It's hard to shake the feeling that everything's falling apart. Lately - ever since Jessamine, ever since that ill-fated contract - the ground itself seems to've gone unsteady. With Billie's departure, he feels that uncertainty more than ever.
He knows what the Whalers have been saying about her. That there's been a mix of tales true and otherwise concerning her sudden disappearance. Some say she'd been sent on a mission. Some that she'd gone to form her own gang. Others tell the truth of it: that she'd betrayed her brethren and been sent into exile, spared by a leader whose actions are becoming more and more inexplicable. He's heard their mutterings: that he's gone soft, that he should have taken Billie's life. (A thought he hadn't entertained for a moment. An action he wouldn't take, not against her, certainly not after everything that's happened.) He watches them closely, hardly pays it any mind.
He's all too aware of her absence. He tries not to dwell on it. Tries not to think about the way he feels surrounded by absences these days, spaces where something's been wrenched away. Spaces where he doesn't feel like himself and can't make contact with himself. What's he meant to do in all of this?
Find Delilah. End her calamitous plan.
The pieces are coming together, the outline of a raid beginning to form. If he can deal with her. If he can follow this trail to it's end, maybe then... What? There's no use in guessing; he'll find out when the time comes.
Tonight what he wants is silence, space to consider his next move without the distraction of Whalers whispering from the next room, without the feeling that he's being watched. No one watches as carefully as Billie had, but he knows the assassins are uneasy, seeking signs of what's gone wrong and what's to come, maybe seeking their chance to have a try at him. (Let them come if they like; however off-kilter he feels, he's lost none of his edge, none of his ability to end a fight with a few bare strikes.)
He transverses from roof to roof, moving far afield from the base, until he spots someone on the roof ahead. One of his own, and it takes mere moments to determine who. Masked or not, he knows each of his Whalers by figure and footfall, posture and minute gesture.
It's no surprise to find Oscar so far removed from the others. From the beginning he'd preferred to keep his own company. (He's like Billie that way. Like her too in his capacity for speaking plainly of a situation.) He's a worthy assassin, proves himself further with each mission. And it occurs to Daud that his might not be the worst company to keep tonight, if only for a moment.
When he appears on the next roof, he clears his throat, gives the boy time to register his presence before stepping forward, toward the roof's edge. Though he keeps Oscar in his periphery, his focus settles on the flooded ruins before them.
no subject
He knows what the Whalers have been saying about her. That there's been a mix of tales true and otherwise concerning her sudden disappearance. Some say she'd been sent on a mission. Some that she'd gone to form her own gang. Others tell the truth of it: that she'd betrayed her brethren and been sent into exile, spared by a leader whose actions are becoming more and more inexplicable. He's heard their mutterings: that he's gone soft, that he should have taken Billie's life. (A thought he hadn't entertained for a moment. An action he wouldn't take, not against her, certainly not after everything that's happened.) He watches them closely, hardly pays it any mind.
He's all too aware of her absence. He tries not to dwell on it. Tries not to think about the way he feels surrounded by absences these days, spaces where something's been wrenched away. Spaces where he doesn't feel like himself and can't make contact with himself. What's he meant to do in all of this?
Find Delilah. End her calamitous plan.
The pieces are coming together, the outline of a raid beginning to form. If he can deal with her. If he can follow this trail to it's end, maybe then... What? There's no use in guessing; he'll find out when the time comes.
Tonight what he wants is silence, space to consider his next move without the distraction of Whalers whispering from the next room, without the feeling that he's being watched. No one watches as carefully as Billie had, but he knows the assassins are uneasy, seeking signs of what's gone wrong and what's to come, maybe seeking their chance to have a try at him. (Let them come if they like; however off-kilter he feels, he's lost none of his edge, none of his ability to end a fight with a few bare strikes.)
He transverses from roof to roof, moving far afield from the base, until he spots someone on the roof ahead. One of his own, and it takes mere moments to determine who. Masked or not, he knows each of his Whalers by figure and footfall, posture and minute gesture.
It's no surprise to find Oscar so far removed from the others. From the beginning he'd preferred to keep his own company. (He's like Billie that way. Like her too in his capacity for speaking plainly of a situation.) He's a worthy assassin, proves himself further with each mission. And it occurs to Daud that his might not be the worst company to keep tonight, if only for a moment.
When he appears on the next roof, he clears his throat, gives the boy time to register his presence before stepping forward, toward the roof's edge. Though he keeps Oscar in his periphery, his focus settles on the flooded ruins before them.
"You're far from home."