#commandertavros

[futzingbarton]

commandertavros replied to your post: commandertavros replied to your post: ...

i guess ill just get out of

commandertavros replied to your post: commandertavros replied to your post: ...

this NECK of the woods AAHAHEHEUEHUEHE

ughhhh

[futzingbarton]

commandertavros replied to your post: when i was a freshman i learned about what a...

"neck… thingy"

no no you will not dishonor my most beloved part of human anatomy get out

[futzingbarton]

doublejoeseven replied to your photoset: But why

The Cat in the Hat? NO. The cat IS the hat.

commandertavros replied to your photoset: But why

I guess this time

commandertavros replied to your photoset: But why

the cat IS the hat. YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

you motherfuckers

[jellytier-blog]

time to bury myself in my work, public apology to commandertavros for taking this long to get his fucking commission done. I'm gonna do something of his choosing for free as well as addition to his original commission.

[scraplet]

commandertavros replied to your post: GUESS WHAT IM CRAVING SCREECHES

finely decorated ceramic plates that happen to be under gourmet food?

you think this is a game

[ladysmaragdina]

Daud and Corvo leave love notes in their belt purses, seeing if the other can steal them to read the note inside. Or... something. I honestly don't ship it at all.

Daud stands at his desk, not reading the same pages he’s not read for the past couple hours, watching the sun slip down over the roofs of Rudshore and color the algae-green buildings all in red. It looks like their little base is on fire. Daud’s lips grow thin at the thought. It might as well be.

There’s no way Corvo won’t have escaped by now. A few half-rotten boards and a guard on the floor above wouldn’t be enough to hold Daud, so they weren’t enough to hold him, either. Daud turns the page of his book. Continues not reading.

He could have set Corvo up with a tethering, thrown him in the manacled chair that one of the men had hauled up from some crime boss’s basement, taken the mask, taken that clockwork heart that was freezing as a hunk of ice in the Wrenhaven when he’d touched it. He could have – he could have done lots of things.

Corvo can do lots of things, too.

He turns the page. The sun slips a shade lower against the chimneytops. When there comes a scream from outside the window, Daud does not look up. When there comes a cool tickle of salted air against his ear, he does not look up.

“You’re not preparing,” murmurs the Outsider.

“Go away.”

“He hates you more than words can say. It’s quite sharp. I can think of several explanations.”

“Go away.”

The being sighs. “You’re better than this,” he says, with a shrug that Daud can feel if not see, and then he’s gone with a breath of cold wind and another distant scream from one of the men outside. Daud snorts. There’s no one to hear.

If Daud is better than this, then that must make the man who’s steadily climbing his way toward him very good indeed. Or very poor. He can’t tell anymore. It’s all crumbled like the roof above his head, gnawed away by water cold as death. Daud’s heard about Campbell’s brand, about the Pendleton twins, about Burrows’s confession thundering out across the water. It seems the former Lord Protector has a penchant for mercy. Daud has little use for mercy. He is not particularly deserving of it.

Corvo can do lots of things, and none of them make sense, because if Daud were in Corvo’s shoes he’d have taken a ship out of Gristol the instant he got out of the damn prisons. Or murdered the Loyalists in their beds. Or… anything. Corvo is a bundle of tacked-together inconsistencies, and the stupid frozen heart in his breast pocket is somehow still beating, and mercy is not a word that has ever sat comfortably in Daud’s mouth, his hand, his mind.

If Daud were Corvo –

But he’s not. Or can’t be. Not anymore.

He picks up a pen. He puts it down. He picks it up again. He writes a short note in a very decisive hand before he can realize that this is stupid and toss the crumpled note into the sewer, leaving deep slashes on the page below. Stupid, stupid. It’s likely that Corvo will only read this while riffling through his corpse for spare bullets. It’s likely Corvo won’t read it at all. The idea of mercy tastes like the stagnant air here, awful and rotten oversweet and all he has.

He folds the note and puts it in his pocket, next to the charm that always seems to grant him smoother transversals (he hopes that Corvo uses it and breaks his neck). Rulfio marches through the glass doors, and he tells Daud what he already knows, and –

And Daud is a brittle lockbox of a man, all sharp corners and sharp lines, and he is certain of things, and as the sky colors orange like a flare he’s certain that the man who’s surely just outside the doors is going to kill him one way or another –

(perhaps he won’t)

There’s a noise in the corner. Ruffle of displaced air, flash of blue light. Daud does not look up.

He is certain that no one will care about the musings he puts down on audio tape, now, and that Corvo will never care about or receive the note he’s just written for him. He’s certain that the note is an insult. Or a compliment. One or the other. They are not the same. He’s just not sure which.

You will never be an assassin.

(perhaps it’s both).

[futzingbarton]

commandertavros replied to your post: ruingaraf replied to your post: hello my name is...

nika’s actually 40

oh no eric's figured me out

MY SECRET IDENTITY HAS BEEN REVEALED

I MUST FLEE THE INTERNET

[futzingbarton]

In the tags I am listing urls of some people you should go say nice things to or wish them a good day or whatever; they all put up with me on a daily basis (or I just love them lots even if we don't talk a lot) and it's damned impressive