so regal and decadent here, coffin cheaters dance on their graves

[lurkin]

Floating lights saturated the Boyle estate's grounds in gold. The garden matched the bright colors with roses in every color they could be. Billie Lurk liked roses. She also liked animals. But it took every but of willpower she had not to roll her eyes at every over-the-top thing or person her eyes met. At least the guards felt the same way, judging from their boredom. Billie wished she could commiserate with them. But tonight she couldn't. Tonight she was a Lady, and she was waiting for a certain assassin out by the grounds.

Aloof as Billie was with her fellow Whalers, she wouldn't be caught literally dead by her comrades in what she was wearing now. Her red whaler's overcoat had been replaced by a soft ruffled jacket with a crisper, whiter version of her usual buttoned undershirt. Her mask was gone too, makeup hiding the circles under her eyes. Her charcoal hair was short enough, but tonight one side was swept back with a jeweled flower pin. Billie already knew what nobles liked to look like, but she picked up a few extra things studying the women in the shops she went to a few days ago. She remembered wondering if the smell of blood could have seeped into her skin. Wondering if the the attendants that fussed over the fashion sense of a common-looking woman with a lot of coin could smell it.

Damn. The soft, feminine thing? Slum-born Billie Lurk could do that, if she had to. She did her homework and blended in well. But that didn't mean she gave a shit about it. Nor was she used to it. At all.

So it's little wonder why she didn't talk to anyone. She decided it was just easier to study the red-bricked mansion as people came and went by her. Some complimented her. She didn't answer them either.

- - - - - - - - -

Billie would never get far enough away to ever be able to call Dunwall a distant memory. She didn't want to, either. Despite everything, the Outsider hadn't lied. Billie Lurk had no regrets. She missed her old life in Dunwall. The city had gone to shit, but being an assassin gave her a purpose. She still kept her old mask and whaling uniform to remind her. But she knew she couldn't go back now. At least she had her old dreams, born from listening to the stories old sailors would tell a curious little girl who often wandered the docks.

It was a bright morning. The assassin dressed and stepped outside. Billie still didn't have that ship yet, but she was working on it. It hadn't been THAT long since she left Dunwall. The docks weren't far from her home. In a blink (huhuhuhuhuhuh) she vanished and reappeared on her room. Careful that no one saw her, she dissapeared and reappeared from roof to roof until she meandered out of an alley and into the harbor.

Wandering docks and greeting ships. Just like when she was a girl.

Comments

she was one scary lady; i stealthed my way through her entire house sobbing

[unforgets]

[ It was a once-homeland forgotten by circumstance. The smell of spices in the warm air is as foreign as it is familiar; not familiar enough to feel welcome, or at ease.

Though ease was a feeling entirely forgotten by someone like Daud, the Knife of Kirkwall.

A curt nod (thankful), and a steady inhale, before puffing out the smoke. ] He did.

Likes listening to the sound of his own voice, I think. [ Or maybe he also has a strange affinity to annoying those he sees fit enough to pull him out of a boredom fueled by an endless existence. Who knows. Daud didn't, and he didn't care to.

He'd like to think him and the Bastard were finished, but the mark was still branded on his hand. Meant something didn't it.

After another moment. ] You picked a decent place to disappear.

[lurkin]

[Billie snorted back as she pulled herself up onto a barrel behind her.]

He does. Now I know why you called him a bastard.

[Something like that. At Daud's question, her eyes don't meet his. She busies her hands with smoothing out her pockets.]

It's warm. It has ships. What's not to like?

[unforgets]

[ He sidles aside as she lifts herself onto the barrel, instead angling his shoulders to watch the ships and the open sea. Another drag of his cigarette.

Again for a countless time silence settles; he's quiet, considering. Recalling her letter, and it is to that he's responding. ]

I was putting coin aside. [ It doesn't explain anything, but its a confirmation, whether she wanted one or not. ]

[lurkin]

[If silence was money, they'd have a pot going.]

... I had a feeling.