Thief+Dishonored Fics And Crossovers

Scar

For weeks after the accident at Northcrest manor, Garrett did a double-take every time he caught sight of his reflection. The scar was hard enough to get used to, jagged as it was, but the eye was something else entirely. It was so different from his normal brown one–a bright bluish-green that he was sure would get him caught or noticed. For weeks he avoided looking at it as much as possible. Until he couldn't anymore. It seemed so strange to see the evidence of something that must have been so painful and not remembering any of it. For a long while he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about it.

Not thinking about it was distinctly harder. Especially with his new abilities just making themselves known. But he did try. Thinking about it just upset him. He never asked for this. He never wanted this. He'd done just fine on his own without the Primal.

But truthfully he felt a little like he'd been used. With what little information he could find about the Primal, nobody seemed to know what it really was or what it was meant to be doing. Sometimes it sounded like the Primal had a life of its own, like it acted based on what it wanted. If that's really the case, then maybe he and Erin had both been used. But why? And for how long? Did everything in his life lead him to this? How many of his choices were his own? How much of his life? Had the Primal been waiting for him and Erin? Was that why he slept for so long? So that it could use him when it was most convenient? Was that some kind of act of mercy? If so, then why didn't Erin get the same treatment? The whole line of questions left him feeling like a doll sitting on a shelf, just waiting for someone much bigger to come pick him up and move him how they wanted.

It made him angry. He dares anybody to go through what he did and not be angry afterwards. Not just for himself though. He's angry for Erin too. He can't even imagine the pain she went through. The constant pain and being swept from one place to another and stuffed with drugs. All while he was sleeping. No wonder she was so angry. He can't muster any sympathy for the Baron or Orion either. Their squabbling almost brought the entire City down around everyone's heads. And for what? Power neither of them knew how to control.

He used to hate his new abilities. Once he discovered them, he refused to use them purely out of spite. He'd decided to ignore them like he was ignoring his scar. The idea of being forced to manage these abilities, and their symptoms, along with everything else: the memory loss, Erin's 'death', the lost time, all the questions. He didn't want any part of it.

And then, somewhere along the way while searching for Erin and running for his life, he found himself getting used to it. That familiar tingling buzzing feeling, like a shot of adrenaline, that once made him jumpy and uncomfortable had become familiar. Comforting, even.

He tries not to rely on it, of course. In his profession, laziness gets you killed and he has no intention of dying yet. In the rare cases he can't use the Primal, it's good to have his regular skills to fall back on. There's comfort in that too. The Primal can't just erase years worth of practice and experience.

He's learned how to deal with the Primal by now too. How to use it for more than simply looking around; now he can use it to move faster, more quietly, hear better and from further away. Despite all that, he doesn't have complete control, which is to be expected from something called the Primal. It kicks in on its own in very dark places or at sudden loud noises. He isn't sure why. Maybe it's reacting to some need or thought of his before he actually realizes it.

It's not inexhaustible, though. He learned that the hard way. Overuse tends to lead to eye and headaches and those get bad. Not to mention the fatigue and weakness it can cause. He was stuck in bed for four days once because he couldn't figure out poppy petals were the only thing that helped. He assumed they only worked during the Gloom because the Primal was so obviously associated with them and they kept cropping up around the City. For all he knew it was only those specific poppies. Taking care of himself helps too, but not as much as the petals. Regular food, water and sleep at least keep the weakness and fatigue from getting too bad.

Even with all the grief it puts him through, he still uses it. And sometimes it makes him feel better having a way to see threats coming early. One more line of defense in this city.