[ a good thing we’ve both cultivated a talent for the impossible, whether that’s a dekappel or a saintly forgery, the deftness of mind and hand required to replace the real thing with a lovely fake.
the girl holds his gaze, unflinching, as if she truly has no fear of the dark. either a fine actor honed on the stage or a braver heart than ketterdam’s usual little birds. she certainly possesses a cleverer tongue than the other potential feints, twisted as they were into knots by his presence and probing questions. he notes that even if she weren’t shu, she speaks kerch like she learned it in school, so it’s unlikely she’s a born canal rat. to be expected, when most grisha claim ravkan as their native tongue, foisted upon them by their teachers at the little palace regardless of their origins.
when she fans out her cards, his eyes flicker down and back, the only tell of his decision to close the distance between them, cane glinting sharp as he edges toward the light of her vanity. his limp proves measured and steady. in moments, the uneasy set of her brows confirms a restrained approach was the correct call. he knows that look, chasing talk of business — though he’s certain his haunting presence is no comfort — it’s one he had himself, after being first conned out his money, his brother, his life. not just anger but its aching sibling, shame. the shadow of something undefinable passes over his features. good, he tells himself, ignoring the pang in his chest. better that she knows what it mean to lose. ]
You’re right about Ketterdam. [ the rough burn of his voice, undeterred by her warnings. ] She’ll always find a way to make you bleed a little more. [ this is one area where his reputation fails to serve him, aligned with all that kerch citizens fear. dirtyhands never needs a reason, not to break a contract or an arm, to shatter hope or end a life. a creature too jagged to be trusted, lest you cut yourself on one of his hard edges.
layering his hands over the crow’s head of his cane, he stops arms-length from the cards, leaving her just out of his reach. distance is a means of protection, both for and against her. kaz chooses not to hide how he studies her. just as striking up close, where he can see her youth beneath the paint and see through the stones obscuring her dark eyes. not the sort of imitation gem that dulls under scrutiny. possibilities spark and whir in his mind. ]
[ mildly, as one might report the weather. ] I’ve spent the better part of the week meeting with glittering pawns. [ a one-handed magician’s flourish. ] You can verify that with Irina at the White Rose [ the heartrender would be delighted to speak ill of him. ] and Yekaterina at the Geldrenner Hotel, Room 23. If you like. [ the tidemaker who’d been too nervous to hear his pitch to the end. he waits, then, for that information to settle between them. his lips turn up a little on either side. neither like him much, so he’s certain they’ll provide the appropriate warnings. ravkans and grisha have networks of their own in ketterdam, too, though some individuals choose to remain apart. ]
But I’ve need of a crow, not a pigeon. [ he reaches out with one hand slowly, two gloved fingers tapping the rightmost card, and retracts his arm at a similar pace. both hands rest at ease on his perch once more, frightfully still. ] And no one has ever accused me of generosity, besides. [ a heartbeat of consideration. he cants his head to left, peering at her sideways like a bird. ] What do you know of the Dregs?
[ more of a sincere question than a test of her knowledge, though there’s an element of the latter to everything he says. it won’t do to make an ill-formed bargain; that's all. ]
[ as steadily as kaz brekker takes flight across the terrain between them, alina's fingers glide toward the gilded edge of that hairpin. a fumbling tool, a last measure toward self-preservation, for a girl designed to be weaponized — not to hold one in her grip. it nestles there easily, all the same. at home in her possession, unrefined but well-practiced in fending off carrion that come to pick at the vulnerable tears in her heart, from schoolyard bullies to hidden heretics. refracting flickering gaslit flames, as though light itself will exorcise the darkness dirtyhands has summoned into the room.
that's the thing about crows, alina muses. they only arrive at your doorstep to carry bad omens, or to pick apart what's left of you. her eyes narrow into skeptical slits, regarding him where he perches nearby. watchful, waiting for her to join his flock. unfortunately for him, she's done letting others choose the color of her feathers.
if only that sense of belonging wasn't still so great of a temptation, still. if only letting another paint her as they please wasn't a guarantee to fit somewhere, anywhere, without the risk of being turned away when their forgeries of her chip away to reveal the true colors beneath. for a moment, she nearly craves being caught, that yawning hunger behind her ribs unhinging its jaws after she's starved it with loneliness for so long. slowly, she draws in a breath and then loosens it, the rise and fall of her chest expelling that insane want. ]
I've survived worse cuts than anything Ketterdam could give me. [ a stubborn tip to her jaw — the reappearance of an old habit, when staring down a challenge. how much more could it leech from her, when she's already bled for another man's profit? ketterdam, at least, has never disguised its intentions by wrapping them up in pretty packaging. she thinks of the void of nothingness once the darkling's mask of beauty had splintered, lets her eyes roam over the lines of kaz's expression with hesitating curiosity. if he wears a false face, it's too neatly stitched into the skin for her to find the seams. ] It's ambitious men that worry me.
[ but there is a thread she can follow up to the gleam in his eyes — scheming, certainly, and hope entombed within those plans. but what catches her eye is the shining sign of humanity in the wondrous way he beholds her. her, not a saint propped on her golden pedestal. just a nobody girl hiding her shine in ketterdam's dark corners. cautiously, she relaxes her grip, though she isn't so daring to uncoil her fingers from the blunt, jeweled end of her hairpin.
a contrast to the snort that leaves her as her gaze darts to his waving hands — the only quick movement he's done, as if he thinks so highly of himself that he could spook her into fleeing — and lingers there. if criminal enterprise fails him, he has quite the dramatic flair for showmanship. a flash of white teeth catch at her lip, a thoughtful slide against the skin, as she finally turns her focus to his chosen card. she flips it over carefully to reveal its face, decorated by the ripple of a boat along a canal. alina's slim fingers trace over the six swords embedded within its wooden planks, the back of a woman's head turned toward her. the line of her brow furrows. ]
I know the Dregs control the Fifth Harbor, and that you've made plenty of enemies. [ an understatement, mumbled toward the card in question. a tilt of her head brings a sweeping brush of dark hair forward, skating over its corners. ] And now I know you've been searching for Grisha, for whatever reason.
[ yekaterina. irina. names she's only heard in passing, determined to give any grisha network a cautious berth. there's no promise they aren't little birds that will return to aleksander's shoulder with news of her if she drifts too close. ]
Most of all, I know enough to stay away. [ her brow arches, pointed. dryly, ] I'm more like a duck than a crow, anyway. Little, but surprisingly aggressive for its size.
[ unbidden, he wonders how much alya has lost to the ravkans and other con artists. when she says ambitious men, kaz thinks he has an idea. there are monsters of a different kind than him, brazenly striding in the daylight. creatures like pekka rollins and the wolves in merchers’ clothing who control the council. without meaning to, kaz traces the taut line of her jaw and the tight curl of her clenched hand, loosening in increments. grisha are made weapons by their own people, so it’s the resoluteness of her fighting stance, not the defiant position itself, that surprises him. he lifts his brows once more, inclining his head toward her.
his stare only cuts away to check the card, briefly assessing its design. he doesn’t understand its meaning, and he feels no need to ask after such trifles. dirtyhands holds no belief in anything but himself. hopefully, she sees whatever she needs to in her hand. ]
[ edged with disdain. ] All the gangs have been nipping at unaffiliated Grisha. [ mouth pursing. ] Some more carelessly than others.
[ the dime lions had disappeared his former associate milana, when she refused to sign with them or flee the orchid for another gang. it seems heartrenders are too valuable to be allowed independence in ketterdam. given all that, wariness is to be expected, especially in the matter of deals. can’t fault her for it, certainly, though it presents an obstacle for his plans.
when she finally answers him and adds her own observations, he nods in either agreement or approval. their search for grisha is no secret. as he noted, every gang wants for the power and protection they offer — even haskell had initially told him to rout one out, clever boy, i know you and that spider of yours can do it before kaz pitched him on loftier ideas. risky, to be sure, but with a hefty reward awaiting them. and when was the last time kaz failed him? never.
in naming herself a duck, she jolts him back to the present moment, no longer thinking twelve steps ahead or reflecting on the path that led him here. it startles a sound from his chest, not quite a laugh but it's a near-thing, breaking their shared gaze so he can dip his chin. when he resurfaces, his lips turn up a little on either side, as if his mouth hasn’t smiled in so long, it can’t recall how. amusement lifts his voice, though the words come at a crisp, professional pace. ]
That's right. [ about fifth harbour and their enemies both. ] Per Haskell runs the Dregs, but I’m one of his lieutenants. [ he removes his hat, a minor disarmament. no need to play at humility and introduce himself by name, when she knows it already. he’s the only lieutenant that matters. according to the rumours, he may as well be the boss. ] And I’ve leave to gather a crew for an impossible job, even if that means buying out their existing contracts. [ like alya’s own with the opera. setting his hat on the corner of her table, he glances back at her, a thoughtful look softening his features. ] Terms are negotiable, but the high payout means it’s a fixed contract, with guaranteed release upon completion of the job. [ not an indenture. he blinks down at her exposed wrist, unclaimed — ] So no one need mark themselves. [ — and back up again. a roll of his shoulders, then, the slight gesture suggestive of a shrug. ] Unless they’d like to join us.
[ per haskell hadn’t appreciated that, but he’d been won over when kaz countered that any grisha could have the mark removed by a competent healer, and this particular grisha will have every opportunity to betray them. better that they choose the crow and cup than have it forced upon them. ]
Provided she’s brave, an aggressive little duck is exactly what I’m looking for. Because if she’s brave, she’s going to make herself and my crows very rich. [ a determined gleam in his eye, the thrill of the job widening the curve of his mouth before it settles again. ] And if she isn’t, [ a pause, holding her gaze. his voice drags harsher against the stones in his throat. ] she’ll get us all killed.
[ it wouldn’t serve him to undersell the stakes of the job. ]
[ evenly, ] Will you hear my proposal?
surprise bet you thought you saw the last of me LIKE HALF A YEAR LATER...
[ the slanted turn of his mouth lacks the sharpness she had expected, as though every piece of him should catch the light and glint with menacing delight. what else could kaz brekker be, if not a crooked arrangement of cracked glass? her gaze sweeps his lips, searching the upturned corners for a bladed edge, and finds — a strange brightness. far too mortal for creatures of the night. far too human. a sight that's as disarming as the removal of his hat, plucking away the bastard of the barrel's convenient armor. but she knows better, all the same, to think he's unguarded in front of her. vulnerable, beyond the proposal she might reject.
like pulling a rabbit from a hat, she waits for the trick to reveal itself, certain she's not the only one guilty of dabbling in parlor tricks. aleksander had tried the same, parading as a man to appeal to her. a monster, hiding in softer skin. hiding in plain sight, in fact. alina's guard doesn't lower, though her fingertips have a mind of her own. in a mirrored show of faith, she tips her face away from the too-insightful card and toward the speckled vanity. a crunch of her nose pinches her expression into a grimace as she carelessly plucks away crystal beads from the dark lattice of her eyelashes, like dewdrops caught on dark petals. a decoration too showy for her liking, like a remnant of the little palace has followed her here, trussed her up into its pampered porcelain doll. ]
I'm not much for being owned. [ isn't she, still? owned by her power. owned by the darkling, in some manner — the fear that has kept her chained to an opulent operahouse. she strangles that dark whisper in the back of her mind, how it seems to command the collar around her throat to cinch tighter in its reminder. from the corner of her eyes, she charts the bare skin of her own wrist, the implication in his gaze as it bores into her — seeming to stain her in ink, with just the tattooing imprint of his unabashedly curious stare. ] Not on anyone's terms but my own.
[ a fair warning. her own terms set on the table as all decrees are. the problem is this: she had never known her worth before. but now she knows her value — knows her only worth is how she can be used, wielded, a tool for another's ambitions. nothing less, nothing more — but it's a bargaining chip, all the same.
a snort puffs out of her, abandoning the last glimmering rhinestone haphazardly in a trinket box. ]
Am I speaking to a so-called demon, or was I mistaken? If I wasn't brave, I would have banished you the moment you popped into my room like a ghost. Your interest in me is enough to draw the wrong attention.
[ perhaps it's even braver to stare that demon in eyes and tip her chin, unflinching, unfazed by jagged teeth and haunting eyes, as she delivers that challenge. or perhaps it's just a wish for her to be put out of her misery, jaws clamped around her throat, when she drags alongside every step she takes — peering over her shoulder and greeting a brand new day's dread and guilt.
after another considering moment, pinning his gaze to hers: ] Was there more? I thought that speech was your proposal.
[ rueful, her lips curl, a portrait of faint sarcasm at both of their expenses. it's not a true answer, not really; she shoves away from the vanity, coming to a sudden stand. ]
I'll hear it. [ despite that, she's already sauntered away meaningfully, dipping behind a dressing partition, stark white and smelted in cheap gold. a breeze of dark hair flutters behind her when she pokes her head around, clarifying, ] You talk, I'll get changed before this stupid outfit pulverizes my ribs into dust.
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no subject
the girl holds his gaze, unflinching, as if she truly has no fear of the dark. either a fine actor honed on the stage or a braver heart than ketterdam’s usual little birds. she certainly possesses a cleverer tongue than the other potential feints, twisted as they were into knots by his presence and probing questions. he notes that even if she weren’t shu, she speaks kerch like she learned it in school, so it’s unlikely she’s a born canal rat. to be expected, when most grisha claim ravkan as their native tongue, foisted upon them by their teachers at the little palace regardless of their origins.
when she fans out her cards, his eyes flicker down and back, the only tell of his decision to close the distance between them, cane glinting sharp as he edges toward the light of her vanity. his limp proves measured and steady. in moments, the uneasy set of her brows confirms a restrained approach was the correct call. he knows that look, chasing talk of business — though he’s certain his haunting presence is no comfort — it’s one he had himself, after being first conned out his money, his brother, his life. not just anger but its aching sibling, shame. the shadow of something undefinable passes over his features. good, he tells himself, ignoring the pang in his chest. better that she knows what it mean to lose. ]
You’re right about Ketterdam. [ the rough burn of his voice, undeterred by her warnings. ] She’ll always find a way to make you bleed a little more. [ this is one area where his reputation fails to serve him, aligned with all that kerch citizens fear. dirtyhands never needs a reason, not to break a contract or an arm, to shatter hope or end a life. a creature too jagged to be trusted, lest you cut yourself on one of his hard edges.
layering his hands over the crow’s head of his cane, he stops arms-length from the cards, leaving her just out of his reach. distance is a means of protection, both for and against her. kaz chooses not to hide how he studies her. just as striking up close, where he can see her youth beneath the paint and see through the stones obscuring her dark eyes. not the sort of imitation gem that dulls under scrutiny. possibilities spark and whir in his mind. ]
[ mildly, as one might report the weather. ] I’ve spent the better part of the week meeting with glittering pawns. [ a one-handed magician’s flourish. ] You can verify that with Irina at the White Rose [ the heartrender would be delighted to speak ill of him. ] and Yekaterina at the Geldrenner Hotel, Room 23. If you like. [ the tidemaker who’d been too nervous to hear his pitch to the end. he waits, then, for that information to settle between them. his lips turn up a little on either side. neither like him much, so he’s certain they’ll provide the appropriate warnings. ravkans and grisha have networks of their own in ketterdam, too, though some individuals choose to remain apart. ]
But I’ve need of a crow, not a pigeon. [ he reaches out with one hand slowly, two gloved fingers tapping the rightmost card, and retracts his arm at a similar pace. both hands rest at ease on his perch once more, frightfully still. ] And no one has ever accused me of generosity, besides. [ a heartbeat of consideration. he cants his head to left, peering at her sideways like a bird. ] What do you know of the Dregs?
[ more of a sincere question than a test of her knowledge, though there’s an element of the latter to everything he says. it won’t do to make an ill-formed bargain; that's all. ]
no subject
that's the thing about crows, alina muses. they only arrive at your doorstep to carry bad omens, or to pick apart what's left of you. her eyes narrow into skeptical slits, regarding him where he perches nearby. watchful, waiting for her to join his flock. unfortunately for him, she's done letting others choose the color of her feathers.
if only that sense of belonging wasn't still so great of a temptation, still. if only letting another paint her as they please wasn't a guarantee to fit somewhere, anywhere, without the risk of being turned away when their forgeries of her chip away to reveal the true colors beneath. for a moment, she nearly craves being caught, that yawning hunger behind her ribs unhinging its jaws after she's starved it with loneliness for so long. slowly, she draws in a breath and then loosens it, the rise and fall of her chest expelling that insane want. ]
I've survived worse cuts than anything Ketterdam could give me. [ a stubborn tip to her jaw — the reappearance of an old habit, when staring down a challenge. how much more could it leech from her, when she's already bled for another man's profit? ketterdam, at least, has never disguised its intentions by wrapping them up in pretty packaging. she thinks of the void of nothingness once the darkling's mask of beauty had splintered, lets her eyes roam over the lines of kaz's expression with hesitating curiosity. if he wears a false face, it's too neatly stitched into the skin for her to find the seams. ] It's ambitious men that worry me.
[ but there is a thread she can follow up to the gleam in his eyes — scheming, certainly, and hope entombed within those plans. but what catches her eye is the shining sign of humanity in the wondrous way he beholds her. her, not a saint propped on her golden pedestal. just a nobody girl hiding her shine in ketterdam's dark corners. cautiously, she relaxes her grip, though she isn't so daring to uncoil her fingers from the blunt, jeweled end of her hairpin.
a contrast to the snort that leaves her as her gaze darts to his waving hands — the only quick movement he's done, as if he thinks so highly of himself that he could spook her into fleeing — and lingers there. if criminal enterprise fails him, he has quite the dramatic flair for showmanship. a flash of white teeth catch at her lip, a thoughtful slide against the skin, as she finally turns her focus to his chosen card. she flips it over carefully to reveal its face, decorated by the ripple of a boat along a canal. alina's slim fingers trace over the six swords embedded within its wooden planks, the back of a woman's head turned toward her. the line of her brow furrows. ]
I know the Dregs control the Fifth Harbor, and that you've made plenty of enemies. [ an understatement, mumbled toward the card in question. a tilt of her head brings a sweeping brush of dark hair forward, skating over its corners. ] And now I know you've been searching for Grisha, for whatever reason.
[ yekaterina. irina. names she's only heard in passing, determined to give any grisha network a cautious berth. there's no promise they aren't little birds that will return to aleksander's shoulder with news of her if she drifts too close. ]
Most of all, I know enough to stay away. [ her brow arches, pointed. dryly, ] I'm more like a duck than a crow, anyway. Little, but surprisingly aggressive for its size.
no subject
his stare only cuts away to check the card, briefly assessing its design. he doesn’t understand its meaning, and he feels no need to ask after such trifles. dirtyhands holds no belief in anything but himself. hopefully, she sees whatever she needs to in her hand. ]
[ edged with disdain. ] All the gangs have been nipping at unaffiliated Grisha. [ mouth pursing. ] Some more carelessly than others.
[ the dime lions had disappeared his former associate milana, when she refused to sign with them or flee the orchid for another gang. it seems heartrenders are too valuable to be allowed independence in ketterdam. given all that, wariness is to be expected, especially in the matter of deals. can’t fault her for it, certainly, though it presents an obstacle for his plans.
when she finally answers him and adds her own observations, he nods in either agreement or approval. their search for grisha is no secret. as he noted, every gang wants for the power and protection they offer — even haskell had initially told him to rout one out, clever boy, i know you and that spider of yours can do it before kaz pitched him on loftier ideas. risky, to be sure, but with a hefty reward awaiting them. and when was the last time kaz failed him? never.
in naming herself a duck, she jolts him back to the present moment, no longer thinking twelve steps ahead or reflecting on the path that led him here. it startles a sound from his chest, not quite a laugh but it's a near-thing, breaking their shared gaze so he can dip his chin. when he resurfaces, his lips turn up a little on either side, as if his mouth hasn’t smiled in so long, it can’t recall how. amusement lifts his voice, though the words come at a crisp, professional pace. ]
That's right. [ about fifth harbour and their enemies both. ] Per Haskell runs the Dregs, but I’m one of his lieutenants. [ he removes his hat, a minor disarmament. no need to play at humility and introduce himself by name, when she knows it already. he’s the only lieutenant that matters. according to the rumours, he may as well be the boss. ] And I’ve leave to gather a crew for an impossible job, even if that means buying out their existing contracts. [ like alya’s own with the opera. setting his hat on the corner of her table, he glances back at her, a thoughtful look softening his features. ] Terms are negotiable, but the high payout means it’s a fixed contract, with guaranteed release upon completion of the job. [ not an indenture. he blinks down at her exposed wrist, unclaimed — ] So no one need mark themselves. [ — and back up again. a roll of his shoulders, then, the slight gesture suggestive of a shrug. ] Unless they’d like to join us.
[ per haskell hadn’t appreciated that, but he’d been won over when kaz countered that any grisha could have the mark removed by a competent healer, and this particular grisha will have every opportunity to betray them. better that they choose the crow and cup than have it forced upon them. ]
Provided she’s brave, an aggressive little duck is exactly what I’m looking for. Because if she’s brave, she’s going to make herself and my crows very rich. [ a determined gleam in his eye, the thrill of the job widening the curve of his mouth before it settles again. ] And if she isn’t, [ a pause, holding her gaze. his voice drags harsher against the stones in his throat. ] she’ll get us all killed.
[ it wouldn’t serve him to undersell the stakes of the job. ]
[ evenly, ] Will you hear my proposal?
surprise bet you thought you saw the last of me LIKE HALF A YEAR LATER...
like pulling a rabbit from a hat, she waits for the trick to reveal itself, certain she's not the only one guilty of dabbling in parlor tricks. aleksander had tried the same, parading as a man to appeal to her. a monster, hiding in softer skin. hiding in plain sight, in fact. alina's guard doesn't lower, though her fingertips have a mind of her own. in a mirrored show of faith, she tips her face away from the too-insightful card and toward the speckled vanity. a crunch of her nose pinches her expression into a grimace as she carelessly plucks away crystal beads from the dark lattice of her eyelashes, like dewdrops caught on dark petals. a decoration too showy for her liking, like a remnant of the little palace has followed her here, trussed her up into its pampered porcelain doll. ]
I'm not much for being owned. [ isn't she, still? owned by her power. owned by the darkling, in some manner — the fear that has kept her chained to an opulent operahouse. she strangles that dark whisper in the back of her mind, how it seems to command the collar around her throat to cinch tighter in its reminder. from the corner of her eyes, she charts the bare skin of her own wrist, the implication in his gaze as it bores into her — seeming to stain her in ink, with just the tattooing imprint of his unabashedly curious stare. ] Not on anyone's terms but my own.
[ a fair warning. her own terms set on the table as all decrees are. the problem is this: she had never known her worth before. but now she knows her value — knows her only worth is how she can be used, wielded, a tool for another's ambitions. nothing less, nothing more — but it's a bargaining chip, all the same.
a snort puffs out of her, abandoning the last glimmering rhinestone haphazardly in a trinket box. ]
Am I speaking to a so-called demon, or was I mistaken? If I wasn't brave, I would have banished you the moment you popped into my room like a ghost. Your interest in me is enough to draw the wrong attention.
[ perhaps it's even braver to stare that demon in eyes and tip her chin, unflinching, unfazed by jagged teeth and haunting eyes, as she delivers that challenge. or perhaps it's just a wish for her to be put out of her misery, jaws clamped around her throat, when she drags alongside every step she takes — peering over her shoulder and greeting a brand new day's dread and guilt.
after another considering moment, pinning his gaze to hers: ] Was there more? I thought that speech was your proposal.
[ rueful, her lips curl, a portrait of faint sarcasm at both of their expenses. it's not a true answer, not really; she shoves away from the vanity, coming to a sudden stand. ]
I'll hear it. [ despite that, she's already sauntered away meaningfully, dipping behind a dressing partition, stark white and smelted in cheap gold. a breeze of dark hair flutters behind her when she pokes her head around, clarifying, ] You talk, I'll get changed before this stupid outfit pulverizes my ribs into dust.