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From The Depths	By : LordDBurroughs Category: +A through F > Dishonored Views: 8635 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Dishonored is copyright Bethesda Softworks and its parent company, Zenimax Media. I own none of the places, persons, or mollusks within, and make no money from this work.

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'What shall we do with a drunken whaler?

What shall we do with a drunken whaler?

What shall we do with a drunken whaler?

Early in the morning...'

- A Dunwall children's song

Lily ran as fast as she could, the ragged shawl whipping around her, occasionally flapping far enough to reveal the fine grey dress beneath. She clutched the tiny charm in her hand, terrified that she might drop it, or that someone might see it. But even the fear couldn't dull her smile. She smiled a great, beaming smile, brighter and bigger than any in her young life. She'd found a charm, a piece of magic. And Sascha would be so happy.
Lily was a pretty young thing, fifteen and in full bloom. Her hair was long and red and shiny, her eyes were green and sparkling. Her skin was smooth, her teeth were white, and her laugh was a wonderful, musical thing. Lily was far luckier than most little girls in Dunwall.
Her father was an inkeep, one of the few lucky enough to have his pub visited by the City Watch in these dark times. He made good coin, and Lily was always warm, well-fed, and safe, despite her best efforts. She had nice dresses, not so nice as a noble's daughter, perhaps, but nice enough. She was aware that something was wrong in the city, but it had, as yet, never touched her personally. The greatest luxury her father had procured for her was innocence.
And so it was without any real sense of the danger she was in that she hurried along, climbing over the rooftops and ramshackle walkways toward the secret place where the lost, orphaned children played. She knew he'd be there, and it made her smile brighter.
Lily had first seen Sascha in the alley behind her father's inn. He and some other boys had been sneaking into her father's larders, filching tins of eels and whale and bottles of wine. She had spied them from her window, and her first thought had been to scream, to tell her father he was being robbed. But even as the thought crossed her mind, he'd looked up, right at her, as if he knew exactly where she was, and what she had been about to do.
Her scream had caught in her throat as his eyes met hers. He was tall and lithe; the shirt he wore two sizes too small and partially unbuttoned, showing toned muscle beneath his pale skin. Inky black hair fell down around his shoulders, framing an angelic face; full lips, perfect cheekbones, a long, smooth bridge of the nose.. and his eyes. She had never seen eyes so blue; glittering like sapphires, like pools of still water waiting to swallow her up.
He'd looked at her -only for a moment, though it seemed forever- and he'd smiled. And then, he and his cohorts were gone. She hadn't slept that night; that smile keeping her awake every time she nearly dozed.
The next night, he'd been in her room. She'd just finished changing into her nightgown, hair freshly washed and combed and dried, and padded on bare feet to turn out the little whale-oil lamp on her vanity. And she'd seen him there, in the mirror, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, that same little smile on his face. For a moment, neither of them did or said anything. And then he'd asked her name.
They had talked all through the night; he told her stories of fantastic things, ancient places, of whaling ships and witches and the Outsider. He seemed so dashing, so worldly, with a maturity beyond his years. He spoke like a little lord. He asked her questions, too, about her life, about her family, about her house. For a young girl with no one to talk to, he seemed to have come right out of a dream.
He came other nights, too. He'd appear, as if by magic, in her room just as she laid down for bed. They whispered, lest someone find him, but even then someone would occasionally come to check on her, only to find her alone in her room, sitting up in bed. Bad dreams, she would tell them. A sip of Piero's Remedy and a gentle smoothing of her hair later, they would be gone, and he would be back. When she asked how he managed to hide like that, he only replied that his Granny had taught him, and would talk no more about it. Sometimes, he brought wine with him, and, desperate to impress him, she would keep from screwing her face at the sour taste. She suspected he knew, though. He always seemed to know what she was thinking.
He'd talked about the charms, once. About the carved bits of bone he got from his Granny, that he could hear singing in hidden places. There was magic in them, he said. And the talk always made him smile. She had decided then she'd give him one. She'd be the one to make him smile.
And just a day earlier, her chance had come. An Overseer had stayed at the inn. She remembered him, in his black and gold coat and his frightening mask. He had kept a box with him, and one of the maids, all innocence, had asked what was in it. He had replied that it was a foul thing; a bit of black magic confiscated from a heretic, and he was on his way back to the Abbey the very next day to destroy it. And he'd lifted the cover of the box and shown it to the maid. It seemed such an ugly, tiny thing. A bit of bone and metal covered in strange letters. She suddenly found herself remembering all the strictures and the sermons about such things, and briefly, she considered letting it go.
But Sascha had said they were magic, and wonderful. His Granny gave them to him for his birthday. Why would a Granny give her grandson something wicked?

Above all, though, she wanted to see him smile. To see him smile for her.
And so, in the night, she had taken her father's key, and slipped in and taken it. She had felt so proud, to be so quiet and clever. Sascha would have smiled to see her. The Overseer had accused the maid the next day, and her quarters had been turned over in a desperate attempt to find it. Her father had apologized profusely the whole while, and when it wasn't found, the Overseer insisted the maid come to the Abbey to be interrogated. Her father had protested at first, but eventually given in. After all, if the maid was innocent, she'd be released, wouldn't she?
Lily didn't think so. Sascha said that no one left the Abbey, guilty or innocent. The Overseers always found the guilt they sought. Lily had felt bad for the maid, but the thought of Sascha's beautiful smile had washed away her doubts. Her father had closed the Inn while he went into another district to see about hiring a new maid. He'd made her promise to stay in her room and keep all the doors and windows locked. He'd only be gone until the next evening. It was too perfect! She waited as long as she could after he left. Then she pulled an old shawl around her to hide her dress -again, so proud of her cleverness- and slipped out the back door into the warm, bright sunlight.
She'd known where to go. She'd heard her father and his friends gossiping about the throng of boys who roamed the streets with wooden swords, snatching purses and stealing food, slipping back by their secret ways into the old quarry. Anytime the Watch or angry shopkeeps tried to ferret them out, they vanished into the sewers, only to be back the next day. Eventually, the upstanding people of the district just gave up. They boys never did any real harm, and, perhaps a gaggle of boys able to make their way in Dunwall was a sign that things were getting better.
She could see the tunnel entrance now, guarded by a rough-looking boy in dingy grey clothes. A sword cobbled from two planks was tucked through his belt. He blinked in surprise as she approached, then sneered.
"Well, aren't you a pretty little bird? Bet we can find a nice roost for ya, if'n you're really nice to us."

He leered at her then, and she felt a stab of dread, though she couldn't say why.

"I-I came to see Sascha," she squeaked, taking a step back.
The boy- so much bigger than her, she realized- blinked, surprised again, then snickered.

"Ave you now? Lotsa girls comin round to see 'im these days. Not many as pretty as you, though. C'mon, give us a kiss, and maybe we'll tell 'im ya stopped by."
He reached for her, and she felt another stab of fear. She held the charm out like it was a shield.

"I-I have something for him!"
The bulky teen screwed his face up in confusion, then, slowly, understanding, and a trace of fear crept into his dirty visage. A bone charm. Sascha was always looking for things of the like. Bits of carved bone, old, strange things. Pearls from dead krusts. If the boys brought him something, and he liked it, he could be generous. Extra food, sweets, sometimes whiskey or wine or cider he'd pinched.
But sometimes, a boy found one, and wanted to keep it for himself. Sascha always knew. Somehow, he always knew. Like he could hear the thoughts in your head or see into your pockets. You couldn't lie to Sascha, and it was a bad, bad idea to try. He could still hear the screams, and the squeaks of the rats.
Lily watched as the urchin shifted from foot to foot, his demeanor changing.

"Now, now, little miss. Just 'avin a bit of fun with ya. Sure, I'll take ya ta see him. And, uh, if ya can tell him I helped ya find that, I'd appreciate it."
Lily didn't intend to say anything of the sort, but she nodded.

The older boy nodded, looking around suspiciously, then motioned for her to follow him down the tunnel. She looked at the charm, and his back, and stepped into the dark.
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From The Depths