself.

What are their chief tension areas?

Neck, shoulders, and back. However, he doesn’t like being touched for the most part, especially unexpectedly, if you value your life you won’t sneak up on Daud and touch him. If he allows you to, or forces himself to open up a bit, don’t make him regret it because he will not forgive you and he will shut you out completely.

If you were to pick one song – and only one song – to describe your character, what would it be and why?

At this time, I think the most fitting song would have to be Tom Waits “Walk Away.” because of the obvious tones of regret in it, as well as the theme of running away because that is what he’s done so far. He regrets and feels guilty, feeble in his old age even and he knows he’s going to die so he resorts to pinning the last awful thing he’s done, the most awful thing, on the god who offered him the power to defend himself. He doesn’t want to face his regrets, though at the same time he is being eaten alive by his own regret.

There are things I've done I can't erase I want to look in the mirror, see another face I said never would I do it again I want to walk away, start over again

I left my bible by the side of the road Carve my initials in an old dead tree I'm going away but I'm going to be back when It's time to walk away and start over again

How does your character perceive themselves? Positive? Negative? Neutral?

Negative, definitely. He knows the things he’s done aren’t good, though there’s an odd sense of arrogance in him in the Knife of Dunwall DLC as he compares himself to Corvo Attano.

“Fool! We're of the same breed, you and I. We kill for others.”

However, in the Death of The Outsider he not only tries to pin blame and take part of it himself but he also flat out says that

“The world doesn’t need more men like me.”

Maybe it’s just him trying to make peace or claim he isn’t as bad, or maybe he just doesn’t feel like Corvo is worthy because Daud managed to kill the Empress, once again trying to pin blame.

Are they a quick thinker or do they need time to sort through their thoughts?

That depends entirely on the subject matter, job wise he’s meticulous with his planning and that never changes. He takes his time with the plan but he’s also quick on his feet, ready to do whatever he needs to if something goes wrong which it never should in his mind. However, when it comes to sorting out his own thoughts, his guilt and emotions, his regrets, he doesn’t know how to deal with it and it haunts him. Though, he’ll never say so. Daud isn’t an emotional man outwardly, he didn’t get that right and perhaps if he didn’t make his way to the top through spilling blood things would be different.

Does your character dream or are their nights filled with an empty blackness?

He dreams, though they’re usually not pleasant dreams. Fighting, spilling blood, trying to stay alive. Though sometimes, there are better dreams.

Describe a dream they’ve had or a night they couldn’t sleep and what they did to preoccupy their time.

I think Daud dreams about killing the empress a lot and watching as the world around him crumbles apart, both literally and figuratively. His dreams to seem logical when he has them or perhaps that’s just because the dream needed to be in a game, either way the statement stands. However the underlying theme of “no escape” and “fight to survive”, but when he can’t he drinks and sits on his bed and he muses to himself either quietly or out loud in an audiograph.

If they had a choice, would they prefer a subway or a bus for public transportation?

Daud doesn’t really do public transportation, for obvious reasons. But if he had to choose between a subway or a bus, he’d probably go with bus.

What do they think of creation? Do they believe in evolution or do they believe in God? What is their religion like?

I mean seeing as he literally TALKS to the god of their universe, I think this is something that doesn’t need an answer. He doesn’t seem to like The Outsider much, and has even canonically insulted him, and argued with him.

Describe 5 unusual characteristics your muse has.

He’s cryptic and harsh.

He’s blunt

He speaks with his hands

He uses black magic

Have they ever been so overwhelmed they had to stop and take a break from something?

Not usually, though there are times that he needs to be alone and pushes everyone away, even Billie. It’s not often that this happens, but when it does it’s really best not to push it.

Are they a team player or do they prefer to be solo?

Seeing as he has an entire band of mercenaries of street kids that he seems to care for, he seems to be a team player but most certainly the leader and needing control. Although he’s not the stereotypical dad, he most likely is a father figure for a lot of the Whalers and he knows this, part of me thinks that he feels attached to them as well though it may not be obvious. Affection isn’t his thing, and neither is talking, so tough love and teaching them how to defend themselves, offering them powers, a way to defend themselves, feeding and clothing them. That’s how he shows he gives a shit. He handles things and he most certainly doesn’t think that his Whalers deserve the ruination that will be brought down upon him for killing the Empress.

Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time?

Raising children, training them, holding together the band of mercenaries, planning and getting together contracts surely would take some multitasking skills and that’s not even getting into how much he’s been forced to learn and multitasking doing in order to survive.

What are their best school subjects? What are their worst? List five of each.

Daud is not a stupid man by any means, he’s blunt and intelligent, perhaps a big prideful at times, and too brutal for his own good but the point still stands. Not only was he studying at the Academy of Natural Philosophy for a winter, but he’s gained quite a lot of street smarts over the years. While he was better in terms of philosophy, cosmology, and alchemy, it was much harder for him to grasp concepts pertaining to cartography, and vivisection.

Is your character an introvert or an extrovert? How do they handle big crowds of people?

I think he’ll do what he needs to do, he doesn’t have the life where he has the opportunity to just go and be around big groups of people and enjoy it. His life is about getting money and surviving. I don’t think he’d enjoy it much, I think he’d feel as though he doesn’t belong.

Are they a leader, do they prefer to follow, or would they rather just stay on the sidelines altogether?

Daud is for sure a leader, he requires control of a situation and I think he knows how to throw people off in more ways than one. He’s not a “sidelines” kind of guy, he makes things happen and will do whatever he has to in order to make some coin. He knows how to lead and is meticulous about the way he goes through with things, he’s not just a plain brute, he’s informed and thoughtful and while he has incredible skills there are clearly tactical purposes behind them. There’s more of him than meets the eye, which is one of my favorite parts about him.

If your character was suddenly challenged, would they rather run away or stay and fight?

He’s not someone who runs from a fight, if challenged he would for sure stay and fight as ruthlessly as he needs in order to win. As mentioned and seen before on many occasions, he’s incredibly skilled and tactical and he lacks mercy for most both because he justifies it to himself in one way or another, and because he’s always been within the mindset of a need to survive.

If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would that person be and why?

Good question, I think he’s had enough of murdering. At least that’s my idea from some of his lines, while he continues it in both the DLC and DOTO, it seems more of like he does it out of a need to survive more than anything else.

Your character has been granted 3 wishes; what would they wish for and why?

That’s a good question, I’m not exactly sure. Wishing for the Empress to be alive and well would seem like one, and perhaps he’d wish to see his mother again but if he wished to undo what he’s done it could unravel everything that has become of The Outsider, Corvo, Emily, Billie, himself and so on. I’m not sure if he’d bother with tampering with the choices made because perhaps he’d be wise enough to know everything has lead him to this moment, and this ending. But it would be rather tempting, especially because of how sharp and blatant his regrets are, and I can’t say right now for sure if he’d wish to change the past or not.

Does your character trust people right off the bat or does it take them some time to warm up to someone?

He doesn’t trust people right away, you’ve got to earn his trust and he definitely needs time to warm up to someone and trust them fully. Which I think Daud’s concept of trust is warped in a way, the way he runs the Whalers is seemingly normal but the idea that both Billie and Daud knew that she was eventually going to try and betray him and overthrow him really says something about what his beliefs on life are. He seems to view and teach a more feral way of ruling, something animalistic and brutal with no forgiveness and it’s somewhat unsettling. However, I’m sure he thinks he needs to become that and that he needs to teach the Whaler’s like that in order to ensure their survival.

Do they prefer romance or affection? What is the quickest way to your character’s heart?

That’s the thing, there IS no quick way to Daud’s heart, honestly he doesn’t let people close especially romantically. He’s either interested in you or he’s not, and this isn’t just with romance it’s with platonic love as well. The closest relationship he’s had that we know of is the platonic one he shares with Billie, but other than that there’s really nothing. I’m not even sure he’s even interested in that kind of closeness with someone else romantically, he knows people but he’s harsh and rough because he’s had to be to survive. He’s not good at voicing his thoughts to others, nor is he good at affection which could cause big problems. Either way, it would be difficult for him to allow that closeness if it ever happened which I doubt it would. You really have to impress him, but if you’re trying too hard he’ll notice and keep you at a distance, he’ll want you to use that drive to keep yourself alive.

TL;DR: Daud doesn’t allow closeness 99.99% of the time, nothing personal it’s just what’s kept him alive this long.

Does your character have any enemies? If so, who and why?

Most likely tons, he’s not exactly a good man and has no problem murdering for money despite the idea that he’s worked with the person he’s killing on previous jobs. That’s not to say he doesn’t regret it but, this habit and lifestyle he’s lead has most likely earned him a lot of enemies, regardless of if he’s remorseful or not.

Do they have any weird bedroom habits? Any unusual kinks?

Nope, Daud is asexual. He isn’t interested in sex and never has been really, it’s even stated in game. No unusual kinks to tease him about here, unfortunately.

How does your character prepare for bed? Do they sleep at all or can they stay awake for days on end without trouble?

Perhaps when he was younger he could stay up for days without trouble, but Daud is older now and he enjoys getting sleep when he can. However, most of his sleep is plagued by nightmares.

If your character had one thing to say to their parents before they died, what would it be?

( SPOILER ALERT )

I think a majority of that is gotten into when you find Daud in the void. He only seems to care about his mother, there’s a distinct lack of questioning about his father and he only is hyper focused on his mother. He obviously misses her, and she meant a lot to him. I think the things he would say if he got the chance would be a lot of what he states in the void.

HERE’S A LINK TO THOSE RAMBLINGS IN THE VOID.

Are they afraid of death? Do they have any regrets?

His biggest regret is killing the empress and throwing the world into chaos, though he takes some responsibilities he mostly blames it on the Outsider, rather unfairly if I might add. In the Death of the Outsider, he seems to be deeply regretful for his life and what he’d done with his powers as he says

“The world doesn’t need more men like me.”

Does your character get restless when things are too quiet or do they favor solitude and silence? Why?

He doesn’t like the quiet, doesn’t like the time alone to himself and his thoughts. When given the time and silence to be alone with his thoughts, they tear him apart silently.

Finally; if your character was forced to eat one thing for the rest of their life, what would they choose and why?

I’m not sure Daud cares much about food, as the Whaler’s scrounge up anything they can find it seems from the looks of their base. Daud isn’t a picky eater, he didn’t have the luxury of being one.

#⌜ HEADCANON : ❛ ʷʰᵃᵗᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵈᵒᵒᵐ ʷᵃˢ ᶜᵒᵐᶤᶰᵍ˒ ᴵ ᵈᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉᵈ ᶤᵗˑ ᵐʸ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵈᶤᵈᶰ'ᵗˑ ❜ ⌟#⌜ ABOUT DAUD : ❛ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒˡᵈ ᵏᶰᶤᶠᵉ ❜ ⌟#⌜ QUEUE : ❛ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ʷᵒʳʳʸ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷʰᵉᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᶤᵐᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢˑ ᶤᶠ ᶤᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢˑ ❜ ⌟

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shadow-is-upon-us · 7 years

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Unexpected

Hello mates and welcome to my first try at a Dishonored fic. A one shot I did because I needed to, since the ending to Death of the Outsider kinda... killed me. So, this is what it came to. Low chaos through all games and DLCs so, there's that (and non-lethal assassinations) Also, spoilers for all games and DLCs - you've been warred. Might be kinda out of character, since it's my first attempt, but consider it humor.

Okay, done, read, review and enjoy~

You can also read it on FanFic or Ao3

They all felt a shift in the Void, but no one was quite sure what happened. At least, until Billie showed up with the Outsider himself, only his eyes were clear. The whole, ‘adopt him’ bit was even more weird.

It's hardly been a week since Delilah was taken care of, trapped in her own fairy tale world. Dunwall was still recovering, and so were Corvo, who had been trapped in stone for two months, and Emily, who worked to restore her throne.

Corvo was still somewhat weak from the prolonged imprisonment, but he had said it was better than Coldridge Prison, so he won't complain. Emily was mostly just happy to be home and didn't need to scavenge up food or coin, even if it was fun at times. Both of them spent the first few days just… resting, doing light work. And no one blamed them. But then, Attano got a surprise visit from an 'old friend', if he could call him that…

"Corvo, my dear friend," the familiar echo of the Outsider's voice rang in his ears and he let out a muffled groan. Suddenly waking up in the Void was never fun, and probably never will be. Maybe only to this God though.

"Outsiders… It's been a while, hasn't it?" the Royal Protector got off the bed and saw he was, as usual, on a piece of rock floating in the Void. "I see nothing's changed here," he muttered to himself, looking at the Whale passing by casually.

"It has been an interesting two months, hasn't it? Your daughter impressed me in much the same way you did, when we first met," the Leviathan was sitting on a slob of stone and Corvo leaned on a broken wall nearby.

"She mentioned yes… I'm proud she managed to restrain herself, even when faced with all these enemies," the father couldn't keep the pride from his voice as he smiled. Emily really outdid herself, but she always said it was because of him. Because she was trying to follow in his footsteps of never shedding blood until absolutely necessary.

"I'm curious, if you would have done the same," the Outsider asked, a small glimmer in his black eyes and a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"…I would have tried," came the answer. "I don't know about Delilah… I heard-," he cut himself off, rubbing his face. It was still a lot to take in, what Daud did fifteen years ago. And how his former Lieutenant – Billie Lurk helped Emily now. He learned all that soon after being freed as Emily needed to tell someone who would understand fully.

"It seems your mercy has rubbed off on more than your daughter," the God sounded so amused as he said that and disappeared in his usual fashion, only to appear atop a stone wall, moments later.

"Are you lonely today? Because you're clearly just… killing time," Attano said suddenly, and he saw the Outsider was taken back. Heck, he even looked away.

"We haven't spoken in two months," the God quickly recovered and disappeared, only to appear in front of the Royal Protector a moment later. "I am curious."

"Emily would probably be able to tell you more about anything that happened than me," Attano said automatically, mentally smacking himself. He still doesn't like the fact his daughter got Marked, but it was her choice. He's just waiting for her to ask him about his own Mark. Not looking forward to that conversation though…

"Perhaps… But she is, new, to all of this. And needs more time to process all of it. You on the other hand, are quite used to it," Corvo only frowned slightly as the Leviathan seemed to chuckle.

"Shall we take a walk?" the Outsider smirked and waved his hand towards the left, where stone and metal seemed to appear of out nowhere to create a path from one floating island to the other.

"You really are acting weirder than usual…" Corvo let out a small chuckle but followed the Leviathan none the less.

"I feel as if I should… apologize," the Outsider said as they walked. Attano gave him a baffled look because today was just getting weirder and weirder.

"I did not know about Delilah until it was too late… She drifted in the Void for a near decade, before being freed. I should have warned you," the God didn't look at his mortal friend, instead keeping his eyes fixed in the distance.

"Yeah, you probably should have…" Corvo said with a small sigh and saw the Leviathan twitch slightly. "But she probably would have found some other way to do this…" he added soon after and continued walking, even as the Outsider stopped in his tracks.

"Corvo," the God said and it sounded anxious? Worried? He couldn't quite place it, but the Royal Protector sat down on some rocks, resting his arms on his knees.

"Do you think it is my fault? That Delilah did, what she did?" the question took the mortal by surprise, especially since it sounded like he wanted to add more. But still, Attano shook his head, to make sure he heard right.

"…You sound guilty?" he stated first because he still hasn't processed the fact the Outsider asked him a question like that.

"Perhaps I am," the Leviathan had his hands behind his back, staring off into the Void again.

Corvo sighed and leaned back on the stones, looking up at the purple glowing lantern floating by. He wasn't really sure what to say, because, he never thought he'd have to say it. Then again, maybe it was who he had to say it to that was so strange.

"How long ago did you Mark Delilah?"

"Decades," was the answer, and Attano could see the God tense. "She may not show it, wandering the Void for 12 years, but she's much older than she seems."

"And Daud?" he never took his eyes off his companion who frowned slightly.

"He was seeking me out since a young age… I granted him the mark at the age of 25, I believe," his voice was getting more and more strained.

"That's about the same age Emily is…" Corvo mused, letting out a small sigh. "I was near 40 when you gave it to me… Hah, now I really do feel old."

"Do you have a point here?" the Outsider snapped his head to the mortal, actually looking annoyed. "You didn't answer my question."

"…" Corvo gave him a steady look before closing his eyes and shaking his head. "My point, is that people change over the years." Opening his eyes, he saw the Leviathan looked puzzled and confused and couldn't help but chuckle.

"If you have given me my Mark at the age most others got it, things would have been different. So, when you Marked Delilah and Daud, you might now have really seen what would happen… You can't control us or our actions."

There was a moment of silence as the Outsider seemed to process the information, relaxing his stance and opening his eyes slightly.

"So, no, I don't blame you for what Delilah did. Or Daud, for that matter…" the last bit was said more silently, but it seemed to echo in the Void. "We make our own choices. You just gave us the tools to do it."

Another silence as the two stared at each other, before the Royal Protector looked away and into the Void again.

"I'm from Serkonos… And Emily was there now…" his voice was softer, quieter, as his expression turned to sadness. "There's always at least one duet singing that song, even if it's not the Month of Darkness yet," glancing at the Outsider showed him stiffen again. "I know it supposedly tells your story… What they did to you. Don't know how much of it is true, but it's the closest thing we have to a real story… So, I know you didn't chose this yourself," a humorless chuckle escaped him. "Seems like none of us ever did…"

"…Thank you, Corvo," the God said and Attano could have sworn he saw a real smile on his lips right before he disappeared. But this time, he didn't see him appear again.

"We have never really had a proper conversation have we… I'm glad we finally did, even if it's for the last time," the words echoed all around and Corvo was confused, but seconds later, he woke up in his bed, as he was supposed to.

It was about a week later, that both Corvo and Emily felt something shift. Their Marks burned and it was only luck it didn't happen during some meeting or whatnot, since they both felt like their hand would melt.

"What was that?" Emily asked, holding her pained hand and looking from the Mark to her father. By now, she knew his story, if only partly, because he didn't wish to go into detail of what happened fifteen years ago. And she can't blame him.

"…Something's happened to the Outsider…" Corvo muttered, seeing the Mark pulse ever so slightly. And the last words the God gave him rang in his head. I'm glad we finally did, even if it's for the last time.

"Should we search for a shrine? See what's wrong?" the Empress asked, concern in her voice as she gently rubbed the Mark.

"I doubt we'd find anything… But it may be worth a try."

For about a week, the duo scoured Dunwall when able, searching for shrines. And while they did find some, they were… dead. No eerie light, no whispering Runes, no shadows licking the floor and walls. Corvo eventually told his daughter of the Outsider's visit, though he didn't do into great detail of what they talked.

The thing which confused them, was the fact their powers still worked. Though at times they would spike, like Corvo overshooting his Blink or Emily's Far Reach gripping too tightly to a fence. They had tried to not use them for that reason, but sometimes it was still needed. Corvo had a near heart attack when he thought he'd trapped himself out of time forever when using Bend Time. Or the time they had to shove Emily's Doppelganger into a closet because it wouldn't disappear. That was a hectic week indeed, but after it was over, what came next effectively turned everything on its head.

"So, as you can see, we will need further funding for a proper reconstruction," Lord Baylish spoke clearly and calmly, standing in front of the Empress who was leaning her cheek on her palm and her Royal Protector looked half asleep.

"Yes, I see," Emily answered absentmindedly. "I'll make sure the proper funds are given."

"Thank you, your majesty," the Lord bowed with a smile and turned to leave, his guards following soon after.

"How many more?" she whispered, tilting her head slightly towards the direction of her father. When no answer came, she turned fully only to find his eyes closed and a soft snore coming from.

"Oh for the love of-," she grumbled and jabbed her elbow into the man's side, effectively making him jump and pull out his sword.

"You fell asleep," she accused and disapproved as Corvo cursed under his breath.

"You sleep more than I do and you know it."

"That doesn't excuse you, Royal Protector."

The answer was a half exhausted glare, but she gave her own tired frown as the two looked like they were ready to drop dead. Just as Emily was about to ask, again, how many more meetings she had to do, the doors opened and a guard stepped in.

"Forgive me, your majesty," he bowed, sounding anxious. "But, there is someone who insists she must speak to you immediately."

"Don't they all…" the Empress muttered, luckily silent enough for the man not to hear. "Who is she?" she said more loudly.

"Meagan Foster, your highness," at the name, both Marked tensed and stiffened, their exhaustion seemingly forgotten. "She has someone with her as well."

"Send them in," Corvo said, his hand already moving to grip his sword. Emily herself moved her arms so she would have her own weapon out in a second.

"Right away," the guard gave a final bow before leaving.

"I got a bad feeling about this…"

It was a minute later that the doors opened again and two figures walked in. One, the two quickly realized was Billie – Meagan – wearing her white coat and a scarf around her head to try and avoid being recognized. The other one was… familiar, but at the same time, new. A man in a hood, wearing a black coat similar to Lurk's, his hands pale like snow.

"Meagan," Emily said flatly, still having mixed feelings about the woman who helped murder her mother. "Or do you prefer Billie?"

"Billie, so long as no one else is around," Lurk grinned and took off the scarf, showing her red glowing eye and not hiding her right arm.

"What happened to you?" the Empress' suspicions vanished as she saw the strange body parts. But she fixed it. She saved Stilton. Billie was supposed to have both her eye and arm back to being whole.

"…He did," the former assassin simply nodded to the hooded man and both of them felt a very familiar feeling. Even if it was only phantom of what it used to be.

"Greetings, Corvo, Emily," the man pulled down his hood to reveal the face of the Outsider, a smile on his face and his eyes no longer pick black.

The duo simply stared in stunned silence, their weapons forgotten, their body language rigid with shock and their eyes wide.

"How-?" Corvo couldn't even properly form a sentence as Emily stood up.

"Is this real?" the daughter asked, descending the stairs, her father close behind.

"It is," the Outsider said, sounding… so human. It was weirder than most of what else had happened in the past few months.

"…" Attano stared for a few seconds, before putting his face in his hands and letting out a muffled groan. "Do I even what to know what happened?"

"It's a long story," Billie spoke up, giving a smug and almost satisfying smirk. "I'm sure you'd find it interesting if you'd listen."

"Well, I didn't have anything important to do for today anyway," the Empress grinned, folding her arms. "And I'm sure your story is much more interesting than boring old politics."

"…I'll cancel the rest of your meetings then," Corvo looked tired and done as he kept looking at the former God.

"Cancel your own as well. You're listening with me."

At the end of the tale, when all four of them were in a small, private room sharing tea, a silence covered the room. The Outsider didn't speak much, only added a comment here or there, as Billie explained the majority of it.

"…Daud sure had some wild ideas…" Corvo said, leaning on the table. "First an Empress, then a Witch and finally a God…" a humorless chuckle escaped him.

"I'm surprised you managed to convince him to help you, after his… defiant intent on killing him," Emily held the cup in her hands, giving a small nod to the Outsider.

"It wasn't easy… But I like to imagine he's a peace. More so, than if we had killed again," Billie looked down at the tea, sorrow in her expression.

"It's delicious," the Outsider said suddenly, probably on his fifth cup of tea. The Marked look at him in mild confusion, before recalling that he hasn't been able to really see, taste, feel or smell anything in over four thousand years.

"I can ask Mina to make a different one, if you wish," Emily offered a kind smile.

"…Thank you," was the slightly embarrassed reply as the three around him all laughed or smiled.

"I can't say I know what you're going through," Corvo leaned back in the chair, looking at the former God. "But being trapped in stone like I was, I can imagine what it may be like…"

"It's… all new," the Outsider had a small, excited smile on his face. "I can't imagine what else I can find now… Four thousand years truly changes a world."

"About that," Billie caught their attention, but she was looking at the ground. "I didn't bring him here, just so we could explain what happened. I was hoping I could leave him in your care."

"…What?" Emily and Corvo asked in the same manner, head moving back, eyes wide and blinking. It actually made the former God and Assassin laugh. Truly, father and daughter.

"Consider him an… adopted brother," Lurk raised the cup to her mouth, taking a sip. "He has no powers, so he can't mess with anything. And he's too… new, for this world to just leave him wandering around."

"Why can't you take care of him? You saved him," Corvo was still reeling from the question while Emily seemed to be thinking it over.

"Please, do I strike you as the type of person who could take care of a kid?"

"I am not a child…"

"Maybe, but you're as clueless as one."

"I like the idea."

"Emily?!"

"On one condition," the Empress smirked, eyes focused on Billie. "That you stay here, in Dunwall, and work for me."

"Excuse you?" now it was Billie's turn to look in shock as Corvo covered his face with his hand. The Outsider was merely enjoying the development and sipping tea.

"You heard me. A woman of your skill… We could use that. You wouldn't be an assassin, mind you. A spy. Maybe even the Spymaster. You'd be paid, have a place to live here… everything you'd need," Emily continued, her smirk turning into a smile.

"…A fulling life, eh?" Lurk mused, setting her cup down. "What about my crimes? Pretty sure people would still recognize my face."

"A full pardon," the Empress said without hesitation. "No one really knows you were part of mother's murder. Only other, minor crimes. And let's not forget the fact you helped me take back my throne and defeat Delilah."

"…You're serious about this?"

"I am."

"…Then who am I to refuse her majesty?"

"Wonderful! My father can begin working with the Outsider to help him adjust and I can help you begin a new life."

"Hey now, I never agreed-!"

"Corvo, it would seem we will be spending some more time together."

"I'm too old for this shit."

As Billie watched the bickering between the oldest and, in a way, the youngest among them, she looked out the window and could have sworn she saw Daud, smiling. He looked… content, at peace… more than she'd ever seen him before.

"You probably would have regretted killing him, just as much as I would have. I'm glad you helped him. You never could turn away a kid in need," she thought with a smile before the new set of tea arrived.

And cut! So, yeah, short one shot about something I needed to put down. Came out better than I thought, actually... Anyway, hope you all enjoyed it and thanks for reading! Consider reviewing would you? I'd love to hear how my first Dishonored story turned out =D

#dishonored #corvo attano #emily kaldwin #billie lurk #the outsider #dishonored 2 #death of the outsider #spoilers #mentions of daud #i don't even know

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