Good night boys, I’m off to ransack the gallery then peace out the front door after I sign my real name in the guest book for shits and giggles, with a sack of loot over my shoulder and a portrait rolled up under my arm. Corvo Fucking Attano OUT
Here’s my entry for whales-and-witchcraft’s Dishonored Head Contest during High Chaos Week 2015~! I am now permanently scarred for life, so I hope everyone enjoys reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. :D
A low whump roused
Hiram instantly from his restless slumber.
He sat bolt upright with a gasp, clutching the silk
bedsheets tightly to his chest. He stared with unblinking eyes at the dark wall
of the four-poster’s enclosing curtains. His mind raced even as his body froze
in distress. What had that sound been? Where had it come from? What had caused
it? Barely breathing, he listened hard and waited for the sound to come again,
his ears straining to hear over the loud beating of his heart.
Several minutes passed. All was quiet.
Rather than relief, however, Hiram only felt his
being fashionable while getting vengeance on the entire government
Indeed, I believe so.
(Lady Boyle: What an amazing costume! You look straight off the pages of one of those wanted posters. Oh do tell me, who are you wearing, sir?
Corvo [who didn’t at all dress up for going to the Boyle Mansion] : Well the mask is by Piero Joplin, but the boots and vest are ALL Sokolov originals. And don’t forget these bone charms I have, they’re original whale bone, none of this imitation resin stuff some people like to flaunt. The coat is vintage, I er -cough- FOUND it, in a quiet little shop off Holger’s Square. Yup.
Corvo [to himself] : I am the night, and the night feels fabulous.)