[ This was getting interesting, focus absorbed far more on this unspoken game of subtlety, of pulling at skills and sharpness than actually keeping the bone charm anymore.
He wasn't the only one with magic, in whatever form it came, and it's a brief conclusion drawn from the faint iridescent flare of a single eye. He was no particular expert for noticing the Outsider's influences, save for the scratching of the runes or of the purple of his shrines or the madness both of those left behind. ] Is it?
[ This was different, and it takes a considerable degree of control not to draw his blade when the bow is bared, though a single thumb does edge to pass against the folded hilt. Call it instinct of a dishonored bodyguard, or a man who's spent six long months under torture.
But it wasn't a hostile encounter, even as Corvo tenses, watches the arrow draw back in a blur that seems too quick and it leaves his mind nearly ringing to think of his own next move, even as shadows seem to wisp and cling and move around the other.
He's used plenty of the powers the Mark provides already, even with his sight lingering, and stopping time does take a bit of an effort but you know what? Screw it. (And screw the Outsider while he's at it, just because.)
The arrow shoots faster than he anticipates and there's a sharp exhale when its reflex that's causing him to give left, and the Mark flares again and the world slows to a crawl, colours drain to grey and the telltale hum of the Void buzzes against his ears. Even if Garrett might be immune to the Void's direct effects - who knows what magic he holds, how it reacts to such things - his arrow is not. Corvo reaches for it, extends his arm in a stiff stretch before plucking it out of the still air. He had little problem with the dark (call it cheating if you must!!), but it was whatever little damage the blunted arrow might cause to the manor around them. Might want to avoid making those unnaturally happy hosts angry just yet.
Evenly, albeit quickly, he veers to Garrett again in a soft rustle of his long coat, as time shifts and settles and cracks around him (them), eager to return to its habitual beat. ] You really want this old thing that badly?
[ And you know what? He quickly slips it off of his belt, that bone that seemed to have perpetually seeped in the wetness of the sea and extends it in front of him. An offer. It feels odd to him, this gesture of diplomacy. Hardly something he partook it, especially in most recent months. ] Take it.
[ A beat. ] If it gives you nightmares, just find me again.
u v u i am so glad to oblige! this is a delight ahh corvo is fairly rusty for me tho adsh;;
He wasn't the only one with magic, in whatever form it came, and it's a brief conclusion drawn from the faint iridescent flare of a single eye. He was no particular expert for noticing the Outsider's influences, save for the scratching of the runes or of the purple of his shrines or the madness both of those left behind. ] Is it?
[ This was different, and it takes a considerable degree of control not to draw his blade when the bow is bared, though a single thumb does edge to pass against the folded hilt. Call it instinct of a dishonored bodyguard, or a man who's spent six long months under torture.
But it wasn't a hostile encounter, even as Corvo tenses, watches the arrow draw back in a blur that seems too quick and it leaves his mind nearly ringing to think of his own next move, even as shadows seem to wisp and cling and move around the other.
He's used plenty of the powers the Mark provides already, even with his sight lingering, and stopping time does take a bit of an effort but you know what? Screw it. (And screw the Outsider while he's at it, just because.)
The arrow shoots faster than he anticipates and there's a sharp exhale when its reflex that's causing him to give left, and the Mark flares again and the world slows to a crawl, colours drain to grey and the telltale hum of the Void buzzes against his ears. Even if Garrett might be immune to the Void's direct effects - who knows what magic he holds, how it reacts to such things - his arrow is not. Corvo reaches for it, extends his arm in a stiff stretch before plucking it out of the still air. He had little problem with the dark (call it cheating if you must!!), but it was whatever little damage the blunted arrow might cause to the manor around them. Might want to avoid making those unnaturally happy hosts angry just yet.
Evenly, albeit quickly, he veers to Garrett again in a soft rustle of his long coat, as time shifts and settles and cracks around him (them), eager to return to its habitual beat. ] You really want this old thing that badly?
[ And you know what? He quickly slips it off of his belt, that bone that seemed to have perpetually seeped in the wetness of the sea and extends it in front of him. An offer. It feels odd to him, this gesture of diplomacy. Hardly something he partook it, especially in most recent months. ] Take it.
[ A beat. ] If it gives you nightmares, just find me again.