maybe hearts are better bitter

Minfilia flushes, despite herself. She is not naive enough to miss Delilah’s intent. Not an unwelcome comment, certainly - Delilah is quite handsome, and Minfilia feels drawn to her already. And if she were allowed such a casual flirtation anywhere, certainly a world in the margins of universes would be the place.

“Yes,” Minfilia says, with a smile of her own, “All of this is a bit of a detour for everyone, isn’t it? I must say it is not an unpleasant one. I live in the Sea of Nectar, the area with the sun and the beaches. Have you had a chance to visit? ‘Tis lovely, though I have found something lovely everywhere I go, it seems.”

“No, it isn’t an unpleasant detour at all,” Delilah agrees, putting brush to canvas again. She casts Minfilia another smile and says “And I have had the chance to visit, yes. I’ve been here long enough to visit most everywhere. I live in Crises, myself. The dreary place.” She gives a soft chuckle, entire manner more at ease now.

“Worshipped by zailors and urchins, maybe, but I wouldn’t much call it worship.  Respect, maybe.“ Or fear, Alexis adds silently.  They might not believe that these creatures are gods – but there’s no doubt that something curses those who incur their displeasure.  

“And the Church preaches the existence of one god, but I’ve never much cared for that – they have no power over the rest of us, anyways.“

Delilah laughs. “Yes, that’s the way of churches, isn’t it? Though, some churches have more power than others. That’s how it was, back home. With the Abbey.” She crosses her arms, amused.

The Contrarian hadn’t planned to do anything of note that day; he intended, as usual, to take a stroll until something interesting to do occured to him, which was why he spent most of his days arguing with rats. It wasn’t often that a promising diversion happened upon him so quickly. Was the strikingly handsome woman speaking to him another one taken from Dunwall? Or perhaps Daud was miraculously charming and managed to cultivate numerous friendships here since his arrival. Either way, the Contrarian was curious.

“I do, as a matter of fact, live here. I relocated only recently, Tranquility was a bit too, ah, tranquil, for my taste. Are we to be neighbours then? Capital! ” He returns her smile with one of his own, continuing the stready stream of light prattle, “I do know Daud, actually. Lovely chap. Questionable tastes. Oh, I don’t believe I caught your name…?” 

“Delilah,” she says gracefully. “Lovely to meet you.” She thinks that he talks... much too much, but she’s in a fair enough mood to allow it. She smiles, utterly polite.

A full-on wry smile paints Meagan’s lips, and she really does relax a little at that, visibly.

“So instead of following at Daud’s heels, you want me at yours?”

Meagan orders a strong black tea; subtlety of flavour is firmly lost on her. All she wants is a warm drink to brace against. The taste is irrelevant, she thinks she might not taste it once it arrives, her focus is so laser steady on the woman across from her. Delilah’s attention hasn’t wandered, and Meagan… Meagan feels it might not be clever to let hers wander first.

She remembers that painting. Remembers the sittings for it, remembers—she forces a smile to her lips. “Your plan for the Void extends even here?” It’s a deliberate disregarding of Delilah’s comment, even if the avoidance might tell Delilah she’s struck bone.

Meagan gestures to the clientelle of the shop, not-quite derisive. “The Void is empty, yes, I share a building with the Outsider—and don’t get me started on that one—but if even He can’t access it, how could we?”

Delilah smirks, but she lets it go. She doesn’t mind letting the memories of their sittings go buried for now, but her smile says that she’s got them on her mind. “The Void is empty, certainly, but that’s a good thing. If we can escape this place and return home, take the Void while he is still trapped here, then it is ours.”

She laces her fingers together on the table, looking perfectly pleased with her own plans. “Surely you don’t intend to accept your fate? To languish here until our captors have done as they pleased and have no need of us anymore? Or to stay here forever, if they intend that?” She shakes her head.

The Whaler’s eyes narrow and they lean forward to look at Delilah’s ‘cell phone’ as she explains. They’re still not sure she’s telling them the truth; how on earth could such a tiny little thing have so much information it? But she turns it on and sure enough, a little screen like nothing the Whaler’s ever encountered lights up and displays a small collection of pictures with labels like “Maps,” “Compass,” and one called ‘Kindling.” They can only assume it has something to do with setting fires.

Their head jerks up at the sound of Daud’s name, fast enough to make their mask shift upwards a little.

“Daud?” They can’t hide the shock in their voice, but they’re not exactly an amateur. “That’s—that’s the Knife of Dunwall, isn’t it? He’s here too?” They slip their phone back into their pocket and look around, as if afraid Daud will pop up behind them at any moment. They’ve seen enough civilians panic at the mere mention of his name to act the part.

Under the mask though, they’re struggling with too many emotions to name. Delilah’s bait is tempting, but the Whaler still feels Corvo’s blade in their gut like it was Daud’s, and maybe they could say something snippy about how she lost her fight with him, but how much do they want to defend the honor of the man that betrayed them and their brothers?

Forcing some composure, they look back at the oh-so-innocent Delilah.

“You met him?” they ask, passably incredulous. “I don’t mean to call you a liar, but it’s hard to believe the man who killed the Empress would leave you alive.”

The Whaler is either sincerely afraid or good at catching themself, she thinks. “Yes,” she says wryly. “He was... disappointing. Hardly a scratch on me.” Lies, obviously. And she’s not sure if the Whaler would know what actually happened.

“He was much too slow for me, much too incompetent. He’s not the only one who is... unnaturally skilled, and he’s hardly the strongest person to wield those kinds of dark magics.” She gives them a wink. “I was surprised too, but... perhaps he only had such an easy time killing the Empress because she was just another helpless aristocrat?”

She waves a hand. “Now, I only tell you this to warn you to be on your toes. After all, he might approach you if he mistakes you for one of his assassins. They wear those same masks, did you know?” And her gaze on them is intent, like she can see past the mask if she just looks hard enough.

“My,” the Diplomat murmurs, artfully bashful, “How can I say no when you say such pretty words?”

Their eye meets Delilah’s, then glides down, lingering on her full lips. “I will consider it. It would be terribly unfair not to give you the chance to… convince me.”

“Ah, but– I never gave you a name, did I? Please, call me Justine.” A smile plays in the corners of their lips. “Although I certainly don’t mind your compliments.”

Delilah watches them, eyes sharp and pleased. “Oh, please-- I would simply love a chance to convince you... Justine.” She pauses, then writes something out in her notebook before she tears out the page and hands it to the Diplomat. Her name, her room.

“Anything at all that I can be of assistance with, Justine. Or if you’re just... bored. Don’t hesitate to reach out, hmm?”

One positive thing that Delilah can say about the Ark is that it’s given her a bevy of new experiences. New sights, new food. New people. The food part entices the hungry street urchin in her, though. Even back home-- when she was able to eat well, she did. And she ate well. Extravagantly and heartily, something that Breanna had always felt the need to point out, as charming as she seemed to find it.

The latest stop in her ongoing tour of new foods is a small shop that advertises something called... frozen yogurt. It looks similar to ice cream, which intrigues her. She knows she’s seen yogurt before, but... frozen?

She’s taken a long look at the menu, but she’s still uncertain. She casts her gaze around instead at the people sitting on the patio that looks out over the oceans of Nectar. There’s a man sitting alone, with a cup of frozen yogurt of his own. Hm.

Moments later, Delilah pulls out a chair and seats herself across from the man, a cup of frozen yogurt in her own hand.

“Shame I got there before you,” he muses. “Would’ve saved us both a lot of trouble.”

Daud folds his hands in his lap, turning his chin to the left. 

“I knew her about thirty seconds before I killed her, but I find myself agreeing,” he says. “She was strange. I’m less surprised she didn’t fight back.”

Daud sits up a little straighter, eyeing her pocket knife. “I offered to let her kill me and she refused.”

He wishes he could see what she’s drawing. It wasn’t that the last one was unflattering, but there was something personal in it that made it uncomfortable to look at.

“Mm. We’ve been in touch.” He almost smiles before remembering he’s supposed to hold still. “Had a nice long talk the other day. Have you spoken to him?”

Delilah smiles as she catches his gaze on the knife, and she shuts it and puts it aside. Then she puts pencil to paper. As she sketches, gaze darting back and forth, she laughs. “How nice. So he does take pity on his rejects sometimes.”

Though her words are sharp, her posture is easy and relaxed, already intently focused on her sketch. “I haven’t spoken to him, no. What reason have I to? I never needed him, never worshipped him so fervently.” She lets her gaze linger on Daud, arches an eyebrow.

“He gave me something I wanted, and then I didn’t need him anymore. He stopped speaking to me a long time ago, and I didn’t wait up for him.”

Corvo leans deep back into his seat, humming thoughtfully. It’s far from easy to accept, but she’s right, and if he means to make any sense of this and find any way back he needs to at least try to keep a clear head.

“You’re right,” he says aloud. “I… she’s going to be fine. She is fine. I trust her.” Now he just has to internalize that. 

“Exactly,” Delilah says. She pauses, then, and her smile becomes more pleasant. “Though I would not wish for Emily to be here, I must admit... It would be nice to get to meet my niece. Perhaps once we find a way out of this.”

She gestures for the waiter to set down their orders, smooth and unhurried. “Now, speaking of. Anything I learn of this place, how to leave or the like-- I will make sure to let you know, Lord Attano.”

The witch moves, and Emily is ready for her. Delilah’s intent is easily read in every line of her body, her hands and her shoulders and her vicious dark eyes, a string wound tight by Emily’s venom and ready to snap. She does not expect the bloodbriar to be so sluggish, but she does expect it, and that’s the important part.

Emily shouts wordlessly and hurls the surge of straining, stinging pain in her hand at Delilah’s neck. The royal-purple tendril erupts from her palm and wrist like a lance, coils around Delilah’s throat quick as a flash - and then Emily has her down on her knees, the bloodbriar crushed under her boot and her unnatural extra limb squeezing tight enough to draw a hiss from Delilah. She grips her aunt’s face in one hand, blunted nails scraping paper-white skin, and says, “I killed you once. I think I should do it again, to send you where you belong.”

The tendril squeezes, and squeezes, and squeezes-

Is this how far she’s fallen? A mere girl able to bring her down? ...No, not any mere girl. Delilah recognizes the work of the Outsider. So he’s marked another. What kind of world is she going to come back to, leaving the Void? ...But she can’t think too deeply on that, not with the tendril squeezing around her throat.

 She can’t spit curses, can’t damn her. So she just stares at her, eyes dark and full of hatred. She bares her teeth at Emily in a wordless snarl, her nails digging into the tendril, trying to rip it away... But her vision is dimming, and the strength in her hands is lessening.

She thinks about Jessamine, her hands around Jessamine’s throat. Delilah hardly notices the wordless laugh that get strangled in her throat, the twitch of her lips as she slumps and lets her hands fall away.

Perhaps this is another punishment from Jessamine, some sort of karmic retribution.

As the man enters the elevator, the sight of him draws Delilah up short. Something in his face rings a bell in her head, perhaps... Ah.

Delilah remembers her disastrous attempts at playing a bigger game in her first month here. Putting out feelers, and inspiring some kind of insipid protest by a much more justice-minded resident. And this man, he was the one conducting the counterprotest. How curious. Had she ever learned his name?

The J... Jolly something. She’d looked into him briefly. Not learned enough to remember him. But the thing that’s catching her interest is that he’s getting on from Daud’s floor. Now that’s something useful.

Minfilia presses her palms together, looking around the garden. She would like to see it better… Though, she feels a bit guilty, for the deciding factor was the chance to speak with the woman a bit longer.

Minfilia smiles warmly, taking a seat next to her. She holds out a hand. “I am Minfilia. For a ‘warm up’, your work is very good. Do you paint as a hobby, or…?”

“These days, yes,” Delilah says, glancing over at the woman. “I painted professionally for a time, but... then my career went in a rather different direction. And then...” she gestures around them. “All this happened.” She puts down her brush then to shake the woman’s hand, smiles at her wryly. “My name is Delilah. It’s good to meet you.”

Lizzy cracked a smile at that.  Tempting, but even she wasn’t that vain.  She was an arrogant woman, but hardly a vain one.  Nobody would call her a beautiful woman, and she counted herself among those detractors.  Sure, she had skill and charisma for days, but good looks were not her strength.  And she so despised attempts to flatter her in that sense.  “Afraid it’s a pass, on the painting at least.  I have this thing about material displays of vanity, you see.  A girl once wrote a story about me and I very nearly lit the paper on fire and used it to burn down her house.”  

Tea.  No, tea never had done anything for her.  She’d stolen a lot of it and ripped off plenty of merchants with no other option besides buying from her.  Wine was tempting, if a little too bitter to the taste.  “I’ll take wine if nothing else, though I do my best work when I’m ah… uninhibited.”  She smiled wider as Delilah walked past.  That eye contact made Lizzy Stride feel something, alright.

“After you, Delilah.”  For once, she let herself be led.  It was a strange feeling, though not entirely unwelcome.

Delilah smiled, sharp. “Wine it is, then. Perhaps just a nightcap.” And with a crook of her finger and a sway of her hips, she led Lizzy down the cobblestone streets.

“Haven’t decided yet.” Daud takes a seat on the crate. “Maybe both.”

Delilah’s art is scattered all around the room. She’s a much better artist than Sokolov, he’ll give her that.

“Now we’ve both killed her at least once.” His gaze falls on the picture of Jessamine. He had a similar sketch hanging up in his hideout. “You really must be related. How did it feel?”

He crosses one leg over the other, then uncrosses it. “Now which way should I face? I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

Delilah actually laughs at that. “Three fourths to the left. It’ll flatter your face. Do whatever you want with your hands, or keep them in your lap.”

She busies herself with setting up, busies her hands even while she can’t busy her mind. She’s turning Daud’s words over in her head. “It felt satisfying,” she says, callous. “I had dreamed of it so often up until now.”

She tilts the easel so she can look at Daud, sitting down as well to get at eye level with him. “...She didn’t even fight. It was pathetic. She’s become very strange.”