[ He had a half dozen things he remembers from childhood, in the streets of Serkonos. The smell of spices his mother used to oil into his and his sister's hair after they had finished throwing themselves into mountain streams and ocean tides to keep it soft. That when his sword training became too much, long after his sister had gone, she would press thumbs firm with years of work into his back where his muscles would tense with the work of being beaten by better men over and over again until he was good enough to stop it.
It was a lifetime ago, but he remembered it still. Something rosewater and cinnamon sweet. Something he idly looked for, so many years later, when Emily had begun her training, to help ease her own sore muscles. Something that, when Midnighter walked through his strange portals into the walls of the palace so newly restored with the last of the traitor's images cleared away. Spent the night, as he was often want to do. Told him of strange things that seemed like Void dreams than real but - Midnighter was real enough, warm enough, as he laid there next to him. Face down in the pillows, and the smile pulled quietly at the edge of Corvo's mouth. As much as he ever smiled.
True to both their paranoia, twitched out of sleep or otherwise, he makes his movements pointed. Letting Midnighter know when and where he was, that he was awake and not going very far. But that it was him with a faint hum of his voice before he reached into a side drawer, fishing out the bottle of ointment, still kept all these years later. A faint smell of home, a faint tinge of something shared in small spaces with those he trusted.
He rolled over when he'd coated his hands on it. Leaning to brush against Midnighter's shoulders. A warm hand on his back. A press of his mouth on his neck. Me, the murmur. Just keep laying there. The one after it, as he moves to smooth his fingers across his skin. Broad and tanned dark with the years of labour. Didn't bother to hide here, the mark stained into his left hand that was slightly cooler than the rest of him.
But not delicate hands. No, more like the hard work of his family in the lifetime before nobility and courtiers and silk. Still a solders grip, but that little bit lighter. ]
sticks this after the events of dis1???
It was a lifetime ago, but he remembered it still. Something rosewater and cinnamon sweet. Something he idly looked for, so many years later, when Emily had begun her training, to help ease her own sore muscles. Something that, when Midnighter walked through his strange portals into the walls of the palace so newly restored with the last of the traitor's images cleared away. Spent the night, as he was often want to do. Told him of strange things that seemed like Void dreams than real but - Midnighter was real enough, warm enough, as he laid there next to him. Face down in the pillows, and the smile pulled quietly at the edge of Corvo's mouth. As much as he ever smiled.
True to both their paranoia, twitched out of sleep or otherwise, he makes his movements pointed. Letting Midnighter know when and where he was, that he was awake and not going very far. But that it was him with a faint hum of his voice before he reached into a side drawer, fishing out the bottle of ointment, still kept all these years later. A faint smell of home, a faint tinge of something shared in small spaces with those he trusted.
He rolled over when he'd coated his hands on it. Leaning to brush against Midnighter's shoulders. A warm hand on his back. A press of his mouth on his neck. Me, the murmur. Just keep laying there. The one after it, as he moves to smooth his fingers across his skin. Broad and tanned dark with the years of labour. Didn't bother to hide here, the mark stained into his left hand that was slightly cooler than the rest of him.
But not delicate hands. No, more like the hard work of his family in the lifetime before nobility and courtiers and silk. Still a solders grip, but that little bit lighter. ]