house of wolves

i low key miss dishonored rp and i definitely have the time for it but i think almost everyone’s caught the plague and is dead lmfao (ah yes right back into the thick of it)

and also my blogs? are horrendous right now because my standards have shifted entirely over the past year or so???

Above all else, Daud had hoped - if he was still capable of such a forlorn, weary thing as hope - that Billie would have forgotten the name Dunwall and all the wretched, broken things it housed.

The twitch of his lip is a wry thing, the spin of his blade even more so - contemplative and disarmingly casual, gracefully twined through gloved fingers like it were liquid rather than steel, an idle distraction. “Something like that,” his words are graveled as always - though the palest inflection betrays some measure of fondness - and there is no give in the curious way he eyes the contents of her quarters in a sweeping movement. 

"Impressive," Daud remarks, taking a small step forwards, fingers running idly across the edge of that threatening, purposeful blade. He regards the motion with a contemplative tilt of head, tests the give of its edge with the tip of a finger. The word itself is empty, without meaning. "You certainly seem to have made a name for yourself. Enough that people have noticed." The wrong kind of people.

Is it pride, or resentment?

"Everyone I guess, but one."

He wondered if this is how it is to be a father. He’d secretly wished he could be one, but families and loved ones are a liability in his line of business. It felt horribly burdened to think that he had to tell her to leave; after seeing her grow into the person that she is. Under these wrinkled and bark-like hands he pushed her limits, and pulled her up when she fell too hard.

And because of this unfamiliar emotion, he knew he couldn’t hate her. He was merely upset, just as any father would to a reckless daughter. Daud could never cast her aside forever. His eyes cast a longing feeling he felt throughout his lonely days since she’d left, with a soft smile.

"Your brothers and sisters might think you as a traitor. Hating you for your decisions, but as I keep telling everyone, we’re all human. Making mistakes we come to regret for life. Jessamine, for example." He glanced at her portrait on his wall. "That kind of mistake, the kind nobody would ever had in them to forgive you for. I know how it feels like to try to make things right again."

"What you did, I don’t know if I could ever forgive that, despite saying all these things. But I could try."

As comforting as his words were meant to be, BIllie could still not find it in herself to completely let go of her guilt. She supposed her own internal strife was the cross she had to bare in repentance for what she had done, regardless of whether or not Daud attempted to forgive her or not. 

She opened her mouth to speak before she was interrupted by Daud pulling her into his arms. Billie was frozen, still, caught off guard by the foreign feeling of being hugged. A few seconds ticked by before she spoke.

"What...?" she asked, extremely confused. "Uh..."

Billie bit her lip, debating on what to do next. She never took Daud for the hugging type, but perhaps he would have taken it the wrong way if she remained still. Either way, she slowly raised her arms to return the embrace lightly. She stayed that way for only a few moments, not wanting to get too comfortable with all of this physical contact, before pulling away - perhaps a bit quickly.

The woman cleared her throat.

"I... Thank you," Billie started, averting her eyes, "Though I'm still unsure if I even deserve an attempt at forgiveness." 

She looked to him, a somewhat melancholy look in her eyes.

He’d always missed home. He’d seen beautiful seasides and tropical sunrises, but none could contend the comforts of the sun and heat of Serkonos. Daud had been taken against his will away from home, but for some reason he had not tried his best to return.

Not for visits, like ones he occasionally did. Coming home for good, where he was raised by his intelligent and resourceful mother. Is the house still there where he’d left it years ago? He avoided it in his little trips home. He was afraid of the pain it might inflict him should he decided to return to Gristol again.

But there’s nothing for him here anymore, is it not? Billie was right. Why not now?

"I guess," he took off his gloves and stared at the wrinkles of time and experience etched on his skin, "There are things I’m afraid of doing after all."

Finally he could look at her again, eyes softening upon resting on her sight. “Maybe I didn’t want to end up being there alone. If I die here, I’d have someone to look and hold on to, probably miss as well.”

"Who knows," she shrugged, slowly rising from her seat, drawing her eyes away from Daud and onto the papers scattered over his desk. "I'd offer to visit, but I feel as if I you might not want to see the person who betrayed you when you're trying to get away from all of this." 

Billie eyed the man as she picked up one of the stray sheets and skimmed through it, wondering if Daud would protest to her reading his files. 

"I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to find someone to take with you. Thomas, even? You have a whole score of people who would follow you to the ends of the earth, don't you?" 

The contract is impassive and concise, its target little more than a small-scale merchant in a feud that will be forgotten come the rains of the fall, and Daud accepts it for this reason alone.

The crook of harbor smells of rot and stagnant water, and while the plague has lessened it’s chokehold on the city, elements of death linger in every corner (the soft edges of rotting corpses, piles of debris and moulding wood). The men who work the shoreline are largely ambivalent, moving crates and rope-tied burlap sacks back and forth between the vessel that sits at port.

He hasn’t seen the likes of a ship in this caliber since the mess with Stride’s engine coil. 

The lacquered wood beneath his boots is noiseless and noticeably firm (Dunwall, Daud thinks sometimes, is more rotting wood than city); the shipmaster’s office, quartered in the lower deck of the vessel, is refined but not gaudy. There are papers and maps scattered across desks detailing all manner of things, shipments and imports and losses and gains. Meticulously detailed, each and every one.

It’s the sound of footsteps that stirs his attention. The ones he would know anywhere.

A pit opens up in her stomach, as empty as the Void itself.

Billie excuses herself from her current conversation, making small talk with a local dock worker in order to appear more amiable to the general public. The man nods without question and returns to his duties, not knowing the magnitude of the situation. “Oh, yes, the man I betrayed and tried to kill is on my ship right now and I need to go say hello,” would probably not work as a decent explanation.

She slowly ducks into her office, heart beating so loud she could have sworn it was going to beat right out of her chest. It doesn’t take a natural philosopher to figure out why he’s here. He’s a killer. He’s just doing his job. However, that does not make it any easier to swallow. She bites her tongue watching as he observes the room. Deep inside, she wonders if he’s impressed – and even deeper so, she hopes he is.

He had spared her once; though his reasoning was beyond her. She had betrayed him and furthermore attempted to kill him. She had left her comrades for dead and walked away more or less unscathed. That was long ago, when she was still his second in command – his scout, his shadow. Billie doubted he would have the same mercy for her now that she was nothing more than another name on a list.

☺ My muse’s favourite habit of yours

☹ A guilty secret mine has been keeping from yours

❀ What would be their perfect holiday with you muse

★ A secret dream for the future involving your muse

♥ The quickest way your muse could break my muse’s heart

☂ How would they react to finding your muse crying in the rain?

❂ What would their most explosive argument revolve around?

❆ How would they help yours back to full health?

✸ Would they rather watch the sunrise, sunset or count stars with your muse?

☀ What would they do if they found out they were related?

okay let me explain this real quick

    “If I ask for your real name, will you tell me then?”

          but he had a strong feeling that she would refuse to give that particular piece of information away. This was Billie he was talking about. She was very reticent about herself, as he was, though Billie probably knew more about him now that he liked her to.

                  “It couldn’t be too bad.” and with many thanks to Billie, the mystery of her real name will be one that Thomas cannot decipher. Perfect—another thing to be depressed about. He disliked not knowing things.

"Maybe one day, though," Billie finally added quickly. 

No one knew her real name - not even Daud. There was no way that she would tell Thomas. Though, she supposed things were different now. In reality, she was technically under his employ. Life after the Whalers was a strange thing indeed. 

Her eyes flickered to him again, for a moment.

"I could say the same for you. To be honest, I didn't expect to be back in Dunwall... Well, ever, really. But there are only so many cities full of nobles looking for protection," she admitted. 

Billie chuckled.

"Ugh, you wound me, truly," Billie says, feigning hurt. "Being a Whaler isn't all fun and games but I never found it to be a boot camp either."

She thinks for a moment.