#corvo01

Corvo Attano. Delilah had kept a close eye on him, in her planning. Loyal Lord Protector, fallen from grace. She has always wondered if he truly was her sister’s lover, her niece’s true father. And it has always fanned an anger in her chest, the idea of it. The idea that a child would sit on the throne instead of her, a child born of an illicit union and yet raised up as an heir with any right. The theft of her own birthright by a girl whose circumstances were almost as her own.

And here they are, the both of them trapped in the same dreary building. She caught a glimpse of him leaving the Palilicium, and it’s sparked her interest. She’s followed him idly a ways down the street, mulling over what she ought to do.

She had plans for him, once upon a time. And perhaps still, if she can find a way to use him in this situation. She speeds her steps, watching his back closely, heels clicking against the cobblestone. The key to forging the right connections is to start the relationship with the upper hand.

She quickens her pace, turns to catch him, and then she comes to a halt, blocking the man’s path. As she tips her head, her expression is faintly uncertain, and then settles into surety. “It is you. So I thought... I have the pleasure of speaking to the Lord Protector, do I not?”

The myriad lights of the so called ‘star trail’ were almost blinding in the dark of night. It had been a while since she found herself in such a high energy environment, and even longer still since she’d been alone in one. Still, she had to admire how quickly they put together such a complex structure with so little disturbance to the surrounding area. 

“I suppose they managed to get the most out of their civilian labor. It’s almost hard to feel bitter about it. Almost.”

A fanged grin sunk into her corndog as she walked through the crowds and stalls, making sure her quarry hadn’t left her sight. She chased a phantom, or at the very least something out of place enough to distract her, however a strange scent threw her off her trail. As foreign as it was nostalgic, it drew her attention just enough for her prey to get away from her, making her face the dark cloaked stranger with a sour expression.

“Well this is just great. Excuse me, you in the black with the scent of the Boundary lingering like cheap cologne.”

He’d learned of a misconception in the time he had found to consume fiction in the city. The misconception that people involved in violent trades smelled of the blood they spilled. In Ganser’s experience, people never reeked of blood, but more subtly, they smelled of what spilled it to begin with. Tempered steel that could be wiped clean, gunpowder that held a far more powerful scent, even the lingering air of something arcane that frayed the nostrils. 

That was what the man smelled of. Blood was somewhere in the mix, but the scents he followed led a trail from his nose to hang around his neck like a noose. Normally he’d avoid the scent and the person it clung to, but he had a morbid curiosity, perhaps a certain draw to a danger he hadn’t felt in a while or a particular annoyance that he’d find it here of all places. Most of all, he simply thought the man looked familiar for reasons he couldn’t quite place.

He followed the man as indiscreetly as he could, using what little of his father’s advice that he could stomach recalling. However, as the man turned as weaved as if cornering prey, Ganser couldn’t help but wonder if the sole purpose of his father’s advice was to get him caught in the first place. Raising his hands as the man finally turned to face him in a deserted alley, the young man broke into a defeated grin that lasted as long as his pursuit.

“Well that went about as well as I’d imagine it would.”