LOUP ( ᵃᵘᵗºᵖˡᵃʸ )

[deiciding]

                                                  I fucked up.

[deiciding]

( CORVO ):

“Have you ever considered moving away from all of the water?” He asked, looking out of the window.

He took a minute to gather his thoughts. He was about to kill Daud. His original mission was to bring him to Emily.

Emotions. They had come to destroy his reason lately. He’d visited Havelock in Coldridge once. He had the ex-Admiral’s head in his sights, his crossbow’s bolt ready for blood. He’d overcome it.

The small talk was to stall while he planned. There was no way for Corvo to take him without injuring him, now that Daud know’s Corvo’s there. His thought was to tell Emily that Daud had moved locations, but that Corvo would track him and bring him back.

Would that work?

Daud is moving away from Corvo, his own blade drawn casually as he studied him carefully. He perceived the intention within the other, for it had been a tactic he had utilized a great many times. Daud was used to slaughtering men like cattle and wished not to join their ranks so. His blade is poised, eyes regarding the other as if advising him not to so much as dream of doing what he already perceived might transpire. A wolf’s challenge, teeth bared while a tongue spits out pleasantries.

“No, I haven’t. I don’t mind it.”

[deiciding]

( CORVO ):

The police already clung to his back outside of the club. With them coming in, Corvo didn’t know how much more he could take. Their questioning had grown repetative, almost aggresive in tone. They wanted to know X and Y and wanted to go over it again and again. No matter how many times he had claimed to have told an officer something, he was asked again. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be stopped on his walk home.

They were getting violent and that scared him. Not the fact that he couldn’t fight back, but that they had the ability to take Emily away. He could lose everything if other men saw him unfit to raise his own child. No. He would lose himself if that were to happen. Jess’s death had almost been too much for him. (Had been too much.) He couldn’t risk losing Emily too.

“I wanted to talk to you about that.” The last thing he wanted was anyone else involved. This was Corvo’s cross to bear. The police could potentially hurt others and that wasn’t something else he wanted to have on his mind.

“Please. Stay out of this, okay? I know they disrupt work and all but I really… I really can’t risk getting anyone else involved. I don’t want anyone to have to deal with my problems for me. I can handle this, okay?”

That was an outright lie. There was no way in hell he could handle this all on his own. But, he has to. For Emily and her namesake. For Jessamine and the memories she left behind.

Daud ignores him.

"It's the same officers every time right?"

He's sliding a drink towards one of the patrons. Daud had ne'er been the sort to listen to others, especially if they were attempting to detour him from protecting them, it was simply the sort of man he was, truly. He had always been wild in nature, a difficult thing to conceive when one gazed 'pon him. Perhaps his appearance was wild, though his posture and mannerisms most certainly weren't. They were the movements and actions of a well-controlled man, the sort who watched himself carefully, the sort of man who had learned to betray nothing in regards to himself. And Corvo shall never learn of the bombs Daud had heard detonate, and Corvo shall never learn that Daud held bleeding corpses within his arms and had wept over fallen brothers. And Corvo shall never learn that war had been Daud's life and sometimes when he raises the saxohpone, his hands tremble uncertainly, for he can never truly recover from his trauma.

Daud had helped to erect this place alongside their enigmatic manager. This place had been something akin to a sanctuary and he sha'ant have these officers disrupt it any further. It went far beyond more than being bad for business, or making the patrons uncomfortable. This club was something akin to the family he had lacked within his youth, makeshift and tattered, though it was still a family, nonetheless. The war-torn man still retained a heart, and perceived this as a threat to his own balance. An offense to one of them was an offense to all, and the wolf was inclined to bear his teeth.

"Corvo, if this was any of us, you'd step in."

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( THOMAS ):

     Thomas’s eyes flicker at the hint of words and he hums low and soft, head tilting in earnest before nodding. “Yes, sir.” He says, and the words are a calm, quiet thing.

     Like a normal conversation.

     His fingers rest on hilt of blade, tucked safely, and his eyes follow Daud more then their mark, though he keeps him within view. It is safer to see the sign to attack, then assume it by movement alone.

AND HOW PECULIAR THEY ENCOUNTER ROUTINE IN SLAUGHTER. For who is to say men are to find their absolution within another's demise, goaded my material wealth and rotten souls. Though Daud is accustomed to such blood-ridden waters, and weighs only his next move.

A VAGUE MOTION IS PERFORMED, SEEMINGLY INCONSEQUENTIAL. Though it carries wars astride, soon nearly imperceptibly motioning to the more trusted guards 'round the noble as if to indicate this is Thomas' target. Daud has already busied himself with the notion of a distraction, soon recounting the plan aloud.

                ❝ I'll go next door and pull everyone away. You take the other guards. ❞

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steel-blood-magic replied to your post: amortean replied to your post: .what’s...

can i have some

amortean replied to your post: amortean replied to your post: .what’s...

i want some

pull up a seat then smh

[deiciding]

myloyaltywithoutquestion

HE HAS LITTLE PREFERENCE FOR PLAYING GUARD. Though such is evident in the way his visage contorts to the circumstances 'round them. They played guard for a noble. The circumstances are ironic, for they were to kill the noble they were guarding at another's behest. They are within a c- asino, near the entrance and vigilant of their pseduo-charge. Let him weep to know that it is his head that shall roll. But Daud is patient, for ne'er was anything accomplished within a rush, so at last, he began to speak unto the other, quietly

                ❝ We'll strike soon. Get ready. ❞

[deiciding]

amortean replied to your post: .

what’s for dinner

chicken nuggets

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( CORVO ):

Some would claim that despite his circumstances, Corvo has shown himself to be a man of mercy. Not a single man has died by his hand–even now, the urge for bloodshed is absent, though his head still rings with a mantra of make them pay make them pay make th– and the former Protector remains steadfast in his decision. He knows the truth himself though, and it is a bitter and insidious one. Death would have been a gift to those he spared, and he is not an angel of mercy. He is the instrument of w r a t h, and he would see his enemies brought to their knees without so much as a drop of blood spilled by his hands. 

Still, he is a man, and one who has been through much in less than a year. He has handled himself well enough since waking, but Daud’s men had come to collect him and their presence is stifling– he feels much like he had in Coldridge and the memories have him wound tightly. 

“No need to look so defensive. I have no weapon and no reason to start spilling blood now after so many weeks.” As though it would help, Corvo spreads his hands out in front of him.

“And not to worry, they do involve payment. Just… not at this particular moment.”

A look of amusement regards the other 'pon his statement. Daud requires not payment, for he has no use of currency, oft using it for those 'round him rather than himself. He wishes only to restore some semblance of order within this world gone mad. If he had to assist another Marked in order to obtain such a desired calm, then he vaguely supposes that he shall indeed indulge within such a task so long as it bears the fruit of results. He is rather pleased to perceive that the wretch hadn't contrived himself of the darkness he had come to gaze 'pon within his journey. Even with the burning of venom like strong liquor down his throat, he betrays not such a sign of corruption. His being placed within quarantine had been a test, perhaps a rather crude one, though ne'er had they spoken of Daud with grand mercy. He was an assassin not a nanny.

He moves his Whalers to fetch them something warm to drink as he gazes 'pon Corvo. Finally, Daud exhales and rouses himself to speak. These past few weeks had been great within the proverbial department of regret and so his corrupted soul had further eroded 'pon his actions against the empress. No one should have to kill an empress, so he had spoken to himself within his head, for the sin of guilt that accompanied such an action was paramount and now the necklace o' rope 'round his neck tightened.

"I'm here to help get the empress back, Corvo. But I think you've heard that sentence a lot lately."

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( ERLAND ):

There are things at work far greater than you, boy. Things he cannot even begin to understand, but things he was be thrown against. Lifted from the early grave that life had dug for him ( his own hands clawing at the dirt with such desperate to be unmade; to rot ) only to be swallowed by flames, but these flames breath rebirth. A destruction of what once was so that he may begin anew, risen from ash and gasping for air as drums beat in his ears and magic sparks in his veins. It will come, in time, but growth is not an instantaneous effect ( yet still he is different here, in this valley of war and it’s songs; the Wolf staring him down. it is here he feels alive for the first time, air breathed into his lungs ). He will need to embrace this power, to learn, and grow, but will the boy allow it of himself? Or has he already been too damaged?

What words the Wolf rumbles in response, his voice grizzled and dry. Smothered by fire and ash. It makes even Erland’s throat run dry ( dryer ) to listen to it, and how it resounds within his head. A voice he will not soon forget, be this a dream or a single encounter he will carry this place and the behemoth within his soul. His standards. The standards of a ruined boy unable to see the stars in his own eyes or hear the ocean roaring in his heart. Blood like bile in his mouth where teeth sink into his tongue, chewed raw ( he fears he will swallow it one day and choke ). Again he worries at the mark. Scratching it, acutely aware of it’s insistent humming. Magic which pulled and compelled him to use it, but beyond it’s crackle there was bloated silence between boy and deity. For what did man say to a god? What was he allowed to say? Should the wrong utterance strike him down, set him ablaze and tear him fiber from fiber until he was nothing but scattered stardust and a lost soul?

He can’t bring himself to look upon the Wolf any longer, but he manages speech. And how strange it is to hear his own voice speaking so freely ( how sad, boy, to call this freedom ).

        “What do you want? In return? Nothing - nothing comes without a price.”

Who is he to speak such truths to this burning celestial? Surly the Wolf needs no reminder of the ways of the world. Erland is not a stupid boy, though he plays the dim witted role easily for the instinct to survive has always been a wildfire in his blood. Absolution a terror, though this life of his far more punishing. But he has survived, and he has watched. Listened. A quiet presence easy to pay no mind to, for what harm is a stupid child? He knows of how men work, and he knows that nothing is ever free.

SHOULD HE HAVE BEEN THE SORT TO LAUGH: PERHAPS HE MOST CERTAINLY WOULD HAVE. He knows the price of living, the weight of existence; they had branded and sacrified him into becoming a deity. His sides still perceive burning banners with emblems lost to man, unable to be encountered within any proper piece of literature. These buildings had been places within this grand world, also lost to man. He recalls political favors and favors within the military, of course they had retained their prices. They had utilized him to their disposal, damned warmonger—he is not human, they chant righteously, though still they shall utilize him. He had been their personal instrument of slaughter. And O, he had followed their whims and had grown to care for a side that tasted foreign 'pon his tongue ( his heart had recalled that the side he fought for had not been his original land ). O, but how ironic! For when he had returned to his original home, they had sacrificed him and they had made him god and he had suffered; bleeding not 'pon crosses nor in thorn crowns. But he burned, when being constructed into their deity he had been a supernova, and now he carried it within the fabric of his being.

BUT HE HAD SEEN GRANDEUR WITHIN THE OTHER'S SOUL. Tidal waves for a heart, his tongue could taste a salt he was not aware of; shores claim his name in lieu of the fire that had scorched the Wolf into the fabric of the cosmos. And within his eyes, he perceives the sea and he perceives life ( life shall ne'er stop fascinating him ). This child could amount to so much more, a cooling wave 'pon his fiery existence, already constructing intrigue from the Wolf even if he was not aware of the fact that he was doing so. The boy turns up his tongue to speak words of this world unto him and there is a low rumble within his chest, not a laugh—a silent lion's roar of acknowledgment from the other's statement, some semblance of amusement displayed. And he should very much like the other to speak more, for he said the most interesting things that the deity hadn't heard within the longest time. His other Marked had shown him respect and fear, ne'er had they spoken out of turn. They had seen god and god had humbled them. Yet still this boy raises a feeble voice to speak and he is interested. The Wolf does not regret choices for he needs not to, for oft man regrets their own choices and he gives not unto them pity. Shall this boy regret his own choices? Only time will tell. Such things are not well-projected through first encounters.

                ❝ Change. You've lived your life hiding behind others, bending to them. I want to see how you'll change with what I've given you. ❞

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( OLIVIA ):

Her eyes flash and narrow, half insulted at his declaration of “nonsense”. But it quickly dissolves in amusement and a smile on her face, for she cannot deny its truth.

“It is.”

Oh, to call what is most truthfully human “inhuman”, this is the folly of all humankind. To think themselves above sin, above cruelty, no, upon this is the very foundation of humanity. Love and hate are two parts to the same whole, and likewise all emotions from rage to hunger to adoration, to everything, all the same, all a mosaic of humanity and nothing less. No demon, no wolf can feel as man does, can hate and rage so strongly. Only survival prompts the wolf, and only infeeling the demon, both so weak in comparison to the great emotion that defines humanity. Thus, he is no demon, he is no wolf, he is human and torn by human life as every other. To call him demon is an insult, the thought bitter in her throat, to call him wolf only a parody. However destroyed, however broken and piecemeal he has become, he remains only one thing; human. So often is that word synonymous with empathy! It is anything but, for human speaks of the most horrible acts as strongly as it does the most generous. Is not genocide an act of humanity? Is not murder? Is not torture? With intelligence comes malice, and this is human.

Roving feet which love to trespass, wandering gaze ever-searching for sparkling objects to hold their attention. Teenage girls have no use for scripture, no use for declarations of luxuria to be of the worst, terrible and foolish and damning. She throws away the idea without consideration, without heed. She fancies herself invulnerable, not from magic, but from youth and the strength of the knowledge that one gains wisdom in these years and what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, sing-song-sung by circle chants she’s never been a part of but knows just the same. She’s damned already, she imagines. Damned by the world, what does it matter if she damns herself?

“Do you have paper?”

EGO HOMINI LUPUS: A MANTRA, A HYMN, A PROVERB, A MOTTO. And he had whispered it to himself with trembling hands as he pieced together the remains of himself, and what had been contrived had not been quite as human as it possibly could have been. And it did not love as much as it could have, and it did not feel as much as it could have, so it had decided that it was no longer human. And so it had thought itself a wolf and it had continued to raise itself within such a fashion. And so it whispered Ego homini lupus unto itself and that had been rebirth. Scarred fingers from forgotten lacerations had erected a monument to something less than human and so he had continued to live his life within such a fashion. Perhaps he is human, though it is appearance alone. Grief is human, longing is human, pain is human; the heart of a beast is within his chest now. He had ripped the other one from his ribcage and had set it ablaze. Let him experience humanity yet never truly be it. And who is to say that the man they gaze 'pon now is human and not simply a cacophony of phantasms?

HE HAD PERMITTED HER TO ENTER WITHIN HIS OFFICE. Though showed no ardor nor compassion towards her, merely great indifference to her existence. She was simply another entity fascinated with him in lieu of the Outsider. And he hadn't realized it 'till now, but those 'round him oft retained some peculiar fixation with him. What shall they hold to gaze 'pon with wonder when they see him? For there is nothing but iron within his bones and an abysmal heart that had erected itself in the absence of a proper one, constantly combating the monstrous conscious that wishes to hold the throne within his ribcage. He sighs and motions towards a pile of papers idly, for they are blank without notes, a silent answer to her question.

                ❝ Go ahead. ❞

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( ? ? ? ):

       A low chuckle resonated within the blood-coated throat. What a peculiar response—especially when one shared such close quarters in the night between the brick and mortar. But blood lust had been slated and so this one would remain safe so long as no threat was posed. She rather hoped for some civil conversation over the little run-in, after all, there was no appetite to reap another life tonight. And so booted feet turned, pulling her from the shadows to reveal a face no more than human. A passing gift given from ancestors who knew how to hide their bestial traits well. The wolf in sheep’s skin if you will.

       However the passing of light over pallid eyes gave way to a minuscule glean produced across reflective tissue. Its brevity was enough to hint at something far more inhuman than pretense led one to believe. As if feasting upon another was not enough to prove the abnormality in which she existed. Truly a peculiar specimen when one came to know such a creature.

       In part, she wondered if this stranger would know even a hint of what she was. It was a dangerous game to play—and one that was oh so very thrilling to play. Gambling with her life as always, but really never holding the true intention of dying.  Perhaps a day would come when this game no longer served a purpose in entertainment, but for now it would remain sitting on the back burner until the proper time.

        “While that is true, I do believe you do not need to reside in a ballroom to possess manners. Unless, of course, you were never raised with them.”

AND WHAT A FOOL HE MUST SEEM TO SPEAK TO SUCH A WOMAN! But both of them are far more akin to wolves than the men they busy themselves with. Predators who don the masks of man, concealing sharpened smiles and an insatiable bloodlust. Though such seemed far more literal in the woman's case, since he had perceived her gorging herself 'pon the ichor of another, leaving his body for the rats to feast 'pon. He is cautious, for one does not simply perceive something such as that and emerge without some semblance of caution and worry. Daud had perceived many a peculiar thing within his existence. He had traveled to continents that other sha'ant dream of within his youth and had seen the unpleasantness of the underground of the city. Though ne'er had he seen a woman within the blanket of night indulging in a blood-stained sin such as the consumption of one's essence as if it is fine wine.

SHE APPEARS NOT A WITCH UNTO HIM, FOR HE HAD ALLIED HIMSELF WITH SUCH WOMEN. Indeed, they were capricious and spoke of manners, though ne'er had they done something so peculiar as to what this stranger had just done. If anything involved blood within the coven he associate with, then more often than not, it went into whatever they were preparing rather than 'pon their tongues like a fine drink. Thus, ruling out her so being a witch, or perhaps she may be some exotic cut of deranged he had yet to encounter ( it seemed unlikely, though it was rather possible ).

                ❝ Is it possible to even do what you just did politely? ❞

[deiciding]

( ? ? ? ):

“Pitch a big enough fit and eventually someone will come.”

For who could ignore the impassioned (or, in her case, raging) screams of a woman in distress? The irony, of course, is that the inverse of humanity’s astounding capacity for compassion and empathy is directly proportional to the amount of abandoned, maggot-ridden corpses littering the streets. The city hemorrhages plague as the Lord Regent’s hounds strangle the life out of Dunwall with their draconian curfews, quarantines, and rations on food and whale oil—now its citizens are as likely to tear each other apart as the rats that infect them, and the only way to ensure survival in this time of crisis is to keep their heads down and mind their own business.

When a group of City Watch officers gun down an entire family in their home based on a false rumor spread by a starving neighbor hoping to loot their valuables for coin—better them than me.

When an Overseer sics his dog on a woman accused of heresy—better her than me.

Unrelenting paranoia and selfishness are the new normal. So it goes until either order is restored or the capital is a smoking ruin of death and decay.

Sheila’s plan was not a calculated one by any means, and she’s acutely aware of how fortunate she is that her rescuer decided to intervene rather than remain a passive bystander, but she hadn’t been banking a stranger’s kindness (or intrigue, or whatever it was that compelled him) to save her. She just wanted to go down fighting.

“Anyway, uhh, thanks, I guess.” She almost begins to say something else—a curious ‘Why?’ hangs plainly off the tip of her tongue—but then she changes her mind. “Not a whole lotta people left willin’ to stick their necks out like that.”

HE IS NO SAVIOR, NO GRAND GENTLEMAN OF NOBLE INCLINATIONS. She looks roughly the age in which he recruits his Whalers and he hardly has interest in recruiting the damned woman ( for if she is willing to fling herself within such a fashion 'pon such a gamble, then he cannot condone such recklessness and foolishness, though the plan is indeed clever and he had indeed fallen victim to it ). A grunt in response to her first statement as he lights another cigarette, walking along. Whether she follows or not is of her own choosing.

HE KNOWS OF THE CORRUPTION THAT PLAGUES THE CITY. He had seen neighbor turn on neighbor, brother against brother, mother against son, son against father, and so went the cycle. Humans were desperate creatures who knew only of their own whims within the end. That is the terror of such a race, for they shall throw away morals once darkness consumes the land they traverse 'pon. They wished to play the pseudo-virtuous, to deny their sin, yet still it damned them. Daud was not different, for Dunwall had placed her cloud of doubt and uncertainty 'pon him, as well, though he had tossed aside his humanity and good wishes prior to the plague. The others were simply late in following suit. With her carefree attitude, he thinks he ought to have let the Overseer have his way with her. But still, he is silent and thoughtful, carefully considering the girl. He has no other intentions of interaction beyond this, he vaguely considered it some act of charity that he had even roused himself to spare her existence.

                ❝ You don't know if someone would have come. And I'm also not most people. ❞

[deiciding]

( ? ? ? ):

“There is no such thing as a simple man.  Pronounced  from the lips of another it betrays only their ignorance;  from the lips of the man in question, it is meant to discourage curiosity.” She came to a sudden halt, dark eyes covering his figure from head to toe. He intrigued her– that much was beyond a doubt.  But  he  wasn’t  a  conversationalist, and good manners were intrinsic to her blood. If he had a reason for denying her interest, she wouldn’t press the issue further.

                                         “I’ll ask only once– and at a word from you, I                                        shall be silenced forever. Who are you, Daud?”

AND WHO IS HE IF NOT AN AGENT OF MORTALITY HIMSELF? And from his blade had dripped golden ichor, murder his ambrosia, murder his absolution. And he prayed to no god, a dangerous man though what words may he impart unto her? He knows not of what may so be said. He is an enigma, the sort who permits none close and should one try, they should very well encounter new lacerations 'pon their flesh. He is a dangerous man, let all flee him.

                ❝ Just a party goer, miss. ❞