ataraxion | ii rune; text

I'm not sure I -- [ he fumbled a little, and if it was alcohol getting to him, he wasn't admitting it. ] -- understand what you mean.

[ Food either killed you, or it didn't. The nuances of that escaped him. ]

[ Aw, tipsy. ]

You know how some people get itchy eyes or sneeze a lot during certain times of year?

[ he seems to be holding at well. He just seems for one a little more open. ]

Only amongst the wealthy. But only because they can afford to complain of such things.

Well, those are allergies. Mild ones. More severe ones can make you have a rash or stop breathing.

[ as she sips her drink -- clearly she does not have a red dye allergy ]

I think I may of seen something like it. But it might of been poisoning.

[ It's hard to say in Dunwall, most of the time. ]

And people have reactions, to what turns food different colours? [ Which were spices, to the best of his knowledge. Unless she meant cloth dyes? It was confusing, but he did his best to muddle through an understanding. ]

If you give someone enough of something they're allergic to, it's basically the same.

Some people do, yeah. [ It's okay, Rebecca isn't entirely sure what they use to make food different colors either. ]

[ He thought on this, a long time. ] If you should ever meet the nobles of Dunwall, tell them nothing of this. They will delight in such new ways to kill each other.

[ So very serious insisting, frowning and everything. ]

Is there a way that you may check without harm, what someone is allergic to? Emily's food will have to be checked more often now.

I won't, don't worry.

[ She couldn't say the same for the medical staff, though. ]

A doctor can do a skin test -- they prick your skin with a little bit of some common things people are allergic to and see if it gets red and bumpy. Peanuts are a really common food allergy, if you want to start there.

Could you do it? Should it ever be a concern.

[ Maybe it was the drink talking, but in this moment he trusted her -- and he didn't trust anyone with Emily. Maybe it was safer, because this was all in the hypothetical, but he felt comfortable in that. ]

I'm not a doctor, but if I can find the allergens, I think so. It's not really painful, but it is uncomfortable, though.

[ She understands wanting to live in hypotheticals. God knows she wants to almost all the time back home, thinking of what the future might bring. ]

[ There's a mutter, and it's not exactly english, er -- Dunwallian. ]

She hates her physicians, when they insist she take treatments. [ A father's exasperated tone, for hours spent trying to get her calm. Emily was a difficult child. She had fits and demanded everything when and where as she wanted -- and then the next minute, sugar wouldn't melt in her mouth. ] This would not be any easier.

[ She doesn't recognize the language, but it could be slurred English for all she knows; Rebecca simply makes a note of it, laughing a little at the exasperation in his tone. ]

Maybe the fact that I'm not a doctor will help. I'd have to write on her to label which allergen was put where; maybe that'd be amusing?

[ He smiled at that, real and genuine, not cruel or half hidden away. ]

Mayhap. She likes games like that. It's easier to get her to do most things, if you are willing to play along. [ He could spend hours talking about Emily. ~~he may or may be not that dad that is like LET ME SHOW YOU BABY PICTURES. ALL OF THEM.~~ ]

I am sure you would do well with her. You are good with questions.

She's a kid. Most of the time there's no harm in playing along.

[ It's adorable. Rebecca is smiling with him, cheered by the conversation and his reaction to it, the change that comes over him when he speaks about Emily. ]

We'd make you go grey pretty fast if we teamed up, [ she teases, sipping at her drink again with a twinkle in her eye. ]

[ If he ignored the details, ignored the truth of it all, and pretended for awhile, like Rebecca was letting him do, he could be happy.

Reality would come later, as it always did, but he could be otherwise, for awhile. He could drink, and be calm, and enjoy himself. She'd come to talk to him, hadn't she? It felt less like the second hand loneliness he'd felt when he realized Max was gone. ]

You're a little late. She has a head start on you. [ He touched his temple, shifting the unruly brown hair that needed to be cut, and possibly brushed properly instead of the ponytail he tied it in. The feathering of grey that had already started there. ]

[ More laughter; Rebecca sets her drink down, leaning forward to take in the bit of grey. ]

Don't worry, it just makes you look distinguished.

[ It did, at that, whether Corvo needed a haircut or not. ]

[ His hand fell away. It was a struggle, to stay put when she lent closer, and he busied himself with pouring himself another drink, and the bottle was nearly empty.

Maybe that was as sign he should stop. But all the same he just drank more, it was starting to go down easier. ]

That's one word for it. [ a gruff grumble, muttered into his drink as he tilted his head back to drain it in one go.

When it was empty, he went to stand, to get another glass or bottle. It was a unpleasant realization to find the group lurch under his feet. His fingers gripped the edge of the table and he took a moment to steady himself. ]

It's the word for it, [ she retorts, frowning slightly. Of all the things to be insecure about, she supposed age made sense, if you were a soldier. Still.

The thought is shaken from her mind as Corvo sways and Rebecca raises both eyebrows, ready to stand in case she needs to keep him from falling face-first onto the floor. ]

I think you're drunk, Corvo. Maybe it's time to stop drinking, or get some water?

[ He closed his eyes, letting the world right itself, or at least attempt to.

He couldn't be out like this. This -- wasn't control, and he needed that, desperately. Bad enough she could tell.. He was in right enough state to pick somewhere to sleep, but he had to. She had the best intentions, he was sure, but he'd be too easy of a kill like this. Weapons or not. ]

I think I should go. [ Without saying she was right, or wrong, simply reach for his mask and sword. Ignoring how he almost fumbled with them both in his need to don them again.

Couldn't wear the mask, too limiting when his head swam like. Blast it, blast it how had he misjudged so badly? He'd drunk more than this before and nothing. Out, out now before he became too obvious in his lack of control. Of himself and his weapons. ]

[ She can recognize the signs of someone essentially staring to panic. Downing her drink in one gulp, Rebecca stands, moving closer -- but slowly, carefully, like approaching a frightened horse. ]

I don't think you should go anywhere alone right now.

[ Drunk, panicking, previously morose -- it's not a good combination. ]

Come with me; you can get your bearings in my room, where it's quiet.

[ Where no one will see you, where there's nothing to hurt you. ]

Rebecca --

[ He immediately wants to tell her to stop, and the tone in his voice is a warning. He doesn't need the help, not from her or anyone else. The words that never come out, are cruel and made to cut. To force her away so he could deal with it all better.

Even if she was right, and her offer was tempting. Some where small, closed off. Easily defensible. Might be better. Traps at the door and -- blast it, he wasn't in a state to lay down traps like that. Not now. He growled, under his breath and his fingers closed tightly around his blade pommel. Like it would give him some reassurance.

( and it shouldn't have, but it did. )

He can't say yes, but he stands, watching her back, swaying on his feet and desperately trying to keep still, waiting for her to do something -- and he may just follow. Mind still running over the chance of this being a trap, that she had let him drink so she could kill him easier. He could make up his mind, as they walked. ]

[ There's a pause. She waits for the rest of the words that never come; she knows a warning when she hears it. But they don't come, and after a moment she rolls her eyes and finishes closing the distance. ]

If you need to lean on me, you will. If nothing else, you can't let me walk back to my room alone, can you?

[ She offers her arm; be a gentleman, Corvo, and take it. ]

[ It's a mockery of a lord and lady, of good manners and what society would dictated. He knows it for what it is, what she's offering, and if he were a better man, he'd tell her the truth, that he wasn't fit for such things.

Never mind, a gentleman would never get this drunk in a woman's presence.

He could hear the mocking words of the Outsider, fingers smoothing in his hair saying things he didn't want to hear ( You don't have any honor left, do you Corvo? Is that why you do the things you do, do you think it will give it back to you? Give you back the poor dead Empress you failed? )

But those are a shades thoughts in his head, and mentally shakes himself to dispel them. Sometimes he thought, on this ship, that the void was going to open up under his boots and swallow him whole. Drag him down. It's a fear as real as any -- and it all could be a trick.

He takes her arm, because it's a life line, for all the reasons he'd never say. ]

You don't need me for this. [ She was more than capable. All the same, having her there made it easier to walk in a straight line. ]

I might, [ she retorts, even if it's true; she hardly had as much to drink as he did, and she's armed, now. Still, it is nice not to walk alone.

(God, but she misses having a team. Even when it was just her and Shaun, at least there was someone there. It was annoying, sometimes -- coordinating the bathroom sharing, especially -- but it was like having a family.) ]

[ It makes him frown, and he wants to protest. But it's pleasant, even if every so often, he half trips over his own feet. Fumbling to keep his balance and topple them both by mistake.

So he doesn't talk, he doesn't have anything to say. He just concentrates on putting own foot in front of another and making this as painless as possible for the both of them. He didn't need to make even more of a fool out of himself. ]

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