maskormenacelogs | I got blood on my hands // OPEN

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I got blood on my hands // OPEN

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]

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One of those residents comes immediately into view, impossible to miss (for now) thanks to his towering stature and Herculean build. No one has a right to look so chiseled in a sweater befitting a librarian, but this is Eli Ever, and he could be on the cover of a magazine exactly as he's posed right this moment.

He's leaning against the kitchen counter, studying an enormous tome spread open before him while coffee brews in a machine just to his left. When he hears the door open, he glances up and greets this new face with a brilliant smile. Though they've never met before, Eli looks like he's already decided he's made a friend.

"Coffee?" he offers, with a gesture to the nearly-filled pot.

Kaz stares at the tall, polished man standing affably in the kitchen and smiling brightly. He returns the expression with a flat look and tries to decide if he would be better served turning around and going out again. He's not sure how much cheerfulness he can stand right now, and it's likely poor form to break a new roommate's teeth.

Instead, he pushes the door shut behind him and the keys disappear into a pocket. Kaz shrugs out of his coat and hangs it up before he continues into the kitchen. He doesn't remove his sleek black gloves and he keeps his cane with him.

"Thanks," he says, far less acidic than the look he'd given upon entering. "Been a long day."

Kaz glances at the massive book open on the counter before his gaze flicks back to the man leaning over it.

"Mugs? Or are you willing to relinquish the entire pot to me?"

He could use it.

Kaz need not worry too much about the cheerfulness. The moment Eli reads that reaction, he smoothly changes course, adding a wry edge to his smile. He is not afraid of getting his teeth broken by a limping teenage runt, but it would be awful to start off on the wrong foot with a roommate.

Especially a roommate who so sharply reminds him of Victor.

Breezing over to one of the cupboards, Eli retrieves a mug for himself and another for the boy, then crosses back to pot. "Black?" he guesses as he fills Kaz's cup.

“Yeah,” he answers, voice coming out in a rough rasp. Kaz accepts the mug when it’s offered and leans his hip against the counter. It takes some weight off his leg. “So who are you?”

It occurs to him that accepting coffee from someone in a place like this may lead to another bout of unconsciousness. He thinks of the file with all his information and the fact that this is government housing. He’s starting to wonder if being knocked out and transported somewhere is how all governments start negotiations with criminals.

At least this time it hadn’t involved a drugged up tidemaker... that he knows of.

"Eli."

If there's poison in Kaz's coffee, that same poison is going into Eli's mug, because he turns to fill it without a second's pause. Then he sets the pot aside and resumes his leaning as he takes a slow and savoring sip.

"I live here, ostensibly. I assume you do, too? Or are you here to rob the place?"

“According to an overly cheerful military liaison, I also live here. I’m Kaz.”

The kitchen is decently appointed and the coffee smells good: far less bitter than he’s used to. He might be willing to fence whatever might fetch a profit, but he’ll at least wait a few days before he starts lifting government property.

“Is it just us?”

"No," Eli replies, and the tone of his voice suggests that's a shame. "There's an obnoxious blonde I've been cleaning up after and a woman who may or may not exist, as I've yet to encounter her. But I've only been here a couple days, myself."

Speaking of random nakedness, that's currently a thing that's happening right in the middle of the living room with no medical table in sight; simply a guy in his birthday suit practicing what appears to be tai chi—which might be a little weird to some, but seriously? This is pretty tame compared to a lot of the things Constantine does. Be grateful there's no chicken blood involved.

The urge to go right back out the front door is overwhelming. Instead, Kaz kicks it shut with more force than necessary and very deliberately shucks off his wool coat to hang it somewhere. The keys disappear into a pocket and Kaz limps his way further into the house, cane tapping on the floor as he goes.

"Is this going to a daily event?"

He would prefer the chicken blood.

Kaz reminds himself that he's lived in tighter quarters than this. At least at the Slat he had the entire attic to himself. An obnoxious blonde, a woman that may not exist. He has experience with that, at least.

"Have you been out in the city much?"

After only a brief detour, Kaz had come straight here. He'll take a few days to learn the lay of the land; he doesn't like being at this much of a disadvantage. He finally takes a sip of the coffee - still hot but the burn on his tongue is a nice reality check - and studies Eli. Where did they dig him up?

Kaz checks his pocket watch. He's leaning back against a wall just outside of the place he's chosen to eat and he knows he's early. He spent an hour yesterday talking to servers and kitchen staff out back while they took breaks in the cool air, learning all kinds of little tidbits. Through it all, he caught glimpses into the kitchen. Clean, efficient, no rancid smells wafting into the alley.

Ambiance and good food. Let it never be said Kaz fell through on a promise.

He's in a sharply cut suit with a wool coat to ward off the growing evening chill. The streets are still bustling but it's a far cry from the bright lights and loud crowds of the Barrel. Hawkers would be starting up on East Stave as tourists and soldiers unloaded from boats at Fifth Harbor; the windows in all the brothels in West Stave would pull back their curtains so potential patrons could decide where to spend their money.

Kaz slips the watch back into its appropriate pocket and lifts his head, watching the thinning crowd for a familiar face.

Considering that the chicken blood would be slathered all over John's naked body while he chanted magical spells, maybe not. This at least is a bit less messy.

He pauses, eyeing the newcomer.

"Every day's a good day to cultivate the life energy within us to flow smoothly and powerfully throughout the body, mate."

"Hey, hey. Be careful. You okay?"

The man Kaz ran into puts his hands out as if to steady them both. He's about six feet tall, dressed rather plainly in pale blue shirt and black trousers, but extra tattoos are peeking out from the side of his neck and on his fingers - astrological symbols, a cross and on his neck, an eight pointed star. It also may be noticed there's a police badge attached to the side of his belt.

Kaz keeps the blank look on his face. It sounds like a crock of shit. It sounds like something Nina would say while playing the grisha sage at the White Rose.

"I can't be held responsible for what happens to any part of you flopping around exposed," he says in a raspy deadpan. He sighs and pushes a gloved hand through his hair.

"Which rooms are open?"

By all that's holy he hopes the rooms are private.

Kaz backs away, putting weight into his cane to spare his leg. He notices the badge first. He goes from all sharp edges to something softer, more befuddled, and entirely polite.

"My mistake," he says, softening his raspy voice as much as he can. "I'm fine, thank you."

The tattoos make him curious; usually only gang members and sailors are that covered in his experience. They'll be easy to remember.

Ordinarily, Victor would keep his distance from most people, especially since separating himself from Syd and Mitch in Merit. But ordinarily, he isn't pulled into another version of the world with hopes they will be heroes of some kind.

Heroes. Hilarious.

What Victor does trust is his ability to identify like-minded people. Ambitious, dark creatures who will go to all lengths to get what they want. He can see that in Kaz Brekker. Plus, they share a break of twisted humour.

Striking a dark line through the crowd, Victor shows up on time. Suspiciously punctual, in fact, as he approaches their meeting point with an even, upright gait. It's hard to say if his eyes had been searching Kaz out among the other meandering bodies, but it almost seems like his eyes have always been locked on Kaz and it's hard to say from what distance he's managed to identify him from.

As he comes closer, Victor gives a slight nod in a greeting.

"I haven't kept you waiting too long, I hope."

"Do you need assistance with anything, sir?" There's professional politeness on his side too.

And it wasn't about the leg as much as the earlier seeming irritability.

Kaz pushes away from the wall when he locks eyes with Victor. He hasn't known many like-minded individuals and meeting Victor sparks something in him. Per Haskell wants to be king in a bygone era, everyone in the Dregs is getting by and picking up whatever flash they can and spending it just as quickly with few lofty ambitions. Kaz isn't interested in a little scratch: he has big plans and nothing, especially not anything as misguided as morality is going to get in his way.

"No, you're right on time. And I believe I promised you some ambiance," he says as he jerks his head at the building behind them. He turns and pushes the door open in a single, smooth motion.

The interior is warm, comfortable after the mid-autumn bite in the air outside. Kaz gives a name that isn't his own and they're shown to a quiet alcove, out of the way of foot traffic. He allows the hostess to take his coat but declines to take off his gloves and as she tends to Victor, Kaz settles into a terribly comfortable chair.

There is, in fact, a little votive candle in a glass holder in the middle of the table.

Kaz resists the urge to laugh when he's called sir. He lifts his eyebrow and wonders if its the suit. He's disappointed that he doesn't have a hat he can tip.

"Just getting to know my way around the city," he concedes. "I'm new here and it's taking a bit of adjusting. I got turned around."

He'd start off with a sir or ma'am for anyone. Just a courtesy.

"I've only been here about six weeks myself." He holds a hand out. "I'm Detective Loki." He sounds like that should be reassuring, knowing the law was around.

Some dude crashes into Kavinsky, who wheels aside, turning the energy of impact into kinesis the way that he was trained when Dr. Chilton hired a boxer to train him. He catches a look at the other man's face. Something's off about him, which is relatively standard for Maurtia Falls. And he likes that well enough. You don't come to the Falls if you want shit to look sunny and proper.

Kavinsky sizes him up on reflex. Up and down, height, weight, balance, something off about the latter. The hard look in his eyes.

The words come to him nearly as much on reflex, unmediated. An old habit. "Looking to score?" They're out of place on him now, a little. They used to make sense when he wandered around in a wife-beater and wore giant, bug-eyed sunglasses well into the evening, but the golf shirts and khakis are a different fit these days. On the other hand, there are different kinds of drug dealers too. And after all: it's Maurtia Falls. Even the career narcs wouldn't have enough time in the day.

Kaz actually laughs. The question isn't even out of place, not given what he's learned about the city so far, but it just pops out, as much a reaction to the collision as the other boy's quick recovery.

He leans into his cane as they size each other up. Kaz's clothes are well-tailored and staid, the suit half-hidden beneath an open wool coat. He cocks his head slightly.

"What are you selling?"

Jurda is the strongest drug Kaz has indulged in outside of caffeine and alcohol, mostly because he prefers to keep his senses sharp rather than dulled, and he has no interest in developing any expensive habits that someone could use against him.

But he might as well know what's on offer.

Edited 2019-10-15 22:39 (UTC)

Comparatively, when the woman comes to take Victor's coat he lifts a hand only to wave her away, and only removes the garment himself when there is no-one close enough to make contact with him before he folds it over one arm as they walk.

"That was something you promised, yes. And it seems that you're a man of your word."

His selective word, if he has any sense, which Victor does believe is the case.

Victor's eyes drift over the little candle settled in the center of the table and a soft breath of amusement presses through his nose. Evidently, if Mr. Brekker means to go for a punchline he goes all out. Victor can appreciate that.

"I'm surprised you'd already settled enough to find a little haunt to suit your tastes. Or is this the excuse to see if they're up to scratch enough to considered a haunt?"

A smile quirks his mouth. "No, it's the first place I found with an open back door," he answers. He stretches out his bad leg carefully and rests his cane against his hip. "This is a little too upstanding to be a regular haunt of mine."

Kaz lifts his gaze as menus are delivered. Rather than standing by and listing off specials, their waiter indicates the loose paper tucked into the menu and assures that he'll be back in a moment. He made it clear to the hostess earlier that he'd like to be disturbed as little as possible.

"How's Nonah?"

Out of a pile of rubble, in fact.

"I've been a little busy," Eli answers, with a gesture to the tome in front of him. Some kind of medical book, by the looks of the anatomical illustrations on its open pages. "I'm trying to get my license so I can practice medicine in this world. But I've been taking some time to go out every night. This city's more lively after dark."

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I got blood on my hands // OPEN

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