On Ourselves.
Again with the damn chapter titles.

In which magic cannot fix everything.

Six days had gone by in relative peace and routine. It was strange, confined to the cellar instead of the Clocktower. Strange, but strangely… pleasant. The faint sound of Basso snoring at nights while Garrett curled up on the couches and alternated between sketching, doing Basso's oft-neglected paperwork, and eating more than he really should had quickly become comforting - not quite like the great ticking of the clock, but similar. He had yet to come down from the Burrick tonight, but it was early still. The last puddles of dusk light hadn't faded, and happy bustle and chatter drifted down from above.

After the fourth day, Garrett had begun experimenting with the cinnamon-y drug. With a full stomach, the drug didn't scatter his thoughts quite so much as it had the first time, but although it largely left him with his faculties it lowered his inhibitions to almost nothing and killed the helpful paranoia that kept him safe. Sometimes it was a little hard to remember why he needed to hide if Gwendolyn screeched; thankfully, even intoxicated on the stuff, Garrett was a creature of habit. Despite leaving him with his senses and most of his mind intact though, a full dose reduced his ability to balance to naught. Basso (or Drathen, and Garrett tried hard not to think about how willingly he'd shown himself to the man the second time he'd come down with food) needed to be there to hold him steady if he even wanted to think about moving around. On the other hand, the dizziness didn't cause any nausea, and the full dose completely negated the pain that had dogged him since the Primal had festered in his eye. It was a good feeling to be able to eat properly again without making himself sick. Already, the harness sat two notches looser against his body. It was as good a measure of progress as any.

A double dose of the drug, taken on a full stomach (Garrett had no desire to actually harm himself), had turned out to be an exercise in shame. While it hadn't seemed to have any long-term effect on him, Garrett's memory of that particular morning was a blur. He'd taken it as his second dose of the day, when Basso was waking up and would be able to assist Garrett in recording the results. He remembered snatches of what had happened afterwards, Gwendolyn cawing and Basso cursing and laughing in equal measure - flashes of blue and then feeling sick and then waking up that night feeling tacky and damp and disoriented. Basso's notes detailed a series of behaviours that Garrett was not keen to ever repeat (he absolutely did not fight a rook for a bookcase, that had to be fabricated) and then an hour spent in misery vomiting, and then passing out. In the margins of those recordings, Garrett had scribbled a new note: DO NOT REPEAT.

A half dose of the drug, taken a day later on a full stomach, had produced a much more desirable outcome. While it hadn't completely erased the pain the Primal caused, it had dulled it down into a distant, manageable ache and only made Garrett a little wobbly on his feet rather than stopping him from staying upright at all. Walking in straight lines might be an issue, but he could navigate on his own and think clearly enough to work. Basso wasn't convinced, but Garrett felt quite confident that he could operate on half doses fairly safely, so long as he didn't try anything too drastic or complicated. Against strict orders, he'd snuck out and come back an hour later with a nice little haul of Watchmen's picked pockets. He'd split it fifty-fifty with Basso to try and placate him. The fence had been beside himself when Garrett had slipped back in the window, coins and trinkets stashed in every pocket. All the same, the results showed good promise; he'd been able to stick to the street level shadows, stay quiet and unseen, and not get caught pickpocketing despite the copious attempts at it. He'd been in pain, but it was dull and quiet; only when he focused did it exacerbate into something problematic.

Mentioning that hadn't gone over very well. Basso was right - he shouldn't be using it voluntarily when he still couldn't control it (and as they'd found out during the first couple of days, even a full dose didn't ease the pulsing agony when Garrett was focus flared) - but he was testing the parameters. If Basso was going to insist he take the drug - and that… was getting easier and easier - then Garrett wanted to know everything he could. If only Basso would give him the name of the damn chemist.

Another half dose that morning, taken on an empty stomach, hadn't offered any additional analgesia than before, but Garrett had spent half an hour curled up on the bed feeling woozy and disoriented and distinctly unhappy. The dizziness was a little worse, and even thinking about focusing caused little ripples of pain the fluctuate out from his eye. He'd been grateful when Basso had insisted they had enough data and made him eat. Once the food had settled, he'd felt better.

This morning, as Basso started waking up nearby, Garrett set down the sketchbook and contemplated the bottle where it sat innocently on the shelf. They'd used fully a finger's width of it so far; barely any of it. One dose didn't last quite twelve hours. Perhaps ten. Garrett sometimes took his second dose slightly early in the mornings, if the pain was coming back especially bad, or if he intended to go to sleep sooner than usual. The two tended to coincide. Today, it had returned as a wet throb behind his right eye, and faintly painful pressure inside his skull. Unpleasant, and he wasn't especially hungry, but it was tolerable. He'd told Drathen to just bring him something light, and he quietly nibbled away on a hunk of bread. It had been warm when he'd first picked it up. Cool now, still soft and vaguely pleasant on the tongue, but he ate slowly all the same. No nausea, not yet, but it wouldn't hurt to be cautious about it.

Having been nigh on constantly medicated for a week, Garrett wanted to take a break. Not that being pain-free wasn't nice, but it was starting to feel like reliance. The idea crept from thought to thought, quietly unsettling. Garrett wouldn't be dependant on anything except himself; he refused. Just a short break. Basso couldn't be upset about it. After all, he was still here. He'd been eating and recovering well. Loathe as he was to admit it, Garrett felt good. Better than he had in a long time. The harness was still a couple notches too tight for his liking, but it was nearing the low end of his original safety net. Soon enough, he'd be out of the eyelets he'd had to add.

Besides, he was still experimenting with it. Given continuous dosing for six days, he needed to know how he would fare if he missed one. He wasn't going to take it for the rest of his life; the thought made his heart skip a beat, a soft shudder going through him. Once he was recovered enough, he was going to find out more about the Primal. In all likelihood, it meant heading back down to the ancient library under the House of Blossoms.

Well… maybe he could use Basso as a distraction. He had a feeling the man wouldn't object so much to the idea in that case, and it wasn't as if he didn't have the money to fund it.

It was still a strange, prickling feeling, the thought of spending some of his amassed fortune, but… it would only be the coins. In terms of material wealth, Garrett was pretty sure he might be the richest man in the city. Anything he wanted for, he simply stole anyway, so he'd never had cause to spend the money he was paid for his work. He just liked being paid. Greed. The General's voice echoed in his head, but Garrett shrugged it off. What was so wrong with a little bit of greed? So he liked shiny things, so what? And the rest of his collection - he wouldn't even need to touch the special sets of jewellery or the City Plaques or any of the other innumerable items that had caught his eye. Garrett had enough coin stored away in the Clocktower to fund any trips Basso might want to make to the Blossoms for the rest of his life.

And besides… it wasn't as if he couldn't simply steal it back later. Spending it to ease his way into the underground library was worth every coin.

A snort drew his attention; Gwendolyn warbled, yawned as she woke with her master, flapped her wings, rubbed her beak through her feathers. With a creak of the mattress, Basso sat up, rubbing his eyes. Gwendolyn warbled again, drawing Basso's attention - he shambled out of bed, mumbling incoherently, and padded heavily over to the bird. A scritch, and Basso offered her a scrap leftover from his dinner. Once she was satisfied, Basso yawned again, stretched, and turned.

"Hey, Garrett. How you feeling?" Still a bit mumbled, not fully awake yet. Sorry, Basso. Garrett knew only too well how fast Basso would wake up when he heard something he didn't like.

And he wasn't going to like this.

"I'm fine. I'm going to skip this morning's dose." Matter of fact. Say it like it is, don't ask permission. I don't ask permission for anything. He was prepared for the splutter, and even the glare, but not for the sudden bloom of concern in Basso's eyes. He was getting good at reading that; it had happened far too often for his tastes.

Basso came and sat on the other couch, cast a cursory glance over the paperwork and sketchbook and little series of records from Garrett's experiments. "Is this just another fucking experiment, or is it… going bad?"

An interesting way to phrase it. Garrett shook his head. "Relax, Basso. I just want to get an idea of any withdrawal symptoms before I have to stop." For any reason. He wasn't going to rely on it forever, but even in the meantime things could go wrong. The bottle could be lost or broken or stolen - Garrett could end up having to skip doses because he was elsewhere, or not safe enough to risk it. He wasn't going to stay cooped up in Basso's cellar for much longer, and they both knew it.

A sigh, but Basso didn't protest. Probably knew it was futile. He'd had enough protesting the earlier experiments. "A'ight. I'll come down and check on ya while you're sleeping, take some notes if you like."

"Thanks, Basso," Garrett smirked, sitting back and crossing his legs. "It's almost like you care." Teasing. He knew Basso did, even if he couldn't fathom it. Then again, he had broken into the City Keep while it was burning down just to rescue Basso from the Thief-Taker General. Maybe he could fathom, just a little.

Basso snorted and got back up to grab a change of clothes and head up to the Burrick attic to bathe. "Yeah, yeah. Can't imagine why."

She kept tripping on the dress. It wasn't that she was particularly unused to wearing a ballgown, but it had been sewn long enough that the skirts kept falling where she wasn't expecting them. What in the hell was this latest fashion anyway? Nobody needed so many layers, especially not in the middle of summer, and especially not if they didn't intend to steal everything in sight. Or maybe smuggle out a body. Annabel was fairly certain she could fit another human body inside her skirts.

Hm, mental note. Test that theory with Phoebe.

"Stop fidgeting," Keldin hissed to her, standing with her on the balcony. They overlooked the ballroom dance floor, although there was a distinct lack of dancing going on. Despite the title of Ball and the fancy clothing decorating every body in the room, Annabel was starting to think these 'Lords' had no idea what a proper ball was supposed to entail. In all honesty, that didn't surprise her. There wasn't a drop of noble blood to be found in these new leading houses - that, and their master was a fucking madman. She hadn't heard anyone sound that obsessed since Nathaniel had found out about sex.

A snicker. More's the pity that he hadn't been sent on this particular mission. Still, one look at Thadeus Harlan had proven that Nathaniel's brand of diplomacy would have sent the whole thing awry. "You stop fidgeting," she hissed back to Keldin. "Your clothes are just as uncomfortable as mine. And half as heavy."

A little twitch told Annabel that Keldin was a hair's breadth away from facepalming, but he resisted the urge and kept his eyes on the crowds. "I'd kill any number of these idiots to be in uniform." Muttered, just for Annabel's ears. She laughed. "But it doesn't matter. Lord Corvo said we had to play nice."

"You mean the Empress said we had to play nice. I'm pretty sure Corvo would sooner depose this whole shitwalk and let her take control. It'd be about time. This 'Eternal City' has escaped the Empire for too long." Sighed, leaning casually against the balistrode and trying to convey mere boredom instead of simmering murderous intent. "Besides. You know Corvo says we shouldn't kill if we don't have to. There's bound to be non-lethal ways of dealing with this pathetic excuse of a government."

Keldin mirrored her snort. "Yeah, I wouldn't call this a government. Glorified personal army. Frankly, I'm astonished that the general populace haven't rebelled yet. If this was Dabokva- Heck, if this was anywhere in Tyvia, they'd have all been dragged to the public square-"

"Stonemarket, I think," she interjected softly.

"-and executed by now." A pause. "Yeah, that sounds right. That's where Leon was exploring, right?"

"Lucky bastard." Muttered bitterly, shifting her weight against the balistrode, watching what looked to be a Watch Captain if she remembered how the pips worked here as he strode across the ballroom. The woman he approached looked like she wanted to die, but she curtseyed and offered a forced smile as he engaged her. "I can't believe the Lord Protector had to go out and get him. And he wasn't even punished!"

For a long moment, Keldin was quiet. She kept an eye on the Watch Captain in her periphery, but glanced at him questioningly. He met her gaze, looked back out over the ballroom, and sighed. "He's the newest Messenger here. And besides - can you really blame him? We're all losing our minds here."

Annabel hummed quietly. "Yeah, you got that right. That Harlan guy is a fucking psychopath. And he thinks he has enough control of The City to use it as a bargaining chip. As if we're just some especially well equipped thugs he hired to fuel his personal vendetta. Against some little thief! Who cares about one thief? This place is a ruin waiting to happen. There's gotta be a million people who've resorted to lifting. Or, you know, taken it up while there's no stable law enforcement."

"I think we all know that it's going to come down to a military invasion. This mission is mostly reconnaissance, in the end. And trying get as much of the power that remains in The City on our side, so when we do invade there's not so much death." Quietly, frowning as he studied the crowd. He'd seen something that caught his attention. Trying to find it, Annabel followed his gaze.

"... I might be pissed at him, but Leon's right. This whole thing is a waste of time. We should get rid of Harlan and let Empress Kaldwin know this place just needs to be razed to the ground. Or- at least given some proper, solid rulership," she quickly corrected as Keldin shot her a quick glare. "I don't care why we're here, Kel. I'm not gonna help that psychopath hunt down some guy and torture him to death."

Now, Keldin's bright grey eyes fixed on her fully, something untoward shining in their depths. "Not even if Lord Corvo orders you to?"

Chills fluttered under her skin, and her heart jumped painfully in her chest, but Annabel held Keldin's gaze, trying to keep her own equally as hard. "Even if Lord Corvo orders me to. I'll kill any of these fools, but I refuse to torture anyone. I won't help someone do it. And especially not the General."

Sighed, looking back across the ballroom, eyes narrowing. Keldin ran a hand through his hair, the light blond locks coming out of place as he did. "... I feel you, Annabel, I do, but… this is a diplomatic mission. We have to try and stay in the General's good graces."

"Or we could kill him."

Muttered, pouted, but Annabel knew better than to expect anything to come of it. Corvo wouldn't kill unless he absolutely had to - not even a shithead like Harlan. Sometimes it made her want to scream.

Keldin sighed. "See that?" he gestured vaguely, but she saw the swift extension of his index finger and looked towards where he was pointing. Letting out a delighted coo and straightening up as if in excitement, Annabel forced the smile across her face. Hopefully it didn't look as fake as the woman cornered by Watch Captain Dick.

"I see. Want me to handle it?"

A quick shake of the head, and finally a wicked little grin. "Nah. Let Leon handle it himself. See what he does." They glanced quickly to the far end of the room, where Corvo and the General (Thief-Taker. What a hideous title) were quietly conversing and occasionally entertaining guests. Corvo wore his formalwear better than any of them, the gleaming peacock blue dinner jacket picked out with gold thread and the stars that denoted his status pinned to the shoulder. Matching pants and a slightly paler waistcoat were pretty, but outshone by the jacket. He didn't wear coattails, unlike many of the men assembled. They must still be in style in The City.

Well, it made sense that Corvo wore his clothes better. They were probably more expensive than anyone else's. Emily- Empress Kaldwin had ensured they all had serviceable formalwear for this trip. Many of the attendees had noticed - after all, Corvo cut rather a handsome figure - but he had steadfastly ignored it. Any attempts at flirting had been met with blank stares. Annabel shook her head as the woman currently with them tipped her head coyly. It must be nice, to have people throwing themselves at you. Even if Corvo rebutted them every time.

Across the room, Leon was talking to several Watchmen, gesticulating excitedly. The men nodded along, inserting gestures and comments of their own. It seemed quite lively a conversation. He too was easily visible amongst the native citizens; no coattails fluttering from his jacket, and drawn up in a deep crimson, picked out with silver stitching. The design was identical to Corvo's aside from boasting only a single star on his shoulder, as was Keldin's (flamboyant) mint green and silver. She envied them their suits. Back home, in Dunwall, she and Phoebe - and all the other Messenger women - were free to wear their formal suits as well, instead of these dresses. Whilst her violet and Phoebe's yellow were certainly beautiful, they were heavy. If it came down to a fight, Annabel was going to have to rely on Keldin to keep her safe until she could rip off most of the outer layers. At least they were allowed their matching single stars, albeit settled at their throats as if they were jewellery and not a sign of military rank.

"I can't believe Corvo only let us bring one weapon to this thing." Hissed, running her finger along the inside of her silken violet gloves to check on the tiny lines of darts she'd hidden therein.

Next to her, Keldin shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well. This is supposed to be diplomacy, not an invasion. Nothing should happen today." Low, held too even. Keldin didn't believe it any more than Annabel did. She caught him shift his weight from one leg to the other - checking the dagger strapped to the inside of his thigh.

"Sure. Tell that to Leon when he whips out his throwing knives. Do you know how many he managed to sneak past Corvo?"

Keldin snorted. "Zero. Lord Corvo allowed him three. I can't believe three throwing knives counts as 'one weapon' but I had to pick between my daggers." Finally, the bitterness shining through. Annabel smiled to herself, then shrugged.

"Don't worry about it. Diplomacy, remember? Anyway, are you supposed to be up here? I thought I was on lookout until twelve. You've left Phoebe and Leon high- eh, low and dry."

A grimace, and grey eyes flashed to her pleadingly. "I couldn't take it down there anymore. These Watchmen are all idiots. Their wives aren't any better. This is the most scintillating conversation I've had all morning." Annabel sighed and shook her head.

"So you want me to trade with you already? Weak, Kel." But she pushed off the balistrode, subtly stretched, and gave her skirts a light tug. "Fine. Spot me, will you?"

A call of thanks followed her as she picked her way across the balcony delicately, and then down the curving stairs of the General's mansion. The balcony was just for show, but coming down the stairs in this ridiculous dress, already a touch unsteady on elevated heels - a new fashion that she hated, but Empress Kaldwin had insisted - was actually a mission in its own right.

Once she'd made it to the floor, she paused and swept her gaze around, trying to decide on a suitable group to approach. None jumped out at her particularly, and she wasn't allowed to hover around Corvo (or, more accurately, he didn't want them spending more time than necessary around the General), so eventually she approached a servant, picked a flute of wine off his tray with a murmured thank-you, and selected a spot near the far wall to observe. It wasn't mingling, and it was essentially a worse version of the task she'd just let Keldin take over, but fuck it. If any of these people wanted to talk to her, let them approach her. She could play enigmatic just fine, thank you very much.

Pretending to sip her wine, she looked back to Leon. The servant Keldin had spotted had already reached his group, offered refreshments, and left them. Her eyes narrowed. The servant had been moving with far too much purpose - she'd picked Leon's group to approach specifically. It was unlikely the others had noticed it; Leon probably hadn't even realised, too engaged in his conversation. Damn it, Leon. Pay attention to your surroundings. Why had Lord Corvo chosen him for this mission? He'd had free reign to pick any four of the Messengers. Leon was an excellent combatant, good at stealth, had a scheming mind and had shown proficiency in many of Corvo's gifts, but he was too new. He hadn't been seasoned yet - and here he was, in the middle of possibly the most hostile environment in the Isles, paying nary a glance to the people around him.

She pretended to take another sip, eyed Leon's half-empty glass, and felt her stomach sink. Damn it, Leon. Not only that, but he'd either forgotten they were under orders to remain lucid, or he hadn't been able to think of a way to fake it under such direct scrutiny. She hoped to the Void it was the second one. That was a panic reaction - definitely bad, and it made him a liability, but it was at least understandable. Anything else was sheer bollocks-for-brains stupidity.

A quick glance up at Keldin confirmed he'd noticed; his gaze kept flickering to Leon, mouth drawn into a tight line. Annabel had to stifle the urge to make sure Corvo knew - he would have noticed. Probably before they did. Even so, it never hurt to be sure. Her heel tapped against the polished marble floor, too loud, too obviously anxious, but she couldn't help it.

This ball sucked.

She looked for Phoebe, trying to still her thoughts. Her bright yellow was harder to find than it had any right to be, but eventually she spotted the small Messenger tucked away in an alcove lined with plush couches, surrounded by fawning wives. Doing a perfect job, then. Phoebe was an adult, but she was unusually small - tiny enough that most mistook her for a child. It made for a mess at home most of the time, where the Messengers were well-known and recognised by their stars and, often, by face. Here, though, on mission… Phoebe let them assume it. Nobody had dared asked Corvo to his face yet why he'd brought a 'child' on a diplomatic mission, and they all preferred it that way. Sparring with Phoebe was fine normally - she was as skilled as any of them - but it was a nightmare when she used them as rage relief.

All the same, she let people assume her height dictated her age and right now, that meant the Watchmen's wives were clustered around her, cooing over her star and her accent and her dress, and all the while spilling citystate secrets.

At least someone was doing their job right.

The day wore on, and Annabel found herself engaged with several Watchmen and their wives. More Watchmen than wives. Not all of them were married, of course, the The City still held the archaic practice of barring women from military work. (Or political work. Or any employment directly from the state, really). Even so, a large chunk of the wives still remained with Phoebe; she was settled on the laps of two of them now, stealing treats from their plates as they gossipped. Honestly, it was a wonder how blind people were. She was short, sure, but Phoebe didn't even go out of her way to act like a child. She just stayed a bit quiet, and they dismissed her intelligent comments as just being a well-learned girl.

Honestly. Disgraceful.

To be fair, Annabel had to navigate her own stickiness. The darts were a tempting weight in her gloves as a couple of the Watchmen flirted, and a couple more kept asking why she was on this mission. Was she Phoebe's warden? (Too young to be mother to that old a girl, obviously). The smile was painful as she brushed it off, shaking her head and stuttering like she was embarrassed instead of furious. Corvo's lover? No. She had to swallow any other response to that one. Ugh. Such a mess was that.

It wasn't until one of them implied that she should have stayed behind in Dunwall where it was safe that she really had to take a deep breath. Don't snap the glass, don't snap their necks, don't use your darts. Don't cause a scene. The mission. Let Corvo handle it. Focus, Anna. She offered them a polite smile and indicated the star at her neck.

"Actually, sir, I'm part of the Empire's military and serve under Lord Royal Protector Attano as one of the Royal Messengers." She even managed a curtsy in there, and prayed that her voice came out amused or coy or anything other than cutting. Lord Royal Protector. Well, it wasn't exactly untrue - she did serve Corvo, and he was the Royal Protector. It was just… more the Royal Spymaster bit that she served.

The looks she received made her tremble, suppressing the anger. These snivelling idiots thought she couldn't serve in a military capacity because she didn't have their wilting cocks to prove it? Maybe she'd cut them all off. Then nobody could serve.

One of them offered her a tentative smile. "My apologies, Lady Whitefield, but you cannot be serious."

They saw the twitch in her eye. She knew, because the one who'd spoken took a step back and glanced at his fellows. Taking a deep breath - and letting them see it, because if they knew she was angry then she'd make damn sure they knew she was better behaved than them too - Annabel set her wine glass down on one of the small tables dotting the edges of the room and forced out as nice a smile as she could.

"I am very serious, Captain Rhodes. This star is not simply for show. I would direct you to the same badges worn by my colleagues. In future, Captain, I would appreciate it if you refrained from slandering my rank, even if it is not from your own nation. If you will excuse me." A bow, this time, fuck the curtsy, and she pushed past them and made her way across the ballroom. Thumbs ran over her concealed darts, temptation pounding in her wrists with her pulse, but she resisted. Don't cause a scene. Diplomacy. Fuck I hate this city. Fuck this city, and fuck its batshit leadership.

Annabel wasn't sure how long she stayed hidden away in the corner of the room, avoiding her duty to mingle and just observing. She was allowed to disobey certain orders if it meant following others. Mingling meant talking - it meant likely hearing the same comments over and over again. If she had to choose which orders to follow, she chose the diplomacy ones. She would stay quietly in her corner and not kill anyone.

It wasn't until she caught sight of Keldin's mint green coming closer that she realised she'd been glaring vacantly. Oh god. I'm as bad as Leon. But still, she drew herself up and met Keldin halfway, tilting her head. If he was down here, then either it was her turn back up on the balcony, or something had changed.

Judging by the stern expression and the quick pace, she guessed it was the latter.

"What happened?" she whispered as they got close. "We aren't scheduled for dinner for… what, three more hours?"

"Two," Keldin murmured back, and Annabel shoved away the way her heart sank. She'd slipped up so badly. Stupid prehistoric Watchmen secluded citystate fucking attitudes.

Even so, her fingers curled. "Shit."

Keldin shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Look, I don't know what's up, but something's… odd. The Captains have been moving in these weird patterns. I almost didn't notice. And the General's two Commanders? They're up to something. I don't know. Lord Corvo's summoned us."

Annabel resisted the urge to look around and instead offered Keldin a smile. "That's not great. I hope you brought your good dagger. Go rescue Phoebe, I'll get Leon. How drunk is he?"

Tentative; not sure she wanted to know. She hadn't been paying attention. Outsider's eyes. I might as well be drunk myself for all the use I've been. Keldin's grimaced answer was not encouraging. "Maybe it's best to leave him where he is."

"That bad?"

Annabel looked around now, searching for the other Messenger. She found him standing in a group of four Watchmen - not Captains, but some of the small group of favoured men who'd been invited. They were distinctive, in their simple black suits. Barely formal enough for a dinner party, let alone this event. Laughing and joking, but even as she watched one of them took Leon's mostly empty glass and replaced it with a full one.

"Worse. They've been with him for two hours."

Offering a grunt of confirmation, Annabel turned back to Keldin. "Leave him. We can't have that hot mess anywhere near Harlan. We can figure out what they're doing with him afterwards. And that idiot better pray he hasn't let anything slip, because I will scalp him." Keldin winced, and followed Annabel towards Phoebe. She watched them approach, dark blue eyes stormy and grateful all at once.

"My deepest apologies, lovely Ladies," Keldin began as they got close enough, executing a walking bow with apparent ease. "It is with the most sincere regret that I must whisk our darling Phoebe away." Even as he did nothing of the sort, flashing a charming grin - might Annabel daresay even roguish? - as she beckoned Phoebe over. Yellow skirts swirling, Phoebe hopped down and darted over, grimacing the moment her back was to the Watch wives and they wouldn't see. They tittered in disappointment, but seemed suitably distracted by Keldin. Most of them, at any rate. Annabel didn't worry about the ones who didn't.

Watching Keldin charm for a few moments longer, she lowered her voice so it wouldn't carry. "You'll have to tell me if you heard anything interesting, but Corvo wants us right now. Kel noticed something odd about the Captains. It's probably related. Also, we're abandoning Leon to his drunken fate."

Phoebe glanced past them, tilting her head as she watched Leon be held on his feet by two Watchmen. "Mmm. Might be better to rescue him. I don't trust these people. He can't defend himself."

Not bothering to look again, Annabel shook her head. "I know, but do you really want that hot mess anywhere near Harlan?" Phoebe's face twisted into absolute disgust for a moment.

"Good point. Harlan flirted with me."

"Phoebe, Anna flirts with you all the time," Keldin interjected as he returned to them, touching two fingers to Annabel's elbow for half a second. She nodded slightly, acknowledging it, and they followed Phoebe as she led the way up to Corvo and the General.

"Yeah, but I know she's an adult. She's older than me! If anything, the scandal is that Phoebe flirts back."

They shared a vaguely disgusted look, shadowed in their eyes and kept off their faces, and then presented themselves to Lord Corvo and the General. Two flawless curtsies and a bow. Something dark hung in Corvo's eyes when they straightened and he surveyed them. He didn't need to say anything - they all knew what it was. Phoebe gave the slightest touch to the back of Keldin's leg, pushing seniority on him, and he cleared his throat.

None of the charming smile now. It wouldn't work on Corvo, and they rather suspected Harlan would find a way to be offended. "I sincerely apologise, Thief-Taker General. Our colleague seems to have forgotten himself in the festivities. We thought it best he be allowed to make a fool of himself with men more… of his calibre." Annabel held her smile through gritted teeth as Keldin spoke. Leon was a bit of a brat, but he was still far superior to any of these City dregs. It grated to have to pretend she agreed with such degradation.

A hearty laugh from Harlan. The grin was unsettling. "There's always one, isn't that right, Corvo?" The Lord Protector nodded, an irritated expression flashing across his face. For show. He was upset with the situation, Annabel could read it in the clasp of his hands behind his back and the way he stood at full height, despite the fact they all knew Harlan disliked how much he towered over them all, but he wouldn't show it like that unless he wanted to. Harlan shook his head. "Not to worry, my boys will take good care of him."

Was there something especially sinister in that statement, or was it just the normal level of menace Harlan spoke with. Annabel wasn't feeling particularly menaced, but her pulse jumped in her throat again and she had to focus on breathing steady. Phoebe took her hand, a picture of innocence, and squeezed. Swallowed the gasp of pain and squeezed back, forcing the smile to remain over her teeth, shoving down the revulsion she felt. Focus. Thanks, Phoebe, for bruising my metacarpals.

"You're very gracious, Thief-Taker General." Corvo, speaking up, his voice muted and respectful but lacking the hint of subservience that Keldin's held. He was the de facto ruler of The City, she supposed. Corvo shouldn't be offering anything to the man but the pommel of his sword.

Harlan laughed again and waved a hand. "Think nothing of it." Grinned wickedly. Annabel's skin crawled. Flirted with Phoebe. Only Corvo's eyes on her and Phoebe's hand in hers stayed the murderous impulse. The man was sickening. And on top of it, he expected them to help catch a petty criminal and torture him to death, all for some absurd personal vendetta.

No, Annabel decided. Leon was definitely right. Fuck this shitshow.

"But, now that I have you all here-"

Movement, behind her. Muted, slow, but she finally broke eye contact with Harlan and glanced over her shoulder. The quiet chatter was slowing to a stop, and she was met with a sea of eyes. The Watch had moved around them, closed in - watching.

Well. That was as ironic as it was disastrous.

Keldin gripped her other hand suddenly, tugging. She ignored it, scanning the crowd for Leon, anxiety mounting in her throat. Ignore it. Don't panic. You can get out of this.Even just three of them were easily a match for badly trained state law enforcement. And it wasn't just three of them - they had Corvo. No need to panic. She kept looking. Red, red… The only colour that many of the Watch had gone for. Motherfucker. Look for the silver thread. She couldn't find it. Where the hell was he?

The itch to activate her Dark Vision was overwhelming, but Keldin tugged her hand again before she could and she finally turned back. Harlan was laughing, freely - manically. How could his men not see that he was a fucking madman? How was this travesty of governing allowed? At Harlan's throat was the blade of Corvo's collapsable sword. Corvo stood behind him, twisting one of his wrists behind his back, holding the sword. Completely steady, no hint of hesitation. If Annabel hadn't known better, then she would have thought he was ready to execute him.

Well, so much for fucking diplomacy. At least Corvo made the call to break it and none of us snapped.

"I will offer you one chance, General. Release Lord Diamandis or we will be forced to retaliate." Cold, voice threatening immediate and merciless violence. Even knowing better, Annabel felt the shiver creep down her spine. It was followed by the excited heat - the diplomacy, all at once, had fallen over. This was a fight. She didn't have to hold back!They've got Leon. Darts appeared in her fingertips, and Keldin's free hand dipped into his pants pocket, ready to tug his dagger out.

But Corvo hadn't given the go ahead yet. The assembled Watch - there was more of them than had been invited, Annabel was absolutely certain - waiting with Leon buried somewhere in their depths. Desperate to watch for Corvo's signal, Annabel kept her eyes on the two men in front of her - but she heard the movement behind her, in the sudden quiet. Clothes swishing, a hundred tiny clicks. What…?

Harlan laughed again. "Men!" The clicks turned to twangs. Annabel had half a second to realise that she, Keldin, and Phoebe were standing solidly between Harlan and Corvo, and the rest of the Watch. Three consecutive bodies. Meat shield.

The glow of Corvo's Outsider Mark was blazing blue-gold, and shone through his gloves. Echoey and thick, the whole ballroom turned misty blue and grey, and silence fell. Corvo's voice was distant, hard to make out.

"Move! We cannot fight this battle."

There was no room for argument. The order rattled in her teeth, and Annabel turned on her heel, yanked up her stupid fluffy dress, and kicked off the elevated shoes before taking off running for the doors. Footsteps echoed dimly behind her, and everything seemed to move like treacle. By the time she reached the exit, the four of them were running equal, side by side.

Four.

She skidded to a halt, twisted back towards the ballroom, yanked back as someone grabbed her arm. "No! Stop! Wait! We have to get Leon!" He hadn't moved, a glint of scarlet amidst the sea of blue-grey bodies, free from the constraints of magic as Corvo manipulated time.

Only now did she see the almost flat screen of miniature crossbow bolts that hung in the air, like a black shroud just starting to bloom from the Watchmen. Her skin went cold. If Corvo had hesitated, they'd probably be dead. No wonder he had called a retreat. Just like that, the truce had been ended, and if not for Corvo's gifts they'd be dead. They'd be dead. Annabel's breath caught in her throat, even as she allowed herself to be dragged out of the door. How? How had a man like Thadeus Harlan outplayed them? How hadn't they noticed?

How?

Keldin's voice hung in her ears. "Anna! Anna, come on! We have to move! Corvo can't hold this kind of magic for long!" It was distant, but she turned slowly to look at Keldin, stumbling as he dragged her, skirts getting caught under her feet. Keldin's dagger tore through the fabric as they ran, cutting off outer layers, cutting off colour until it was white, cutting it brazenly short. As the swaths and ribbons of fabric came off her, they spiralled into the air and froze in Corvo's magic. The Lord Protector was beside them, silent, face drawn while he kept them moving, made sure they didn't fall behind. The glow coming off his hand was so bright. It had to hurt.

Anna had seen him bend time before - several times during practice spars, to acclimate them to it, and once in the field. It was difficult magic. Keldin tugged her onwards, away from the mansion, onto the streets of Auldale and then blinking up onto a building. The strange wet heat of magic washed over her skin as Keldin blinked them both, a strangely constrictive sensation when not of her own will. He dropped to a knee once they landed, breathing hard, struggling to push himself up. Keldin was the most observant of them, the best suited to duplicitous spy work, but he was the weakest magic user Corvo had chosen. Blinking a passenger had consumed a great deal of his energy.

Beside them, Phoebe blinked Corvo up with her. His Marked hand was clenched, held away from his body and Phoebe's. How long had he already held it? How long that Corvo couldn't blink himself?

"Anna!" The voices rang in her ears, Keldin and Phoebe, screaming at her. "We're not far enough away! Come on, Anna, snap out of it! We have to GO!" Corvo eyed her as she looked back again.

"But…" Everything echoed in the suspension, distant and boundless all at once. "We can't leave Leon."

Pain erupted in her face and she shrilled, staggering back. Phoebe glared at her, hand still raised. Tears sprung up in Annabel's eyes despite herself, shock and pain combined. She didn't understand. Why were they running? They weren't far enough away, Keldin had said, but they were already too far. If they turned back for Leon now, Corvo would lose his hold on the magic and they would be amidst the violence when time resumed. Too dangerous.

Harlan had nearly killed them.

"But…"

Keldin grabbed her, yanked, took off across the rooftops as fast as he could manage. He was breathing hard, his hair lost in a wild blond halo, his jacket - and the star attached to it - gone. He didn't spare the air to urge her on anymore, just dragged her.

By the time they reached the Auldale Bridge, she was running on her own power. Keldin had blinked them both once more before Annabel had begun to use her own rune, and Phoebe had blinked Corvo across every obstacle. The blue-grey wash around them was starting to move. Sluggishly, as Corvo held it as long as he could, but the man was pale and sweating. More exhausted than Annabel had ever seen him. All from one bit of magic? Time, she supposed, was not something to trifle with.

Phoebe and Keldin didn't look to be much better. Blinking so many times in such quick succession would have worn Keldin out at the best of times, but he'd taken Annabel with him twice as well. Phoebe had more endurance, but she was blinking Corvo - three times her size - alongside her every time. Keldin and Annabel were either side of them, offering Corvo what support they could.

The river had never seemed so wide.

"I'll take him." Annabel's voice sounded like someone else's, a suggestion she hadn't realised she was making. "I have more range than you guys." Corvo nodded at her, and for half a second she just stared, dazed. They'd left Leon behind. Everything still seemed unnaturally other, but she stepped back in time with Corvo, sprinted at the river right beside him, took off on the same foot. Midair, she reached for Corvo's wrist, grabbed it, realised he'd positioned himself so she couldn't touch his Marked hand, and blinked them to the far shore. Keldin and Phoebe popped in beside them a moment later.

"Hide."

Corvo's voice was rough, low. He sounded like he was in pain. Annabel realised she was reacting outside of herself; couldn't be sure where the action or the words came from. It was like watching someone else.

She pointed up at the buildings. "Phoebe, scout them out. There's bound to be one that's empty. Kel, help me. I'll blink us, just help me keep him on his feet." Phoebe vanished, even as the blue-grey slatescale world started moving faster. Distant sound began to come back, nothing more than echoey chirps for now. They didn't have long before time snapped back to normal. Corvo was leaning on them, more than she'd expected - they held more of his weight than he did. His eyes were closed.

Shit. Shit shit. We left him behind. Corvo's down. We don't have any time.

But they had more time than they would have without Corvo's magic. "Kel, ready."

"But-"

"No time."

She aimed and blinked and stumbled as they came down just barely on the wide wooden slats underneath a window. Phoebe had opened it but she had yet to return. It didn't matter. Even as Annabel and Keldin hooked Corvo's arms around their shoulders and heaved him through it, the magic cut out.

Sound returned in thunder, light and colour an assault after the muted blues. Half a second of shrieking sounded from within the building and then went silent. Corvo collapsed, his Mark going dark, and Keldin and Annabel staggered under his weight. When Phoebe came back into the room, she had shallow cuts in her palm. "Through here. Put him on the bed. We need to regroup." Tired, voice thin, but something jagged and steely in her eyes.

Annabel did as she was told. With Corvo down, Phoebe had seniority. By the time they came back from making sure Corvo was settled on his side, safe from choking on his own vomit or blood in a worst case scenario, and bundled in blankets, Phoebe had dragged the occupant of the elevated house into the main room and bound him.

"... Phoebe…?"

Blonde curls - darker than Keldin's - bounced as she shook her head. "Just unconscious. It doesn't matter. We're already criminals. Harlan's already decided that. We need to find a proper hiding spot. As soon as Lord Corvo wakes up, we'll move. He can recover there. This will only be safe for so long, and I don't want to continuously knock out a civilian. Who's got the most magic left?"

Annabel raised her hand. She wasn't on Leon's level, but she had more magic than Keldin or Phoebe to begin with, and she'd used less of it.

"Anna, stay here and protect Corvo." Furious. Phoebe was furious. All at once, the numbness fell away and Annabel was left with raw, painful rage that splintered in her chest. It felt like her ribs had cracked with it. Her hands clenched, and only when her fingers slipped did she realise the silk gloves were still in place. "Keldin… I know you're tired, but you're with me. We have to move fast. Harlan played us. As soon as we're safe, we can figure out how to get Leon out of there."

Leon. It made Annabel sick, knowing that the General had him. Captive, by now. He was probably too drunk to even realise. Drunk? Or did they drug him? Guilt clawed inside her chest, cracking her ribs out further. She shouldn't have judged him so stupid so fast. Any of them could have been drugged.

"Go. I'll keep Lord Corvo safe. Be careful out there."

She watched them go, vanishing from the outer ledge and leaving behind momentary twin heat ripples. Taking a deep breath, she pulled out a dart from her gloves, gave the civilian a cursory check, and pressed the dart into his wrist. He'd stay unconscious for at least six hours with that in his system, never mind how hard Phoebe hit him. Annabel untied him, laid him out on his side in the same position she'd laid Corvo, and fetched the spare blanket.

He was an innocent civilian. He wasn't responsible for this mess and he didn't deserve her ire. It still felt wrong, making sure he was at least somewhat comfortable, that he wasn't in danger, and that the wound bleeding on the side of his head was superficial. He'd be fine.

She blunted his pair of scissors cutting the fingers off her purple silk gloves, but it didn't matter. Flexing her hands, she returned to the main room, sat on the floor where she could watch the window and Corvo at the same time, and set about waiting.

The experiments were starting to get worrisome, but Basso put that aside and let Garrett do as he will. The fact was, the thief was here and not fighting him. Honestly, Basso was amazed that he'd been able to get Garrett to cooperate in the first place. He'd half been expecting to have to wait until Garrett literally collapsed and couldn't do anything else. Thank the gods that Garrett wasn't a self-destructive moron - but Basso didn't even want to know how fucking terrible he must have been feeling to agree.

This latest one though… Basso understood why Garrett wanted to take a day off. He didn't even drink alcohol, never had - Basso wasn't sure he'd ever tasted the stuff. Hated to be impaired, hated not feeling in control. It must be grating on him, being reliant on something, even if it was just potent medicine. And the reason he'd actually offered was pretty solid too. At some point, even if it wasn't forced on him before he didn't need it anymore, he'd have to stop taking the drug. It was important that they knew how that would affect him, what to expect, if Basso would need to be there.

Garrett had been asleep barely a couple hours now. So far, nothing untoward had happened; he was definitely a little restless, where a usual morning dose had him nigh on comatose until the afternoon, but nothing else terrible was happening that Basso could tell.

So, when a pleasant conversation with a jeweller who just couldn't hold his liquor was interrupted by the sudden shrieking from downstairs, Basso bolted to his feet.

"Eh, nothing to worry about! Just my mangy fucking bird. She'll shut up in a minute or we'll have a barbecue!" Laughter, a little that filtered through the cawing, but enough that Basso dismissed the patrons. Drathen could take care of it anyway. Fumbling the key, Basso ran out down to the cellar door, trying to ignore the growing fear in his chest. Gwendolyn hadn't stopped yet. Deafening, as he finally managed to get the door unlocked and slammed it open, stumbling in without bothering to close it behind him. The key sat heavily in the lock.

"Gwen! Hey, quiet, Gwen, wh-" The rook soothed at his command, but she was still standing on his desk, wings open, feathers fluffed out. Her beak was open - she breathed heavily, panting, panicked.

Garrett was writhing on the bed, thrashing, the blankets all kicked off. Low moans and whimpers escaped him, fizzing in the air, accompanied with half-formed pleas and desperate little "No-" s. Visible even when his eyes were shut was a blue-green glow that emanated from his right eye, the light thick and pearlescent like smoke. For a moment, Basso couldn't move and then he jumped over, leaning one knee on the mattress, and reached out to touch Garrett's shoulder.

He let out a fully fledged cry when Basso touched him, like it was agony, and then he was flat against the far wall, eyes wide and staring. Light coiled from the right one, twisting and flickering like it was fire and smoke at the same time, and lines of pain creased Garrett's face. In his left glittered a blind panic. He didn't recognise Basso. Not yet.

Staying back now, Basso raised his hands. He could hear Gwen still panting behind him, open-beak breathing. Not good for anyone here, really. "Garrett… Calm down, Garrett, it's just me. Just your good old friend Basso… Nuthin to worry about." Anxiety in his chest - Basso was pretty sure it came through in his voice. Doubted that helped, but he couldn't stop it. Garrett was recovering well, well enough that Basso knew he'd head back for the Clocktower soon, but he was still fragile. Basso doubted Garrett really understood how fragile he was. It wasn't just about his body - his mind had been violated by the entire Primal shitstorm, and as far as Basso knew, Garrett had simply boxed it all away and pretended nothing happened.

"Garrett?" As soft as possible. Don't fuck this up and freak him out now. Basso watched as Garret stared at him, glanced unerringly at Gwen, looked back to him. The light in his eye didn't abate. Was he watching them through the Primal - focusing, he called it - on purpose, or could he not turn it off? It had looked… different, last time.

A low noise came from the thief, building so slowly and starting so quiet that it took Basso a minute to recognise the keening. It was the sound of loss. Something deep and fathomless and Basso's heart stopped in his chest, his whole body going cold.

Amber.

"N-no… no." Whispered, jagged - the desperation was familiar, and hearing it in Garrett's voice squeezed the breath from Basso's lungs. Familiar. Too familiar. No. What? What the fuck was happening? Garrett was panting, hyperventilating as he pressed against the back wall and hugged his knees. The bed shook with his tremors. Basso couldn't breathe at all, but it swirled under his skin and he didn't fucking understand.

He knew that cry, that fear. Basso was no stranger to loss that piercing, but Garrett - as far as Basso knew - had never been close to someone like that. He couldn't afford to be, couldn't afford to have such an open and obvious weakness. People like the Thief-Taker would use it to crush him in a second. So what-

"No." Half-sobbed, the light still bleeding from Garrett's eye.

"Hey-" Basso's voice shook, but he took a quick, sharp breath (all he could manage) and tried to hold it steady. "Garrett, hey, just… calm down. You're okay. It was just a nightmare." Had to be. Right? It couldn't be anything but a nightmare, because Basso would know if it could be anything else and nothing could have happened in the last hour. Garrett had been perfectly fine yesterday. Daresay… even happy.

Garrett moaned quietly, pained, and then the light pulsed in his eye and he sat bolt upright, leaning forward, breathing open-mouthed like Gwen. There was something urgent in his expression, and for a second Basso was afraid he was going to throw up (again), but it wasn't the same grimaced panic as that. It was… something else. "I… Jessamine."

"It's okay. I'll get you some water, alright? Just hold on a second." The conclusive answer to withdrawal then, Basso tried to reason, and he snagged the bottle and turned back to the desk where they now kept the water jug. Bad shit. Avoid at all costs. For now, he'd settle Garrett down with the dose he missed and discuss it with him that evening. There was movement behind him, sharp and frantic, but Basso kept his eyes on what he was doing. "Sit down, Garrett. You're safe, just-"

Basso turned back with glass in hand, only to find the bed empty. A quick glance around confirmed that Garrett was gone. Slowly, ever so slowly, he set the glass back down on the desk. Gone. Fucking idiot. It's the middle of the day. His bow and quiver were gone too. He was armed.

Basso sat down, and Gwen hopped onto him. He stroked her feathers, feeling her start to calm down under the touch. He still felt cold, thoughts spinning - Amber - no - and Garrett was in The City in broad daylight, armed, and out of his mind. Stronger than he had been - but he wasn't wearing his harness, wasn't even wearing his leathers. They were tucked neatly away on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, folded as little as possible.

His fucking eye was glowing!

There was nothing Basso could do. He'd never catch Garrett, even if he was still recovering and relatively weak. He'd never catch Garrett, and that was if he could even find the man in the first place.

What had he been- Jessamine. That was what he'd said before vanishing, right? What the fuck did a dead Empress have to do with this? It echoed in his head; Basso knew that. What was he missing here?

Slowly, one hand still petting Gwen comfortingly, Basso tugged closer the makeshift notebook Garrett was using to record his experiments and picked up a pen. Ink spots blotted the desk when he dipped it in the inkwell. Petting Gwen, eyes blank, Amber thoughts flooding his mind like the long-awaited end to a drought, Basso started recording what had just happened. The scratching of the pen was mechanical.

Garrett was already gone. There was nothing else Basso could do.

Jessamine. The dagger job. That's what Raven had said the dagger was called. Not the Empress, the job. The trap.

Silently, he prayed Garrett would at least come back.