I got blood on my hands // OPEN

[roughworkdone]

WHO: Kaz Brekker + YOU
WHERE: Porter cities
WHEN: Arrival + days after
WHAT: There's no mingle/swearing in this month so come meet this asshole.
WARNINGS: Kaz warnings + opt out; updated as necessary



I. Maurtia Falls

A. RESIDENCE 007 - closed to housemates
Kaz is not having a good day.

Waking up naked on a medical table with a new tattoo has put him in a particularly foul mood, as has the news that he's been dragged-- somewhere he's never even heard of, to do a job that he's not particularly inclined to do. Hero. Do they even know who the fuck they caught? Any of the other five people he'd been with would have been more suitable heroes than Kaz Brekker. They all might be inclined to lean into the role, too. He wants nothing to do with it.

He's been standing outside of the building he's been assigned to live in for a long time, leaning on his crow's head cane. His suit and the dark wool coat he's wearing over it are sharply tailored, accenting the angles of his body. He needs a new hat, but one thing at a time. At least he has his gloves back. He reaches over to rub the mark on his arm, opposite the Dregs tattoo.

Eventually the cold gets the better of him and he limps up to the door, the keys he'd been given appearing in hand so that he can open it. There are other people living here, he's been told that much. Can't be worse than the Slat.

B. Out and About
Kaz adjusts the scarf around his neck as he makes his way down a quiet sidewalk. The cold snap has his leg aching sharply but it doesn't slow him down, even if it should. Maurtia Falls has strange echoes of Ketterdam everywhere, including a canal. When he's feeling particularly contemplative, Kaz leans on a rail and watches the water. He hasn't been here long, but he's found this particular city to his liking: they aren't as frenzied about imPorts here and that suits him.

He ducks down an alley, partially to get out of sight but also to cut some time off his trip. He isn't afraid of anything that might be lurking there. If anyone thinks they'll take advantage of this poor cripple, they have another thing coming. He's been feeling particularly murderous: he doesn't appreciate waking up somewhere completely naked and on a medical table with a new tattoo and-- whatever else they'd done to him. He's been pointedly not thinking about it. On top of that, he can't leave. He has things waiting for him in Ketterdam: plans, a haul, revenge. Inej. No, he tells himself. She isn't waiting for him or for anyone. Nor should she.

Kaz hasn't allowed himself time to sulk, however. Though the bird sanctuary gives him something to do, he wants to find a gambling den that will hire him. He's a good dealer - the best - and they'll lose a lot of money if he ends up on the other side of the table. That's how he made scratch in his early days in Ketterdam, until he was banned from the tables in every single gambling house in the Barrel. In his short time here, he's paid attention. He's learning which cops are on the payroll and which ones are better avoided, the vague territories that gangs or businesses always sketch out. He needs to build his reputation all over again and Dirtyhands will do well in Maurtia Falls, one way or another.

He thinks, briefly, of the last time he'd been new to a city like this. That boy died in the harbor and Kaz will never let himself sink that low again.

With a quiet huff, he shakes off the memory of Jordie. Kaz forces himself to pull up short as he comes out on another open street and nearly slams into someone.

"Watch it," he growls.

II. De Chima

A. Shopping
Kaz has been told - though he never asked - that De Chima is the place to go for shopping. His tastes are specific and he might as well see what the city has on offer. That, and he wants to familiarize himself with getting from city to city. Maybe it will bother him less the more he does it.

He wanders the shopping district, mostly looking at window displays for now. He doesn't exactly have a large disposable income. He should probably find something easy to wash, something he wouldn't be upset about getting bird shit on. He's not exactly sure what an assistant at a bird sanctuary does but he has a feeling it involves getting dirty. That's fine, though he wonders who the hell assigns these jobs and what criteria they use. It's been years since he had to take care of any animals, other than the rats that live in the walls of the Slat.

Mannequins dressed in sharp, three-piece suits draw his attention. They aren't so different from what he's wearing now beneath his wool coat. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as his eyes drift from the staid black-and-gray to a more flashy red-and-gold. Not enough patterns to be considered Barrel flash, it looks like it could be a uniform in one of the gambling dens or brothels. He looks back at the more reserved colors and shifts to stand in front of it. He starts wondering about the security in these places and decides to have a look inside. Technology is more advanced here than he's used to, but that certainly won't be a deterrent.

B. Drinking
After some window shopping and casing a few of the shops, Kaz limps into a bar. He needs a drink. Several. A bottle would be perfect but he has no intention of getting drunk where anyone can see him, never mind a pack of strange people in a strange city.

As soon as he settles at the bar, someone asks, "Are you an imPort?" with excited overtones. Kaz lifts an eyebrow.

"Yeah." He's willing to see where this is going.

"Let me buy you a drink!"

"Kind of you," he says, and the person waving down the bartender doesn't seem to notice the dripping sarcasm or just isn't concerned by it. Kaz orders his drink and watches intently as the bar tender makes it.

"Hey, you know, I'm a doctor here. I work in one of the hospitals. I saw you limping and--"

Kaz's dark eyes snap back to his patron. "No," he says flatly. "I'm not interested in hospitals or doctors."

"But we could--"

"No."

His drink arrives and Kaz lifts it in a silent toast before he pushes away from the bar. He'll find somewhere else to sit.

III. Wildcard

[Surprise me. If you want to plot something out, I'm at givemedragons]

Comments

[strikesthrough]

"And I suppose if you have yourself threaded into the streets of Ketterdam then locale becomes far more vital. When you carry your projects on your back, the location you're in doesn't matter, as you say."

Settling back into his chair, Victor rests his arm across its back as he gives an unimpressed shrug.

"A New Age Bookshop clerk. Which is both ridiculous and a vaguely insulting. How did they casually slap you in the face?"

[roughworkdone]

"Particularly vital," he admits.

Kaz lifts his eyebrows. He's never heard of a new age bookshop and he's vaguely concerned about asking, particularly because he's trying to determine what Victor would find insulting given what he knows.

"Assistant at Sunny Skies Bird Sanctuary," he says with a dry smile. "Must have been my sunny disposition that made them think it would fit."

He pauses a moment, then asks, "What exactly is a new age bookshop?"

[strikesthrough]

"I don't doubt. Or perhaps they thought you'd deal with birds better than people."

Something Victor can relate to--the prospect of his line of work doesn't precisely thrill him and he's far from a social creature.

"New Age books tend to focus around a spiritual beliefs that sprung up a few decades ago. They revolve around a lot of nonsensical beliefs like the power of crystals, or spirits, or energy. Not really something people of science and logic have a tremendous amount of time for. Do they have the term 'hippies' in Ketterdam?"

[roughworkdone]

Kaz has no idea what he was expecting, but Victor's description makes his dark brows creep higher in vaguely horrified skepticism. It sounds like a con shop someone might run in the Barrel, replete with Suli jackal masks, crystal balls, and all manner of cards meant to tell fortunes. The kind of place that Inej hated for making the spiritual practices of her people a costume. It makes him think of some of the magicians practicing on East Stave.

"No, I can't say that we do. It sounds like the kind of place that exists to separate people looking for certainty from their money."

He thinks of Nina's grisha sage act, the way it utterly vanishes when she sheds the cheap recreation of a kefta. People pay her to temporarily relieve their emotional burdens, but there is nothing she can do to make that permanent, in the same way that a bunch of cards can't foretell the future any more than they can change the past.

"It sounds like a con."

[strikesthrough]

If there’s something Victor appreciates in company, it’s intelligence. He doesn’t need to see evidence of being highly educated or signs of genius, just the ability to keep up, show keen awareness, and demonstrate an ability to put two and two together.

Kaz’s bluntness earns no immediate change in Victor. In fact to anyone happening by he may look like he’s disapproving, though after a moment a slow, pleased smile emerges across his cooled features.

“Exactly. It’s a con around emotions and a false sense of security. People want anything to make them feel less adrift and helpless. I’m fact, they’re often considered New Age religions and they’re just as good at getting the faithful to hand over their cash and is exactly as much value for money.”

As if he’s reading Kaz’s earlier thoughts, Victor shakes his head and says, “Clearly someone in the government programme has a poor sense of humour.”

[roughworkdone]

Promises of security and certainty are the easiest ones to play, as is the fact that most people will take a shortcut if it's offered to them. A sure-thing business scheme, a tip on a hot casino, a product that will take away pain or confusion or bring clarity.

He thinks of Inej's saints, Matthias's Djell. Mystical, long-dead people offering protection or luck; a talking tree. Kaz doesn't trade in certainties, and he doesn't look to anyone but himself to get things done.

"A poor sense of humor, or they're trying to make some kind of point. At least I don't have to deal with the kind of people that would patron a New Age bookshop. If you pay me to hang around outside, I think I could scare most of your customers away."

He thinks of the girls Victor managed to floor when they first met.

"Then again, I've seen that you can handle yourself."

[strikesthrough]

"You think you've seen," Victor corrects casually, his attention still very much fixed on Kaz even with his body positioned in a way that would make it easy for him to shift his focus to almost any corner of the restaurant.

"But if you did want to come browse some examples of the fine literature available, the store seems to be going through a quiet patch of late," he shrugs, "Can't imagine why that would be."

With a slight paused, Victor's arms move pointedly to Kaz's leg. He simply observes for a long moment, then with an small upward jerk of his head, he asks, "What happened to your leg?"

He can tell there's discomfort there, frayed nerves that he could pluck at and twist in one way or the other, but it'd be rude to cause pain on a first date without being asked.

[roughworkdone]

"One minute you had a gaggle of girls cooing over you, the next they were on the ground." Kaz shrugs. "But far be it from me to assume. Maybe they tripped."

His sardonic smile lingers as Victor offers the invitation. He might suddenly find himself in need of-- crystals, or something. He is curious. Something behind his expression shifts when Victor gestures toward his leg.

"I broke it," he answered helpfully. "Dropping down off a roof. The bone didn't set right."

It wasn't exactly a secret: he'd planned a bank robbery, his entire crew knew what happened. They got away with fifty thousand kruge, and for his trouble, Kaz broke his leg. It has given him pain ever since. Most days it's a dull awareness in the back of his mind. Others, especially if the weather is damp, every step is sharp and jarring.

[strikesthrough]

The college girls hardly exist in Victor's mind. He remembers them when their image is provoked, though in the grander scheme of things he just doesn't have a lot of time to spend on them. Especially not when there are more pressing matters.

"Does it hurt?"

Victor knows it must hurt, possibly that the pain fluctuates depending on external conditions and how much Kaz is called to put pressure on it, but there's a difference between what is said and what is in the flesh.

[roughworkdone]

Kaz tips his head.

"You're the doctor, what do you think?"

It isn't something he generally discusses. The leg broke, everyone knows that Kaz is a cripple (though only idiots think that has slowed him down), and pain is never part of the conversation. Most people don't ask; they either know the story or they've heard other rumors about why Dirtyhands walks with the crow's head.

[strikesthrough]

"I think it could probably be worse, but yes, I suspect it does."

It's worth noting though, as far as Victor is concerned. Considering the deal he struck with Dominic before, it's always worth having someone with chronic pain in his pocket. Though he would admittedly prefer what happened to Dominic to become a trend.

"Did you have abilities before being dragged here?"

[roughworkdone]

"I'm an excellent magician," he says dryly. "But no. Nothing like people here seem to have."

The question gives him pause, though, and he lifts a sharp, dark brow.

"Did you?"

Kaz is accustomed to the idea of grisha and so the possibility that people have what appear to be unnatural abilities doesn't particularly throw him off.

[strikesthrough]

"Is that a euphemism for making problems vanish, for the right price?"

Victor gives Kaz a mild look, measuring his possible answers before giving a sharp shrug.

"Only the ability to make young women go from swooning to crying in an instant."

And, technically speaking, he could manage that before he became an EO.

[roughworkdone]

He huffs a quiet laugh. "A marketable skill in a place like this." It puts him off his mild interrogation for now, but he won't forget what he saw any time soon.

In answer to Victor's question, Kaz plucks up his fork. He makes a small show of gesturing to it and then deftly makes it vanish.

"No," he answers. "I'm particularly fun in card games and on crowded streets."

[strikesthrough]

Really, Victor has to hand it to him, that's some pretty smooth misdirection. It's the sort of skill that can go various ways and ultimately comes down to a lot of practice to make it seem as though nothing is actively happening.

There are some magicians who try and pretend those hours of practice are indeed magic and it's the kind of attitude that Victor doesn't much care for. He likes to know how things work and understands that most things do have an explanation behind them, even the so-called supernatural.

Kaz doesn't even try and instead holds up that cool confidence that Victor is coming to appreciate more and more.

"You're going to struggle to eat your meal with just a knife."

He smiles faintly.

"And I don't doubt you've come away with more than you've put down on more than a few occasions. I suspect if you weren't good at that then someone would have snapped the lid of the cookie jar down on you. But from the looks of it, so far all your fingers in tact."

[roughworkdone]

"Some people see magic tricks and marvel. They clap their hands, turn over their money, and are thrilled to have seen some wonder. Others might go home after, toss and turn at night, wondering exactly how the trick was done. But after a good rest, they forget and move on." Kaz makes another quick, effortless gesture, and the fork appears between his fingers again. "Then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they're the kind who won't rest until they've mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves."

He shrugs and sets the fork down where it belongs. A faint smirk ticks his mouth when Victor mentions cookie jars. He hasn't been arrested since he was fourteen and he has no intention of breaking that streak now.

"So far," he says as he lightly drums his gloved fingers on the table.

Kaz pauses their conversation as someone reappears to quietly take their orders, to make wine recommendations. After that's settled, their menus and the waiter disappear and they're left alone.

[strikesthrough]

"But the same can't be said for the leg," he muses with an idle kind of air that could have just as well have been a comment on clouds rolling in across the sky or mentioning that dinner smells good while cooking.

Everyone has their sensitivities, places of weakness both physical and mental, sometimes the two and interlinked. Victor can't say for sure how deep the trauma of Kaz's limb goes, but he's also not trying to tug all that information out at once, just flag his awareness.

"And what kind of member of the audience do you think I might be? You picture me tossing and turning at night over card tricks?"