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He should’ve expected as much. He is a holy man, a guide for the people. As a shepherd to an aimless flock, he was virtually honor bound to keep them on the path of non-heresy and corruption.
“Overseer Martin.”
If one would have told him years ago he would join the Abbey, he would’ve laughed in their face. A former heretic leading a life free of heresy; he basks in the irony.
“Overseer Martin! See, this is dumb.”
“Shut up and just do it.”
He should’ve expected it. He did expect it. He just didn’didn't expect it to happen during the middle of the night.
Shocked gasps are emitted as Martin sits up in his bed. The sources of said gasps scrambled backwards as if he is the plague in human form. His voice is level under the layer of sleep when he speaks. “Is there something I can help you with?”
The intruders, two figures clad in black, compose themselves by standing upright and facing him. “We need spiritual guidance, overseer.” There are a few inches of height between them, he notes. The shorter one seems twitchy and fidgets with the mask covering his face.
Martin could be sleeping right now. “Spiritual guidance? Do you two know what time it is?” Surely whatever moral crisis they needed consulting for could wait until daylight hours.
“We do,” the taller one answers smoothly, “but my brother here doesn’t know how to let things go. He’s a worrying type of guy.”
The shorter one shuffles his feet, boots scuffing softly against the floor. It is this movement which triggers Martin’s sleep-addled mind into motion. These two men seem familiar, with their masks and dark clothing and quiet movements.
“…Whalers.”
The two intruders nod silently. “Assassins needing moral guidance; there’s something new.” The situation would probably be funnier if the sun was up. What were his boyfriend’s minions doing here? “Might I trouble you two for names? You did wake me up, it’s the least you could do.”
The taller one takes a tentative step forward; a soft step, as if he’s testing the water. “I’m Kieran Morris, this is my brother Dyland.” The shorter one nods behind his brother but stays in his area.
“We’re not here about killing people, overseer.” Dyland pulls and strangles his fingers as he talks.
A weird habit, Martin muses, but one that can’t be helped. “Then what are you here for?” Because really, he could be sleeping.
Kieran steps to the side so that Martin has a full view of his brother. Dyland’s shoulders droop as his hands drop to his sides. With a deep breath he says, “I am considering being unfaithful to my girlfriend.”
And Martin almost slaps himself in the face. This fidgety thing can’t keep it in his pants? He'd never seen a bigger contradiction than when he’d joined the Abbey. “And how long have you had this urge?”
“For over a month, sir.”
“Have you acted on it?” This is ridiculous.
“No sir.” That saves him the trouble of a long winded sermon. Good job Dyland.
“Remember the Sixth Stricture, Dyland.” The boy nods. “Restrict the wanton flesh. Uncontrolled desire will get you nowhere but will lead you into the arms of the Outsider. Give in to your carnal temptation, and you will walk into a life of sorrow and ruin.”
Dyland moves next to his brother. “Then what should I do?”
“Fornicate with your girlfriend. She is the one you have devoted your life to and the only one who should receive such attentions.”
The short one’s boots shuffle again. “But what if I do not feel as attracted to her as I once did?”
“Then go your separate ways and do not act on your temptations.” Martin watches the young whaler consider the advice. It’s too early for this.
“Should we, my girlfriend and I, try new things when we…fornicate?”
Martin sighs lowly, “That is something you would have to discuss with her.” Because there is only so far he will go in talking about some scrawny whaler’s sex life. Kieran shuffles his weight from one foot to the other.
Dyland rubs his gloved hands together while he processes the information. He glances to Martin then his brother, shoulders high. “Okay, thank you for the advice Overseer Martin. I didn’t know who else to go to.”
In the blink of an eye the whaler brothers are gone and Martin is alone in his dark room, wide awake. He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. The very powers those whalers have go against everything Martin is supposed to stand for. Heretics asking for spiritual advice, it sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. He settles himself to resume his slumber.
They could've’ve at least apologized for waking him.
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The second time it happens, the wax in the candelabra has barely finished hardening.
“I don't mean to be rude Overseer, I just have a question.”
Here we go again. After he breathes a quiet sigh into his pillow, he takes his time in sitting up because he wasn’t sleep to begin with. When he turns to the edge of the bed, a worried young face greets him. The man’s mask hangs from his belt and he’s knitted his eyebrows into a frown.
“How did you know to seek me out?” Martin asks as the man looks at him. He’s got a hunch but he’d rather have the truth than go off a wild prediction.
“Well uh, two of the men I work with referred me.” Of course they did.
Martin heaves another sigh before he speaks. “Very well. What are you having problems with?”
The young man hesitates before he answers; piecing together words he wants to say. “Sometimes I find my mind wandering to things I wish not to dwell upon.”
“What sorts of things?”
“Dark things.”
Martin sits back against the headboard with crossed arms to consider the youth before him. He’s hunched over his knees, looking as though he’s trying to draw into himself. He must be new. “Dark thoughts such as killing?”
“Among others.”
“And you’ve got a moral code.”
“My father was an Overseer.”
Martin smirks in the dark. Such alike they were, this whaler and he, to be two individuals on one rigid path only to drastically change to another. A heretic becoming a holy man and a holy man becoming a murderer. Life is funny that way.
“Remember the Seventh Stricture. Restrict an errant mind before it becomes fractious and divided. You will do no good to your work if you persist in this thinking.”
“But how do I do that?” The man clenches his fists. Martin isn’t scared. “I’ve never taken a life in all my days. Do I just, give up my home values?”
“No. With your mind running away from you like this, you’re only making it easier for the Outsider to corrupt you. You don’t have to give up your morals, only find a compromise.”
“I’d still be taking lives that I’ve no ownership over.”
“Kill humanely, make that your common ground. Take out assassination targets as swiftly and painlessly as possible.”
The youth before him seems to consider his words. Martin taps a finger against his bicep and stifles a yawn. He should be sleeping. The other man heaves a wary sigh before
standing, reaching for the mask at his belt.
“Thank you Overseer, I will mull over your advice.” His voice is low and Martin’s convinced that the man isn’t entirely sold on his spiritual guidance. Whatever.
If he takes the advice or not isn’t Martin’s concern. It’s late and he’s got sermons in the morning and he’d rather not hear Overseer Riles’ voice berating him for being late for morning service. He needs all the sleep he can get to muster up the energy to deal with those assholes he calls ‘brethren’ at the Abbey.
His dreams that night are filled with whalers killing Overseers with socks and pillows.
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The third time it happens, he’s getting ready for bed. The whaler, named Jessiah, comes in through his window while he’s changing into his night clothes. He threatens to shoot the man but the assassin throws his head back and laughs.
The sound grates on Martin’s nerves and his ears.
He growls out a rough “What do you want?” to which Jessiah removes his mask and laughs harder. The whaler calms himself after a few minutes and asks if one’s wandering gaze could lead to temptation of the wanton flesh, to which Martin replies “Yes, in certain instances.” Jessiah replies with “Cool” and retreats out the window he came in through.
Martin sleeps with his pistol under his pillow that night.
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The fourth time it’s the son of the Overseer, Tobias. He’s calmer than he was during his first visit, Martin notices. Tobias’ visit was to let Martin know that his advice worked and then he’d gone into graphic detail about a few of his mercy kills that Martin could’ve went without knowing, really.
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By the sixth incident (Jessiah again), Martin’s pretty sure that word is going around the whaler ranks that he’s some sort of spiritual advisor. He’s an overseer so he is but arguing semantics won’t solve anything. The questions have gotten weirder (“Jessiah, grabbing body parts of women will not calm restless hands, stop asking me that.”) and he wonders if it would really hurt if the Outsider did corrupt a few of these young men.
Overseer Riles’ voice floats into his head, yelling about not letting any sheep of their flock go astray. He wills it to shut up but it only grows louder.
It vanishes only once he starts imagining Tobias strangling Riles to death with a pair of trouser socks.
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By the tenth whaler visit, a quiet guy named Marco, Martin resolves to nip the problem at the source.
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The Flooded District still looks the same as it had when it was in its prime. Whenever that was.
Martin has resolved that yes, he is going to tell Daud exactly how he feels about his little gang of void-enhanced killers coming to him for moral guidance. He just needs a way to say that without making it sound like he doesn’t like his lover’s little gang of void-enhanced killers. He knows how protective Daud is of his men, even though he never admits it.
He doesn’t know when he started choosing his words around Daud, because he’d never done it around others before. He’s always been a smooth talker, always had his way with words, but with Daud it’s different. Maybe it’s the intimidation factor, Daud makes an imposing figure when he’s standing at his full height and face schooled into a stoic expression; or maybe he’s simply smitten with the man and gives a shit about his feelings.
Who even says ‘smitten’ anymore?
As he approaches the hideout of Daud, he finds the man standing out on the boat dock waiting for him. The little two-person boat he’s riding in pulls in slowly, the young boatman’s face wary as he does so. Martin pays him no mind, Horace has always been suspicious of Daud ever since he’d ferried Martin to the assassin hideout the first time.
Daud is waiting with arms crossed over his chest when Martin exits the boat. The arms stay crossed even as Martin crosses the dock, takes him by the face and kisses him soundly on the lips. A long whistle sounds from behind them and Martin realizes that they aren’t alone. He didn’t even notice the whalers standing behind their leader, how smitten is he?
They separate and Daud’s mouth is pulling up into a smirk. “To what do I owe this visit?” He asks as he heads inside. Martin and the few whalers outside follow.
“I have the feeling that you know why I’m here.”
“Enlighten me.”
Daud leads the little group into the main room of the hideout. Maps and pictures are plastered to one wall far off from the main doors of the room, and the windows reach from the midst of the walls all the way to the ceiling. The room is dark, save for the natural light the windows are letting in, and Martin likes it.
“It seems that your whalers have chosen me as their spiritual council.”
“Is that right?” Daud dismisses his men with a wave of his hand, leaving him and Martin alone.
“And they’ve chosen the oddest times of night to seek it.”
“And why would they do that?”
“They’re your men, you should know.”
Daud chuckles as he moves to his desk next to the wall with the posters. “They might be under my command but what they do with their free time is none of my concern.”
Martin scoffs. “When their free time shenanigans interfere with my sleeping schedule, it should be of your concern.”
Daud fixes him with a look, it borders between confusion and agitation. “They come to you while you’re sleeping?”
“Yes and I’d appreciate it if you made them stop.”
A long silence stretches between them, a contemplative silence. Martin stands with his hands on his waist, while Daud shuffles some papers on his desk. He hates it when Daud
does this, these impromptu silences. The man himself looks up from his desk and catches Martin’s eye.
“How often do they come?”
“Often enough.” And really, that should be enough for him to do something.
Daud steps out from behind his desk and crosses the room in Martin’s direction. The overseer stands his ground as his lover walks over to him in strong strides. He reaches him and they stand there in front of each other, gazes locked and breath mingling. Daud breaks the silence once again.
“And what do you want me to do about it?”
Martin doesn’t get to respond before Daud’s mouth is over his own.
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A few weeks later finds Martin in his room, getting ready for bed. His little talk with Daud had been successful and he’d had no mysterious black-clad nighttime visitors. A big relief on his part because he’d been able to return to his overseer duties with no worries.
Martin gets comfortable under his covers and settles in to go to sleep. He’s halfway asleep when he senses someone enter his room. He sits up to confront his intruder but hands quickly grab him and push him back into the mattress.“I’m not here for advice, Overseer.” A husky voice breathes into his ear. A shiver slides down his spine and he swears his heart speeds up.
Assassins and their morals.