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]

"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?"