Fic Update – Wolfbann
Chapter 9 - With Golden Cats and Fevered Dogs
Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Chapter Synopsis: Emily, Emily, wherefore art thou Emily?
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The Golden Cat has the worst kind of smell clinging to it. It looked clean and proper, but the truth of it hung heavy in the day’s humidity like a poisonous cloud waiting to fall. It smelled of sickness and disinfectant, it smelled of the poor and the corrupted rich, of festering wounds and broken minds and heavy hearts. Corvo was glad for the mask he wore as he quickly scaled the outer wall; it kept the overpowering scent of the brothel’s perfumed air out, and kept the curl of his lip hidden in.
Despite the plague, the Golden Cat defied all business logic by staying open. The property remained heavily protected by the dangerous Walls of Light and was filled with guards ready to usher out anyone showing even the faintest sign of a cough. The decadence of the nobles kept numbers in the green, and meant the place was busy enough that no eyes spared a glance for Corvo; he slipped in easily, a whisper on the wind that the courtesans and their clients paid little attention to. Corvo didn't ignore them, however; every conversation was vital information in a place where nobles gathered and gossiped. He hid himself around corners and above doorways, cataloging the stories revealed to him.
“Are you sure you only have Claire available tomorrow? Then I'm not sure if I can. There's been rumor she has a cough and I just can't afford to take that chance…”
“How much longer on this shift do we have? I was hoping to grab some whiskey and cigars before the downpour started, but…”
“Did you hear about what happened last night at Holger Square? If you didn't, the Courier is sure to run a piece on it soon. Either way, I don't think Campbell will be visiting any time this month…”
“Has the Madame given you today's schedule? Can you switch with me? This man, I just- he always hits too hard and I just- I can't, not this time…”
“Don’t lie to me, Officer! My brothers have been missing for over a week! Yet you're telling me you saw them just yesterday? The Pendleton twins are unmistakable, and none of the girls here have seen them recently, so once I find out who paid you to keep quiet, you'll have my lawyer to answer to!”
Corvo shifted in the shadows as the stiff and irritated form of the youngest Pendleton heir interrogated an equally agitated City Guard. He fidgeted, feeling his own annoyances grow. This brothel held many secrets and stories, sure, but did any of them matter to him? The increasing consensus so far was no, and that did nothing but bother him even further. His skin itched and his teeth gnashed and he pulled at the Void just to give his mind something to do.
He moved from room to room, trying to refocus on why he was here in the first place: finding Emily and bringing her back home.
Martin didn't say it so directly, but there was a chance that Emily was here, dropped off by Burrows in a plea to be rid of a loose end. Corvo could see the logic behind such a decision; killing Emily causes more issues than it solves, and conveniently “losing” her means she can be heroically “found" by Burrows later, cementing his spot in power. And if she isn't found, she can be forgotten, another lost daughter amongst all the others.
At least, that was the prevailing theory. It was sound enough that Corvo wasted no time in getting here and commencing his feverish search. But the more he looked, the less he found and the more he feared he was on a wild goose chase.
That fear was slowly morphing anxiety and anger. He crawled and smoked through the rafters, trying to quiet the growl threatening to bubble up and out of his throat. As much as he ached to change, it would do no good to make a scene in a place like this.
Though, if Corvo was honest with himself, a man turning into a giant wolf might actually be the kind of distraction a place like this would enjoy and undoubtedly look forward to.
He curled a lip down at the vivacious and inebriated guests and decided it best to simply move on and leave them to their strange sexual fantasies. Instead, he spied a pair of women making their way back to the powder rooms, and decided the back rooms would be quieter and less fervent than the main areas. He swept his eyes over the before smoking in after them, just as the door shut and locked behind him.
“All these folks are comin’ in like the rain; hard, fast, and far too wet,” the one complained to her friend once they were out of earshot of the patrons. Corvo flattened himself into a stall, holding his breath as he listened to the conversation. Through the Void pulled over his eyes he watched as the other scoffed out an agreement, moving to adjust her revealing outfit.
“At least we'll get paid double for our time,” the girl commented, “what with the plague and the weather, we'll all need it.”
“What? Madame Prudence said nothing to me about this!” The first complained, pulling out a bag from a locker down the ways. She brandished it at her co-worker, “She still owes me for having to deal with that noble who thought it right to smack my face. Sure, he was kicked out, but…”
“You should take it up with her then,” the friend huffed out, changing her top. “But she told me I'd get double pay, at least. And she should have the money, most of it comes from those Pendleton's, after all.”
“And did you hear the twins went missin’?”
The other girl paused.
“No? I mean, I coulda sworn I saw them just yesterday, but maybe it was their brother…”
They moved on to a different room; Corvo let them go, brain turning. It was the second time he had heard of the missing Pendletons, and of the Madame, who seemed to manage the girls. He didn't much care about the twins -- he ’s sure he threw one of them out of the Tower for insulting Jessamine -- but the Madame could be of some help. If anyone would know if Emily was here or not, it’d be her.
One stretch of the senses and stairwell climb later, Corvo found himself hovering outside the office door to the owner of the Golden Cat. His senses told him the Madame was on the other side, deep in a heated intercom conversation.
As he stood and weighed his options in the hallway, a soft, rhythmic thump from his inner coat pocket whispered it's own opinions to him.
The Golden Cat was here long before Madame Prudence found it, the Heart privately told him, but the curtains were her idea.
“An eclectic sense of taste,” he murmured back, head tilting as he watched the glowing body of the Madame end the conversation, tutting back to her duties. He waited a beat before smoothly raising a fist and rapping his knuckles against the door.
The Madame was halfway around her desk when she paused. Corvo watched through the Void as she wiped down her coat and vest, straightened her furred shawl, and stalked over. Corvo stepped out of her field of vision as she opened the door, waiting until she cleared the threshold before pulling a clawed hand down, bringing reality to a stop along with it.
The magic smoked from his burning hand as the world greyed around him, leaving all but himself suspended in time. Casually, he pocketed his hands and strode into the room past the annoyed form of Madame Prudence, noting her heavy makeup and beehive hair. His nose curled in anticipation of the heavy perfume her office undoubtedly reeked of.
He leaned against her desk and with a sigh, let his glowing mark fade to black as time resumed again.
It wasn't but another moment before a mumbling Madame turned back to her room, closed the door, and winced at the sight of Corvo, with his deep hood and gnarly mask. However, if she was afraid she didn't show it, but she did place a hand to her chest, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
“If you're here for my theatrics play, there are easier ways to get my attention, you know!”
Corvo's head cocked. His nose twitched; the office was not only perfumed but also heavy with drugged hookah smoke. His lip curled in disdain; not even a dunk in the sewers was going to get this stench out of his jacket.
“Apologies for the intrusion, Madame,” he rasped out, throat burning against the laced atmosphere. “But I'm not here to be part of the cabaret.”
He remained casual: she remained irritated.
“Then what are you here for?” She sniffed out, straightening her back. “If you aren't here by appointment, then excuse me, for the safety of my courtesans I must alert the guards to have you escorted-”
She moved to the knob. Before she could turn the door open he was there, one hand over hers and another gripping her throat to the wood of the door.
And there it was, the faintest sliver of fear. His grin slipped into place. Perhaps now he could finally get her to take him seriously.
“I don't think you want to do that, Madame,” he growled out, low and soft. “We can do this the easy way, but bringing in the guards will make this exponentially harder for both of us. Besides, causing that sort of scene is…” he adjusted his grip and tilted his head. “Bad for business.”
Even so threateningly close, Prudence managed to scowl up at Corvo, sniffing at his mangled metal mask.
“Is the best you can do? You come into my property, sneak past my guards, and can't even threaten me properly?”
Corvo stilled. Prudence scoffed.
“You haven't even told me what you want, boy. And do you have to be so close? You smell like a wet dog.”
Corvo removed the Madame's hand from the handle, putting his body between her and her only method of escape. He watched her carefully, undeterred by this old woman's lack of self-preservation.
“I'm looking for a girl. I was tipped off that she is here, in hiding.”
Prudence fixed her shawl and looked him over.
“There are a lot of girls here, if you hadn't noticed. Be more specific.”
Corvo rumbled out a growl, one clearly inhuman and tired of this business. Prudence stilled, eyeing him critically.
“Don't play dumb. The girl would be young, near ten. Royal blood. Probably asking for her mother… or the Royal Protector. I'm sure someone with two coins to rub would gladly pay out the nose to hide her here and keep her quiet.”
The Madame narrowed her eyes.
“You think I'm holding the late Empress’s daughter here? Do you think I have a death wish?” She scoffed out a laugh and paced, casual. “Well, truth be told, I didn't even get the offer. Not with those Pendleton's conveniently going missing.”
Corvo shifted, crossing his arms.
“What do they have to do with anything?”
“Outsider’s ass, you were the Royal Protector, weren't you? You can't hide from me, boy,” she laughed, before adding, “the Pendleton's own silver mines. Their wealth comes from them, they paid half the nobles here in Dunwall and perhaps even Gristol. They were among my best customers, even if they are rough with some of the girls…”
“Whom you should treat better,” Corvo muttered out. Prudence's eyes flashed dangerously.
“Those girls are mine, and I will handle them as I please!” She snarled back, but Corvo just rumbled out another warning himself, and they went back to their standoff. “I won't have some dog telling me how to care for my own property…”
“Get to the point,” Corvo stated threateningly, “so that I can leave you to find the Empress's daughter.”
“The point is that the rumor from the girls is that the Pendleton's were supposed to have her, but they never got their hands in her.”
“What?”
“It was quite the point of contention, one they complained about constantly. And then, they up and vanished.” Madame shrugged. “Must've been too loud, those idiots. And now I'm out my wealthiest customers and instead have to deal with their nagging brother.”
“Where were they last seen?”
“Outside the Distillery District,” the Madame said. She went over to her desk, pulled out a long cigarette and readied to light it. “But the Bottle Street Gang rules those alleyways. My girls aren't allowed there, so you'll have to go there yourself to look for any more clues.”
Corvo straightened up off the door.
“Thank you for the information. However, I need assurance you won't speak of this.”
Prudence lifted a drawn-on eyebrow, pulling a drag from the cigarette.
“Didn't we already discuss the fact that you being here and making a scene is bad for my business? The back door is to the right and down the stairs. Now get out of here before I change my-”
Prudence blinked, and looked around. The masked man was gone, and she was standing alone in her office. Huffing out a ring of smoke, she carefully checked under the desk, in the closet, around the hookah. All the most likely (and unlikely) places for a killer to hide. Nothing.
Five minutes passed. She sat down, contemplating as she smoked her cigarette. Finally, assured privacy, she reached out once again for the intercom switch.
A black, clawed, hand grabbed her wrist, holding it tight. She gasped, throat catching as the hand smoked and burned, and a low rumble emanated out from the mask glowering down at her.
“I mean it, Madame,” the destroyed voice told her, as the light caught on the glass lenses of the mask’s eyes. “Not a word.”
Her blood ran cold as she nodded. He nodded back and as fast as he had reappeared the figure fled again, leaving no trace behind.
For once, Madame Prudence decided to live up to her own name and chose to not speak of her meeting with Corvo Attano to anyone, ever.
------
There were worse jobs to be assigned to than scouting. There were more boring jobs to be assigned to than scouting. Like laundry. Or patrolling. Patrol duty was always assured to be a long shift filled with nothing but the smells of rats and whale oil and not much else to look forward to.
But if Connor was being honest with himself as he flitted from rooftop to rooftop over the Distillery District, scouting was still at the bottom of the 'exciting jobs’ list. Common folk probably saw assassin work as mysterious and interesting when in truth it was a lot of waiting and watching and doing next to bloody nothing in-between.
Connor also knows, in the back of his mind, that Daud only sent him out to give him something to do. Not that much needed to be done; the area simply had to be routinely watched. Devon and Kieron already dealt with Slackjaw and the Pendleton twins a while back, so his presence was more for quality assurance. His job was to listen and make sure nobody was asking the wrong questions or following up investigative leads.
And of course, Connor just needed to get out of the base one more time before the rain hit. After the seasonal deluge started, nobody would want to go out or do anything, himself included. Best to get the stir-crazy out of his bones now-- but with the rain threatening already, not even being dry was a guarantee on this particular mission.
“It's not that bad,” a soft voice offered in his ear, but he shrugged the contact away. As much as Connor enjoyed having the mental connection to his brother, he also didn't need to hear his twins’ soft admonishments from where Thomas waited back at base. Why Daud hadn't sent them both out was beyond him, but Connor supposed this was an easy enough job for one. It didn't require both of them just to make sure there weren't any more leads looking into the Pendleton's disappearance.
With a flurry of ash, Connor landed and hunkered down on a low rooftop across from the Distillery where Slackjaw kept his offices. He rested his head back against the nearest chimney and let his senses extend. Even through the muffled sound and reduced visibility of his heavy whaler mask, he could hear and see every passerby with the help of the Void. Daud had gifted him and his brother with plenty of abilities, including ones that made an endlessly boring job slightly more bearable. Connor turned his head, his eyes silently following the route of a guard, the sad lurching of a plague victim, the gamblings of the Bottle Street Gang.
It was shaping up to be a quiet shift.
All the better to eavesdrop with.
A flash from the sky caught in his peripheral for just an instant. Connor instinctively inhaled, tilted his head and counted the seconds.
Three beats later, the rumble came. Connor shifted and cursed to himself; the rain closer than calculated. The clouds didn't look any friendlier, either. Perhaps he'd be getting water-logged after all.
“As if we need another wet dog here,” Thomas mused, his presence brushing against Connor's mind once again. Connor frowned; as much as the Bond kept them connected no matter how theoretically far apart they were, sometimes he could do without his brother’s casual observations of his missions. Sure, their stronger mental link meant better recon back to Daud but still, privacy and silence would be nice sometimes.
“This is just payback for when you wouldn't leave me alone when I was stationed at the Boyles Estate,” his brother told him, the smirk coloring every thought that washed softly over Connor's mind. “You wouldn't stop asking me for better angles on Lady Boyle, if I remember correctly. I swear your voyeurism knows no bounds.”
“Alright, alright fair,” Connor eventually relented, and Thomas's smug triumph filled his mind, mixing with Connor's own irritations. “Just let me do this in peace, I'd like to try and make it back before nightfall.”
“Well before I go; Emily sends her regards.”
Connor swallowed. Thomas withdrew from his mind, the silence left behind a tangible thing. He clenched his fist, doubling his interest in the Dunwall citizens below to occupy the space left behind. He tried but failed to stop the mental image of Emily Kaldwin, back at the base and sending her love, probably hopping around Thomas as he relayed what Connor was doing and-
He ground his teeth down, biting at his tongue. They really shouldn't be so attached. It was all too dangerous. She was the Empress’s daughter. She was slated to rule one day. They didn't need to sleep cuddled up with her, or let her borrow their masks, or let her pet them or-
He took a deep breath. It was dangerous. He knew it; The Whalers all knew it. Daud probably knew it too, with how fidgety he’d become as of late. And yet, there was something about her, something that drew the wolves to her like flies to --
“Did you see that? Up there.”
Connor stiffened, the confused growl rumbling out of him unbidden. Instinctively, he clenched his fist; in a rush of ash he leapt 20 meters away, safely out of the sightlines below. He took a steadying breath; no way they had seen him, but something had made his hackles rise, had made him second guess himself.
And then it hit him.
The wind shifted and the scent of another filled his nostrils. Connor stilled and forced his body low. There was another wolf here, and it wasn't Daud, or another Whaler. He knew all of their scents by heart, like knowing a relative's face.
So who…
Movement by the distillery had Connor freezing in place, his limbs rooting him to the spot. By the door he witnessed the flash of light and smoke beforr a tall hooded figure appeared out of nowhere, spooking the nearby guard.
The figure looked around. A metal mask glinted in the remaining light.
Before their gazes could meet Connor was moving, already transversing to a new rooftop, one closer to the old brewery. His heart hammered in his chest as he crouched low, doing his best to hug the wall.
His distress didn't go unnoticed.
“Connor?” Thomas tentatively offered, mind brushing against his. He took a shaky breath but didn't respond. First, he needed to see what in the Void was going on. Conversation floated up to his position and he strained his ears, listening.
“Hmph. One of you dogs, again, huh? What you want?”
“I'm not one of those…” there was a pause, like the broken voice behind that mask had to take time to collect itself. “You were expecting me?”
“Slackjaw ain’t dumb. He always knows you lot come back for check-ups. Come on.”
A door unlocked, opened, then closed. Connor peeked over his hiding spot, breath heavy on the exhale. He looked down: the party had moved indoors. His attentions immediately turned the roof of the distillery, looking for cracked windows, bad ventilation shafts, or shoddy roof tiles.
“Connor , ” Thomas tried again, as Connor clenched a fist and let his body slip inside through a loose window. “Connor, who was that? What's going on?”
“I may have stumbled on someone, or someone stumbled on me,” he fed back to Thomas as quickly as possible. “Don't tell Daud, not yet.”
“Don't tell-- Connor are you insane?!”
But Connor didn't give his twin the benefit of a response. He ignored the surge of phantom anger and annoyance and instead hugged the rafters, squeezing through pipes and over wood to follow that hooded figure inside.
The interior of the distillery was hot, even in the large, open air space housing the huge fermentation vats. He transversed from shadow to shadow, keeping his body as high up as possible, doing his best to follow the voices leading him further into the brewery building.
“You look a little lost. Surprised that ol’ Slackjaw knew you were coming?”
Connor slipped around, claws growing from smoking gloves to grip at wood barrels. He caught the scent of the other -- the Turned wolf he was sure was Corvo Attano -- and he stilled in instinctive apprehension. With a tilt of his head and a wave of his hand, Connor watched their conversation through the Void.
“I don't care about that,” that raspy, broken voice said. “I just want to find Emily. To that end, I was pointed in your direction.”
Connor swallowed; there was a snap of teeth on the edge of those words that not even the Royal Protector’s mask could hide. How much control did he even have? Connor shifted uneasily at the possibility that it was less than expected. Fighting a feral, newly turned whale-wolf wasn't his idea of a good time.
But at least it wasn't boring.
“You were sent to me? ” Slackjaw asked, feigning surprise. “Why? I don't have the girl, and if I did I probably would have sold her for a pretty penny.”
The hooded silhouette of Corvo Attano shifted, fist clenching. The growl rolling off him was palpable.
“I went to the Golden Cat looking for Jessamine's daughter-”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And heard the Pendleton's had mentioned her-”
“Oh?”
“And now they are missing, and they were last seen in the Distillery District.”
“That so.”
Slackjaw didn't seem perturbed by Corvo in the slightest, but that didn't surprise Connor. Slackjaw dealt with worse than an agitated Royal Protector on a daily basis. Connor had seen his previous business negotiations with Daud -- that was truly terrifying.
Slackjaw coolly paced the office, picking a knife up and spinning it on the tip of a finger before sheathing it at his side.
“You best be careful where you're sticking your nose, Lord Protector, or you're gonna get yourself burned.”
“I'm not a Protector without someone to protect,” he snarled, hands flexing. “And I need to find her first. Either you help me, or you get out of my way.”
“That what you told the High Overseer, before he shat himself?”
Corvo shifted. Slackjaw laughed.
“Listen here, Corvo, this area is my business. And I have good friends in this business . You can be one of my good friends! I just need something in return.”
Not a beat passed before a heavy purse hit the wood table between them. Even Slackjaw appeared surprised; he looked from the purse to Corvo before slowly reaching down and grabbing the coin.
“Courtesy of the Golden Cat.”
“My my, I didn't know our fancy Royal Protector was a thief at heart.” Slackjaw rubbed a hand over his moustache before reaching in the purse and checking the coin. “So. My Lord. What would you like to know?”
“Where is Emily?”
Connor shifted as the cold dread of guilt flooded his system. Slackjaw, however, held no such feelings as he openly shrugged in front of Corvo.
“No idea, and that's the damned truth. But I do know the Pendleton's were talking about the Empress's daughter, and I know what happened to 'em as a result.”
“And?”
“Had a guy come through a few weeks back,” Slackjaw concluded, counting a few of the coins in the purse. “Was paying to have anyone talking about the Empress taken care of, and I knew some powerful people who were flapping their jaws.” He grinned, pocketing the money. “It benefited us both to have those mouthy twins removed from the picture.”
“Do you know who he was? The man who paid you?”
“Oh that assassin, who has all his little masked followers.” Slackjaw eyed Corvo carefully. ”You're not with him? That Daud fella?”
“He is not working with me,” Corvo snarled out, and the rage was so intense, Connor felt himself slink back. Even Slackjaw brought his palms up, looking for peace.
“Don't shoot the messenger, friend. I just know what you are, and what he is. I've seen his rooftop dogs, he can't fool ol’ Slackjaw.”
Heart thudding in his ears, Connor worked out of his hiding spot as discreetly as possible. He'd overstayed his welcome already, but if he didn't get back to Daud with this soon...
Connor's foot kicked. The pressure valve burst. Slackjaw yelled. Corvo's head jerked.
Connor clenched his fist, using the cover of the steam to transverse up and away through the rafters. He prayed that Corvo didn't notice him, hoped he could use this as a clean get-away.
The window he crawled in through was still open. He scrabbled through it, claws scratching on the glass, feeling the wind catch angrily against his mask and jacket as soon as he was free of the building. Connor looked skyward; the clouds were dark and angry and ready to drop.
“Thomas,” Connor sputtered out loud. Instantly his brother brushed against his consciousness, questioning. “Thomas, there's been a complication.”
“What's going on?”
“It's Corvo,” he told his twin. His gloved hand closed, the Void propelling him to a different rooftop. “He knows Slackjaw was paid off, he knows Daud paid him off-”
A crack of lightning. Connor turned his head from the too-bright flash. When he looked back, a figure stood in front of him, blocking his path.
Connor froze.
“Don't tell Daud yet,” Connor frantically relayed as the thunder crashed and reverberated in his chest. “I'm going to handle this.”
“Damnit, Connor!” Thomas shot back, worry lacing his anger, but Connor didn't respond, couldn't respond, not with that mask keyed on him, watching his every move.
Connor tensed. Neither of them moved. He knew he'd been spotted, but now it was a battle to see who would break first, who would give chase. They were both predators, in their own ways. They didn't flee or fear easily.
But this… this was different.
Connor knew he would have to run. He shared Daud's powers, yes -- he could transform, manipulate space, see through walls. But he was still just a bonded wolf, using borrowed magic. Corvo was… he was something much greater and far more dangerous than that.
Another flash. Corvo vanished.
Connor jumped through the Void as fast as the magic in his veins allowed. He felt more than heard the arcane power crackle in the air behind him, hanging amongst the ozone and electricity of the coming storm. His hair raised; his head ducked.
Those long black claws sliced right where his scalp had been.
Connor spun, twisting around to bring his blade up to parry the next swipe. Corvo's claws clashed loudly against the steel and Connor caught the glint of the mask, that laughing metal face, and felt the anger hiding just behind it.
Spirits, Corvo was going to kill him.
He pushed the blade up and side-stepped the next attack, but Corvo was faster than anticipated. He clipped Connor-- just for Connor to dissolve into ash. The Royal Protector's claws slashed through air and he snarled, taking no time to temper the growing ferocity of his voice and body.
“Coward,” he rasped out, looking for Connor even as the assassin reappeared silently behind Corvo. He bent low and kicked out his legs and then immediately blinked away again before Corvo fell on him. He then leapt off, trying to gain distance before Corvo gathered himself up and gave chase.
“I don't know how much control he has,” Connor shot across to Thomas, reigniting their connection. “I don't know-”
“How bad is it?” Thomas asked, sharp and clinical. “Can you transform and get away?”
Connor heard an angry roar from somewhere on the other side of the rooftop and cursed. Against his better judgement, he looked back; Corvo was blinking in and out, a blur of smoke and fur, that was quickly gaining on him.
“I can't. If I lead him back to the Flooded District-”
“Isn't that what Daud wants?”
“He'll kill everyone, Thomas! Not an option!”
“Okay, if he's that much of a danger then I'll tell Daud and-”
“No! No, I’ll deal with this. I'll send him on a wild goose chase then report back when the coast is clear.”
“Connor…”
It was stupid. Well, not stupid, but it was reckless. And it definitely wasn't boring. Might even be fun.
A terrifying, semi-feral bit of fun.
Outsider's ass, he needed to get out more often.
Connor breathed, then blinked right into Corvo's line of sight. The man -- if he could even be called that -- turned, zeroing in on his movement. Corvo's body was wavering at the edges; limbs too long, back too hunched, focus too tight.
Connor readied himself. He'd have to move faster than he ever had before. Under his own mask, he felt himself smirk.
“Please, don't get yourself killed,” Thomas pleaded.
“No promises.”
Connor's fist clenched and he was off, speeding over the rooftops. Corvo fell for it; like a carrot on a stick he leapt after Connor, chasing him across the skyline as another flash of lightning lanced by. Corvo was fast, but Connor knew the area better. He jumped diagonally, making his movements erratic. And while it worked for a time, it wasn't enough. Like a spear Corvo’s aim was straight and true. He crashed into a rooftop next to Connor, launching himself straight at him, claws raised, snarling-
Leaving Connor to blink away just in time.
The howl Corvo let out was screeching, like a dying whale. Connor's body stumbled against the power of it, instinct overruling his self-preservation. His knee hit the rooftop, hard: less than a beat later he's thrown, the wind knocked out of him, his mask smashing the tiles with a painful crack. He can smell Corvo, can hear the deep rumbles, can feel his claws sink into the lapels of Connor's coat jacket as he’s dragged up just to be smashed down again.
“Where is he?”
Connor didn't need to ask who Corvo meant, not when those angry daggers were digging into his coat, threatening permanent damage. Despite imminent death, Connor didn't respond, keeping his mouth closed, thanking the Void that his mask hid any and all emotion. Corvo waited, but as no answer came his patience waned. He threw Connor into the roofside again, snarling, the heat of his power coming off in waves.
Then a mind slammed into Connor's, angry and vicious and wild.
“WHERE IS HE?”
Connor gasped, his breath catching and his body shrinking away. Corvo threatened to mentally suffocate him, throwing all of the weight of his turmoil straight at Connor. Instinctively Connor’s mind retaliated, shoving against the pain and the emotion, frantically doing whatever he could to get Corvo out, out!
Corvo stilled and his mind retreated so fast it left Connor light-headed. The grip on his jacket lessened, the magic smoking off of Corvo's arms. Connor eyed him carefully; the hooded, masked man before him shuddered, his body cracking.
“What was that?” Corvo gasped out, as if his teeth were remembering how to talk. Connor said nothing, too stunned to move.
Oh Void, Connor realized, he's never-
Corvo himself was no longer paying Connor any attention. The man himself was falling apart; every now and then Connor would feel the distress of his mind brush against his, but even the softest push against Corvo's thoughts sent him wincing back, the foreign sensation too much for his mind.
And yet, Corvo couldn't control it. The contact felt terrified, angry, tentative , as if Corvo was realizing he yearned for the mental contact but didn't know what it was, or how it was happening. Which was possible, right? Connor didn't really know, his mind had been linked to Thomas -- to Daud -- for so long that-
Corvo vanished.
Connor gaped.
His head was clear; the distress of the Royal Protector completely gone. He sat up, looking around furiously. A quick inhale told him Corvo really was gone, as if he teleported -- or, more likely, stopped time--
“Connor.” The new voice boomed across the Bond, it's clarity and familiarity overwhelming. “Get back here. Now.”
“But sir, Corvo-”
“Left,” Daud told him, the irritation and acidity of his thoughts laced with relief. “And you're relieved of duty for tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” Connor replied, head bowing even without Daud there to see it. He stood up and called to the Void; fur flowed out, bones popped and senses sharpened as he leapt from the rooftop, four legs propelling him fast than two. His wolf body moving on residual adrenaline, beelining for the Flooded District.
“I told you not to tell Daud,” he shot angrily to Thomas, though he added the cool tones of reassurance as their thoughts touched.
“And I told you not to get yourself killed,” Thomas retorted back.
"And I didn't,” he stated, matter-of-factly. Around his paws, fat drops of water began to appear, signalling the coming rain. They were both quiet; Connor was tired, Thomas was upset. It wasn't until he had made it halfway back to the Flooded District that he finally asked what neither of them wanted to bring up.
“Perhaps we don't tell Emily?”
“Yes,” Thomas resigned, sounding defeated. “I agree. Let's not tell Emily.”
