+4
A light rain had swallowed the district, tapping lightly and creating darkened dots in the assassin's coat.
Corvo didn't mind rain. Something comforting about it, he supposed. Perhaps its usual predictability--the signal of grey painting the sky and a muggy scent in the air--did the trick. Maybe its frequency in Dunwall, its constance.
Tonight, Bottle Street was home to its usual thugs roaming about the alleyways, yelling at each other in inebriated slurs, alcohol missing the mouth and dribbling all over their clothes. Corvo still walked among them, performing the occasional favor for Slackjaw (the two would never really be even, it seemed) or hesitantly taking the drinks the thugs offered him.
When provided a free night, a night seemingly-scarce of chaos, Corvo became restless. One looked forward to peace, but once achieving such a thing, it became dull. Especially for a man who was all to used to rather... Unusual things taking hold of his life. Even if things had calmed a bit after Emily's ascension to the throne.
But when you were bored, you were bored. And so he was, leaning his head back against a wall, listening to the quiet rain.