picture prompt meme

[wolfofdunwall]

the picture prompt meme
leave a picture/pictures and i'll respond with a character of your choice (or, if you'd prefer, of my own choosing). or leave a comment and i'll respond with pictures.

Comments

[yesterdaysheadliner]

Though he doesn’t know what she means by ‘pets,’ he’s pretty sure she isn’t talking about goldfish. (Are goldfish even around anymore? Probably have fangs and cases of lung cancer if so.)

And god, thank you, he’s only met a few feral ghouls in his time, but he finds them endlessly tedious.

“I may just do that.”

He looks her up and down again. “Well, Isolde. Against expectations, it hasn’t been entirely wretched meeting you.

"As for our little disagreement..." There's a wave of the hand, a dismissive gesture. "I suppose I can survive a small amount of noise."

[radostnaya_devushka]

It's the opposite actually. The people here want her and are fully willing to brutalize her to take her. Talking will give away her gender, as will her face, so she doesn't do it. But this man... seems unfamiliar to the ways of this land. He might have actually seen a woman... women with his own two eyes. Maybe if she can bring him inside and de-mask without complication, she'll explain. If not, well... it's been a little while since she's had open a throat.

She sort of misses it.

Buddy nods her head quickly at that. After, she points to a nearby hut, her home for now, and makes the gesture of talking once again.

[zsaszle]

"Maybe you'll get a taste for it. Seems like even two time crooks are picking themselves a gimmick these days." It was a lot of things. Insane, sure. Confusing, maybe. Interesting? Definitely. And so Victor didn't mind. He liked entertainment as much as anyone. Being that edge between life and death was enough to let him feel alive, as someone mostly untouched by emotion otherwise, but having this kind of crazy becomes commonplace in the city? Definitely kept the boredom at bay.

"For blending in... If your actually hold back, might not be that hard. A lot of things happening that draw attention. Almost had a bus full of cheerleaders set on fire the other day." There was certainly stuff that could serve as a distraction. They could hide just about anything in this city right now. Victor had a feeling that that was exactly what they were doing.

"But don't you start working for anyone else." Victor put a hand on his chest. "You'd hurt my feelings."

All three of them.

[puppet_mistressofhell]

"And all this time I thought I was going to have to burn a person to ashes and take their own for my own..." That's not the thing you say to potential friends, but Isolde doesn't seem to care.

"But I like you, Mr. Domino. And for that, I will try to get the girls to tamp down their noise. Consider it a favor."

[wolfofdunwall]

The last remark earned the bare edge of a smirk. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

He drew out his cigarettes, lit one, tilted the pack toward Zsasz; he couldn’t recall whether the man smoked, but the offer was open. The simple action helped clear his head a little, and he took a drag.

“If the urge to dive back in overwhelms me, you'll be the first to know.

“My guess is you’re the only one in the city worth working for, anyway.”

It was an honest observation; Daud didn’t bother with flattery unless he had to. It was clear Zsasz had connections to the more interesting jobs. And working for Zsasz would mean better odds of not pissing off the wrong people. Would mean tackling assignments on his own and not being stuck dealing with strangers. And Daud didn’t doubt that the pay would be good.

Then, too, he wasn’t foolish enough to pit himself against the whole of Zsasz’s operation. If the man was deadly alone, he’d be nearly unstoppable with a well-funded network at his back.

This would have been a good moment to end the conversation. Assurances had been given, Zsasz probably had the basics that he needed, Daud didn’t feel like the man was going to send anyone after him. Quick and to the point, and he could be on his way right now.

Only he was already here. Zsasz’s company wasn’t unpleasant. The information he was gathering would be useful in determining how to navigate the city. And maybe, maybe there was a little more to be gleaned. More that might tell him whether to leave this city before nightfall. Besides, with his head cleared, he felt less prone to making bad decisions. He could do this: have a conversation, leave without bending from his purpose. It wouldn’t be so hard.

“How’d you end up working for this Penguin? Or is that none of my business.”

[zsaszle]

"Huh." It was the kind of sound that could mean much of anything, but at least it was enough acknowledgement to make clear that Victor had been listening, something that was far from being a given. He remained silent for a while, looking off to the side as his eyes narrowed a bit, as if it simply took some time to think back on events that had already played out and everything that had been set into motion.

"It's none of your business. But it's no secret either." Given the way this city had developed, it really wasn't an easy journey from A to B, even for someone as straight-forward as Victor Zsasz. "Old Don, Don Falcone, he had a lot of people gunning to take him down. But this little guy, he outplayed them all. Don Falcone got out of town, he's retired down South. And the little guy has taken over. Penguin. Oswald Cobblepot. King of Gotham."

Victor moved his hand in a shrug-like gesture, pausing again for a moment before continuing. "He's not a Falcone." The loyalty that he felt for Don Falcone went deep, but Don Falcone was gone. "I like him. He's fun. Plays by the rules and still changes things up."

[wolfofdunwall]

“Good for the Don, getting out.” Was that something like loyalty he was getting off of Zsasz? Huh.

He could say something in return, even if it wasn’t much. From Daud, any offer of unprompted personal information was a rarity consciously given.

“It’s been a long time since I worked for anyone outside a contract.” Since before the Mark, and even then he’d never stayed with one employer long. “I can’t imagine really working under any of my clients. Bunch of frothing rich bastards.”

His clients. Unaware of what they asked or what he could do. Knowing only that they wanted their way and had the money to get it. And what were they going to do without him? Higher lesser men, sloppier assassins who may or may not get the job done. Hell. Maybe some of his Whalers would start taking hits of their own. There was an uneasy feeling behind that thought, something torn between revulsion and pride. Just look at what he’d done. Just look at all of it.

Shit. He couldn’t think about that. Daud took another draw on the cigarette, turned his eyes back to Zsasz.

“I appreciate the information. Gives a newcomer a little more to build from.”

[zsaszle]

"Contract work has its upsides. Plenty of opportunity for that in the city. The Lady is the one to ask for with that, at least if you don't want any hassle with clients." Not Victor's way of working, but he had plenty of colleagues who preferred working that way. Some of them he even worked with on occasion too. "It's about reputation. Gotham has belonged to the Falcones as long as most can remember. I have too. Whoever wants to be in charge of Gotham wants me."

Victor smiled briefly, at least the shadow of it, lifting his shoulder in what could pass as a shrug. "Pays the bills."

And then some. "Just remember not to do any work for free. We're professionals around here."

[wolfofdunwall]

“I don’t plan on doing any work, at all.” Not of that kind, anyway. And he’d saved up enough money in Dunwall that employment wasn’t really required. (Which left him to what, exactly? There was that question again, the nagging doubt about what he intended to do here, how he intended to fill his days. It’s nothing he needed to figure out now. Nothing he even needed to think about.) “But I’ll keep that in mind."

He shook his head, offering the fleeting suggestion of a smirk. “I'm guessing you don't have much trouble paying those bills. Feels good to be popular, doesn’t it?” It was half a joke, half an honest reflection. He didn’t want that kind of notoriety anymore, but he expected part of him would miss it for a long time to come.

His eyes flicked around the establishment before returning to Zsasz. “You interested in a drink while we’re here?” He felt like he could use one. Hell, maybe after this he’d buy a bottle of his own from the nearest liquor store, take it to wherever he could find to spend the night. (Assuming he decided to sleep at all; assuming he didn’t spend the entire span of darkness prowling the city.)

[zsaszle]

"Sure. I'll pay. You're new in town and don't want work. I feel like I have to treat you." Which actually did lead to another interesting venue of conversation. "How are you paying the bills?" He inclined his head a little, then slowly nodded. "That's that "what if" question."

Victor raised a hand just a little, but it was enough to get the waiter's attention. "The usual." Whatever that was supposed to mean. He moved his fingers to Daud, indicating quite eloquently that he should order whatever he wanted. It wasn't until the waiter had walked off to get their orders that Victor continued where he'd left off.

"What would you do if you didn't do--" Instead of finishing the sentence, Victor moved his hand to simulate a gun, miming taking a shot. Clear enough, he was sure. "Never had a good answer for that question myself. But you? You gotta have one."

[wolfofdunwall]

’And don’t want work.’ There was a minor flare of indignation at that, a prickling of pride along his spine. It wasn’t worth arguing over, and in any case his attention was swiftly redirected by Zsasz’s questions. Daud settled for asserting, “I’ll owe you a drink.”

Then there was the other question, and that was the question, the deeper cutting question, and Daud tried not to let his discomfort show through.

It wasn’t as if he needed an answer. There would be plenty of time (years and years in cycle) to figure it out. Maybe all he wanted right now was quiet. Space to ease his mind and try to remember what it mean to live outside the assassin’s life. He’d earned that, hadn’t it? He needed it.

(This was all assuming he was capable of anything else. Assuming he hadn’t forgotten how to exist in the absence of pursuit and blood. What was he apart from his work? That. That was the other half of the question, and one he was especially eager to ignore.)

He turned his attention to his cigarette for a moment, letting himself take a drag, playing at nonchalance. “I’ve got time to figure it out.

“As far as bills go, work was profitable in Dunwall. I have a tidy sum saved up. Not that I want that getting around.” Not that he expected the information would leave this table, either.

He’d divided the money among banks and less reputable sources, had some stowed back in Dunwall if anything drastic happened. And if need be, he was well-versed in the art of theft. There was no reason to expect money would be a problem.

Still. He could’ve used that scotch right about now.

[zsaszle]

"Uh-huh." No, Victor had no plans of tattling about that - or really anything they might discuss - to anyone. Besides, he'd have been surprised if Daud hadn't had good savings in place. Anyone sensible in the business knew to do that, Victor certainly wasn't an exception either. One never knew what might make business scarce for a while or when a holiday might be opportune, especially in a place like this city these days, where things might head South any day.

Although, so far at least, the Penguin was doing better than anyone had predicted. Victor was happy enough with that. He liked him. "I'd get bored."

He said that sentence just before he got a glass set in front of him, clear liquid and some ice cubes. He waited for Daud's order to be put down before raising his glass in a cheer and then taking a sip. Just water, he might still have some work to do today. "Before I started working for Don Falcone, I was bored. Almost killed myself out of boredom."

More or less, anyway. "I gambled a lot. Tried to find a thrill. You don't get bored?"

[wolfofdunwall]

He flicked his eyes toward Zsasz's glass, decided it was suspicious, decided it didn't matter, and raised his own glass. When he took a sip, he felt a minor relief at the burn; he'd needed this. And that bottle was going to happen after. It wasn't often that Daud drank more than one or two glasses at a time, rare that he let himself dive into drunkenness, but this night could be an exception. Call it a long-needed release. Call it a celebration of his new life (that was a laugh - as if any life can ever be new - but he brushed the thought aside).

"I've never been able to gamble. It doesn't interest me." He had a hard time envisioning Zsasz gambling, but then it was hard to picture Zsasz in any setting beyond his work.

(And himself? What else could he be visioned as? Where and what was he save for an assassin, and what could he possibly build out of life? ...He didn't want to think about it. Better to address the question without dwelling.)

Daud offered a too-casual shrug. "And I haven't had time to be bored. Guess I'll have to wait and see if it comes for me."

He would've liked to claim it wouldn't happen. Would've liked to have said he'd never been one for thrills, but it would've been a lie. It'd been part of the attraction to his work, hadn't it? The rush of pursuit and taking another's life in-hand, of choosing to end it and knowing there was nobody to stop you. The electric calculation of every movement in action, adjusting for each new factor and still remaining fixed on the target. The months of building up to the act, the gathering of research and the construction of an airtight plan that might need to be completely rewritten in the moment. All of that had brought excitement.

And all of that was what he'd given over.

It had been the right call. It had. He'd just... It'd take some getting used to.

daud | dishonored (doto or rod)

[excultro]

one, two, three, four.

for wingsfordays

[wolfofdunwall]

((for this image prompt.))


[ The bastard has to die.

The god who’d given Daud his powers, who’d marked him and who once deigned to speak to Daud and whisper hints about the man’s importance, about his strength, about the mark he would dig into the world. The god who’d watched as Daud - known then as the Knife of Dunwall, an elite and widely renowned assassin - struck down people without reserve. Watched as Daud gathered coin for murder after murder, slitting throats and sloshing blood across the city. So many had died without needs; so many, deserving and otherwise, had been cut down because some rich bastard held a grudge. Because Daud had been open for hire. Because the Outsider had never said a word to stop Daud’s actions.

(The black-eyed bastard hasn’t spoken in years. Not since just before Daud left his home city, granted the mercy of his life and the punishment of exile. Daud doesn’t doubt that the Outsider’s been watching ever since - watching and smirking at the man he’d once marked - but there’s been no word from the god. Of course not; he’d abandoned Daud to his fate long ago, tired of him when Daud ceased to catch his interest, whatever the fuck that meant.)

For years, Daud had tried to put his past behind him. Tried to carve out some small life of his own, away from the press of others, living alone and filling his time however he could. Only what he’d done never ceased to haunt him. Only the memories of his hands soaked in blood never ended. And as the years passed, his nightmares only intensified, reminding him of what he’d done. What the black-eyed bastard could lead people to do.

It couldn’t happen again. Daud couldn’t let the Outsider mark anyone else, couldn’t let the bastard bestow further powers and egg his Chosen on to disastrous consequences. It was necessary for Daud to act.

It was necessary for Daud to kill the god.

He’d spent the next year and a half seeking out leads on artifacts and old magic that might allow him to end the bastard. It was slow going, especially since outside of Gristol - the island on which Dunwall was situated - the Outsider’s name was known only in scatters. Finally, though, Daud caught whispers of an artifact associated with the Outsider, a twin-bladed knife that might, might just spell the bastard’s end. The work now was to track the artifact down.

Which is how he finds himself in Gotham, navigating unfamiliar streets and pulling his hood up against the frequent drizzle of rain. It’s a city not wholly unknown to him, though he’s never visited before, knows the place only through stories and through old contacts. It’s a city full of shady dealings and scandal, destruction and danger, and Daud’s sources tell him that the next step toward finding the blade is in the city. So as soon as he arrives, he begins seeking out information.

What’s unpleasantly surprising to Daud is that even here, thousands of miles from Dunwall, he’s remembered. Which makes a sick kind of sense: no one shifts from legendary assassin to obscurity in an instant, or even in a lifetime. Much as Daud’s sometimes allowed himself to think otherwise. Much as he’s almost believed that his exile could render him unknown, his past deeds meaningless. As if he could erase the Knife of Dunwall by simply disappearing.

Though he doesn’t care for the fact of his renown, doesn’t care for the way skilled strangers and people he’s spoken with once, maybe twice watch as if they know him, know his motives, there’s something to be said for notoriety. The weight of his name opens avenues of information, gives him access to people who know the city and keep track of its most valuable contacts.

And soon enough these contacts lead him to a bridge in some far corner of the city, the time ticking well past midnight. Thick fog crawls through a sickly green light, the water below the bridge thrashing in a soft rush. Daud’s supposed to be meeting someone here, a man claiming to hold knowledge of the twin-bladed knife’s recent whereabouts, claiming to know something worthwhile about its recent owner. But for the moment, Daud seems to be alone in an uneasy near-quiet.

He lingers near the middle of the bridge’s walkway, a man in his early fifties, black hair going silver, a prominent scar gashed down the right side of his face. Though well-worn, his clothing is chosen with precision, severely cut in black and red, not quite matching any style known to Gotham. As he waits, holding himself warily, he’s aware of every sound around him, every flicker of movement and low-lying shadow. Doesn’t like the choice of meeting spot, but hadn’t been able to swing anything other.

There’s movement nearby and he tenses, expression remaining impassive. It could be no one. Could be the contact. Could be trouble. For the moment, all he can do is wait and see, melting halfway into the bridge’s shadows, watching without apparent concern. ]

[wingsfordays]

Getting a text from The Red Hood out of the blue didn't exactly sit well with Tim. Even though he and Jason had been on good terms lately, the guy was a firecracker ready to blow. No, more like a bomb. Ticking and ticking and biding its time until there was a city large enough to take the brunt of his explosion. And Tim didn't want to be part of that.

But Jason's intel was clean, and though he could question why Jason of all people wanted to help him, the fact was the lead was a good one. The so-called Knife of Dunwall was in Gotham.

All these years, Tim had thought the stories about Dunwall and its feared assassin were just that -- stories. Rumors. Fantasies. It was like Batman, in a way -- meant to scare and keep everyone away. In Batman's case, though, he was a very real, very terrifying nightmare in and outside of Gotham; why then would the Knife of Dunwall be any different? It wasn't like Tim had never met an assassin -- heck, he'd trained with a few of them. But The Knife of Dunwall hadn't been seen in years, the ghost of a legend in the shadows, and Tim wasn't a believer in ghost stories.

But color him curious enough to follow Jason's leads.

The most interesting thing about the whole situation was that the leads themselves were things Tim would have followed up on either way. Terrifying men with terrifying aims of destroying cities and taking over the world, holocausts in their wake. In the center of it all, a dangerous gang from Japan that had recently infiltrated Gotham's underbelly and taken control of the East and South sides. Using the so-called Twin Katana, another legend of lore, to inflict doom and misery upon any enemies who stood in their way.

In Red Robin attire, Tim crouched on one of the dips in the bridge, watching. Below him, all he saw was an adult male, 50s or so, in the middle of the bridge. The facial recognition software in Tim's cowl worked overtime to try and place him, but the fog of the night wasn't helping. When he finally got a clear look and it registered Knife of Dunwall, Tim's eyes widened.

That. That was him? He didn't look so imposing. The only thing that could have given away his past might have been the stiffness in his shoulders when Tim's cape caught the wind. Tim grinned a little. Could he hear that? Very interesting.

Modern or odd au idk

[not_desade]

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