i genuinely don't think there's much, if anything, hotter than someone clearly having a blast doing something they're really good at. doesn't really matter what it is. the combo of competence and joy is absolutely lethal to me
“I don’t like this expression “First World problems.” It is false and it is condescending. Yes, Nigerians struggle with floods or infant mortality. But these same Nigerians also deal with mundane and seemingly luxurious hassles. Connectivity issues on your BlackBerry, cost of car repair, how to sync your iPad, what brand of noodles to buy: Third World problems. All the silly stuff of life doesn’t disappear just because you’re black and live in a poorer country. People in the richer nations need a more robust sense of the lives being lived in the darker nations. Here’s a First World problem: the inability to see that others are as fully complex and as keen on technology and pleasure as you are.”
Listen I get it but you CANNOT use "sensory nightmare" as an excuse to avoid essential things. You HAVE to find a way to make it work, such as finding effective alternatives. But you can't just avoid it.
You need to eat some vegetables in your diet or you will become a lich.
You have to wear a life jacket or you will literally drown and die.
You need to be able to exist in public spaces with children.
Fandom: Dishonored
Relationships: Daud and the Whalers, Daud/Outsider
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.
Content Warnings for this chapter: None, honestly. Have fun.
AO3 Link
Previous :: First :: Next
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Dunwall, The Wrenhaven River
Month of Seeds, 1821
He was used to waking up to whalesong by now. A soft keening, a warble in the distance, omnipresent in his ears. What he was not used to was the soft call of the gulls and terns, the gentle sound of waves, the smell of salt water and spring air. He blinked; instead of a dark, nondescript ceiling he saw the pink clouds of the morning sky.
Daud groaned, rolling over, his back aching and his head throbbing. Hard metal lay beneath him; the world swayed and for a hot second he believed his vision was failing him. But then the horizon righted again, steel groaning against unrelenting waves.
A boat. He was on a boat. A whale trawler, by the looks and sounds of it, though devoid of whale or crew despite being anchored offshore.
That woke him up fully; scrambling up, he sneered, looking around. He eased as he saw they were still in Dunwall; the city could be seen on the horizon, Dunwall Tower itself a sentinel at the edge of the water. Close enough to see, too far away to swim ashore. He tensed his jaw loud enough to pop.
“What the fuck now,” he grumbled.
“Great question.” Daud jumped; above him, just under the whale hanger, sat Rulfio. In his hands he carved a piece of driftwood, whittling it in the glow of the morning light. A shaving flicked off and away from his knife, falling down towards Daud like snow. Rulfio’s eyebrow raised up as he gave his assassin associate a look over and a snicker. “Good morning, wolfman.”
Daud frowned, his jaw set. The memories of last night came back; not his finest moment, he had been at the Outsider's shrine when Rulfio had found him and—damn him—had shot him with a sleep dart. All of it, a reminder of his compromised position: a quick look down told him all he needed to know about that detail. Daud’s lip curled.
“You brought me out here whole-ass naked for all of Dunwall's shoreline to see?” He said, annoyed.
“Your clothes’re stashed in that supply box,” Rulfio said, pointing with his knife. The man had the audacity to chuckle and Daud bristled. “Should be some food in there too, if you're hungry.”
Daud gave Rulfio another suspicious look before going over to the box and opening it. Inside he found his shirt, pants, and boots. It wasn't everything, but it was a kindness that Rulfio salvaged anything at all.
Throwing on his pants first, Daud dryly called up, “A boat, Rulfio? Really?”
“Couldn't have you running off so soon, now could I? Not so easy to escape when you're surrounded by water.”
Daud's frown deepened to the point of discomfort. Damn Rulfio for being so smart. Sure, he could transform, he could try to swim, but he had a sneaking suspicion that whale-wolves, despite what the name implied, were not immune to drowning. He eyed the shore regardless; he was trapped on a boat until he either got desperate enough to try swimming, or Rulfio said his piece. He wasn't entirely sure which would come first.
Adjusting his shirt, he kept his eye on the Tower landmark and away from the infuriating humming of the other assassin above him.
“Come on up when you're ready, Daud.” Rulfio's cadence was too cheery; it grated against Daud's irritation. “I'd like to have a chat.”
“What could you possibly want to still say to me?” It was a weak argument, Daud knew, but he made it anyway. Rulfio, already anticipating this pushback, huffed out an indignant laugh.
“Lots. Now get up here, you absolute ass.”
Daud put his boots on. Then, with a clench of his fist he materialized next to Rulfio. Still not used to Daud appearing in a spot so suddenly, Rulfio jerked so roughly he almost dropped his carving.
“Outsider's ass, you are spooky now,” he said, still uneasy. As if to accentuate Rulfio's point, Daud fixed his most unsettling smile on his face, making the other man even more apprehensive. “Can you not with me, Daud? Spirits, it was hard enough while tracking you down.”
“Oh, I’m not that bad, Rulf.”
“Actually, you are.” Daud looked over, smugness fleeing at the look of irritation on Rulfio's face. “Since when have you been so goddamn sloppy?”
Daud winced, his fingers flexing. When he didn't reply, when his eyes stayed on the Tower and not on Rulfio, the other man just kept talking.
“There was an assassination in Draper's Ward before the winter. A blood trail; two. I followed the one and it led to a slit throat and a missing arm.” Rulfio shucked a large piece of wood off his piece roughly. “The other trail I followed was a man who went to a doctor off the main drag. An interesting man, that doctor.”
Daud felt his insides go cold. He looked over to Rulfio, seeing the other man watching him coolly. The feeling of wanting to flee crept further into his bones.
“A doctor?”
“Yes. A nice man, who did as much as he could for this new patient. Was only able to apply stitches and a few ointments. When I asked him about it later, he said he thought it looked like a dog attack.”
“Maybe it was,” Daud said, voice low. “Maybe that's all it was.”
“We both know it wasn't.”
“You have no proof otherwise.”
“There was an explosion,” Rulfio pressed on, “at Greaves a month later. Almost exactly twenty-eight days. They reported a malfunctioning container left in a closet. No casualties. But there was a suspicious looking stain on the floor they claimed was just oil.”
Everything about Daud itched.
“What's it matter, Rulfio?”
“It matters because it seems like you turned someone and then killed them.”
“It was a mistake. One I won't make twice.”
“Then why did it happen again?”
Daud's insides froze over. He tried not to react but he couldn't help his fists clenching. Rulfio didn't move, looking at Daud carefully, unmoving. His steady, all-too-knowing gaze was infuriating.
“I don't know what you're—”
“There was a kid at the Academy,” Rulfio interrupted, and Daud's mouth snapped shut. “You hid it under a broken arm. Nobody even realized; he certainly didn't. Not that first week, anyway. Then the second week rolled around, and the infection just wouldn't subside.”
“He attacked a girl.” The words tumbled out, heavy on his tongue.
Rulfio's expression darkened.
“So you don't deny it, then. That one wasn't a mistake.” Daud snarled, a lip curling, but Rulfio kept pressing. “You just left him to fester, watching him the whole time. You could have killed him at any moment, you stalked him for weeks and you just let him go? Then he transformed and you just—”
Rage filled Daud from head to toe. The claws grew on instinct and he nearly crashed his mind into Rulfio if just to get him to shut up. He didn't; instead, he grabbed Rulfio by his shirt, dragging him to his face, snarling and baring too-sharp teeth.
“Are you serious right now, Rulf?” He shook Rulfio, roughly, but not enough to hurt. “Are you coming here to chastise me about how awful you thought my actions were, but chose not to stop me? You watched the whole time and chose not to intervene? You choose now to try and be a conscience on my shoulder?”
“Fucking Void, Daud, what would you have me, a regular human, do?” His voice was strained but his hands and gaze remained resolute, gripping onto Daud's arm. “If you had watched someone do what you did to that kid, would you have confronted them, or feared what they'd do to you too?”
Daud's jaw worked, his hands flexing where he held onto Rulfio's shirt. He snarled and dropped Rulfio, getting up and stalking away from him.
“Fuck off.”
He had not been kind to Dustin. Yes, he had scratched him. Yes, he had stalked him, watched him. He wanted to see every step of the process, of what happened during the incubation period, if a scratch was even enough to scar and cause anything — and it was. Dustin had worsened, the cut had festered. Not even Sokolov could understand why the infection persisted; he was just given antibiotics and sent on his way.
And then a month had passed. Daud had grabbed Dustin, taken him away, sat him in a room, and waited. He waited, watched, and then studied. Studied how his body changed, how the bone reset, how the shift looked from the outside. How fast he recovered from a blade wound, if he smelled of Void, if his mind stayed. He learned everything… and then he let him go into the Void and planned on never doing that to someone again.
He hadn't been proud of it, but he needed to know. And it wasn't as if that man had any good thoughts, no redeeming qualities, he had assaulted Lune that night and—
There are more dangerous men than kind ones here at the Academy.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten.
“You weren't supposed to see that, Rulfio.” His voice was quiet, but not ashamed. “Why were you even there, tailing me—”
“Because I was looking for you, you idiot.” Rulfio countered.
“You never looked before.” Daud's voice was painfully strained. “Before all of this mess, you never gave a damn if I lived, died, or what I did with my spare time. You just cared about the coin. Why do you care now?”
“Because—”
The pained noise that escaped Rulfio’s throat was both embarrassing and concerning. Daud turned, face still so severe, but Rulfio's face was an open book of emotions. Rulfio caught Daud's eye and deflated.
“Because you were in my head,” Rulfio confessed. “And you told me the truth. And, Daud, you could've—but you didn't… You didn't fucking kill me. You left me alive and—” Rulfio looked away, throat closing. His hands balled into fists.
“You can do so many things to kill someone, and you didn't do anything to me. You just gave me that sad look on your face and ran. As if out of everything, out of all those monsters, what you were actually scared of was me.”
Daud said nothing. He swallowed thickly, his throat not cooperating. He looked back out at the water, listening to the lapping of it against the trawler, and closed his eyes.
He wanted so desperately to reach out to Rulfio again. It left him feeling feverish, shaking, like trying to stop a starving man from eating. It was easier in the Academy because he was one mind among many and he could touch any of them at any time. But here, on the water, it was just the two of them and Daud couldn't help but feel so, irrevocably, alone.
“Did you actually steal this boat without a crew just to get me out here?” Daud asked, voice rough with unspoken emotion. Rulfio paused, chuckled.
“Just realized? Yes. I nicked it, so eventually I will have to take it back. Someone's going to notice eventually.”
“You're fucking crazy, Rulfio.” Doing this, just to trap him. It was almost worse than a cage. He was impressed all the same. His lip twitched involuntarily.
“I like to think I'm the very sane one between us, Daud,” he laughed, even if it still had a nervous edge. “What are you going to do when we get back to the dock?”
Daud was silent for too long. “Maybe I'll climb Dunwall Tower, just because I can.”
“Daud.”
He winced. He licked his lips, heaved a sigh, then turned back to Rulfio.
“I have to get my things from the shrine. Then, I have a contract to prep and stake out for.”
“Let me come along.”
“I don't need the help, Rulfio.”
“Ah, but I think you do.”
Rulfio took a few steps toward Daud, his eyes averting as if looking for eavesdroppers. Then, a breath. “I don't want you scared of me, Daud. Not when you can slice me in half without a second thought. But you can't keep doing this ‘lone wolf’ act. You’re acting unhinged and I recall you saying you didn't survive in those sewers just to let madness take you in the end. So let me come with you already.”
Daud's stomach twisted unpleasantly and once again, he contemplated the Wrenhaven’s waters. But what would running accomplish? Rulfio could track him now, and fuck him for that. Fuck him for being such a damned good assassin.
Daud shifted uneasily. “Is the rule still in place?”
Rulfio took long enough to consider that Daud's stomach twisted in knots. But Rulfio just breathed out, deflating.
“Let's see how this hit goes. And maybe, if you behave, I'll let you back in my head. No promises though.”
The relief washing over Daud's entire body must've been too visible; Rulfio blinked in surprise.
“Okay. You can come,” Daud said. “But do try and keep up.”
------
Keeping up with this new version of Daud was easier said than done.
Rulfio was a strong guy, surprisingly agile for his size and age. He'd never had issues getting around Dunwall and truly knew the rooftop routes better than the sewers, and he knew those even better than the streets. But whatever black magic now coursed through Daud energized him in a way that Rulfio just wasn't used to. He was at least grateful Daud didn't just teleport away, leaving him completely in the dust on the way to this new assassination target.
And Rulfio was doubly grateful that Daud stayed close enough to converse with.
“So, did you find that man from the sewers?”
Daud grimaced and Rulfio watched those sharper teeth flash for just a moment. The shiver came and went like a cloud over the sun.
“I looked, but he was gone when I went after him. No idea who he is yet, and I haven't seen or smelled him since.”
“Just up and vanished?” Rulfio asked. He entertained no fantasies that that beast of a man died that day when he shot him in the sewers.
“I have a sneaking suspicion he was either captured like the other Marked wolf was, or is under someone's protection.” Daud hopped up to a new vantage point, reaching a gloved hand down to help hoist Rulfio up. “He said something about being able to ‘control’ those poor souls that I killed, which makes me think he's had powers for a long while. If he has, and he's never been caught or found, then he's either very sneaky, or he works for someone and they are powerful enough to leash him.”
“Think it's the Boyles?” Rulfio asked, allowing himself to be pulled up on the metal grating. “Maybe Rothwild?”
“Could be the crown for all I know,” Daud growled. “Either way, I can't find him.”
“Found everyone else though.”
Daud nodded gravely, his expression not escaping Rulfio's sharp eyes. Daud before the accident had a cocksure attitude, common for skilled assassins who were still young and without accident; now, he was reserved, severe, and— well. Rulfio looked away as Daud caught him staring. He could feel the frown boring into his head.
“What, Rulf?”
“It's nothing you haven't already heard, Daud.” And it was true. “So let me just spend my time getting used to this, alright?”
“What's to get used to?” Daud asked with a sneer, and Rulfio sighed. “I'm serious; I'm the same Daud, I just have a new fancy bag of tricks and some old cuts to prove it. Nothing else, Rulf.”
“Maybe that's all I'm trying to get used to, Daud. I keep thinking about what you'll do, what you can do that I don't know about.”
Daud grabbed his arm, forcing him to look him in the eye. Rulfio held the gaze, his own expression resolute.
“Whatever you think, Rulfio, just remember this: I'm not going to hurt you. You found me and followed me on that premise alone. So, if you can keep that in mind and just have some trust in me…” he loosened his grip and Rulfio watched him. Strangely, Daud's eyes averted.
“... If you trust in me, I might be able to teach you something too.”
Rulfio stared at him.
“What, like your—” Rulfio pointed to Daud's hand where the Mark sat, innocently hidden from the world. That hand clenched reflexively, but Daud didn't waver.
“Yes. I… tested it. On the boy. But it didn't work.” The word choice he used caused Rulfio’s brows to furrow. “I was missing something then, but I think with you, it'd work.”
“I'm your friend, Daud,” Rulfio said evenly. “Your partner. Not your test subject for whatever creepy powers you have.”
Emotions flicked across Daud's eyes before the stony exterior returned.
“Understood, Rulf.”
One more long look at Daud, before Rulfio was peering out at the Estate District, enjoying the view from their perch just under the Clock Tower.
“Alright. Now, go ahead and fill me in on this hit already.”
It was unfortunately not an easy in and out job. Despite Daud's earlier claim of not needing help, this was clearly high profile enough to be troublesome. Estermont was not a common name to see asking for wet work, but this was apparently a special case. A cousin of the family was found embezzling funds from the Lord, discovered by his son, Talmedge. They were looking for either the elimination of the cousin, or proof enough to send her to the City Watch and put her up against Parliament. Easy enough on paper, but the issue was this Lady was well-guarded at home, with security on staff overnight and during the day. They would have to move carefully.
“So how much is this contract paying?” Rulfio asked as he peered down at the lavish building through Daud's spyglass. He handed the device over to Daud, where he stood and did his own careful search.
“Enough to take it easy for a few months,” he mumbled. “Enough I wouldn't know what to do with the coin for once.”
“Why even take it then?”
There was a shrug in his response. “I needed a challenge.”
Rulfio could feel the sweat on his neck as Daud said that. He knew Daud was taking good coin now; he'd seen the purses he left in Rulfio's supply drops when he stopped taking them from their old meeting spot. His hand flexed and the leather in his old gloves complained. Hoisting himself up into a standing position, his knees chose to complain as well.
“Let's be careful, then.”
Daud nodded, and they laid low until night fell properly, waiting for the Estate District to wrap itself in the calm blanket of the evening. The more they talked and coordinated, the more Rulfio eased; this was more their pace, the reason the two men worked so well together. Daud clearly worked best with at least one mind to bounce off of, and this hit called for a plan and an understanding of routes and entrances and exits— all of which Rulfio excelled at. The darker the night became, the more restless they grew, eager to get their plan into motion.
As the Clock Tower struck midnight, they extinguished their lanterns and cloaked themselves in darkness. Daud pulled his hood up and Rulfio watched as his eyes gleamed dangerously, reflecting the lights of the house below. He swallowed; the normal conversations had almost let him forget what Daud was now. The reflection passed and so did Rulfio's trepidation.
“I'll go down first and clear out the route. I'll send the signal when I'm done and know the way into the vault.”
In a rush of ash and light, Daud was gone.
Rulfio watched, waited, listened, and counted the seconds.
At two minutes and forty-five seconds, Rulfio heard it; the creak of leather and the scrape of a boot against wood reached his ears. His hand twitched and he listened closer; he didn't think it was Daud, and they hadn't agreed to have him return already. At this moment, Daud should be routing the lower levels and gathering intel on the family vault where the evidence was kept, but that was dependent on him already finding the way in. So if it wasn't Daud, then—
There. Rulfio saw the movement on another rooftop, moving towards the estate. He pulled his hood up, fixing his wristbow as he settled a foot on the lip of the window, ready to shoot.
Cold steel under his chin stilled his movement.
“Curious to find you here, Rulfio,” a deep voice said in his ear. He stiffened, staying completely still but for the angry furrow to his brow.
“Rinaldo?”
A tap on his shoulder and a hum in his ear affirmed he was correct. “I wouldn't move if I were you. That house is a den of misfortune, and I'm sorry you're caught up in it.” The first assassin— because now Rulfio was certain it was a rival assassin, if Rinaldo was here—jumped to the estate roof, trying to enter through the same route Daud took.
If he could just subtly move his aim, he could still take him out—
Rinaldo’s sword blade patted against Rulfio's arm, tutting. “Now now, none of that.”
“What do you want, Rinaldo?” He spoke carefully, the knife still on his throat. “You can't really think it's a smart idea to interrupt Daud while he's working, can you?”
“Ah, well, you see, that's why I'm here,” Rinaldo said quietly. “Well, my compatriot there wants to loot whatever Daud cracks wide open in the house, so he agreed to come along under that stipulation. But I'm here… for Daud.”
Rulfio's jaw worked and the knife bit into his chin. “Brimsley’s contract is still at large, I see?” He tried not to laugh. “Good luck on that.”
“Oh, I don't plan on collecting that tonight, but you're a good friend and close to him. Maybe you can enlighten me on some… developments.”
Rulfio’s brain worked fast. As far as he could tell, Rinaldo didn't want to kill him, but they were both assassins and while not antagonistic, they were hardly friendly. A wrong move and that knife would be in his throat, no hesitation. He watched the windows of the estate as a light turned on and a shadow passed over it.
“I don't know why you think I'm going to just hand information over to you and betray the trust of my partner.”
“Oh, it's not betrayal.” Rinaldo adjusted his grip as he leaned over Rulfio, moving his sword from Rulf’s arm to his side. “It's just self preservation, for both of us. I want to know you and Daud's secret. His rate of contracts has gone increasingly up and we aren't the only ones to wonder why.”
That shadow moved again. A scuffle? Ruflio stayed stockstill and stuck to the age-old adage of keeping Rinaldo talking.
“This is the first hit I've done with Daud since last year.” At least that much was truthful. Rinaldo clicked his tongue.
“That’s strange. All of Daud's contracts were picked up as two man jobs. This one included. And here you are.”
Rulfio blinked, uncomfortable now from his position and the tall man standing behind him. Is that why Daud kept dropping coin into his lap? He wasn't just doing a charity, he was…
“Here I am,” Rulfio repeated. “Well, I've been trying to keep it on the downlow… especially since Daud was in the academy for four months. Surely you noticed a dry spell over the winter?”
An alarm went off in the house. That surprised Rinaldo. He shifted, making a noise, and that was enough.
The dagger in Rulfio's glove was in his hand as he elbowed Rinaldo in the ribs. The other man grunted and the sword left his side just barely enough for Rulfio to spin around, the dagger biting the air, looking for a target. It met the knife that had been at Rulfio's cheek; the metal clanged loudly and on the rebound Rulfio ducked and spun away.
Rinaldo, however, was faster, his position better. The sword was already out and the slash came swift. Rulfio dodged up— but it wasn't clean. The slice went up the length of his right underarm, tearing into muscle and tendon. Fresh blood caught in the light of the estate across the street.
Ruflio grunted, stumbled. He was still on the windowsill. Still one foot out, one foot in. The misstep sent him backwards, tripping over the rim.
“Shit—”
Burning pain lanced his whole arm as he lurched backwards. Rinaldo’s dark and impassive face watched as he fell backwards. The siren blared loudly from the home; Rinaldo retreated as fast as he had appeared.
At least, Rulfio assumed so, as he lost sight of the other assassin as he pitched out the fourth story window.
It wasn't his first time falling. That was in Wynnedowne when he was a kid, where his sister pushed him down the stairs. He survived that fall but hadn't forgotten the lurch of his stomach, the rush of wind. He knew the crunch wasn't far behind.
He had 4 seconds.
He tried not to look at the trail of blood his arm was leaving behind as he reached out for a ledge, a light pole, a fire escape. His good hand caught something metal and he felt bones break on impact. Just enough to grab, to slow down, but not enough to stop. His grip failed and ground rushed up to greet him.
He didn't panic. He wasn't allowed to. But that didn't stop him from yelling, as loudly as he could with his mind, for the only one who he knew could hear it.
“Daud!”
If there was a response, Rulfio couldn't tell. The world and sky spun. There was a lurch of his body, and something crunched before whiplash and pain took him out cold.
------
Rage nearly blinded him, his limbs shaking not from exhaustion but from absolute hatred filling him head to toe. He had been fucking ambushed and another assassin was in the building. Trying to take his contract, his spoils, alerting the guards and throwing on the alarm—
Then the call—and Rulfio was—
He was glad he had a mental bead on Rulfio. There was no way he couldn't; he knew his mind, could brush against it without intruding. So when he heard his name across the threadbare connection, the desperation, his stomach dropped and he just—
He lost it. Void above and below, Daud lost it.
Time stopped and everyone in his path was left falling where they stood. A body cut in half, a neck stabbed, a stomach disemboweled, and the assassin who dared to enter his house—their head rolled.
If they hadn't been here, if they hadn't fucking touched what was his—
He leapt through the window and strained against all of his power. And there was Rulfio, inches from the ground and Daud roared where nobody could hear him, an unearthly sound ripping from his chest like some giant bell toll. His hand extended and he pulled as hard and fast as he could.
Time resumed.
Rulfio's body slammed into his grasp just as Daud hit the ground, rattling his knees bad enough to buckle. He grunted, teeth gnashing together, keeping Rulfio's much larger body close as he tucked and rolled, ending up in an alley under the building. His shoulder popped unpleasantly but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle; he could feel it popping back into place as soon as he stood up, smoke rolling off his body, repairing damage.
“Fuck— Rulfio, fuck—”
It was only now that he realized Rulfio was bleeding; his whole right side was crimson, stemming from the slash on the underneath of his arm. He could see the gash was deep even through Rulf's leather; it wasn't something he could staunch here, but he certainly was going to try. He pulled his top layer off, cursing under his breath the whole time.
Only a blade could do that kind of damage. That meant the assassin who had been in the house wasn't the only one, and they had jumped Rulfio while Daud was inside. White hot rage threatened to fill his very being to the brim, thoughts buzzing like a bloodfly nest and just as vengeful. He brushed against Rulfio's mind and was only calmed with the knowledge he was still alive, even if he wasn't conscious enough to respond.
He wrapped Rulfio's arm to the best of his ability. He tried not to think about the blood already soaking through the fabric as he gathered Rulfio up and transformed, rushing him to the rooftops and towards the only doctor he could trust at this hour.
------
Misha Romanov was not sleeping well.
It wasn't due to work. Work was fine, for once; the advance payment from Daud had helped him hire an assistant during the day and expand his amount and quality of equipment. He supposed, later, that he could chalk it up to stress, to the amount of emergency patients he had coming in, the uptick of seasonal respiratory ailments. Neither, however, really explained the crying whales, the bleeding limbs, the flashing teeth, or the heart that beat in his head, reverberating in his ribs.
He woke that night still on the couch of his waiting room, unsure of when he had fallen asleep but knowing immediately what it was that jolted him awake. It was the shattering of glass, heavy, rushed foot falls from the upstairs, and then, most alarmingly, his name called.
“Misha?”
He scrambled up, adjusting his glasses, looking around and hurrying up the stairs.
“Assassin Daud? Is that you?” He entertained a fleeting idea that this was potentially a trap, that perhaps the burglar was not who he thought it was, and he would be killed as soon as he hit the landing outside his office—
What greeted him was much worse than he could have anticipated.
Daud, the same assassin he had hired eight months ago, stood there, covered in blood and carrying a large lump that was vaguely human shaped. There was a soft plip as blood dripped off his side where he carried the second body, and Misha realized belatedly that the blood wasn't Daud’s.
“Spirits—” Misha grabbed surgical gloves as tiredness fled him. “Put them—him—over here, quickly.” Daud did as instructed, grunting from the weight as he dropped the body onto the table.
“I'm sorry about the window,” he told him roughly. Misha laughed, but it was a nervous thing.
“Get my things,” he told Daud, in a mirror of what happened last time. “Tell me what happened.”
Daud prattled off the meaningful events while Misha worked, zeroing in on the cut on his friend's arm. He caught the name Rulfio and did his best to remember it, commit name to face and injury. The cut was severe, but not the worst he'd seen. Too many victims of the Hatter's were coming to his clinic, which left him far too used to stab wounds. As long as he could get this sutured, he should be okay.
No, the real issue was…
“He needs a transfusion,” Misha spoke softly, as if anything louder would spook the assassin. “He's only just stable, but the amount of blood he's lost…” He was busy stitching muscle back together, trying to salvage the man's right tricep, but his sigh was heavy. “I don't have anything universal.”
Daud, where he stood in half shadow and with bloodied hands, made a strangled noise.
“I don’t—” It was clear he was battling with something.
“It doesn't need to be right away,” Misha assured him. “I need to finish up here first. But the sooner the better.” A heavy sigh from underneath his surgical mask. “I will need to splint his left hand as well.”
Daud just nodded dully, as if the fact that his friend was so close to the edge was something he was having a hard time accepting. His hands clenched on the table, his body a tense coil of muscle.
“What does it take to check if I'm a match?”
Misha looked at him over his glasses before going back to his sutures, carefully closing the cut. “It will take just a small sample of your blood, and I can test it here. We'll both need to clean up first, so we don't contaminate the sample.” A pause as another suture was tied off. “Is there something in your blood you're concerned about?”
“I'm not infected with anything if that's what you're asking, Doctor,” Daud added gruffly. “But… I don't know what my blood type is.”
“Reasonable. Well, we can find out. If you aren't a match, I'll have to send you on a fetch quest.”
“Anything,” Daud sounded pained. “You tell me what to do, and I'll do it.”
Another suture tie off. Only the forearm left to go.
“Is there honor among assassins?” Misha asked, conversational, curious about the relationship between the two men. From Misha's understanding, Daud worked alone— at least, he never mentioned another soul. But he could also tell that Daud cared, in some strange and enigmatic fashion. The girl, Emma, had been proof enough of that. And now here he was, bringing in an associate. Certainly assassins were typically rivals between each other? He could not fathom the reality being otherwise.
“Only some. But Rulfio is a friend, and the only assassin I've been willing to work with. I'd rather not lose him over my own stupidity.”
Ah. Guilt then, along with attachment, just like the girl. Misha nodded, looking for no more context. “He is strong to have handled this the way he did. And it is a miracle he did not break anything else in his fall out a window.”
“Just a tough old river krust, I guess,” Daud said. He watched Rulfio's breathing with an intensity that could be considered unsettling.
“Do you want to get cleaned up while I finish here?” It was a gentle request posed as a question, one that Daud picked up on. He went over to the washbasin, removing gloves and other garments to wash the blood away. Misha watched him in the gloom outside the operating table, but then went back to the sutures.
Just a few more. He could feel Rulfio groan and stir underneath him. Something about his face was vaguely familiar.
“Hello, Sir Rulfio. Please don't move, you are currently being tended to and your arm is especially fragile. Daud?”
In a flash and a rush of wind, Daud was there, hands clean and bare. Something on the back of his left hand gleamed in the dark, flaring before quieting back to darkness again. A chill creeped up Misha's spine as he remembered how Daud seemed to move supernaturally the last time he was here.
“He may be waking up, and I have three more sutures,” he explained. “I can't have him moving until I bandage this or they'll just rip right open.”
Luckily for both of them, Rulfio didn't stir much more. Misha watched his face, seeing it pale and pained. They needed to work fast once he was closed up.
It was five minutes until Misha was finally done with the sutures. He then shucked his gloves off, sighing as he grabbed a new pair.
“Come here, Daud. And bring something sharp.”
Daud obliged. The knife was pulled from his bandolier and Misha vaguely wondered how many sharp objects existed on his person at any given time.
“I only need a few drops, so however you want—”
Misha had barely grabbed the collection vial before Daud’s finger was freely bleeding, the man making not a noise of protest about it. Misha just let out a little “well, that certainly will do it” and grabbed the blood sample. A drop went under the microscope, the other in a tester solution. It would only take a few minutes to know the blood type, and the slide would reveal any major infections, if he had them.
What he didn't expect was whatever in the Void was going on with Daud's blood. He checked the sample, took his glasses off, wiped them, and then replaced them before looking again. When it still didn't make sense, he waved for his attention.
“Daud. Bring me a drop of Rulfio's blood. Can be from anywhere.”
Daud chose from the table. He brought it over, apprehensive.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, not that…” he mumbled more under his breath, too focused on the task at hand. A drop of Rulfio's blood joined Daud's blood on the slide.
It was fascinating. Daud's white blood cells were particularly aggressive, and had a structure that Misha had never seen before, or even had described to him. There weren't any microbes at all present in Daud's blood, and whatever came along with the blood from Rulfio, they beelined to it like bloodhounds. Ravenous and absolute, Nothing was left untouched but the blood cells themselves. The sound he made was somewhere between surprise and horror.
“Great news,” Misha said, trying to sound like this actually is something great. “You can be a donor. I'll go get my things.”
Daud blinked in surprise. “Do you know what my type is already?” he asked as Misha rolled his chair around and hurried off.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said absently. “But trust me, this will work. Or, it should…” he looked up, a sense of wonder crossing his features as he looked over to the assassin. “No, your blood will save him. I'm sure of it.”
------
It was early morning by the time Rulfio stirred. Daud lounged in the chair next to him, dozing, but as soon as the other assassin groaned and shifted in his bed Daud was awake, watching and listening. Instinctively, his mind brushed Rulfio's; sensing his returning consciousness he backed out, sitting up in the chair and nervously popping the knuckles in his fingers.
“Outsider's asshole,” Rulfio groaned, his splinted hand coming up to his face. He was surprised to see the IV there, as well as the blood bag slowly dripping life back into him. “The fuck—?”
“Welcome back to the world of living,” Daud greeted, his lips twitching up. Rulfio sat up far enough to see him proper before falling back on the pillows.
“So you got me after all,” he said, relieved. “Thought I'd wake up in the Void for sure, but here I am.”
“Here you are,” Daud repeated. He pulled his chair closer, turning it around to lean against the backing. “Wasn't going to let you splat on the pavement like that.”
“Guess not, you stubborn bastard.” The laugh was pained and stilted. “Thank you.”
Daud hummed, the only acknowledgement of Rulfio's appreciation. The silence fell comfortably between them; Daud counted a few minutes out, listening to a clock tick from the other room.
“So,” he started, soft. Rulfio opened an eye to look at him. “Do you know who did it?”
Rulfio swallowed, lifting his stiff and heavily bandaged right arm, and sighed.
“Rinaldo. I don't know who was with him though. Did you see?”
“No. But they're dead.”
Rulfio's arm dropped heavily back onto the bed. “I'm not surprised at all.”
Something in his tone raised Daud's hackles. “They were in my way and I needed to get to you.”
“Did you go after Rinaldo too?” Bitterness, but Daud couldn't tell if it was directed at him or Rinaldo. His jaw worked.
“No.” The truth. “I didn't see him, and I was more concerned with you bleeding out before I got you here.”
“And where is ‘here’?”
“A doctor’s clinic, Misha Romanov, in Draper's Ward. I brought the girl here, so I knew I could trust him.”
Rulfio sighed. “The one with the cheap contract, right. Well. The good doctor did a good job keeping me alive.”
Daud nodded and more silence followed, but there was more tension than earlier. Daud waited, expecting something else, and when nothing came, he asked, “Do you need anything? Water, food?”
“A piss and a shot of whiskey.”
Daud laughed. “Well, I'll see about the piss. Your legs are fine, but your right arm was nearly sliced in half and your left hand has a few broken bones. It's… going to take some time for you to heal.”
“Doesn't it always?” He sighed. “At least I've had worse than some broken fingers.” He twisted his wrist to look at the bandaged hand. Daud watched the motion.
Rulfio let out another breath, fidgeting.
“The hit is still out on you, Daud, and let's face it, Rinaldo’s got years of experience. You'll need to be careful. He was looking for information. I didn't give it to him, but that doesn't mean he can't get it from elsewhere.”
“I'll find him, then I'll find Brimsley,” Daud snarled. “It's about time I collected my own damn bounty.”
Rulfio gave him a pained look.
“I don't know if looking for Rinaldo will work. I don't know if killing Brimsley will solve the issue.”
“So what do you propose I do? Sit around while another noble decides he also wants to kill me? And another assassin tries his luck?”
“I don't know, Daud, but—” his face contorted in pain and he settled back down. “Damn, this arm stings. Listen, Daud, I don't have the answers, but I just don't think you should continue to be so reckless. Lay low, for a little while. Wait until all of this passes over you. Let people forget, or think you dead. Disappear to reappear. Otherwise you're going to have the heaviest purse and the most skilled killers after you. And you're not a hunted animal.”
“You're right; I'm not.” Daud's tone was dangerous as he stood up. “Let them come. I'm the most skilled killer in this city. I invite them to keep trying to kill me, I'll just take out the competition, one by one.”
“And if they have their own monsters, Daud?” Daud stilled, anger boiling just below the surface. “You said it yourself, you don't know where the man in the sewers is. What if—”
“I'll kill them too.” The words carried the promise of violence in them and Rulfio looked away. The tension was only cut by a soft rap on Rulfio's patient room door.
Misha, tired and disheveled, immediately jumped as the two assassins put their steely gazes on him.
“Ah, I am sorry to interrupt,” he said softly, either from tiredness or out of respect for others in their rooms. “But I'm opening soon. And I think it would benefit you to be scarce, looking like that, Mister Daud.”
He was still majority covered in Rulfio's blood. His jaw worked, still visibly bristling, but he gave in with a curt nod.
“Just Daud,” he reminded Misha. The doctor nodded.
“Just Daud, you can visit later if you'd like.”
A shadow passed over Daud's face, and tinnitus rang in his ears.
“It'll be a few days, at least. I have something to attend to.”
“Daud…”
But whatever protest Rulfio was about to throw at him, he didn't hear it. He transversed out, head pounding from fatigue and effort, and headed out into the morning, with nothing but violence on his mind.
btw I’ve found these stretches from the WAK blog very helpful when knitting a lot:
Plus make sure to take breaks regularly - and stop if anything starts to hurt!
especially with gift knitting I know it can be tempting to push through it for a deadline, but it’s really not worth causing long term injury. (And anyone knit-worthy should be understanding of that, imho.) Stay well :)
i know this isn't the reguar theme of this blog but i need to share it somewhere because today someone called my local fire department because they found
Submitter comment: I'd like to submit this '[s]tudy of defensive behavior of a venomous snake as a new approach to understand snakebite' not for it's topic (worth studying!) but for it's insane methodology, which... well, I'll just let the researcher speak for himself:
[Q: Why did you decide to do this experiment?
A: Snake behavior has been generally neglected as a field of research, especially in Brazil. And most studies don’t examine what factors make them want to bite. If you study malaria, you can research the parasite that causes the disease—but if you don’t study the mosquito that carries it, you will never solve the problem. Up until now, the popular wisdom was that the jararaca would only attack if you touched it or stepped on it. But that was not what we found.
Q: Why did you need to be the victim?
A: The best way to do this research is to put snakes and a human together. In this case, the human was me. We put the snakes inside a ring on the floor of our lab until they got used to it, then I stepped in wearing special protective boots. I stepped close to the snake and also lightly on top of it. I didn’t put my whole weight on my foot, so I did not hurt the snakes. I tested 116 animals and stepped 30 times on every animal, totaling 40,480 steps.]
From the recent (aptly named) interview: Researcher steps on deadly vipers 40,000 times to better predict snakebites
project hail mary is a touching and poignant film that leaves you asking questions about humanity like, "wow what if all mainstream media was genuinely good" and "what if book adaptions actually gave a shit about the book in question" and "what if studios hired actors that could actually act, and then let them get a lil wacky with it"
my professor really liked this and said that it should be 'the nucleus of a chapbook' (so like 15-30 poems of the same theme that I would attempt to get published) but now I feel awkward because I think that she thinks HE DIED? but it turns out, everything will be alright! his heart recovered! the FIP meds are working!
I couldn't believe how fast he went from death's door to running and playing once we got the GS441525 into him. I am so incredibly grateful to everyone who's spent their time researching and legislating it!!
one of my friends in a discord server was talking about how they were nervous about their first scheduled acupuncture appointment. another friend offered to do a tarot reading for them. sent this picture.
This collection of nineteenth-century vaseline glass catches the light and creates a lustrous pool of yellow-greens. The effect is enhanced by the subtle arrangement of yellow-green flowers: fennel, euphorbia and lady's mantle.
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
amandla
blakekathryn
