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@themonsterofmorley
Thomas threw a whiskey glass at Marley, which luckily had missed and broken against the wall. "AYE MARLEY WOT YAE DOIN' CUTTIN ABOUT DUNWALL" - watch-officer-thomas
"Oh, yae fookin-" Marley had jumped up, away from the shattering glass. He was ready to start something until he had recognized the sound of Thomas' voice. "Little delinquent Tommy!" He laughed, still ready to rough him up, but in a much more affection way. "What are yae doin, yae punk? Throwing bottles'n shite."
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Reblog if I can straight up ask you for a RP.
Marley took the glass, making a half hearted attempt at raising it before taking a meager sip. He didn’t drink much aside from a social pint or hard cider but somehow dealing with these officers who towered over him in rank- he found it a little easier to deal with if he at least something alcoholic to prep with. “As you say, sir.” He tried to keep his accent under his tongue as much as he could when he spoke. He watched him unfold the map with another, heartier sip from the glass.
Marley looked him in the eye, a chill gripping him as he spoke. That broad of an area? Where his family operated out of? All those peopleto he wiped out without a single acknowledgement- His friends and neighbors would be gone without a word as to what had become of them. “May I ask, sir, who gave the order?” He tried to keep his concern under wraps and shift it into more of a curiosity. He might be punished for it but the shock of the order still needed to pass him yet. He kept his face stoic as he thumbed the rim of his glass.
Scott laughed, the glass hitting the edge of the map with a thump of his heavy, cold hands. “Now that’s what I like to hear” He affirmed to the officer, winking at him as he continued what might, if had it not been for Captain Scott’s great resistance to the seduction of alcohol, be seen as a drunk laughter.
The question didn’t strike him as something important, as he took it as a silly question, ramblings of ignorant lower officers, perhaps. His pride didn’t allow him to consider what could be considered a hint of insubordination, as the closest allies to the regent always suspected.
“Well, Whalen. Who else do you think would give the order ? City Barrister Timsh, of course; The parliament just approved the papers in the morning session. ‘Bout time they cleaned up that rats’ nest” He answered, voice deep from his sore throat as he sipped again from his glass of whiskey.
Marley smiled, trying to seem casual and charming. That’s typically how he learned to deal with most all commanding officers. Smile, and be grateful.
“Of course. I should have guessed.” He laughed, quietly, trying to furiously find a way to get word to his family. To those he had loyalties to for their kindness upon their immigration into the cruel and cold isle under the regent’s rule. “Surprising, it took them a while to notice the district. I nearly thought it would be taken by the rats before long.” His thoughts were racing and he gingerly sipped the alcohol to buy himself time. They wanted to exterminate them. they wanted... marley to exterminate the district.
If he could get a note to his mother-- but where would they go? He set down his drink and took in the details of the map. Resting curled fists on the edge of the table. “That’s a huge amount of people to... deal with.” would he be partnered? likely. If he was alone, he could have tried to help them. Maybe spare some families from the new plague of brutality to be established by the hand of the watch.
@themonsterofmorley
“I hope it clears out soon” Captain Scott mumbled to himself as he looked out of the cold glass that separated the safe guarded warmth of the estate from the merciless rain that fell on the streets below. The skies growled in agony as the drops loudly hit the windows with the howling winds the river brought, each stronger than the last.
The old man sat down heavily on the dark, leather chair, the medals he proudly wore making a a brief clinging noise as they imitated the movement of the captain’s body, and offered the younger officer a glass of whiskey with a careless gesture.
“Take a drink, Whalen. You are going to have a rough day” Scott said as he unrolled a map of Dunwall on the desk.
He sighed loudly once again, his throat aching from the sore sequels of smoking that morning, before continuing the briefing. “Orders came from above. The plague has spread to another district, the thing never stops, does it ?” Captain Scott laughed as he sipped from his glass of whiskey, careful to not leave a stain on the map.
“I know you are stationed here at the estate for our ladyship’s safety but it’s time for you to do some field work, morlish boy. The Barrister wants this mess to be over soon as much as you and me, my boy, and wants everything evicted from the southern walls of the city to the slums near the distillery, anything that moves has to leave that district in a plague cart either dead or about to die, is that clear ?” He finally said without hesitation on his words, as cold as the rain that poured down from the whimpering skies.
Marley took the glass, making a half hearted attempt at raising it before taking a meager sip. He didn't drink much aside from a social pint or hard cider but somehow dealing with these officers who towered over him in rank- he found it a little easier to deal with if he at least something alcoholic to prep with. "As you say, sir." He tried to keep his accent under his tongue as much as he could when he spoke. He watched him unfold the map with another, heartier sip from the glass.
Marley looked him in the eye, a chill gripping him as he spoke. That broad of an area? Where his family operated out of? All those peopleto he wiped out without a single acknowledgement- His friends and neighbors would be gone without a word as to what had become of them. "May I ask, sir, who gave the order?" He tried to keep his concern under wraps and shift it into more of a curiosity. He might be punished for it but the shock of the order still needed to pass him yet. He kept his face stoic as he thumbed the rim of his glass.
; ooc
Hi so since I have almost no rp partners on this fandom I made a chat for anybody interested in it. and it doesn’t specifically have to be a rp chat and it could be just a normal chatroom for dishonored 2 hype
This chatroom was made for anybody who needs partners too. rip.
https://us19.chatzy.com/86721946188830
Once you join it’s gonna be a little bit confusing (cause it was for me) I’m sure but just join the chat.
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@peacewithans I tried it
Thomas would try almost anything to help his mother back in Redmoor. He thought he should try to help her at least until he’s eighteen. So any Situation that involves money Thomas would try to take that job. Of course, depending on the job.
Keep reading
Whenever he came into the ring he came in focused and ready to make his money. He needed this both for his own pride and for the sake of his family. He was cold and unshakable at his peak, he was restless but that was part of the thrill in fighting.
He wouldn’t ever say he didn’t enjoy fighting, it let him blow off steam and he made good coin from it. He had his own name here and people didn’t look down on him, it was shallow but it made him feel like he was worth something when he was in the middle of a good fight. He readied himself as he waited for his opponent.
His opponent who wasn’t coming out.
There was a noise of struggling like someone scrapping behind the scenes. The crowd was getting annoyed, and so was he. Who the hell was holding it up?
Finally someone was thrust out rather ungrateful into the ring and Marley’s blood ran cold.
“Thomas- what the fuck are you doing here?!” He snarled, worry twisting his stomach and the sight of his split lip making him see red. He could hardly be heard over the crowd but he hoped to all the spirits that they didn’t expect him to fight, they were going to be disappointed.
Something burned inside his young chest as he looked up at Marley, who was furious. His fury intimidated him.
The sweat on his forehead glistened from the light illuminating him.
A bead of sweat ran down his forehead,“Th–Th–” he swallowed and looked around and back at Marley, “They promised money, told me a job!” He was obviously nervous, his accent came out with every word.
“They didn’t tell me the rest, they wouldn’t!” Thomas took a few steps back, it was obvious he didn’t want to hurt Marley. He wiped his bloody lip, “they scrapped me a bit but it’s okay I gave a good few licks back.”
The crowd was very loud and impatient. They began throwing small objects at Thomas. They only saw Thomas as bait for Marley to tear up.
His blood was boiling as Thomas made his plea and explained over the shouting crowds. He snarled and moved quickly towards Thomas, grabbing his shoulders and turning him away from the center of the ring, ignoring the hail of cigarette butts and bits and pieces of garbage the crowd began lobbing towards him. “Fah’-koff!” He howled at them with a hand still on Thomas, he bared his teeth but turned back to him with a more determined expression. “Thomas, could'ya point ‘em out? Cause I’m gonna rip'im limb from limb.”
The crowd was booing and hissing and getting pissed at his lack of actual swinging at the man before him. He’d love to give them a piece of his mind but for now the only thing he was concerned about was helping Thomas and bringing whoever did this to justice.
Thomas squeezed his eyes as he was grabbed by the shoulders. He knew how to fight, just not Marley.
The crowd roared as he grabbed Thomas by the shoulder, they thought the fight was starting already.
Thomas said nothing as he quickly lifted a finger at the cheeky man at the entrance of the fighting ring. Chubby and shady, he smoked a thick cigar as he spoke with other men. He bragged about how he brought the new fresh meat for tonight’s fight.
Thomas was truly scared, “I didn’t know I was gonna have to fight you…” he muttered. He was afraid if he said something wrong this would be the end.
Marley gently grabbed both sides of Thomas's head and tried to ebb his anger at the situation. "Listen to me. You're my brother, and I'd never put you in that position, trust me." He kept an eye on the man he pointed out and finally released Thomas, if only to begin undoing the wraps on his hands, signaling his forfeiture.
The crowd continued to jeer and rile, no doubt upset that there wouldn't even be a speck of bloodshed between the men- half seemed to hope this was a gimmick and they might still see the young one beat their usual brawler.
There would certainly be a fight tonight, but not between them. Never between them. He was going straight for the source of it.
Thomas would try almost anything to help his mother back in Redmoor. He thought he should try to help her at least until he’s eighteen. So any Situation that involves money Thomas would try to take that job. Of course, depending on the job.
Keep reading
Whenever he came into the ring he came in focused and ready to make his money. He needed this both for his own pride and for the sake of his family. He was cold and unshakable at his peak, he was restless but that was part of the thrill in fighting.
He wouldn’t ever say he didn’t enjoy fighting, it let him blow off steam and he made good coin from it. He had his own name here and people didn’t look down on him, it was shallow but it made him feel like he was worth something when he was in the middle of a good fight. He readied himself as he waited for his opponent.
His opponent who wasn’t coming out.
There was a noise of struggling like someone scrapping behind the scenes. The crowd was getting annoyed, and so was he. Who the hell was holding it up?
Finally someone was thrust out rather ungrateful into the ring and Marley’s blood ran cold.
“Thomas- what the fuck are you doing here?!” He snarled, worry twisting his stomach and the sight of his split lip making him see red. He could hardly be heard over the crowd but he hoped to all the spirits that they didn’t expect him to fight, they were going to be disappointed.
Something burned inside his young chest as he looked up at Marley, who was furious. His fury intimidated him.
The sweat on his forehead glistened from the light illuminating him.
A bead of sweat ran down his forehead,“Th–Th–” he swallowed and looked around and back at Marley, “They promised money, told me a job!” He was obviously nervous, his accent came out with every word.
“They didn’t tell me the rest, they wouldn’t!” Thomas took a few steps back, it was obvious he didn’t want to hurt Marley. He wiped his bloody lip, “they scrapped me a bit but it’s okay I gave a good few licks back.”
The crowd was very loud and impatient. They began throwing small objects at Thomas. They only saw Thomas as bait for Marley to tear up.
His blood was boiling as Thomas made his plea and explained over the shouting crowds. He snarled and moved quickly towards Thomas, grabbing his shoulders and turning him away from the center of the ring, ignoring the hail of cigarette butts and bits and pieces of garbage the crowd began lobbing towards him. "Fah'-koff!" He howled at them with a hand still on Thomas, he bared his teeth but turned back to him with a more determined expression. "Thomas, could'ya point 'em out? Cause I'm gonna rip'im limb from limb."
The crowd was booing and hissing and getting pissed at his lack of actual swinging at the man before him. He'd love to give them a piece of his mind but for now the only thing he was concerned about was helping Thomas and bringing whoever did this to justice.
Thomas would try almost anything to help his mother back in Redmoor. He thought he should try to help her at least until he’s eighteen. So any Situation that involves money Thomas would try to take that job. Of course, depending on the job.
Keep reading
Whenever he came into the ring he came in focused and ready to make his money. He needed this both for his own pride and for the sake of his family. He was cold and unshakable at his peak, he was restless but that was part of the thrill in fighting.
He wouldn't ever say he didn't enjoy fighting, it let him blow off steam and he made good coin from it. He had his own name here and people didn't look down on him, it was shallow but it made him feel like he was worth something when he was in the middle of a good fight. He readied himself as he waited for his opponent.
His opponent who wasn't coming out.
There was a noise of struggling like someone scrapping behind the scenes. The crowd was getting annoyed, and so was he. Who the hell was holding it up?
Finally someone was thrust out rather ungrateful into the ring and Marley's blood ran cold.
"Thomas- what the fuck are you doing here?!" He snarled, worry twisting his stomach and the sight of his split lip making him see red. He could hardly be heard over the crowd but he hoped to all the spirits that they didn't expect him to fight, they were going to be disappointed.
Thomas Otter Doyle
Thomas, a 16 year old Morlish boy discovering himself even though he has trouble wading through all the lies.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
After having an argument with his mother, after she refused to do anything related to his sick health his mother made him march all the way to rainy Dunwall and buy the medicine himself. It was rainy the entire day, and cold. He walked slowly but changed his pace when he felt he was in danger. He took his paperboy hat, the one which seemed to have something silver tucked under the brim of the hat, which was a razor. Mother also told him to bring his gold brass knuckles so he did.
Keep reading
Marley had his old coat collar turned up to block out the bitter wind and a hat to cover his eyes from the cold rain. He walked quickly through the alley ways, tired and worn out and more than a bit bruised from that nasty fight with a behemoth of a man. He had his money though, he could afford to buy something a little nicer for the dinner table this time around- at the very least a bottle of something to let them forget how bad things were.
It wasn’t long before he nearly collided with someone around a corner, about to swear when he saw a familiar hat and young face. “T'omas.” He squinted, taking off his hat to brush back his hair. “What'ah you doing out in t'is we-” he stopped, spying the blood and he looked serious for a moment. “What happened.”
He squinted and sniffled, snorting the snot up,his nose scrunching up in return. He stood quiet- for far too long. He’s used to getting into fights, even now he gives off vibes of being a thug. No wonder those thugs thought he was a gangster too.
He turned and spit a bit of snot, a bit of blood got in it. “Got into a tousle.” He said aggravatingly shaking his paper bag of medicine.
“You?” He said finally turning to him, revealing a few cut and minor abrasions. “What about you, what happened?”
He looked perplexed for a moment, forgetting about his own injuries in light of whatever had happened to him. “Sorry to hear that, if I’d known, I could have backed you up.” He raised a brow and shrugged. “I was… Ah, I was just working me other job.” He gave a quick smirk and brushed it off. “Don’t worry about me t'ough- what are you doing out here in t'is nastyness?” He gestured to the rain. “You’re gonna catch death like this.”
He sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve, “Was sick and had to get medicine. Mum sent me.”
He perked a brow, “Another job? How much is the pay, they hirin’?”
He let out a gross harsh cough, “You got a cig, copper?”
"Well, good business. If you need something for sickness, come visit us- Ma's a war nurse, she'd happily look after you." He looked more solemn when he asked, shaking his head. "I doubt it. It's not wort'te risk for the coin t'ey pay anyhow." He didn't want him hurt for the sake for extra coin and bloodthirsty crowds.
Marley fished a pack from his back pocket and held it out to him. "You need a light too?"
Walking down the cold wet pavements of the streets, his shoes echoing in the alley he makes his way down the abbey for the weekly sermons.
It’s a cold night, and he’s dressed properly as usual. A grey trench coat with his usual paperboy cap. He looks down as he walks, hands in pocket inches away from his stowed golden brass knuckles.
The coppers don’t like him, much less anybody. They think he’s a thug, especially with his Morlish accent.
He walks quickly leaving a trail of smoke from his cigarette from his rosy lips and for once looks up and crossed eyes with a city watch officer and quickly looks down. He doesn’t want confrontation. At least not today.
Marley walked through quickly on his patrol, trying to finish the rounds and get back home sooner than later. He wanted to eat and sleep and be warm again.
It seemed, however, the fates had other plans in mind as he came across a young man making his own way through the streets. He went to smile but the boy looked down too quickly and seemed to quicken his pace at the mere sight of him.
That usually meant a guilty conscious, which could be bad if he left it to chance- he slowly followed after him, keeping a distance but making sure he remained in sight. He just wanted to make sure nothing bad happened should he neglect his duties. Knowing his luck, that’s exactly what would happen.
He hadn’t noticed the watch officer following him, he checked his pocket watch; it was late and he would be late for the sermon. He was afraid of being late, he doesn’t want to be a heretic and wants the overseers help him stop dreaming about him.
He didn’t notice the smile, he had other things in plan. He started walking even more faster, holding onto his hat.
Marley contemplated calling out to him, but thought better of it since he wasn’t acting like he was trying to lose him; or if he was, he was doing a terrible job of it. He just lengthened his stride and tried to keep his footsteps quiet. He was quick though, and Marley was having a harder time keeping up without being too noisy.
He was tired from his last match, and he wouldn’t be able to chase him down as effectively if he decided to run, so keeping quiet was his best method at the moment.
He tripped, and fell hard against the pavement and hit a puddle which splashed against his trench coat which seemed too expensive for his kind. Where could he have gotten that? Is it even his? Yes. Yes it is.
His paperboy cap fell across from him. Painfully getting up, scratches,scraped, and mud all over his hands. He reached and got his hat and turned to see an officer following him.
He sat up and got up. Patting his hands clean, putting on his hat he says, “Can I yep you, copper?”
Well- best time to make up an excuse is when you’re caught red handed right? He began with his formalities, letting his accent slip through the usual facade reserved for the local blood. It was nice to hear from another morlish man, even if he was young and rather impatient to get going.
“Are y'aright?” He asked quickly, coughing to clear his throat. “Y'looked troubled, I T'ought something was chasin’ ya or somethin.” He pointed over his shoulder and gave a half hearted smile as way of apologizing for his own jumping to conclusions.
He was surprised a little, he had never met a Morlish man let alone a person with the same accent as him. He’s not even sure if he himself is Morlish.
“It’s fine sir, me mum says I look like trouble so I’m used to it.”
“n’ I was out to go to the Abbey. Only I’m afraid I’m late and I don’t like being late to their sermons, sir.” He answered in the same accent, tucking his pocket watch back into his pocket.
He laughed a little at the thought. “Mm. Ma told me the same when I came home wit'a broken nose.” He shrugged, it was nice to meet someone civil within the city. It always was the poor stricken kin that proved to show a little more manner in their speech. It was easy to hear the way he called him “sir”. No one who thought anything of themselves called a foreigner like him “sir”
“Sermons, ah?” He looked toward the direction of the abbey. “you need an escort? I’m only close to one or two overseers, but perhaps I can take tha'brunt of their blame for you being tardy.” He was more worried for the way he fidgeted- he looked like an easy target for a pickpocket.
He nodded, but he didn’t ever get into fights usually. Except his mom is sort of violent, so she gave him something for self defense always.
He shook his head and looked down, then back at him. He put his hands in his pockets, “No sir, I don’t think so, I think I’ll just be easy pickin’s for the thugs.”
“Er, sorry for causing you trouble, sir.” He said he said in his usual Morlish curious voice. His neutral face always had made him look like he was bothered, or angry. Except he isn’t most of the time.
Marley laughed quietly, if he was falling and stumbling on his own then he was already easy pickings. “You don’t have t'call me ‘sir’ boyo, I ain’t nobility.” He extended his hand, fingers red from the cold and knuckles raw from his last scuffle. “My name’s Marley. Marley Whalen.” He smiled broadly. “And it ain’t no trouble, it’s my job T'help.”
He took the hand and shocked it firmly, “Thomas. Just call me Thomas Otter. You might hear that name later, copper.“ He joked with a wink.
He grabbed his cigarette and blew a puff of smoke from the other direction.
Marley let out a hardy laugh at the implication. "I don't have any doubts of t'at. You seem a little infamous by my impression." He smiled and joked along with him. "Next time, I'll get your autograph, but for now I'm going to keep an eye out- if you get in trouble you ask for me, aye?"
After having an argument with his mother, after she refused to do anything related to his sick health his mother made him march all the way to rainy Dunwall and buy the medicine himself. It was rainy the entire day, and cold. He walked slowly but changed his pace when he felt he was in danger. He took his paperboy hat, the one which seemed to have something silver tucked under the brim of the hat, which was a razor. Mother also told him to bring his gold brass knuckles so he did.
Keep reading
Marley had his old coat collar turned up to block out the bitter wind and a hat to cover his eyes from the cold rain. He walked quickly through the alley ways, tired and worn out and more than a bit bruised from that nasty fight with a behemoth of a man. He had his money though, he could afford to buy something a little nicer for the dinner table this time around- at the very least a bottle of something to let them forget how bad things were.
It wasn’t long before he nearly collided with someone around a corner, about to swear when he saw a familiar hat and young face. “T'omas.” He squinted, taking off his hat to brush back his hair. “What'ah you doing out in t'is we-” he stopped, spying the blood and he looked serious for a moment. “What happened.”
He squinted and sniffled, snorting the snot up,his nose scrunching up in return. He stood quiet- for far too long. He’s used to getting into fights, even now he gives off vibes of being a thug. No wonder those thugs thought he was a gangster too.
He turned and spit a bit of snot, a bit of blood got in it. “Got into a tousle.” He said aggravatingly shaking his paper bag of medicine.
“You?” He said finally turning to him, revealing a few cut and minor abrasions. “What about you, what happened?”
He looked perplexed for a moment, forgetting about his own injuries in light of whatever had happened to him. "Sorry to hear that, if I'd known, I could have backed you up." He raised a brow and shrugged. "I was... Ah, I was just working me other job." He gave a quick smirk and brushed it off. "Don't worry about me t'ough- what are you doing out here in t'is nastyness?" He gestured to the rain. "You're gonna catch death like this."
Walking down the cold wet pavements of the streets, his shoes echoing in the alley he makes his way down the abbey for the weekly sermons.
It’s a cold night, and he’s dressed properly as usual. A grey trench coat with his usual paperboy cap. He looks down as he walks, hands in pocket inches away from his stowed golden brass knuckles.
The coppers don’t like him, much less anybody. They think he’s a thug, especially with his Morlish accent.
He walks quickly leaving a trail of smoke from his cigarette from his rosy lips and for once looks up and crossed eyes with a city watch officer and quickly looks down. He doesn’t want confrontation. At least not today.
Marley walked through quickly on his patrol, trying to finish the rounds and get back home sooner than later. He wanted to eat and sleep and be warm again.
It seemed, however, the fates had other plans in mind as he came across a young man making his own way through the streets. He went to smile but the boy looked down too quickly and seemed to quicken his pace at the mere sight of him.
That usually meant a guilty conscious, which could be bad if he left it to chance- he slowly followed after him, keeping a distance but making sure he remained in sight. He just wanted to make sure nothing bad happened should he neglect his duties. Knowing his luck, that’s exactly what would happen.
He hadn’t noticed the watch officer following him, he checked his pocket watch; it was late and he would be late for the sermon. He was afraid of being late, he doesn’t want to be a heretic and wants the overseers help him stop dreaming about him.
He didn’t notice the smile, he had other things in plan. He started walking even more faster, holding onto his hat.
Marley contemplated calling out to him, but thought better of it since he wasn’t acting like he was trying to lose him; or if he was, he was doing a terrible job of it. He just lengthened his stride and tried to keep his footsteps quiet. He was quick though, and Marley was having a harder time keeping up without being too noisy.
He was tired from his last match, and he wouldn’t be able to chase him down as effectively if he decided to run, so keeping quiet was his best method at the moment.
He tripped, and fell hard against the pavement and hit a puddle which splashed against his trench coat which seemed too expensive for his kind. Where could he have gotten that? Is it even his? Yes. Yes it is.
His paperboy cap fell across from him. Painfully getting up, scratches,scraped, and mud all over his hands. He reached and got his hat and turned to see an officer following him.
He sat up and got up. Patting his hands clean, putting on his hat he says, “Can I yep you, copper?”
Well- best time to make up an excuse is when you’re caught red handed right? He began with his formalities, letting his accent slip through the usual facade reserved for the local blood. It was nice to hear from another morlish man, even if he was young and rather impatient to get going.
“Are y'aright?” He asked quickly, coughing to clear his throat. “Y'looked troubled, I T'ought something was chasin’ ya or somethin.” He pointed over his shoulder and gave a half hearted smile as way of apologizing for his own jumping to conclusions.
He was surprised a little, he had never met a Morlish man let alone a person with the same accent as him. He’s not even sure if he himself is Morlish.
“It’s fine sir, me mum says I look like trouble so I’m used to it.”
“n’ I was out to go to the Abbey. Only I’m afraid I’m late and I don’t like being late to their sermons, sir.” He answered in the same accent, tucking his pocket watch back into his pocket.
He laughed a little at the thought. “Mm. Ma told me the same when I came home wit'a broken nose.” He shrugged, it was nice to meet someone civil within the city. It always was the poor stricken kin that proved to show a little more manner in their speech. It was easy to hear the way he called him “sir”. No one who thought anything of themselves called a foreigner like him “sir”
“Sermons, ah?” He looked toward the direction of the abbey. “you need an escort? I’m only close to one or two overseers, but perhaps I can take tha'brunt of their blame for you being tardy.” He was more worried for the way he fidgeted- he looked like an easy target for a pickpocket.
He nodded, but he didn’t ever get into fights usually. Except his mom is sort of violent, so she gave him something for self defense always.
He shook his head and looked down, then back at him. He put his hands in his pockets, “No sir, I don’t think so, I think I’ll just be easy pickin’s for the thugs.”
“Er, sorry for causing you trouble, sir.” He said he said in his usual Morlish curious voice. His neutral face always had made him look like he was bothered, or angry. Except he isn’t most of the time.
Marley laughed quietly, if he was falling and stumbling on his own then he was already easy pickings. "You don't have t'call me 'sir' boyo, I ain't nobility." He extended his hand, fingers red from the cold and knuckles raw from his last scuffle. "My name's Marley. Marley Whalen." He smiled broadly. "And it ain't no trouble, it's my job T'help."
After having an argument with his mother, after she refused to do anything related to his sick health his mother made him march all the way to rainy Dunwall and buy the medicine himself. It was rainy the entire day, and cold. He walked slowly but changed his pace when he felt he was in danger. He took his paperboy hat, the one which seemed to have something silver tucked under the brim of the hat, which was a razor. Mother also told him to bring his gold brass knuckles so he did.
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Marley had his old coat collar turned up to block out the bitter wind and a hat to cover his eyes from the cold rain. He walked quickly through the alley ways, tired and worn out and more than a bit bruised from that nasty fight with a behemoth of a man. He had his money though, he could afford to buy something a little nicer for the dinner table this time around- at the very least a bottle of something to let them forget how bad things were.
It wasn't long before he nearly collided with someone around a corner, about to swear when he saw a familiar hat and young face. "T'omas." He squinted, taking off his hat to brush back his hair. "What'ah you doing out in t'is we-" he stopped, spying the blood and he looked serious for a moment. "What happened."
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Walking down the cold wet pavements of the streets, his shoes echoing in the alley he makes his way down the abbey for the weekly sermons.
It’s a cold night, and he’s dressed properly as usual. A grey trench coat with his usual paperboy cap. He looks down as he walks, hands in pocket inches away from his stowed golden brass knuckles.
The coppers don’t like him, much less anybody. They think he’s a thug, especially with his Morlish accent.
He walks quickly leaving a trail of smoke from his cigarette from his rosy lips and for once looks up and crossed eyes with a city watch officer and quickly looks down. He doesn’t want confrontation. At least not today.
Marley walked through quickly on his patrol, trying to finish the rounds and get back home sooner than later. He wanted to eat and sleep and be warm again.
It seemed, however, the fates had other plans in mind as he came across a young man making his own way through the streets. He went to smile but the boy looked down too quickly and seemed to quicken his pace at the mere sight of him.
That usually meant a guilty conscious, which could be bad if he left it to chance- he slowly followed after him, keeping a distance but making sure he remained in sight. He just wanted to make sure nothing bad happened should he neglect his duties. Knowing his luck, that’s exactly what would happen.
He hadn’t noticed the watch officer following him, he checked his pocket watch; it was late and he would be late for the sermon. He was afraid of being late, he doesn’t want to be a heretic and wants the overseers help him stop dreaming about him.
He didn’t notice the smile, he had other things in plan. He started walking even more faster, holding onto his hat.
Marley contemplated calling out to him, but thought better of it since he wasn’t acting like he was trying to lose him; or if he was, he was doing a terrible job of it. He just lengthened his stride and tried to keep his footsteps quiet. He was quick though, and Marley was having a harder time keeping up without being too noisy.
He was tired from his last match, and he wouldn’t be able to chase him down as effectively if he decided to run, so keeping quiet was his best method at the moment.
He tripped, and fell hard against the pavement and hit a puddle which splashed against his trench coat which seemed too expensive for his kind. Where could he have gotten that? Is it even his? Yes. Yes it is.
His paperboy cap fell across from him. Painfully getting up, scratches,scraped, and mud all over his hands. He reached and got his hat and turned to see an officer following him.
He sat up and got up. Patting his hands clean, putting on his hat he says, “Can I yep you, copper?”
Well- best time to make up an excuse is when you’re caught red handed right? He began with his formalities, letting his accent slip through the usual facade reserved for the local blood. It was nice to hear from another morlish man, even if he was young and rather impatient to get going.
“Are y'aright?” He asked quickly, coughing to clear his throat. “Y'looked troubled, I T'ought something was chasin’ ya or somethin.” He pointed over his shoulder and gave a half hearted smile as way of apologizing for his own jumping to conclusions.
He was surprised a little, he had never met a Morlish man let alone a person with the same accent as him. He’s not even sure if he himself is Morlish.
“It’s fine sir, me mum says I look like trouble so I’m used to it.”
“n’ I was out to go to the Abbey. Only I’m afraid I’m late and I don’t like being late to their sermons, sir.” He answered in the same accent, tucking his pocket watch back into his pocket.
He laughed a little at the thought. "Mm. Ma told me the same when I came home wit'a broken nose." He shrugged, it was nice to meet someone civil within the city. It always was the poor stricken kin that proved to show a little more manner in their speech. It was easy to hear the way he called him "sir". No one who thought anything of themselves called a foreigner like him "sir"
"Sermons, ah?" He looked toward the direction of the abbey. "you need an escort? I'm only close to one or two overseers, but perhaps I can take tha'brunt of their blame for you being tardy." He was more worried for the way he fidgeted- he looked like an easy target for a pickpocket.
Walking down the cold wet pavements of the streets, his shoes echoing in the alley he makes his way down the abbey for the weekly sermons.
It’s a cold night, and he’s dressed properly as usual. A grey trench coat with his usual paperboy cap. He looks down as he walks, hands in pocket inches away from his stowed golden brass knuckles.
The coppers don’t like him, much less anybody. They think he’s a thug, especially with his Morlish accent.
He walks quickly leaving a trail of smoke from his cigarette from his rosy lips and for once looks up and crossed eyes with a city watch officer and quickly looks down. He doesn’t want confrontation. At least not today.
Marley walked through quickly on his patrol, trying to finish the rounds and get back home sooner than later. He wanted to eat and sleep and be warm again.
It seemed, however, the fates had other plans in mind as he came across a young man making his own way through the streets. He went to smile but the boy looked down too quickly and seemed to quicken his pace at the mere sight of him.
That usually meant a guilty conscious, which could be bad if he left it to chance- he slowly followed after him, keeping a distance but making sure he remained in sight. He just wanted to make sure nothing bad happened should he neglect his duties. Knowing his luck, that’s exactly what would happen.
He hadn’t noticed the watch officer following him, he checked his pocket watch; it was late and he would be late for the sermon. He was afraid of being late, he doesn’t want to be a heretic and wants the overseers help him stop dreaming about him.
He didn’t notice the smile, he had other things in plan. He started walking even more faster, holding onto his hat.
Marley contemplated calling out to him, but thought better of it since he wasn’t acting like he was trying to lose him; or if he was, he was doing a terrible job of it. He just lengthened his stride and tried to keep his footsteps quiet. He was quick though, and Marley was having a harder time keeping up without being too noisy.
He was tired from his last match, and he wouldn’t be able to chase him down as effectively if he decided to run, so keeping quiet was his best method at the moment.
He tripped, and fell hard against the pavement and hit a puddle which splashed against his trench coat which seemed too expensive for his kind. Where could he have gotten that? Is it even his? Yes. Yes it is.
His paperboy cap fell across from him. Painfully getting up, scratches,scraped, and mud all over his hands. He reached and got his hat and turned to see an officer following him.
He sat up and got up. Patting his hands clean, putting on his hat he says, “Can I yep you, copper?”
Well- best time to make up an excuse is when you're caught red handed right? He began with his formalities, letting his accent slip through the usual facade reserved for the local blood. It was nice to hear from another morlish man, even if he was young and rather impatient to get going.
"Are y'aright?" He asked quickly, coughing to clear his throat. "Y'looked troubled, I T'ought something was chasin' ya or somethin." He pointed over his shoulder and gave a half hearted smile as way of apologizing for his own jumping to conclusions.
