Set some time before the events of Dishonored. About two to three years. No Rat Plague, just the scum-of-the-earth aristocrats, the Whalers, and of course Thomas.

Secrets

It was a beautiful day outside—well, beautiful for Dunwall's standards. The sun was shining through the clouds, banishing the regular grey tint from the skies that day. Unfortunately for Thomas, he was stuck in doors. On the bright side he the building he was stuck in was the Golden Cat, it was not half as bad as he thought it would be. The Golden Cat was far better than any other brothel in Dunwall, arguably in all of Gristol. He ran his fingers down the waist of the girl on his lap, then settled on her hips and smiled mischievously. She only rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, that changed when he ran his fingers up her sides again. A hint of surprise, a smile reached her eyes. Even through her corset, he could feel her abdominal muscles coil and grow taut for a moment.

Whaddya' know? He looked at her for a moment and thought he caught the glimpse of a smile. She might actually be enjoying this. Alas, it only lasted a moment and the expression vanished. Instead of boredom, a hint of anger was in its place now. She looked like she was going to kill him. Luckily, the floorboards creaked ever so softly as a nobleman rounded the corner, looked around then entered a room a couple of girls entered not long after. A couple of Watchmen stepped in front of the door a mere moment later. Dunwall's own City Watchmen, probably paid off by the paranoid nobleman in the room. His reputation for irrational fears also meant that the Watchmen didn't take him seriously.

The girl distractedly looked back at the guards and turned back around to Thomas, "That him?"

"Reginald Carlton, looking over his shoulders and fidgety as ever." Thomas said, with an amused tone.

"Alright then. Get moving then, I feel… uncomfortable." The girl replied.

"Really, Quinn? You of all people?" Thomas said smiling. Quinn harrumphed, then moved off of him, kneeing him in the stomach at the same time. Thomas seized up, half in laughter, half in pain. Thomas smiled all the while and picked up his crumpled shirt and moved nonchalantly past the guards; like a man exhausted from sex, and disappointed at having to leave. The Guards paid little attention to him. They were tired, and more importantly, they were bored. Bored made you lax, it made you forget things, ignore things, open to distractions. And there were plenty of distractions at the Golden Cat.

His current cover meant no Whaler blades, no wristbows, just small fist knife in his boot, and garrote line hidden around his belt. It was enough, and if things went according to plan he would not even need them at all. Perhaps after this job, Daud would train him some more, grant him an ability or two other than the transversals. Give him some runes.

He pretended he was walking down the stairs, as soon as he was out of sight he blinked out the window. He put his shirt on and scaled the exterior of the Golden Cat—its lavish architecture lending him many handholds and footings. He moved around the building till he could see the balcony of Carlton's room to his right. There was a guard there, but that was going to change soon.

As if on cue, Quinn appeared on the balcony on the far right and yawned loudly and stretched. Carlton's guard was bored as expected—he instantly lit up when Quinn appeared. Thomas transversed over to the balcony, then opened the door-in less than a second he was inside.

Every man has his vice. He can be careful and overcautious, but find the right vice, and a man will lose himself. He recalled Daud's words, the words Daud used in training the novice but a year ago. Thomas moved swiftly, though the man was looking away, he could turn back at any moment and Thomas would need a miracle to get out.

There was bottle and a glass of half-drunk whiskey, Thomas pulled out a vial from his pocket and poured the clear fluid into the drink. The man was turning towards him—shite. Thomas dropped flat on the floor and rolled under the bed. The place stunk of sweat and other things better left unsaid. It was a while before Carlton finished. By then Thomas had had to shut off all his sensory faculties save his sight and hearing. The man didn't say many things—again his paranoia came into play. Slightly unusual, considering the bedrooms of pleasure houses were usually where everyone spilled their secrets. Didn't matter your gender, age, rank—in their eyes the women were just whores. Oh how mistaken they were. When they talked, the girls listened and then they remembered.

Madame Lucille was an intelligent one. She kept the girls taken care of, and in return they told her the secrets. At first she was frightened, all the information that ran through the Golden Cat scared her. From trivial opinions, to the scandalous gossip, down to state secrets. She had enough information to ruin the Empire, she just did not want to. That was when she came to Daud, who incorporated her into his network of spies and guaranteed her safety. Lucille loved her girls, that was why this operation was kept under a tight secrecy. Even from the girls themselves, due to Carlton's paranoia—that was where Quinn came in.

Thomas lay there under the tangle of flesh and sweat, and wondered if there was any more important information to find. There was none, other than the mention of the Diplomatic mission to Morley he was going to take in two days. But Thomas already knew that—it was the reason he was here. He was finally able to rest easy when he heard the man pick up the drink and finish its contents. And like that the mission was complete. In several hours the man would fall desperately sick, he would recover, of course. He had a collection of physicians he knew and hired often. Once again, due to his paranoia. However, in the end it appear as nothing more than a bad case of indigestion. He would get well in a week.

But he would miss that diplomatic trip.

The bed creaked as Carlton got up and got dressed, he called in the guards and then left soon after. The girls took a little longer to clean after themselves before they left. Thomas shifted under the bed and crept slowly towards the edge and lifted the curtains slightly.

Incoming footsteps, Thomas froze and slowly drew back into the shadows until, "Thomas?" the voice whispered.

Thomas rolled out from under the bed and climbed to his feet. Quinn looked down with an amused smirk. "Not a word to the crew." Thomas said though he knew she would still tell later on.

"My lips are sealed," she replied with the sarcasm he expected. He was dusting off his trousers and shirt when she asked, "Are those cufflinks yours?"

"I don't wear cufflinks," Thomas replied, still busy dusting himself off. Then he was taken by surprise when she grabbed him by the collar and threw him on the bed. She straddled him and attacked him with kisses. She began to undo his shirt and moan in fake pleasure. And as surprised as Thomas was, he did not look forward to stopping her. What the—oh well. He returned her kisses with a passion that was not so faked. It was when he heard the footsteps he understood, he kissed Quinn on the ear and started down the side of her neck to steal a look at whoever it was.

It was Carlton; coming to pick up the cufflinks he left behind and pretending that the scene in front of his wasn't happening. The man left quickly and Quinn's act ended abruptly. Thomas settled back, his hands not moving from her thighs. "Uhh, good thinking?" And it was, despite Quinn's unwillingness to agree. Awkward situations tend to be suppressed by the mind. Carlton would probably think them improper but would soon want nothing but to forget he ever witnessed them.

Quinn only harrumphed and got to her feet, no doubt with memories of her own she wished to suppress. The two walked briskly to the secondary stair case, and down to the basement. Where Quinn picked up the rest of her clothes and then they left via the back exit towards the docks. Jenkins was there assuming the role of boatman.

"Thomas," Quinn said coldly, "Not a word. To anyone."

"Not a word about the whole under the bed thing?" Thomas said with playful tone.

"Done." Quinn said with a deadly tone.

"Done."

Jenkins threw away his cigarette when he saw them approach and started up the boat's engine. "Nothing interesting, I assume?" he asked as the pair stepped in.

Thomas looked back at Quinn and smiled, "A couple of unexpected turns," He saw Quinn neck muscle tense and gaze turn to knives, "But nothing to worry about."

Quick note/trivia: the title given to this collection of stories comes from Hamlet. If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart/Absent thee from felicity a while,/And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain/To tell my story. Gotta' love Hamlet.