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laur-rants · 3 years

Text

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 5

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud and the Whalers, some Daud/Outsider on the side

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Werewolf!AU :: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. Origin Story, pre-canon. Centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the Outsider and his formulation of the Whalers.

Notes: Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Daud goes back to where it began, spurred to action by the Outsider’s words.

AO3 link

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Dunwall

Month of Songs, 1820

He was running. He was running, throwing his surging body forward, every step pounding into the ground with the force of a full stampede. The scent of blood, of fear, was heavy in his nose; it drove his senses to a pinpoint, beckoning him onward. Weariness fled from him as his skin was shed, scars blazing and teeth shining with a manic light. He breathed and his body breathed with him, contracting and expanding, growing with every filled lung. He gulped air like a whale before the plunge; muscles rippled, launching, claws ready to rend, to tear, to savor.

He was a killer; he was born for this. His prey was fully unaware; fur flew and bone crushed and his jaws longed for the warmth of blood, the tender tear of flesh rending between his teeth. A limb was shorn from its body easily and his long nose plunged into the cavity left behind, rooting for soft, vulnerable organs. He closed his eyes and worshiped the entrails he found within. He was drunk on it, drowning in the life-giving red water, offering reverence to both god and devoured flesh. Somewhere far away, a whale keened; he bellowed his own song, body rippling with the sound as it morphed into a roar, then a scream. His voice dripped with Void but still the whales cried and burned; he could feel their dying songs reverberating in his ears, his whole body resonating with the call.

------

Daud lurched forward, gasping for air, returning to the surface of his dreams. His body was slick with sweat and smoke and his nose burned with the smell of burning oil. Whalesong mixed in his ears with another unearthly sound, a keening note that he realized, belatedly, was a sundering howl ripped from his own throat. He fell from the bed, all too aware of his teeth clashing, his claws ripping, his body shaking from an exertion he didn't know it was experiencing until now.

He tried to still his panicking mind but his body spasmed of its own accord, as if trying desperately to break free of it's human-shaped prison. He fought for lucidity against the instinctive desire to shift into something else. He bit down on his tongue, rolling it through too-long teeth, and clenched his left hand so painfully it bled. He tasted iron on his lips and gasped out, trying not to fall apart at the literal seams.

Human, human, you're still human , he reminded himself, trying desperately to convince whatever shift was happening to reverse itself. A dark part of his mind snarled back, telling him he was only lying to himself, that humanity was now beyond him--but he snuffed it out, shaking his head as the world swam with void and smoke. He clenched his fist even tighter; he snarled and his scars smoldered like they would sear his face right off, but he finally got his body to settle. Claws melted away, fur and ears and snout left on a non-existent breeze. His chest exhaled; with it, the beast succumbed, returning to rest in the coil of his ribcage. His limbs shook, his body was slick with sweat. He wanted to be sick.

When he pounded his fist into the flooring, the wood creaked, splinters biting into his skin.

A week. He'd had this Mark for a bloody week and still, everyday was a fight. A fight against a body that didn't want to be confined to skin, with claws that itched to grow, with teeth that begged to be bared. The Mark on his hand and the whispers of the Void that were supposed to help him maintain this mess seemed only to encourage the beast of him. His dreams were vivid bloodbaths coaxing the monster to burst from his skin. The Outsider had wondered how long Daud could control the beast; Daud wondered if he even had control to begin with.

His hand seized and he shook it, flexed it, then concentrated. His breathing returned to normal, his shivering stopped. He willed those claws to grow long and deadly before whispering them away again. He watched as the inky black fur broke apart and turned to ash, as if the fur wasn't made of hair, but actual voidstone, muttering secrets even as it dissipated away. Daud frowned, sat back on his legs, and closed his eyes.

This time, he felt for the Void. He searched for it with purpose, his hand the part of him that was allowed to plunge across the barrier. The chill was bone deep, the pain of it followed by a tingling pressure that begged him to stop-- but he found it. The tendril of magic he was searching for. He tugged on it like a spider testing its web, following the vibrations towards its intended goal.

Daud kept his eyes closed until he felt the cold burn up his arm, filling him with magic. When he opened his eyes, the world's colors were muted but her secrets lay bare; people far below him either still slept or paced paths around their beds. Scent trails wafted in front of him, the smells of whales, of oil, of burnt skin traveling through his apartment. When he blinked again his normal color vision returned, the murmur in his ear fled from him, and his mark faded from a bright screaming white back down to a faded black.

He drew breath and heavy air filled his lungs; a cold hand materialized on his scarred cheek and he stilled, blinking, until a smirking figure appeared before him fully. He swallowed, still very aware of his position on the floor, and lifted his gaze to meet endless black.

"My, learning something new today?" the Outsider asked calmly, stroking a thumb across Daud's cheek. The sensation of the touch across his scars sent a shivering jolt all the way down to his feet and he gasped at the sensation. He tried to regain composure, tried to scowl at the god.

"It's not like I've been given many instructions," Daud complained. "So I've had to learn to take what I can get when I find it."

"You have been quite busy seeking out my shrines," the Outsider noted. "But they are easier to listen for than to see. This new power will help you hear their songs. Once your ears hear it, you will know. And you will be drawn to them."

Thin fingers moved from his face to his hair, carding through the loose black strands and Daud's eyes slid closed, his body entranced under the touch. It was soothing and suffocating; he let himself be set adrift, the current pulling him where it wished. The Outsider smiled.

"A mother from Pandyssia, and the bastard father she murdered on her way to Serkonos. She was called a witch, people thought she worshipped me. But she didn't; you knew it was all slander. You didn't even believe I really existed." He drew his hand away and Daud whined, unbidden. Free of the trance, he stood up; the Outsider floated above the flooring, his shadow immeasurable.

"Why believe in a god that didn't pay attention to us, or the suffering of others? It was pointless."

"And yet, here I am. In truth, I'm glad you weren't devout. Would have made it so much less interesting to approach you." The Outsider turned away, though Daud felt as if his hungry dead eyes were still watching his every move.

"Tell me, Daud, did you ever hear the fables of whale-wolves in your youth?"

Daud blinked. "My mother mentioned them under a different name. Wolfbanner, those cursed as wolves. It was fanciful, like anything from Pandyssia. I didn't pay it much mind as I aged, when I had other things to worry about."

"Like murdering your abusive captors," the Outsider supplied. He turned back to Daud, studying him. "Not your first kill, and not your last." He disappeared, reappearing at Daud's side, facing the opposite direction. A hand hovered over Daud's arm, the sensation of promised contact prickling against his skin.

"You are by far the most bloodthirsty of my Marked, the first in a long time."

There was a sadness there, but also an interest, a hunger. Daud leaned away a little, trying to meet the Outsider's eye.

"How many have you Marked?"

"There are a few in every age. You are one of six, all scattered in the Isles. The last time I marked someone, you were still a babe in Serkonos. The last time one of my Marked died, it was here, under this very city, just over a year ago." His face fell serious, a terrible gaze that chilled Daud to the bone.

"The one Fink found," Daud surmised, and the Outsider's form flickered dangerously. He chose to dissipate, forming again to sit on Daud's bed, a foot resting over the opposite knee.

"My whale-wolves are not the playthings of men. They are individuals who make their own lives, their own paths, their own choices. According to legend, the original were whales that left the water to walk on land; they possessed humans, and their form changed to suit their bodies and their environment. It was not so easy on the humans; they eventually lost their minds to the whale's overwhelming presence, ravaging their villages and infecting their others, and were ultimately killed." The Outsider looked away, his gaze far off.

"But that was thousands of years ago, when whales were more powerful. My Mark gives humans a fighting chance, but it also changes them forever. You are now more than you ever were before, Daud."

"I was quite fine being human, you know," Daud snarled. "I didn't want to become some furred whale that walks on land." The Outsider gave him a sad look.

"Unfortunately, few get to choose this path. Those who have the option of choice are rarer and more powerful than you could ever imagine. You could have been one but…" the Outsider flicked over to him again, his hands and eyes fixated on the scars marring his face. Daud inhaled sharply, not expecting the touch.

"But you were attacked before that choice could be offered to you. I'm sorry. So please, do not take what I've given you to waste."

The god's voice was barely a whisper, but so loud within his ears, like rushing water. He turned toward the Outsider, unbidden. That slender face smiled.

"What would you see me do, then?" He asked, eyes dark and entranced again.

"Return to where you started," the Outsider offered. "And keep your friends close. You will need them, soon."

And then, just like that, Daud was alone again. He shivered, his body alight in a very different sense, limbs tingling with phantom pain. He breathed, trying to ease his mind, but it was no use. He settled instead for a cold shower but all it did was remind him of those icy hands, the rush of water in the Void, and the whales that kept crying from their death row in the slaughterhouses.

------

Rulfio was early to his meeting with Daud by approximately ten minutes and 45 seconds.

Apparently, so was Daud.

This wasn't completely unlike the other assassin, if Rulfio was being honest. What was unlike Daud, however, was his vulnerable position-- sitting against the chimney, his arms resting on his knees, his mouth nervously rolling a new cig. Daud didn't even look at Rulfio as he cleared the roof, swinging his legs over the edge before straightening up.

There was no mask, this time. A welcome return to normalcy -- until, of course, Daud turned his head towards Rulfio. Without thinking, Rulfio's eyes shot over to Daud's scars and he stilled. His beard pulled into a frown and he crossed his arms; Daud sighed. The younger assassin didn't stand up, just kept sitting there, too open and languid.

"Do I even want to know the trouble you've been into since the last time I saw you?" The words were rough but held no venom; Daud responded by looking down and away, the shadow of a smile twitching on his lips as he pulled at his cigarette. The smoke billowed up as he breathed out.

"Maybe not. If I had the option of not knowing, I would take it, to be honest."

There was something ruined there in those words that gave Rulfio a pause. He unfolded his arms, instead opting to set his hands into pockets.

"Well, did you get it done, then? It's been near two weeks."

Daud nodded. He then dug into the bandolier at his chest and pulled out a small pouch. He tossed it to Rulfio, who caught it easily. He noted the red velvet of the purse's fabric, opened it to gold coins, and laughed.

"Steal everything but the bathtub?"

"I burned the house. The whole family is dead. Except, well…"

Rulfio tossed the bag up, catching it easily as it fell. "Well?"

Daud sighed. He shot Rulfio a look. "There was a kid."

Of course there was. "And where's the kid now?"

"In the hands of a physician. She was hurt, but she'll live."

"Have you been stalking her?"

Daud's expression went deadly sharp. Rulfio blinked; a dark emotion hung in those edges that he had never seen on Daud's face before. But then it passed and Daud just grimaced, puffing on the cigarette in his mouth.

"I've been trying not to. I don't need to interfere with a kid who's life I ruined."

"And yet you pulled her from a burning building after killing her parents."

"I wasn't gonna let her die, Rulf."

Fair enough. He tossed the coin purse again, finding the clinking pleasant in his ear. "Did that physician fix your face up too?"

"No, that was…" his hand clenched, as if his wrist hurt. "It healed on its own."

Rulfio knew a lie when he heard one. He laughed, waving at a bug hovering too near his ear. "Daud you're a better liar than that. If you have a secret, you can just keep it, you know." Interestingly, Daud's jaw worked; the fly in his ear grew more insistent. Rulfio wasn't the twitchy type --having a steady hand and low jumpiness made him great at his job-- but when he swatted and nothing flew from his hand, he turned his head, looking around. The air was empty, but the sensation tickling at his nerves remained. He scowled, and then caught Daud watching him curiously.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Dunno," Rulfio confessed. "Thought it was a fly, or a mosquito. But there's nothing there."

Immediately the twinge on his nerves receded, but Daud remained far too impassive. Rulfio squinted at him, folding his arms in again.

It took a few ticks, but Daud finally twitched, his fingers moving back to his cigarette.

"What did you do?" Rulfio asked, like he was talking to a petulant child. Daud exhaled, the sound roughened with smoke.

"I need your help," he said, skirting the question. "It's not a contract, it's a… personal favor." His head tilted, his eyes softened. "I don't really have anyone else I can ask to come with me on this one."

Rulfio considered. If you asked him, he wasn't the superstitious type, but something wasn't right. Daud was acting strange. Void, how long did Rulfio think him dead? Long enough to come to terms with the fact that his partner was well and truly gone. Then he just reappeared, with that haunting face and those seeping, infected wounds, and things changed. To be honest, Rulfio isn't even sure if Daud was still real, or some phantom sent to haunt him.

"Sure, I'll help you out, Daud. I've owed you for a while, anyway." He settled down on the roof next to the scarred man, nudging his boot amicably. "What do you need to see to?"

Daud sighed, weary. He ran a hand over his hair.

"It's the Hound Pits. I have to go back there, look around. Something doesn't add up, like I missed something the first time around. I don't want to get my information crossed, but some of the papers I found in Fink's place allude to... unpleasant practices. " Daud pulled the papers he recovered and easily handed them to Rulfio. He took the proffered articles, smoothing his beard as he read. That insistence itched at the back of his skull, ringing like tinnitus.

Eyebrows up, Rulfio simply said aloud "do you mind?" while his eyes skimmed over the words, and was mildly surprised when the sensation obliged, backing off. The ache it left behind was dull, and Ruflio gave Daud a very pointed look.

Daud, to his credit, tried to remain neutral. Rulfio sniffed. Daud blinked innocently.

"Are you using some kind of magic on me, Daud?"

"Don't start with me, Rulf."

"Look I know you said your mom was from Pandyssia but--"

"Just read the damn articles," Daud growled out, "and maybe then I'll tell you."

Rulfio went back to the papers, smirking, but the smile fled as something dark settled into his chest. He read it, then read it again. He swallowed heavily and when he handed the papers back, he found his steady hand shaking.

"Jerome," he managed, "it says he changed? And that they were looking for assassins to…" he cast a nervous glance at Daud, who was watching him very carefully. Rulfio's gaze flicked to those gastly scars, the lines dragging over his face and across his jugular, and he could feel the sweat beading on his own forehead.

"What the fuck happened under the Hound Pits, Daud?"

Daud didn't blink, his expression dark.

"It's easier to show than tell on this one, Rulf."

------

The trip to the Hound Pits Pub took longer than Daud wanted it to. After a week, he was used to these powers taking him farther and faster than his own legs could, to the point where walking was an overt annoyance. However, he couldn't trust to show his powers to Rulfio, not yet, not until his fellow assassin fully understood why. So, by simple flesh and steel they both traversed the rooftops, knowing the routes through Dunwall better than anyone. Blessedly, Rulfio asked no questions on the way, letting Daud take the lead and direct Rulfio where they needed to go.

As they neared the establishment they settled down, carefully perching on a nearby apartment roof and simply observing. It was late afternoon, which meant the pub was getting ready for dinner and a long night of pleasantries. Someone in an upstairs apartment aired out some dirty laundry, getting spooked when she caught them lounging out of the corner of her eye. Daud grimaced, motioning to Rulfio; they hopped down after that, mingling with the streetside crowd.

"Go on inside," Daud suggested, as they eyeballed the front door of the Pub. "See if you can't distract the staff for a while. I'm going to scout around for where we need to go."

"And how will I know you're ready for me?"

Daud worried his cheek and resisted the urge to push his thoughts towards Rulfio. It was an addictive side effect, one he didn't totally understand or have control over, but he knew Rulfio's mind now, had a bead on it, and it would be so easy to…

"I'll come in and grab a drink myself," he supplied, pushing down the ache to reconnect to Rulfio's mind. "I'll grab a whiskey if I'm ready to go, a wine if not. How does that sound?"

Rulfio nodded, good with the plan, and Daud relaxed. He nodded, then eased back against the wall, pulling out a cigarette to light. He lounged casually, wearing a loose shirt over his bandolier to conceal the majority of his weapons and equipment. He waited until Rulfio disappeared, nursing his cigarette between his lips.

Then, he pulled the spent butt from his mouth, flicked it to the floor, and disappeared.

He transversed through the Void, his body leaping to a new location, again and again, effortlessly. He had been practicing with the power, honing the feel of it over the last week, his confidence growing with each successful jump. He allowed the power to flow through him now, breathing in the ash it left behind, feeling his chest swell with unspoken exhalation. He circled the Pub, gathered a loose key from an upper room, and disappeared briefly into the sewers connected to the establishment.

There, he let himself take a breath. His hand itched with long claws, his black gloves melting into oily fur. Daud looked around and sniffed; the sewers still stank, but not of death. Perhaps the rats or the hagfish got to last month's massacre, tearing apart any remains. He carefully traversed the tunnels, found the door he had used when he was first here, and unlocked it with the stolen key.

Then, as silently as a spectre, he slipped into the main body of the Hound Pits Pub.

The place was bustling, the smell and sounds of the brewery and its customers hitting him full force. He staggered for a moment, nose curling, before making his way to the broad chested Tyvian. He knocked on the counter and Rulfio glanced at him, but said nothing else.

"Can I get a whiskey?" Daud asked gruffly. "Dunwall's finest." The barkeep nodded, sauntering off to get the drink. Next to him, Rulfio shifted.

"There is a door to the sewers in the--" he whispered, but just then, the rabble rose up, drowning his words. He glanced at Rulfio, who shook his head. Of course, he hadn't heard him.

Daud huffed. And, without thinking, he shut his mouth tight and reached his mind out to Rulfio's.

"Adjacent brewery has a door to the sewers in the back. It's unlocked. No guards. I'll meet you there."

Daud could feel Rulfio's mind flickering through confusion, realization, shock, and-- the emotions flashed by so fast Daud's head felt heavy but he drummed on the counter and cleared his throat. As the barkeep brought his drink and he dropped his pay, he chanced a glance at Rulfio.

His partner's face was a wall. He was looking at Daud, his eyes unblinking, and Daud could sense the disbelief. He frowned; he needed to get Rulfio moving, damnit.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Daud growled, lifting a dangerous lip. Across the weak connection he felt confusion, then understanding. Rulfio cleared his throat, then shook his head.

"No sir, just thought I recognized you from somewhere."

"With these scars? I doubt it. Now back off."

Rulfio nodded and behind them, someone laughed. Daud turned away and nursed the whiskey; when he looked back, Rulfio was gone.

He dropped a tip, downed the rest of his glass, then exited the way he entered.

When Daud next met up with his fellow assassin in the sewers, Rulfio was livid. He grabbed Daud by his too-loose shirt, shaking him roughly, and snarled in Daud's face.

"What black magic was that? Where is the bone charm? Who gave it to you? Damn it all, Daud!"

Daud let himself be handled before carefully prying Rulfio's fingers off his shirt. He then pulled the shirt off, storing it near the door, and then checked his equipment and adjusted his hood.

"It's not a bone charm, Rulfio," Daud said, hating how strained his voice sounded. It was easier to count his bolts and darts than look at the dark, angry eyes of his partner in crime. "It's just how I am now, Rulf."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" There was the sound of a blade unsheathing, and Daud started, not expecting the weapon now pointed on him. Not Rulfio. His stomach dropped with the realization that somewhere along the way, he'd made a deadly mistake. He whirled towards his partner, putting his hands up.

"Rulfio, wait--"

The tip of Rulfio's dao blade pressed into his stomach, silencing him. Daud's mouth snapped shut and he shook his head, unmoving.

"What were you doing in my head then? Are you like Jerome? In the note, how it said he could invade thoughts… is that what you're like now? Are you even Daud anymore?"

Daud licked his lips. He chose his words carefully; he really didn't think Rulfio wanted to see what would happen if he tried to spill his guts here and now. Daud didn't really want to see what would happen, either.

"Rulfio, I swear to you, I have not been body snatched, I'm not some weird animated corpse. I just need you to trust me--"

"Trust you, when you were coming in my head and talking to me? I didn't give you permission for that, Daud!"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," he whispered lowly, his voice echoing against the water and the walls. Rulfio had no response to that, but the blade didn't move. Carefully Daud moved to take off his left glove. "I just want to show you, so that you don't make a terrible mistake, right here, right now."

"And why's that? You some witch now?" The sword pushed into his stomach.

"No, Rulfio-- fuck! I'm a Wolfbanner, I'm a cursed fucking whale-wolf!"

The silence at the declaration hung heavy between them. Rulfio then laughed, singular, in disbelief.

"Yeah, right. Those are just old wive's tales, Daud. There's…" but he trailed off, the look on Daud's face stony. Rulfio's eyes flicked to the scars. His hand shook.

"Let me show you, Rulfio." He tugged at his glove. Rulfio shook his head, but didn't take his eyes off the motion. "Just please, don't gut me, that's all I ask."

The glove slid off. The Outsider's Mark gleamed. In a swarm of ash, black claws grew.

The sword clattered loudly to the floor.

Daud's jaw clenched tight, working as Rulfio stared, fascinated at the action. Worry crept in, and Daud took a step back for distance.

"I didn't want this, Rulf, but I'm not lying, and by some god-given power, I haven't gone completely insane. I didn't think--I'm not here to-- I thought I could trust you with this because I hate lying to you, Rulf."

"And the mind tricks? What is that?"

"I…" Daud clammed up, and had the audacity to feel ashamed. "I don't know. I just realized that I could reach out to someone else's head, read their emotions, talk to them. I'm still learning this shit and I'm sorry, Rulfio. You couldn't hear me and I just acted without--"

The thwip was near silent. Daud didn't catch it soon enough; the punch in his leg caused him to buckle and grunt. He looked down; the bolt stuck from his thigh at an odd angle, but the blood poured from it all the same. He groaned again as the pain burned down his leg and up his spine.

"Rulfio, what the fuck--"

But it wasn't Rulfio. Daud's second stood, watching agape as a second bolt hit his right arm, in the bicep. Daud growled in annoyance, the sound guttural in his ears. He could feel his teeth growing heavy and he gnashed them together as he pulled the first bolt out of his leg with his free hand.

"Rulfio," Daud rasped, feeling his mark burning and begging to be used. He dodged; another bolt whizzed past his head. "I swear, if you're in on this--" He didn't mean to sound so rough and angry but someone was shooting at him and he'd been too distracted to notice. But Rulfio just shook his head, his face pale. He reached for his sword but another bolt nearly struck his hand and he pulled back, cursing.

It was enough to make Daud's blood boil over. His fist clenched; with a snarl he was rushing forward, ignoring the pain in his limbs. There was an exclamation, but he was already too far to make out the words. Ugly claws sprouted as the world greyed; a body to his left lit up and he sneered, teeth sharp. The individual was slim, hooded; they realized how close Daud suddenly was and they stumbled back, surprised. Or perhaps, terrified.

It didn't matter. Daud's fist clenched and he pounced; another bolt whizzed past him, the shot going wide as Daud collided with his assailant. He pulled his blade out immediately, pulling it to the throat of--

Daud cursed and the person under him shuddered from where his hand lay clasped around her throat. Because now he knew it was a she; the long brown hair tied back in her hood and those sharp blue eyes were sign enough. He sighed out a growl, keeping his blade on her neck.

"Jordan. You better have a good explanation for this." He heard a yelp from Rulfio in the distance, the call of his name. Jordan sneered and Daud was suddenly very aware of the steady drip of blood from the bolt still in his arm.

"Daud, what the shit was all that-- Jordan?!" Rulfio finally moved over to them, wet from the sewers, and he looked at her, equally baffled. He looked at Daud, then Jordan, and his face went severe. "Oh, you didn't… Seriously , Jordan?" He sounded like he was chiding a child which, to be honest, wouldn't be far off the mark. Jordan was even younger than Daud, fresh into her second decade, and sometimes her recklessness preceded her.

Jordan, for her part, at least knew better than to struggle against Daud's grip. Her eyes darted to Rulfio, then back to Daud; she put her hands up, swearing.

"Okay, okay, shit, you caught me. Now let me up you assholes."

"Not until you explain what you were thinking, shooting me in the fucking sewer," Daud growled out, his teeth grinding together in anger.

"There's… there's a hit on you, Daud."

It was Rulfio who responded. He sounded defeated, almost ashamed. Daud swore, nearly dropping his blade as he turned to Rulfio, livid.

"There's a hit on me and you didn't tell me? Since when?"

"It's that prick, Brimsley," Jordan supplied. "Said he was threatened by you, that you killed someone else and he wanted you gone. It's good pay, you know," she twitched, her eyes darting between the other two assassins. "15,000 coin, Daud. I thought it'd be easy enough, but he didn't say you were a heretic too."

"I'm not a heret--" he cut his own words off with a groan, finally pushing Jordan away in anger. His claws left no marks, for which he was grateful. She rubbed at her neck anyway, trying to ease the pain away, checking for blood. "Whatever. Fuck Brimsley. I'll kill him myself and collect my own bounty." With an annoyed grunt, he pulled the bolt from his arm, letting it clatter to the floor, unphased by the blood weeping from the wound.

"Does that even hurt?" Jordan asked, stupefied.

"Like a bloodfly sting," he responded. Jordan blanched.

"Yeah okay, fuck Brimsley, you're a scary man, Daud. 15,000 isn't even close enough to be worth it. 20,000 maybe. But Outsider's ass, you really ate two bolts like it was nothing."

"Yeah, well, at least you didn't try to kill me," he said, and his mind remembered that grey wolf's-- Jerome, his name was Jerome, he reminded himself, sickened--split neck, stitching itself back together. "There's a good chance it wouldn't have worked."

"I wager not," she said, her wide, nervous eyes trailing the scars on his face. "So what, you a fuckin' witch now? Give your soul to the Void so you can't ever die?"

"He's a whale-wolf now, Jordan." Rulfio said gruffly. Daud spared him a glance; Rulfio was watching him carefully, but there was no skepticism in his gaze. Daud savored the small amount of vindication that brought him, before turning towards Jordan's laughter.

"Yeah, right. Those are just fiction, Rulf. I know you love your conspiracy theories, but seriously? A whale-wolf? I'm supposed to just believe that?"

Rulfio flushed, the grip on his blade tightening with the creak of leather. "Did you not see what Daud just did? He disappeared and then reappeared like it was nothing. He's even Marked--or tattoo'd, depending on how you see it."

"Don't need to be a giant beast to use magic, Rulfio."

"Oh? You think those witches you see at night aren't also beasts too? You think Granny Rags isn't more than just an old crone?"

"You ever see Granny look like a giant monster? No? I didn't think so! But she still brews those concoctions and talks to rats and leaves carved bones lying about!"

"Just because you ain't seen it doesn't mean it's not true," Rulfio defended.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you," Daud finally snarled, his whole body bristling. Jordan and Rulfio both stilled, acquiesced, though Jordan's eyes still darted skeptically between them. "Rulfio isn't wrong, Jordan… I got attacked. In these very sewers, even. It's not something I really enjoy, but--

"Show me, then," Jordan bit out, stubbornness taking over as she steadied her crossbow at Daud, "or I'll turn you over to the Overseers. I bet they'll give me more coin for a marked heretic than Brimsley will for your head."

Daud sighed, aggravated. "You can't be serious."

"And if I am?" She tilted her head. "What, you suddenly shy or something, Daud?"

He snarled, the sound rumbling out from deep in his chest. Jordan faltered and Rulfio stepped back; around them, the air grew heavy. He stuck out his left hand; still gloveless, he clenched it and it burned, the smoke and ash giving away to fur and muscle. Jordan's eyes went wide and she lowered the crossbow as Daud's scars glowed hot, the smoke revealing fur and ears. His teeth clashed together as they lengthened in his jaws and became something other than human. Rulfio cursed, Jordan held a silent scream. His bones cracked unpleasantly but he willed the rest of his body to stay put, despite the heaving of his chest and creeping fur down his back. He felt his wounds steam away, the flesh knitting back together with his partial transformation.

Jordan gaped like a fish. Clearly, neither of them had expected -- this . Daud could hardly blame them. He sneered, his lip curling up, hating the looks on their faces. He let go of his magic; immediately, the fur dissipated, melting away like fog over water.

Nobody said anything. Daud could feel the anger rising in his chest and his left hand itched.

"Any other stupid questions?" He rasped out, his voice ruined after the transformation. Jordan just shook her head, the crossbow falling from her hands.

She ran.

Daud caught her before she took more than two steps. Rulfio's hand flew to his blade, anticipating a fight.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"I'm not sticking around so you can kill me like that!"

"Daud frowned. "I'm not going to kill you." His mouth twisted up into a nasty smile. "Unless you're off to snitch, that is. Then I might reconsider."

"Like anyone would believe me anyway!" She shrieked, her voice cracking up an octave. Then, she relaxed, though the sweat on her brow lingered. "What are you going to do with me then?"

Daud blinked, then looked at Rulfio, who shrugged.

"I think you'll just have to come along for the ride, now," he sneered, putting his blade back on his hip. "You followed us down here, after all. Aren't you curious as to why we're here under a dirty old dog fighting pub?"

Jordan looked skeptical, but Daud knew her curiosity would win out in the end. Her fingers twitched, and she licked her lips.

"It got to do with that hit you took for Brimsley?"

"The very one that fucked me up and almost killed me? Yes."

"Fine. Just don't kill me and leave me a mummy for someone to find in 200 years, alright? I got a lotta living still to do."

"We aren't going to kill you, girl," Rulfio sighed out, exasperated. That seemed to convince her; she wiggled out of Daud's limp grip and wiped herself off.

"Alright then. Where to, wolfman?"

Daud sighed and rolled his eyes; he was already regretting the decision to bring anyone along. But the Outsider had told him to keep his friends close, and maybe this was why.

"Give me a moment," he muttered, then waved his left hand again, burning through more magic. The Void laid bare the secrets of the world and in his ears, a faint ringing began. He frowned; the sound was like a tuning fork, resonating in his chest and limbs. It tugged him down, deeper under the tunnels, to where the dog fighting amphitheatre was. As his vision returned to normal, he started moving, motioning to the others.

"It's this way. Come on."

#dishonored #daud #the outsider #whalers #werewolf au #wolfssegner #blood wolf #long post #rulfio #jordan #fic #my fic #fanfic #my fanfic #not much rambling in the tags on this one #just struggled with this one a bit #a lot of dialog to juggle #both myself and daud are exhausted by jordan

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laur-rants · 3 years

Text

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 2

Fandom: Dishonored

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. The story centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the outsider and his formulation of the Whalers. Notes: There probably won’t be nsfw content in this fic, but it WILL be… violent. I want to play with my own boundaries of written violence and also Daud’s start wasn’t nearly as clean as Corvo’s. Their contrast on dealing with the werewolf transformation is one of the things I want to really explore, and Daud gets very close to falling off the wagon.

CHAPTER TAGS: Graphic depiction of nasty injury. AO3 link Previous :: Next

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Dunwall, Gristol

Month of Clans -- 1820

He woke with a gasp that burned and seared and lit his body on fire. He drew breath with a cough so painful it cracked his ribs and pulled him apart, fighting every aching inhale. Moving was an agony. His face and throat screamed at him as he rolled over, his fists clenching and teeth gnashing to try and quell the cry that threatened to burst out of him.

He settled for a muffled, tortured groan. His arms were bruised to the Void and back, but he pulled himself up, heaved an empty stomach, then lurched, willing his unresponsive body upright against a cold and slime-covered wall.

Daud breathed, in and out. He opened an eye only to find the world spinning dangerously, vertigo threatening his senses. He winced, shutting his eyes and trying to simply calm the rushing in his ears and head. Every pulse of his heart throbbed into his aching face, the sear of it blinding. Slowly, he lifted a shaking, gloved hand to delicately grace his features. The touch was tiny, as gingerly as he could manage, and still the pain screamed through him, sending shockwaves all the way down his spine and chest. The huge divot in his skin turned his stomach and his fingers pulled away, feeling sticky. Infection was setting in; not a good sign. He cracked his good eye open again, trying to focus on his hand in the gloom. He could feel shock setting into his limbs and he squeezed his fist, open and closed. He breathed, swallowed his nausea, and clung to the wall for dear life.

He should be dead. The wound on his face was beyond standard repair. He could practically feel his pulse jumping out of his neck; there was no reason that his jugular shouldn't be spilling his blood everywhere. He shuddered and coughed and tasted iron. Sweat beaded up on his forehead and his grip on reality loosened. It was too much, all too much. The fever and bile hit him hard and all at once. His eyes rolled back and Daud crumpled to the floor again, swiftly slipping into unconsciousness.

------

He jerked violently out of his second bout of sleep. Or could it be called sleep? He hadn't dreamt of anything, he had no idea how long he'd been out, and he remembered nothing of what he had been doing…

But the smell. Oh Void, the smell.

It smashed into his face like a sucker punch, the offense of it causing his brain to derail into survival mode. His nose wrinkled and a hiss escaped him, the odor assaulting him like an enemy. The pull on his features renewed the pain lancing all down the right of his face -- and the memory of his wound struck him like a crossbow bolt. He checked his hand -- still gloved -- before more tenderly touching fingertips to throat; the wound was, somehow, healing, but in the most festering way possible. The masses of gouged skin were scabbed, but he could feel the flesh at the edges, angry and red and swollen. He cursed under his breath; oh yes, definitely infected. He could feel the heat of the fever on his skin and when he tried to stand, his head swam. Still, he willed his feet to remain steady; he needed a proper assessment on what in the Void he was dealing with here. The world tilted as he stood, but at least his legs were relatively injury-free. Despite his swollen shut eye, Daud collected himself, sneered through the gloom, and what he saw nearly sent him reeling again.

He was in a sewer. It was dark as sin; here and there, the light of the upper world managed to gently filter through. Not that it mattered. He didn't need to see in the dark to know the place was full of death; at the edge of his gloomy vision, the humps of discarded bodies festered and bloated. He felt carefully for the wall and shimmied away from the offensive odor of rot and decay, forcing his brain to play catch up, to try and remember why he was even here in the first place.

Only flashes came to the forefront; tiny, disjointed moments that meant nothing to him without any context. Something large and furred had clawed his face, but there was no way a wolfhound could have inflicted this kind of damage. Perhaps he was misremembering; maybe it had grabbed his neck with its teeth. Silently, fingertips brushed three, four long marks, the longest slash dancing from right forehead to throat, right through his eye-- no tooth would have made lines like that. He worked his jaw and immediately regretted the action, his whole head throbbing in protest.

It didn't matter what had attacked him, he decided, just that it had. And if he didn't get the wound cleaned as soon as possible, the infection could still kill him yet.

His whole body shuddered. He didn't stick around to identify any bodies.

As he left his tunnel for another, the smell of death made way for the smell of sewage -- which frankly, wasn't much better. Blood and grime clung to him like a shroud and he tried desperately to recall why. He counted his knives; he was missing two of them, realizing belatedly they were probably back from where he had come. After some deliberation, he decided it would be easier to just replace them than collect them, but it wouldn't come cheap. The bigger hit, though, was his whaler blade. He missed the weight of it at his side, grimacing at ever considering it to be good luck. A blade was a blade, and now that needed replacing too.

Missing knives, missing blade, dead bodies. With this in mind, he could surmise he was on a job and with a job came a contract. Did he have the information on him? He padded down his jacket, the crinkle of paper faint in his ears.

He reached a spot where enough readable daylight filtered down and decided to pause, searching his pockets. He procured sleep darts, three trap mines, and the contract details. Daud's eyes unfolded the pages, smoothing creases as he skimmed the words, digesting them carefully.

Brimsley. Fink. Dog ring hit. A sizable bounty… Rulfio was supposed to have a cut. But where was he? A flash of memory tells him Rulfio backed out, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd have hated going back to that blood-torn room just to look for Rulfio's rotting body.

Reading over the details, more and more memories fell into place. Daud had followed the men and their hounds, had watched the dog fight a monster that couldn't die, had fled to kill Fink and collect the bounty, and then…

Blind eyes. An inhuman scream. Claws rending his entire face to ribbons.

He remembered all of that, the holes in his recollection filling like a puzzle. But anything following confronting Fink and getting attacked by a monster was gone. Nothing to pull from.

By all accounts, he should be dead. Very dead. Daud massaged his jaw on instinct, surprised to find it still whole. He was sure it had broken, his jugular bursting, his face shattered. He had been bleeding out. Nothing could've fixed that bad of a wound.

His mind's eye supplied him the vision of a giant monster's throat bubbling, gurgling, then somehow repairing. He felt his scratches, remembering the hot blood that should've been pouring from them, his own blood leaving far too quickly to be replaced… and yet…

And yet.

His heart rate quickened and his head and throat throbbed. He did his best to still the rising panic in his bones and let his mind rationalize. His neck was different from some monster who used magic to come back to life, to heal completely. He didn't use black magic. Maybe he was just damned lucky, not that he was out of the woods yet. Daud was alive, but still in considerable pain. He was wounded. His head spun dangerously with every stray thought. He needed to get looked at, to make sure he didn't die of infection.

But first, he needed to get paid.

He tucked the contract safely away and gathered himself the best he could. He was near the surface now; he could hear the people passing by, the shouts of guards and teachers and sellers alike. He wandered the tunnels, looking for a maintenance shaft, some way out before he was unceremoniously swept away into the Wrenhaven. He was actually near an exit when something caught his eye, glinting in the light by a blocked off drainage pipe.

It was his sword. Nearly washed away, stopped by a grate. The opening wasn't large enough for him to crawl out of, but through it, Dunwall Tower was visible, where the Kaldwins and their servants sat cushy and protected.

Daud grunted, holding no love lost for nobles and their affairs. He pulled the blade free, feeling for the notch. It caught in the thumb of his glove, nearly drawing blood, and Daud smiled.

“Lucky,” he muttered, sheathing the blade. His voice rasped painfully but he paid it no mind, just happy he still had a voice in the first place.

------

The Brimsley estate was huge and conspicuous and easy to infiltrate. Daud had few issues finding it and even fewer issues scaling the wall, even in his injured state. He was a mess; he didn't care. He didn't care that he stank of death, that his clothes were soaked black-red from a stranger's blood. He didn't care that half of his face was ripped open, raw and ragged and showing every swollen edge. A part of him revelled in it, couldn't wait to feed off the look on his contractor's face when Brimsley eventually found the assassin relaxing on the balcony, enjoying the warm, late spring evening.

His blade sat on his leg, the whetstone running cleanly across it. Every pass caused the metal to sing and smile in the dying light of the day. He felt the wind shift and heard a door close; he didn't pause his easy movement. There were two muffled voices chatting amicably, but they paused as Daud's stone ran along steel and interrupted all conversation.

Voices hushed to whispers that seemed to shout in Daud's all-too-sensitive ears. He grinned, adjusted his hood, then looked up as footsteps approached.

Brimsley screamed.

He recoiled from Daud so hard he nearly fell over; actually, he would have, if his assistant hadn't been there, gripping his arm and keeping him upright. A tray of tea spilled across the floor but nobody paid it any heed, not when Daud sat across on the balcony, looking like death warmed over.

His smile was easy, if not pained. Brimsley swiftly pissed himself.

"Brimsley." He pulled the contract from his pocket, and put his blade back into its sheath. His eyes flicked to the assistant and he stood, pulling at the edges of his hood. He walked over to Brimsley and the man, realizing that Daud was real, stammered into speaking.

"D-Daud…" he forced out, and Daud's eyes flashed, watching Brimsley carefully. "What happened? We all thought you died--"

His eyebrow quirked. "We?"

"It's been five days, Daud."

Something in his brain halted. He hadn't seen a calendar, a paper, nothing. He just came here and planned on dealing with all of the other important matters after he had the money to pay for it. But five days? He stiffened, alarms in his head blaring.

"The contract is fulfilled, just like you wanted, Brimsley." He shoved the paper with the man's signature on it into his chest. "My partner and I. The full payment. Now, if you know what's good for you."

"You completed the contract? Then--"

"The Beast is dead. So is Fink. Which means you won't be putting out dangerous contracts trapping assassins into a death ring anymore, now, will you?"

Brimsley blanched. Daud's scowl grew severe, and something in his stare unhinged the noble. He was sweating, breaking eye contact, before waving at his assistant to go get the promised sum. He tried looking at Daud, but could not manage it without retching.

"Y-your face… how did you survive?"

"What's wrong? Disappointed?" Daud growled, his throat burning from the effort. "Sad I didn't turn into dog food, too? How convenient it would have been for me to die like the others. You can be sure I won't forget about this bullshit any time soon, Brimsley."

"You can't kill me... I'm your employer!"

"Maybe today you are," Daud said, eyes tracking the return of the assistant, now carrying a hefty purse. "But tomorrow… a different client, and different contract. You never know if you'll be in the list." He aggressively pulled the purse from the assistant, then silently counted the coin. Everything was there -- everything but Rulfio's cut. Daud snarled.

"My partner is still alive. You'll give me his cut too, if you enjoy your head still existing between your shoulders."

Brimsley nodded, and the assistant was pushed away again. Daud tossed the purse in his hand before pocketing it, his face starting to burn and itch in the most unpleasant of fashions. When he next looked at Brimsley, he caught the man staring at the wounds and he bared his teeth involuntarily.

"Get Sokolov to paint me, if you want the memory to last longer." He sneered, tempted to put a hand over the wound. He doesn't; Daud never showed such weakness in front of a client. It was easier to get what he needed from contractors when he was as intimidating as possible, with or without having to resort to his blade. But something in Brimsley's gaze made him uncomfortable, the hair prickling along his neck, his hand twitching at his side before curling into a fist. He held Brimsley's stare until the man grew too uncomfortable to keep the contact, the noble's shivering frame growing sweaty.

"How did he look?" Brimsley asked, his voice hushed and breathy. "Was he wonderful? The Outsider's beast in that basement?" He then looked back to Daud. "You're one now too, aren't you?"

Daud's whaler sword was at Brimsley's neck in an instant. Brimsley flinched, but there was a smile lingering there that was vile and Daud wanted nothing more than to wipe it from his face permanently. He almost did, but the assistant returned, carrying the purse of coin slated for Rulfio. This time, Daud didn't stay to count the coin; he simply took the pouch, secured it, and left Brimsley's office as silently and stealthily as he came, his anger roaring in his ears.

------

It was late evening by the time Daud neared his current hideout: a small apartment outside of Slaughterhouse Row. The smell of whale oil was never pungent enough to scare him off like it had other residents, but now, as he pushed his way in through the door, closing it heavily with a shoulder, it was so offensive that it burned his nose and caused his head to throb. Not that it wasn't already stabbing him with pain; every movement and exertion pulled at his wounds and he could feel the blood and puss seeping unpleasantly. Nauseous and fevered, he pushed himself to the bathroom, testing to see if the water was running clean today.

It was; he thanked the Void and immediately began stripping down. His clothes were black for a reason; the stains of blood and dirt wouldn't be so noticeable, but the stench was cloying at his nostrils like never before. Since when did he become so sensitive to such things? He grimaced at the rancid smell before filling the sink with water and throwing his shirt in, letting it soak in the lye while he pulled off his remaining articles and started a shower. As the room began to steam, he forgot himself for a moment, reflexively looking towards his movement in the mirror.

And finally, he was face to face with the reality of his injury.

Daud paled, the color draining from his cheeks in real time. He would have vomited if there was anything actually in his stomach besides some nicked bread and an apple. Instead, he swallowed on the bile, taking a careful, shaking step towards the mirror.

His right eye was near swollen shut, black and purple from the bruising all around the socket. The shiner was green on the edges, before getting lost in the infected red surrounding the nasty slices in his skin. And what slices they were; they were actually thinner than he expected them to be, but deep and vicious all the same. The longest and most painful one was the one bifurcating the whole of his right face; he traced it gingerly down from forehead to neck, his pulse fluttering where the scratch fell over his jaw, his jugular…

Daud swallowed again and the wounds visibly protested. He shut his eyes, trying not to let his head swim from the scent and sight of his own skin. He uncoiled his hands, flexing, before rooting through the cabinet behind the mirror. He quickly pulled out some peroxide, some disinfecting ointment, some fancy Sokolov concoction he got after an old contract was paid, and a soft sponge. He carefully poured the peroxide on the sponge first; he hissed and snarled as the sponge hit the wounds, the sound rippling through him dangerously. He slowed; the second growl was more of a suppressed groan as he eased into the pain. He then wrung out the sponge, letting the blood and infection wash away. He then got into the shower, reveling in the scalding water and trying not to pay attention to all of the blood and grime and stink washing away from his weary body.

In the steam and under the pounding drops of water, he finally let his mind relax and wander. It wasn't long before his thoughts became intrusive; five days was a lot of days to be laying half dead in a sewer with nobody to find him. What if he had died? He supposed Rulfio would be the only one to go looking, and who's to say he actually would? Maybe to make a point, win the bet, maybe piss on Daud's corpse. He wouldn't blame him.

No. It wasn't like Rulfio to be that petty, and even if they were just business partners, they were still partners. For the past year or so, they had come to work well together and as it turns out, two assassins are better than one. Not many in their profession were willing to let others in on their trade secrets-- plus, stealth work was traditionally best done alone. But with Rulfio, he and Daud had been able to double their output. He never had such good contracts. Even if they just did business together, it was lucrative; he would still be hiding in abandoned buildings like a homeless rat instead of in an old apartment that was heated and even had hot, running water. Blessings like that were few and far between in Dunwall, with exception given to the military and noble houses.

Nobles. Daud spat in the shower, watching bloody phlegm swim around the drain. They paid well, but Daud hated every single one he's ever met. What good did they bring the world? Hoarded coins like dragons, partied while children starved and died. Commissioned bridges in their name instead of paying their workers fair wages. His face ached from the rage simmering just under his skin. His teeth itched, and he rolled a tongue over them, wondering what other unexpected side effects his gnarly wound was going to give him.

The water ran cold all too soon and Daud shivered as he pulled himself out, hardly toweling off as his tired body stumbled over itself. He had half a mind still to pull the Sokolov elixir out; he downed it in one full swig, then turned to the ointment as some strength returned to him. He dressed the wounds in a half haze, his vision beginning to blur from fever and tiredness. It was a messy job, but he was far too gone to care. As long as he slept on his back, he'd be fine. He was sure of it.

What he wasn't sure of after that was how he even made it to the rickety mattress on the other side of the apartment, throwing himself heavily onto it, swiftly letting the Void take him. ------

He tried to get through the days as normal. He really did. But every day passing was another day that the wound didn't heal right, or at all, until all Daud knew was the searing, itching heat of his wounded skin. It dominated his days, his nights; everything in between was fevered and sensitive. He heard whales crying, but not like the keening from the slaughterhouse he's used to; these cries were screams of torture, of whales falling into the Void where their bodies were destined to be desecrated for the whims of a bottomless city.

He tried to conduct business, but it was no use; his scabs were too much of a deterrent. He couldn't chance bandaging the wounds so he left them exposed, and if anyone saw him, they were terrified into vacating his premise. His self-consciousness, usually non-existent, bubbled up in his chest until finally, in a fevered state, body shaking and his breath ragged, he entered the slaughterhouse and stole a whaler mask. The smell of it was pungent and unforgettable; he resisted the urge to regurgitate (everything smelled ten times worse, everything was too much and he still didn't have the piece of mind to wonder why) and placed the mask cleanly over his face, hiding the worst of his facial offenses. Later that same night he couldn't help but notice how, even in the mirror, the long muzzle of the whaler mask suited him in a way he couldn't place. It satisfied something primal in his chest, unlocking a door that he never knew was closed. His chest swelled. He wrestled with the urge to sing.

He sneered. He never sang.

The mirror suddenly disturbed him, those glass eyes too empty, too all-knowing. He snarled, a sound that now caught in his throat and rumbled through his whole being violently, but he saw it as nothing more than his ruined vocal cords yelling at him for even attempting to make a sound.

It wasn't long after that he started looking for Rulfio. It was slow going-- over a week now and his fever still hadn't broken, he still felt weaker than he ever had-- but Daud also had a heavy purse full of a noble's blood money that he owed another assassin. However, with their last contract so far behind them (and as far as Rulfio knew, Daud was dead), tracking his partner across Dunwall was becoming an annoying chore.

Rulfio didn't have a lot of haunts. He had a few regular places, but even when Daud patrolled them, Rulfio never showed up. It made him itch, his whole body full of agitation. It was unlike the assassin; Rulfio was a man of routine. It's what made him so excellent at his job; he could count down the seconds to a kill, a literal metronome, patient and meditative. Every kill was perfectly timed, perfectly planned. So, to see him being something akin to unpunctual was too much to bear. Daud jumped off to a different roof, trying not to fear the worst for Rulfio's safety.

There was one haunt he had been avoiding; their old meetup spot. Something in Daud had nagged at him to visit sooner, but it felt redundant; Daud was a no-show to a meeting, and if an assassin was a no-show, it's best to assume they're face down in a rat-filled ditch. So what was the point in stalking that particular part of Dunwall? The city was huge -- miles across, even -- and Rulfio could choose to be anywhere. So why would he be on a familiar rooftop, waiting for a ghost to appear?

His boots landed heavy on the old concrete, muscle memory catching him before he stumbled. The potted plant overlooking a blood red sunset looked no better than it had two weeks ago, and unswept leaves scattered about his feet as he walked. Everything was untouched from his last visit-- and yet, the hair of his neck prickled, sensing immediately that he was not alone. A dark figure in the corner shifted and Daud's vision bee-lined on it, his fist clenching in apprehension.

"Come on out, then," he growled out, the words muffled behind the thick respirator the mask offered. Even so, the individual jerked and twisted at the sound of his voice. They stood up, spinning on him with a wild, desperate expression.

"Daud? That better be you, you bastard, and not Jordan playing another prank on me--"

Daud's breath hitched and he relaxed, straightening out of the predatory stance he'd taken. Rulfio scrambled forward, then slowed, eyeing the mask critically. "It is you, isn't it? Daud-- Spirits--..." The man hesitated, then grasped at Daud's arm, as if to make sure he was real, and not some smoke-induced mirage. Daud huffed.

"Of course it's me, Rulfio, I'm the only other person who would even think to look for you here." That seemed to ease all of Rulfio's remaining fears. He looked Daud over and stepped back, his nose curling at the mask.

"Outsider's ass, Daud, you crazy bastard. What the fuck happened? It's been weeks."

Daud turned his head away, not bearing to look Rulfio straight on even through the heavy whaler mask. In response, he pushed the coin purse into Rulfio's hand.

"Contract's done. Fink is dead. And I made sure Brimsley coughed up your respective pay." Rulfio looked at the money in disbelief; mouth agape, he counted through the coin. Daud tilted his head, triumphant. "Told you I'd win our bet."

Rulfio huffed a laugh, the edges of his beard crinkling in a smile. "You really are a son of the Outsider, you know that, Daud? Shit." He then gave the mask a more critical eye, his eyes flicking to Daud's visible sliver of neck. Daud stiffened, and a very strong part of his brain wished to flee as far and fast as his body could take him.

He stayed, fist clenched.

"So, what's up with the mask? Not like you to hide your face."

Daud shifted, and the mask jerked as he looked around. "My face has been bad for business."

"Bad for business?" Rulfio laughed, unbelieving. "Get better lies, Daud. You're always the face of our contracts, as if you wanna be the most famous assassin in Dunwall."

Daud huffed, his breath hot on the leather.

"Just-- look. You'll see what I mean." He unlatched the mask, unraveling the sizing band and pulling the article off his face.

Rulfio's expression dropped. His eyes darted away, then he covered his mouth, muffling a curse. Daud's stomach turned at the reaction.

"Daud? What the fuck? What the fuck?"

"The cheater in the contract had a souped up dog, or something." A monster, an abomination of flesh and fur. "It hit me, but I was able to walk away alive."

"Are you sure?" Rulfio's voice painfully broke on the question. His fists curled, quivering at his sides. "Daud, have you seen yourself?"

Daud sneered, the skin of face pulling and itching unpleasantly. He smothered the urge to claw the wounds open. "You asked why I'm wearing a mask, and then you ask if I've seen my own reflection lately? Are you an idiot, Rulfio? Of course I know how bad this looks!" His hand gestured to his face, his neck, his pulse suddenly throbbing against the wounds. "I'm not dead yet, and besides, I still owed you your cut of the profits!"

"You should have died," Rulfio said softly, his voice barely a whisper but ringing all too loudly in Daud's ears. "That wound… there's no way it hit your neck and didn't sever your jugular. How are you still alive?"

Daud's ears filled with rushing wind. He snarled, showing his teeth. Rulfio stepped back, his eyes on Daud's expression. Daud caught the movement; he exhaled, deflating.

"Lucky, I guess."

Rulfio's face was unconvinced, his eyes dark under heavy brows.

"There's something you're not telling me, Daud."

In his brain, Daud replayed the memory of that giant whale of a wolf, that disgusting, shredded monster and it's neck, sizzling and smoking and knitting itself back together. Instinctively, he brought a hand up to his neck, stopping just short of ripping at his wounds, at giving in to that bone-deep ache and gouging new, fresh lines into his skin. Rulfio watched the movement, his eyes holding too much concern, and Daud hated it. He was an assassin, for fuck's sake. He wasn't some child, and even when he was, he was already killing, shoving sharp bits of metal into his assailant's eyes. He didn't need the pity resting in Rulfio's black eyes.

He growled, anger boiling hot under his skin, but Daud didn't give in to his urges. His hand dropped, his breathing hard and his ears ringing.

"It's nothing you need to worry about Rulf. I dealt with it weeks ago."

Had he? Something told him yes, you did, but he had no memory, nothing to say that the giant dog was actually dead and buried.

Just… an instinct. An unreliable, unnecessary, instinct.

"Yeah, and I'm looking at the blood money result of that, right?" Rulfio huffed, turning from Daud to look at the setting sun. "So, picked up any other contracts since then?"

Sensing the conversation shifting but also feeling his limbs buzzing unpleasantly, Daud pushed the mask back up over his face. There was a comfort in hiding behind it, though Rulfio didn't seem to share his sentiment. He watched the mask slip back on with disdain.

"It doesn't suit you."

"I don't remember asking your opinion," Daud shot back, defensive.

Rulfio shrugged. Daud sighed, the air hissing out the respirator.

"I have not picked up any contracts," Daud supplied, answering Rulfio's earlier question. "I wanted to get you your payment first, that and…" he trailed off, his shrug trying to hide his unease. "These scratches have been a liability for clients. Believe it or not, my face really is bad for business, right now."

"Can't imagine why," Rulfio needled him, and Daud prickled in response. Rulfio seemed to sense his annoyance and just smirked. He walked back over to Daud, pulling a stack of papers out of his pockets. "Got a few that I picked up, seemed like they might be good for--well, for me, at least." He passes the paper to Daud. "Most of these are enough for a singular assassin to accomplish, no problem. If you need work, you could probably take one of these off me."

Daud nodded, looking through each contract. One was for offing a sex offender, another of just stealing a gem from a noble for a noble, another was a hit for killing-- Daud growled and balled that piece of paper up, throwing it over the roof. Rulfio looked at him, protesting, but Daus held up a hand.

"I don't murder kids, you know that," he murmured, dangerously. Rulfio stiffened, then looked at where the crumpled paper had fallen, three stories down. Rulfio murmured out an apology, an 'I must've misread that one in the pile," but Daud shoved him off before finally taking a contract out of the stack.

"It's fine. I got my hit." Rulfio looked at him curiously, but Daud pointed to the fine print.

Seeking a headhunter for con man Eustace Fink, who led my sons to what I can only assume was a drowning under the Hound Pits Pub. Will be willing to part with 200 silver for anyone who can find and apprehend this criminal for me!!

The post mark was two weeks ago. Rulfio wrinkled his nose in clear disgust.

"200 silver? No wonder nobody has taken that job, it's not paying nearly enough."

"That's fine; it's my hit anyway."

"What? Daud, you're worth double that in gold, it's not like you to sell yourself short."

"I'm not-- this is-- do you not recognize the name?" Every syllable dripped with more hatred; Daud could nearly feel his body ripple with the anger. "This is the brother of the man I nearly died killing." And he knows shit I don't, Daud all but growled out. Rulfio raised an eyebrow.

"Revenge, huh? Suits you as much as that mask does," Rulfio murmured. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay, Daud?"

He folded the contract into his jacket, pulling his hood up. His movements were jerky, pained.

"I'll be fine, Rulf. Don't follow me on this one. I'll handle it on my own and see you here when it's finished."

"You can keep the 200 silver, Daud," he laughed, but Daud was already hopping from the rooftop, leaving Rulfio and his words behind.

Eustace Fink would have answers, he reasoned to himself. He knew what his brother had been up to, was complicit in the act. So when Daud found him, he'd be sure wring every dirty little secret out of him before slicing his neck open like a disgraced lover.

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