#noir;

[stomach17-ai-imagery]

The Stairs

[A.I. image generated by Ernie-ViLG]

2022

[marriweather]

So in the middle of asking Noir her next question, SHE SNEEZED ON ME AND THERE WAS JUST SO MUCH SNOT.

Never hold a child too close to your face, they can and will sneeze on you and spread their mucus to you. And they’ll do it out of spite.

[mechxnicxl-hexrt]

Noir;

@murderer-of-an-empress | Mafia Verse

Dunwall always carried death in it’s back pocket. For the past year, even more, the dreaded phantom had plighted the city with a greater ferocity than it had the remainder if the vast Isle. The capital, sprawling with industry, inhabitants; center of politics, the nation’s direction, and the seat of the monarch. Now, at the ruler’s feet, more than gold, special gifts, and human trade from the surrounding areas were presenting. The Rat Plague had proved to be more than any man could handle, ripping the life from more shallow chests than the Masked Felon, who was born from the carnage. His parental guide ever present to out-do him in his new temporary career of righteous death dealing. 

     But there was another. 

A keen individual, quick in mind and body; clever with his hands, and even more so with his money. He rose from the star on the southern horizon, and left a trail of blood in his wake. The incoming ocean bounty could not carry the amount of life he had drained. He spent his time in the shadows of the city, and only recently in the back of the Royal Protector’s mind; scratching and vexing with each stroke of the blade. The anticipation to sink the same, light weighted steel into the heart of that man. The one who tossed the Empire over the edge, the one who ended his lover’s life, and the one who ruined his own. 

Here he now waited before him. Patiently almost. Grey-green hues locked with the dull lenses of the royal assassin’s mask, each pair equally calculating. Daud sat in his own fitting color, red pooled around him like a cloak he did not don. The assassin sat, still, spent, and waiting. Ready. Open. 

Here he now waited before him. And Corvo couldn’t do it. 

Corvo frowned a deep frown, amber eye alight behind a face that would hold no expression; not the one he wanted to communicate. His sword wavered in his hand, the blade winking as the sun fueled the steel’s adrenaline. It had already claimed the lives of other’s, the masked follower’s who took part in the Empress’s assassination. And yet, the man who wielded the knife was still untouchable, even as he rested before him.

        And Corvo couldn’t do it. 

[hiredassault]

[olivierperrier]

{ @siapsymud​ if you’d like to continue... }

“What happened to you? Who did this?”

when the door swings open, olivier all but stumbles into peter, bloodied and shaking hands gripping at him for support. he looks terrified - blood seeping from his lip and nose.     the little book-keeper has been roughed up, and badly.             ❝b..b..b....b..b..b....b-bar.....                                     i-i.......i-i-i-i.......❞ it was all he could manage. seems like it’d been pick on an immigrant day.

[olivierperrier]

{ @siapsymud for any tall dark and handsome they’ve got laying around }

The afternoon was turning gold as the day ripened into early evening. Olivier was in no rush to close, however. It wasn’t that he had many customers as the sun went down, no, but the ones who did come he found often needed the refuge. Not everyone felt at home as night fell these days. A jazz record spun somewhere amongst the books and the sounds Duke Ellington and the occasional meow from Miel was all that could be heard. A window was open allowing soft breeze to rustle the houseplants within the store and bring the scent of cut grass in. The bookstore was an epitome of peace tonight.

Olivier himself was in repose, a thick green armchair angled to the door his perch for the hour. Blue smoke curled lazily from his mouth to join the cigarette in his hand, eyes closed and head back against the plush just to absorb the music until the bell at the door jingled. He started a little, gray eyes flicking open quickly as his orange cat ran to greet whoever had just entered. He took another drag from the cigarette before butting it out as the tall figure cut across the floor.

❝b...b-bienvenue, can I help you?❞ He almost hopes not - talking isn’t his strong suit today.

[marriweather]

For the kids: What's your favorite holiday?

Noir’s response: *bubbly snoring sound.*

Parent note:Blanc and Noir are only 9 months old so they haven’t experienced any holidays really? This Christmas will be their first major holiday and I’m sure they’ll love it.