’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.
no subject
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.