Fandom Grishaverse (Main)

[S n o w]

Louis​

Louis ignored the acknowledgement of his theft, as a good magician never faltered during an act, even when caught. "Doesn't make it any less cowardly," he said back to Benhamin. He glanced at the seal again, though the identity of their benefactor didn't matter much to him. The rich would always use people like him to get his hands dirty in their place. It was just a fact of life. If it wasn't the Halber, someone else with a desire for power would step into the mud of the Barrel to find someone to assassinate or sabotage their competition.

His eyes slid to Garrit. Someone so knowledgeable about the letter's origins and him and yet... Louis didn't have a bad enough memory to forget how Garrit came to them, like a lost little kid among a table full of sharks. Confused that none of them received a letter like he did, but recognizing the seal inside instantly. The pieces didn't add up. Garrit could either be a bastard Halber, or naïve, but not both. Louis knew well that a bastard wouldn't grow up with enough luxury to afford to be naïve.

Looking away from the puzzle that was Garrit Holt, he reached over and took the bottle meant for Nadya. He took a swig and waited to hear Garrit's answer about their payment.

 

[Morrighan]

Nadya knew she should be focused on the job, and on what the others seemed so intent on, but she could feel herself coming apart at her edges.

Three years...three fucking years and he walks in here alive and...and...how? How did he survive?

She knew he must be enjoying this, could see that familiar ghost of a smile on his face as he took it all in. For years she'd been nothing but cruel and vicious to him, refusing to acknowledge him as anything more than another servant.

Moya otkazat'sya...

What a fool she'd been.

What a bitch.

Then someone suggested that he take the position of Leader and it took all she was not to crush the lungs of every saints-damned person at that table. It was as if they were trying to make this worse. Already she had to pretend to not even truly know him beyond the vague familiarity their damned benefactor had suggested might exist in his letter. Already, she would have to hunt with him again, kill with him again.

And he didn't even seem bothered.

The bastard just kept on smoking.

"If my vague knowledge of who all of your are is correct," Nadya made herself drawl. "Then I am both the oldest and most experienced killer at this table. I understand if none of you want to trust me, but we can all agree that my presence at this table means the man behind all of this wants more than a few simple deaths. This is personal, and you all know it. No one hires me without the desire to see the target suffer - it's what I do. It's how I make my living. We need to think carefully on our next move, and possibly continue this conversation at a location with fewer witnesses. The Barrel has ears and eyes everywhere and I don't desire to see our sins get to the gangs. Dirtyhands gets words of this and we'll all be in deep shit."

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

The dark-haired boy voted in favor of Benhamin being their leader, agreeing with Louis, then went on to speculate about the identity of their would-be employer. She felt as if his every comment was carefully crafted, planned, directed somehow, and the feeling was reminiscent of the one she got from the content of the letters they had received. Neige narrowed her eyes closely at him, taking in once more the quality of his clothes, his weapons, his speech patterns and general demeanor, and a growing suspicion dawned on her- just what was he playing at here?

Benhamin defended his earlier comment about not killing children and having some kind of code, not in the least bit surprised at the information about the possible identity of the letter sender. She was surprised to hear him speak her name next, agreeing with her on the issue she'd raised in the matter of payment. He suggested that Garitt take note of the expenses they would incur on this job, then took a sip of kvas and passed the bottle over. Louis took a sip, looking around the table and making no added comment, waiting for people to speak.

The Heartrender then made her response, and the low, silky sound of her voice made the hairs on Neige's arms stand on end. That slow drawl was the sound a predator made when it knew it had the advantage and everyone else there was simply prey. When she referred to herself as a killer, Neige's glance was drawn downwards, to the Grisha's hands resting on the table, pale and perfect and deadly, as she flashed back to the last time she had seen them.

She frowned at the mention of making a target suffer. Heartrenders were good at killing- quickly, efficiently. They were known as death-dealers more than bringers of pain and, as far as Neige knew, Nadya was no exception. Clearly, there was a layer to the oprichniki's reputation that she had not heard of, which surprised her. She volunteered herself as the most logical choice for leader, then suggested they move to a different location.

Neige had to agree with that idea- the Barrell did have ears, and the last thing they needed was for Kaz Brekker or a member of his crew to learn that there was a plot afoot to assassinate all the major political figures in the city. On the matter of the group's leadership, she was torn. She felt as though putting the assassin in charge was far too dangerous. The large Fjerdan looked like he'd be more at home following than leading anyone.

Silverhands was out of the question, simply by virtue of who he was, and the same went for her. Which left the mysterious Garitt, who seemed too innocent and wet-behind-the-ears to be capable of it, but was also the only neutral choice. Plus, if her suspicions about him were correct, he was probably the one ultimately meant to be in charge anyway. Which didn't change the fact that they simply did not have enough information at this point to make any kind of an informed decision on the matter.

Again, she wondered what their employer was playing at. She always wanted to get to the truth of the matter- it was what had made her such a good actress, and what now made her such a good spy. But right now things were murky and dark and the whole thing was deeply unsettling to her- like wading out into waters that might have sharks or monsters lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for you to foolishly venture out and get close enough to drag under.

In any case, until she got the information she needed and was instructed on whether or not to join this team by Tante Vorst, it really wasn't her place to voice an opinion on the group's leadership, so instead she simply nodded and said

"Indeed. If we are to continue this conversation, we should do it elsewhere."

She looked around the table and hoped someone would volunteer a safer location, as she couldn't exactly invite them all back with her to the House of Snow.

Besides, she thought ruefully as she glanced at Silverhands again, I doubt he'd be pleased with the idea.

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

The raven-head seemed to think for a minute, frowning in his focus. "Maybe not Erik Halber, he's one of the targets..." he said to himself quietly.

Cole could feel suspicious eyes on him, but he was sure to look just as confused as them. "I don't know of any chain to hand anything up to," he said to Benhamin. "The letters I got were given the same as yours. I don't think our employer would just give us their address." The boy turned to Nadya next, choosing to ignore Silverhands' presumptuous gaze.

"If you're talking truths, then by a numbers point, you'd be the best fit. The only problem I can see right now is how volatile you are." He spoke without any offensive intent; his words were factual, yet not so carefully chosen.

"I still stand by my choice: Benhamin should lead us, at least for now. We can make adjustments as necessary."

As Neige spoke up, Cole brought his eyes to her, waiting for a suggestion to appear from her lips. In the meantime, he pulled his cloak close to himself, both for the warmth that it brought, and to make himself smaller in appearance. He'd done enough to make himself stick out in the past couple of minutes, and having a large visual profile was one more thing on the pile that he didn't need.

 

[StormWolf]

“The scorpion and the toad, Silverhands,” Ben replied to the nimble-fingered card sharp, the nub of his cigarette wiggling between his lips. The kvas was making the rounds, though it seemed to be doing little for anybody’s nerves. Ben himself was maintaining his own aloof demeanor through habit and practice. Yet, even where he had buried all those parts of himself years ago, he could feel them stirring in that leaden lockbox of willpower and self control.

Watered down Kerch swill...

Mention of Dirtyhands sent a subtle twitch across Ben’s expression; a flash of tension in his eyes. Merit where it was due, someone didn’t get to that position at such an age without possessing some sort of unique tenacity. He may be anything but common, but Dirtyhands was still just a criminal. Unless Ben saw a crow-headed cane drop in front of him right then and there, he wouldn’t sweat a drop.

A ripple of goose flesh traveled down Ben’s back, but not from apprehension.

Keeping an ear tilted to the still-fluttering conversation around the table, Ben rummaged through his greatcoat’s interior pockets for a moment. He procured a tattered notebook with worn black leather binding and a plain steel pen, not dissimilar to those a racetrack bookie or a lots-keep might have on hand. Leafing through the pages to a blank spot, Ben made a brief set of notes on the page. For a man of his size and bearing, his handwriting was minuscule with a newsprint quality.

“May I? Thank you,” Ben took the letter and envelope, snuffing his cigarette and using the ash to make a rubbing of the seal beneath his notation. On the adjacent page, there were sketches of the very cafe where they were sitting. Elevation, weather, time and place.

“Since I doubt any of us are chomping at the bit to play host, might I suggest a sojourn to the warf?” Ben spread his hands contemplatively, twirling his pen between his fingers before returning it to his coat with his book. “Not as a leader, just as a fellow professional. It is quite a chore to drop eaves over crashing waves.” Snatching up his cigarette case from the table, it too returned to the heavy curtain of his overcoat.

“If the committee finds that permissible, of course.”

 

[Morrighan]

Nadya wanted to leave, to walk away from that table and never look back. Of course, the money would be sorely lost, but was any sum worth this?

She faced her past each night, she didn't need to relive it in her waking hours too.

And yet she sat, her expression masterfully set into a coy smile as she swept her gaze over each stranger's face.

The Liar, dark-haired and ambitious.

The Thief, with his coy grin and quick fingers.

The Spy, with her pretty looks and secrets.

"The docks are crawling with Barrel rats, all of whom report back to Brekker," she replied with a sigh. "We need to be able to speak freely, which means we needs to go somewhere private..."

It wad idiotic to agree to this job, especially now that she knew he was a factor. Nadya should refuse to take part, get up, and walk out of his life as he had walked out of hers. She should abandon him and this cursed country, flee to Novyi Zem or The Wandering Isle.

But what would be the point?

Before she could convince herself otherwise and flee, the Grisha produced her own flask of Kvas - not that watered down Kerch piss - and took a long drink.

"I have a property relatively close by," she offered blandly. "I'm willing to play hostess for a few hours, and of course give my oath that none of you will be in any danger. I kill for profit, and ending your lives would only ruin my chances at earning my portion of this job's pay. Say what you want about my profession, but I agree with the kerch in this - The Deal is The Deal."

Throughout it all, she did not so much as glance at the man seated to her right.

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

Dirtyhands.

That was a name Louis hadn't heard in... three hours or so. He bet he had the most experience with The Dregs at the table, except maybe the prostitute, but she didn't really count. He walked by the Crow's Club every day, after all. Had a gun pointed his way twice a week, if it was a good week. A bar fight between gangs was as expected as the sun coming up. Suffice to say, Louis didn't fear Dirtyhands or The Dregs. He did, however, have enough self-preservation to agree that they shouldn't antagonize them when they didn't have to.

Louis passed the vodka back to Benhamin. It wasn't the worst he'd had. The stuff back at his tavern tasted worse, like it came directly from the harbor, and it burned going down to the point where it would (and did) send those with a weaker constitution straight to the grave. He was pretty fond of it. Which only meant this watery vodka did nothing for him.

Barrel rats.

"I don't doubt your experience, printessa, but I agree with Holt. In leadership, trust goes a long way. And, regardless of what you say, I have more trust in him than I do you," Louis smiled at Nadya and leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. His eyes slid to Garrit, and his smile widened. "I'm not going anywhere until I have details on our payment. If we have no way to contact our 'scorpion'--" he winked at Benhamin. "--then how do we know how much our targets are worth? Do we keep taking merchant heads and pray to the Saints that a letter arrives with more money in it sometime in between? Or after? Don't have answers? Then find them."

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

Garitt seemed to be thinking aloud to himself, still stuck on the matter of their would-be employer's identity. He protested his ignorance clearly, though Neige was far from convinced of it. When he turned to the Grisha assassin and called her volatile, she felt a sudden urge to get out of there before things got ugly- she didn't think the Heartrender would take kindly to the insult. He repeated his support for making Benhamin their leader, despite acting and speaking like a leader himself as he said so. Neige wanted to roll her eyes.

When the boy's eyes landed on her, she returned his gaze steadily. An upside of spending so much time both on the legitimate stage and the illegitimate one was that it took more than a man's stare to rattle her- most of the time, at least.

When Benhamin addressed Louis, advising him in a subtle way not to bite the hand that fed him, Neige was struck by a sudden feeling of familiarity, though she couldn't quite place it. He then reached into his coat and pulled out notebook and pen. As he took the letter from Garitt and made an impression of the seal, she saw at a glance what appeared to be drawings of the Crow's Foot and some-well organized notes. It seemed he was quite methodical.

She giggled quietly at his mention of 'chomping at the bit to play host', suggesting they head to the wharves. He made it quite clear it was a suggestion and not an order, and was obviously reluctant to accept the mantle of leadership that was being thrust upon him.

She felt a small shiver as the assassin's eyes passed over her before declaring that the docks would not do. Neige hadn't been particularly enthused about the idea of standing out in the rain and wind at the edge of the water, but it was true that the Dregs were everywhere, and knew the wharf better than anyone else in the Barrel. The Ravkan took a long drag from a flask she produced before, surprisingly, offering her own place for their purposes. She assured them that they would be safe there.

At that point, Silverhands, who seemed to have no regard for his self-preservation, proceeded to insult her and express that he did not trust her. Neige wanted to groan out loud- was everyone at this table determined to anger the one person there who could stop their hearts with a flick of her wrists? When he expressed that he wouldn't be doing anything further until payment was discussed, she was both approving and frustrated.

"Whoever decided to hire us for this," she began carefully, "cannot, at this point, be trusted. They know enough to find us, reveal our identities, lure us here with the promise of payment... But they don't actually show up for the meeting they summoned us for? They want us to elect a group leader? They give no details or guarantees on payment? Nothing about this adds up- especially not considering what it is they want us to do."

She let the pronouncement hang in the air, expression neutral and eyes not focused on any one particular person, but carefully watching Garitt for his reaction nonetheless.

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

If nothing else, I inherit the Halber Company, Cole thought to himself reassuringly, and I can find ways of working with that, if I must. He couldn't afford to show anything more of his identity; his physical traits were plenty already. He could think of a few ways that the team he'd brought here could use him for their benefit, given his status as a mercher's son. Cole couldn't allow that, despite his main concern being Silverhands. The light word squabbling that the two had already been through gave him enough information about the thief to know that the truth to him wasn't safe on Silverhands' ears.

The boy kept silent and unmoved by the questions of payment and identity, of concern for themselves. If he had to reveal himself, so be it. He wouldn't do it here, though. Not somewhere so public. It was as other's had already brought up: Gangs were likely listening in. Whatever accusing glares landed on the black-haired boy, went over his head. He was as deep into solving the puzzle as the rest were, only he was the one building the maze. If they ended up dispersing without assisting him, then so be it. He was still alive, therefore he would find a way. His goal wasn't complete, so he would keep going. He still had power, just not as much as he'd like right now.

Brekker himself was of little concern to Cole. As far as he was concerned or knew, their businesses were separate. He wanted to enact revenge and reform in Ketterdam's elite, and those that lived in the city knew well enough to stay away from the Dregs; at least, they should know well enough. If he did end up in Kaz's hands, he figured the worst he would get would be a beating, a talking to with threats and all, and -- hopefully -- Cole would be able to explain himself.

"Whatever the pay is, I need to do this," Cole spoke solidly, his eyes waving past each of his patchwork, stressed crew. He wanted his answer vague, but honest: He worded his declaration as though he needed the money, but there was a seriousness to him, a resolve that hung over himself more than anyone else here. He knew that he had no power here, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. He wanted this done, and he was going to get this done.

 

[StormWolf]

Following the surprise in which Benhamin learned that Nadya was not only alive, but flourishing (if the wine and woman were any indication), he didn't suspect the Heartrender to hit him with a follow-up as profound as opening her home to strangers. A lifetime of service, years of escorting her to the threshold of her personal quarters, Ben had only ever been within Nadya's personal space once. A treasured, torturous memory that he wished would perish as much as he hopes to preserve it.

Somewhere in the dusty corner of his mind, that lock box of control rattled violently.

Ben's lips had parted to speak when Louis' champagne-sweet voice beat him to the punch. When he called Nadya printssa the briefest glower shot through Ben's stormy eyes like a lightning bolt. Ben wet his lips with a flick of his tongue, scratching at the scars on his chin with a thumb again.

"It is agreed, then. We will continue in greater privacy, as the more pertinent details require. Lead on, dorogaya. Will you be blindfolding us along the way, or does that come later?" He asked humorlessly as he rose from the booth and hoisted his cello case. Habit, if nothing else, demanded he stand by for the others to make their egress from the shadowed booth. Through auditory and visual observation, the young Garritt proved to be the strangest among them.

Louis may be a silver-bangled peacock with feather-light fingers, but he was consistent. Like the scorpion or the tiger, a spider like him would be beholden to his nature. Ben smirked inwardly at the prospect Silverhands' lament in finding the only thing besides pocket change in Ben's coat pockets was ammunition.

Neige, with her uncannily symmetrical features, was an oddity, but her stance had been steadfast. The name tickled a memory somewhere in the back of his mind, but he neither owed her money nor was she in his Book. Like the rest of them, she was here for a reason, and Ben was sure he would see the validity of that reasoning in time.

Nadya was. . . magnificent, insufferable, beautiful, and malicious as ever. So similar, but so different that it hurt Ben in the only way he could feel it.

That left Garritt. The boy of many masks. At a glance, one could disregard him as just another puffed-up adolescent inspired by the infamy of the Dregs and their fabled exploits. It felt like every other day that Ben was staring down the gun barrel or knife point of such youthful foolishness, but Garritt was different. Ben saw a kindred conviction in the boy's eyes. Cold and resolute Whatever the pay is, I need to do this , he said.

Those were words fueled by vendetta, not greed. Ben had ninety notches on his rifle that spoke the same way. Would he have the will to act when the need arose? Nothing is more important than intent, a siren-sweet voice whispered, unbidden.

Rummaging through his pockets, Ben leafed enough kruge in paper and coin to cover the bottle of kvas, the broken glass, and even Nadya's wine. In all likelyhood, he grossly overpaid, but Ben needed to get into fresh air. He needed to keep moving forward. If he stopped even for a moment, he would get trapped in the reality of the moment that ripped at him like barbed wire.

 

[Morrighan]

Of course he stood aside, allowing the rest of the criminals at the table exit first. He'd been trained well, the ovcharka.

But when she'd stood to walked imperiously past him, her foot caught on the leg of the table and she slipped, forcing her to catch herself on the closest thing.

His arm.

Saints he was strong, the muscles beneath those nauseating grey clothes like cords of iron. He still wore the same cologne, the scent threatening to pull her back into one of her dreams.

Smokey, with a hint of leather, and something dangerously delicious that she couldn't name.

Quickly, she straightened and pushed away from him, dropping his arm like it was diseased. Then, she strode away without so much as a word. She didn't owe him anything, not after what he'd done. He'd abandoned her, had scurried off in the dead of night and left her to fight The Darkling's war.

Thoughtlessly, she cradled her middle with a hand, trying to block out the memories. This was Ketterdam, not Ravka. Here, there was no Nadya Krovopuskov, only Natasha Chernov. She was an artist, an Assassin of the high caliber.

She was not helpess. She was beholden to no one but herself.

"Follow me."

Without bothering to look behind her to make sure the rest followed, the heartrender strode off and began to make her way home. She knew the silver rat would try to steal from her, but she also knew exactly how much pressure it took on the heart for someone to die a very, very painful death.

As for the rest...

Neige was terrified of her, a frightened little rabbit who knew better than to try anything. The merch boy wouldn't risk blowing his cover by doing anything too stupid, and would likely be too occupied holding his mask together to think of stealing anything.

As for the ozkasatsya...

She refused to think too hard on it.

They arrived relatively quickly, Nadya stopping before the entrance of a large brick warehouse that - from the outside - appeared to be nothing but an old building. Before opening the door, she turned to find the whole group staring up at the place like it was pink and made of fur.

No doubt they had expected something very different.

"I will say this once, and only once," she began in a voice that she'd not used for years. "You all will enter the building, stay ahead of me and within my sight at all times, and - if I have not already made this perfectly clear - any attempts at thievery will result in your immediate death. Am I understood?"

Before any of them could say anything to piss her off, she opened the door and waved a hand for them to enter.

Inside, they would find themselves in a glorious paradox.

There was a reason she called this "The Geode".

Everything was built for luxury and tastefully decorated. Ravkan motifs were carved where few might see or recognize them, masterfully woven rugs covered the pale wooden floors, and everything was appointed in gold, crimson, and cream.

The only place where she allowed herself to be utterly Ravkan.

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

It was the past promise of more money that made Louis consider following them.

Garrit's response was deeply unsatisfying (what did he care what the blue-eyed boy needed to do?), and if he were more noble, he would have stood up and left the table right then and there. Returned to his tavern and the money he'd already recieved (and carefully hidden), and perhaps finally found a place to live that didn't always have the vague smell of mold and blood. But he knew it wouldn't feel like enough. He doubted he'd ever be satisfied, even if he sat atop a mountain of gold.

He sighed helplessly, but gathered his cards, stood, and followed Nadya. The outside, well. Most of the pleasure houses looked better than the drab building in front of him. It was certainly one way to keep a low profile.

Any attempts at thievery will result in your immediate death.

Louis almost snorted. She was about as subtle as a bottle to the head. She should have just called him out by name and been done with the façade. He passed Benhamin on his way inside, purposefully, liberating him of his coin without so much of a look in his direction. The ammunition, he could keep.

He was both surprised and not at all when he saw the interior. It was exactly what he expected of someone who called others 'barrel rats'. Louis, though, didn't let this show on his face. He turned in a full circle and whistled, pretending to be impressed, marking the location of all her valuables in one swift move. He smiled a friendly smile at Nadya, staying well within her line of sight as requested. "This is an impressive palace," he said. "If being an assassin pays this well, maybe I should think of changing careers."

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

When Garitt declared that he needed to do this regardless of the pay, Neige narrowed her eyes, going over the possibilities in her mind. Since the rest of them were essentially hands for hire and motivated only by the money, this was quite a red flag.

Clearly, he harbored a personal stake in this and that, combined with his clothes and general air of not belonging in a dingy little Barrel hole-in-the-wall with these cut-purses and cutthroats, indicated to her that he was probably from a mercher family himself. The most logical explanation for why a mercher's son would be involved in something like this was that he was the one who had hired them in the first place, though another possibility was that their employer had simply found someone with a personal rather than financial motivation.

Benhamin settled the matter by rising from his seat and inviting the Heartender to lead the way. He stood aside to let them pass, dropping a stack of kruge on the table before following them out of the bar. When the assassin passed him, she stumbled, grabbing his arm for support. Neige didn't fail to notice both of them tense up at the contact. The Grisha strode imperiously past them and ordered the group to follow.

Silverhands gathered his cards and came with, though it seemed he was rather reluctant and dissatisfied. Neige couldn't blame him- the fact that they'd been instructed to meet here and then essentially given no information about payment or leadership grated at her, making her even more uneasy about the fact that, if they accepted this job, they would be going after the lives of the most powerful people in the city.

When they reached the warehouse, Neige thought that this made perfect sense, considering the fact that its owner was an artist- and a rich one at that. She gave them very clear instructions on how to behave when inside, and the statement was pointed enough to make it obvious she was addressing Silverhands, in particular.

Neige looked around in wonder once they'd entered. Unsurprisingly, the place was decorated richly and tastefully, perfectly befitting of the Ravkan assassin. Neige marveled that she'd been willing to let them into her home- it was quite unexpected.

Silverhands seemed to have no compunctions about it, striding in with perfect ease and picking the soldier's pockets before looking around with appreciation and more than obvious appraisal, complementing Nadya as he did so. Neige felt that the antagonism between the thief and the assassin couldn't help but come to a head soon.

"Your home is beautiful," she said honestly, still nervous about addressing the Heartrender. "You have exquisite taste."

She meandered further in, walking slowly and carefully, wondering which room they were meant to settle in.

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

Cole followed the rest in a state of quiet caution. His cover was well-cracked by now, and he didn't want to misstep in the shell again -- not yet. There was something else nagging at the back of his mind, now, though. Something that he'd failed to account for in his plans: The Council of Tides.

He felt his heart start to beat a little harder as he thought of what the consequences of erasing the political-economic figureheads and their bloodlines of Ketterdam from the face of Kerch. It was likely that they'd drown him on the spot. There was a second realization, however; the four others in the room with him were accomplices -- in fact, most of the work would be by their own hands. Hiding from the mysterious tidemakers was going to be a collaborative effort, regardless of who the group thought was behind this all.

Nadya's home was a welcome sight from the streets of Ketterdam, and it took some effort to not start conversation with his Ravkan employees about some of the objects within. He had to play the fool for now. After all, what could a shop hand from Belendt possibly know about Ravka?

He decided to play it safe and agree with Neige for now, with a simple nod of his head.

Nadya's words stuck with Cole. He was without powers himself, so the thought that the person in front of him could make a killing fist from feet away was mildly terrifying to him. Mildly only because he didn't need to steal anything in here.

Here was the hard part: Cole had to talk through his plans and convince the others to stay by some means, ideally without outright telling them that he was the Halber kid. "No one got anything about pay in numbers in their letters?" He asked with a confused frown. Of course, he knew the answer. "I think if they can afford to give us what they did to get us here, they have to be paying something good. I can't go back empty-handed," the raven-head stated coolly and crossed his arms under his cloak. He was telling another half-truth. It wasn't the money that he couldn't not have.

 

[StormWolf]

Benhamin followed behind the gaggle of criminals; greater, lesser, or otherwise. His cello case hefted on his shoulder, the phantom caress of Nadya's hand on his arm. Turning his collar to the wind and rain, Ben moved with the group in silence, his head on a swivel every step of the way. In every odd alley, he saw the shadow-shapes of bully-boys, cut-purses, and roughnecks eyeballing them as they passed. They never got too close, turning away once they saw the flash of knives, butts of pistols, and the blatant basket of Cole's saber.

Standing outside the unassuming warehouse, Ben's dark eyebrow arched briefly. A low, wry grunt bubbling up from his chest. As the door opened and the group was invited within, Ben hesitated at the last step. He'd never been inside of Nadya's personal abode but once. To enter now, even with an invitation, felt. . . peculiar. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath and mustered his will, stepped through the threshold.

Inside, it was. . . eerily familiar. It was like a facsimile of the Little Palace, built with agonizing dedication and detail. Ben set his cello case by the mouth of the den and shrugged out of his greatcoat, standing there in his militant greys and blacks. Unlike at the bar, Ben also removed his hat and ran his thick fingers through his rich, dark hair.

"She always has. . ." Ben muttered in response to Neige as he walked a slow and circuitous route around the lavish chamber, his shoulders squared and hands clasped at the small of his back. It was like he was inspecting troops and battlements of a regiment.

"Which is it, Garitt?" Ben inquired, his voice level and utterly devoid of influx. "You have said that you need to do this regardless of the pay, as well as that you cannot leave empty-handed. Pick a lane. Stick in it." Leather creaked behind Ben's back as his hands flexed. The large revolver and utterly monstrous knife at his belt were plain and in the open, no longer concealed by the massive folds of the bearskin coat.

"The Deal is the Deal, as they say in Ketterdam. Without a concrete figure, there is no deal. Promises do not pay debts. Contracts are key." Ben continued his course around the perimeter of the room, taking in art and decor with a passive interest.

"I surmise that our benefactor wishes us to elect a leader among our own number for autonomy and deniability. If we get burned, the benefactor cannot be directly tied to it. We are expendable." The last word curdled on Ben's tongue.

Some of us always have been.

"We need to be able to communicate with our employer, regardless of the leader among us. Be it dead-drops, ciphers, or whatever else." Ben paused, stamping down the itch to rummage for another cigarette.

"As for our leader, are we agreed on a candidate? Or are there those incapable of following a lowly ozkasat'sya? I would prefer to not keep going in circles over this. The days are short, and my patience is shorter. The sooner we get this behind us, the sooner we can get to work, get paid, and move on."

 

[Morrighan]

Nadya grinned at Neige, who at least had the decency to look genuinely impressed at the home Nadya had poured a small fortune into. Silverhands was taking stock of her possessions with swift eyes, but she'd put him into a coma before he left and empty his pockets. The mercher boy clearly knew exactly what he was looking at and was trying to appear clueless as usual.

The other one stood there, clad in his ridiculous grey mock-uniform, his black hair longer than she'd last seen it. It curled at the tips, and she had to stop herself from imagining the way it would feel to run her fingers through it.

She scowled at him, then removed the light shawl that she'd been wearing and threw it atop a mahogany side table near the massive sofa. Without bothering to appear like she gave a shit what they thought, she plopped down on the Chaise Long near one of the massive windows. Her long legs were out in plain view as her dress hiked up past her knees, and she quickly kicked off her shoes to reveal perfectly-manicured feet.

With a look of utter disdain, Nadya addressed the mercher.

"Start explaining before I lose my patience, Garritt."

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

Louis half-listened as the Ravkans interrogated Garrit (finally!), and half-noted what was worth stealing. He made a good amount of coin so far, considering who he stole from. He saw several small, portable items around the room that he could make disappear up his bottomless sleeves, but, despite popular belief, Louis was a thief with common sense. He was damn good with his knives, but what good would they do against someone who could crush his heart before he took a step?

He might pick to battle Nadya verbally, but there was a much lower chance of death with only words. So, Nadya's house was crossed off his mental list. Really, they acted like he didn't have any self-control. Like he wasn't aware that Nadya was both an assassin and a Heartrender. He would definitely pick Garrit's pockets clean, but later, when he didn't have so many eyes on him. Louis already cleaned out Benhamin. Unless he wanted the coat. Neige was a hard no, on principle.

All that was left to do was to wait.

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

Neige frowned as Ben took off his hat and greatcoat, a vague memory stirring at the back of her mind. His whispered comment added another piece to the puzzle of his shared past with the Heartrender, as he inspected their surroundings in stiff military style. Garitt nodded along with Neige's assessment, appropriately silent, though something about the way he looked at Nadya's belongings told her that he was accustomed to being among such finery.

"No one got anything about pay in numbers in their letters?" Neige rolled her eyes- she was fairly certain the others weren't fooled by the act either and, if any of them had gotten information about the pay in one of their letters, they would have mentioned it by now, instead of complaining about it.

The words in his next comment didn't add up either, and Neige began to feel the entire pretense grating on her nerves. This was probably the biggest job any of them would ever be hired to do, and there was no way it would be worth the risk without adequate compensation, guarantees for their payment, and an employer they could trust enough not to screw them over.

"Which is it, Garitt?" Ben demanded. His tone was perfectly neutral, but Neige sensed he was probably as tired of the facade as she was by now. He walked around the room as he laid out what, no doubt, the rest of them were thinking in that clear, concise, straightforward manner of his. Neige appreciated his directness, which was a breath of much-needed fresh air when you dealt with thieves and spies and half-truths and lies, day in and day out.

As Ben laid out the most plausible theory for why their employer refused to reveal their identity, laying particular stress on the word expendable, Neige shivered. He'd hit the nail in the head and, without some guarantees and some serious incentive, there was definitely no reason for them to put all of their lives on the line for this. He then re-addressed the issues of leadership and communication with their employer. With the way things had been set up, Neige reasoned, it was all but certain that the letter-writer was, in fact, among them. Her eyes drifted to Garitt once more.

Even more abrupt and direct than Ben had been, Nadya sprawled on an elegant chaise longue and kicked off her shoes before addressing Garitt directly, demanding an explanation. Neige's gaze followed the Heartrender's to the dark-haired boy, anticipation mounting in her breast. Surely, now that they were all safely inside and could speak freely, they would be able to unravel at least some of this mystery. Neige shuddered to think of what Tante Vorst would do if she returned to the House of Snow that night without the information she'd been sent to obtain...

She settled herself on a chair close to the window, opposite from the chaise on which Nadya was lounging, and simply looked steadily at Garitt- calm, but expectant.

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

Cole closed his eyes for a minute. He couldn't exactly hide like this forever, and despite Garitt being a real Halber bastard in the southern half of Kerch, Cole knew that Garitt was more meek than he was.

"Of course it can be both, Ben. What if I wanted the head of a nobleman for myself? Is that so far-fetched in the world that we live in today? For a cursed half-blood? Or perhaps my shop is so desperate that we need all the money that we can get." He began pacing around the room, fighting with himself over how much if himself he should reveal to his failing crew.

"I still stick with Ben as our leader, but that sounds aufully suspicious, dosen't it?" Familiar sternness resonated in his voice; a Halber trait dating back to the days when they weren't noblemen, but berserkers. Since then, they'd lost much of the physicality required to fight, but replaced much of it with skill.

Suddenly, he stopped his pacing, inches in front of Nadya, his eyes cold blue fire. "Suppose that I am the person who hired you. Would I be stupid enough to stand this close to a heartrender such as yourself? An ex-Ravkan soldier that served under the Darkling himself? Your decor is impressive enough to lead me to believe that the rumors I've heard of your profession are -- if not factual -- underspoken."

It was out, now. He couldn't hide it. Realizing this, Cole's strong stance faltered, and he took a step away from Nadya.

"I've lived in Ketterdam all my life, and I know that the upper levels of this place need to change -- to be wiped clean, and I'm willing to die for that, do you understand? You'll get as many boxings as I can give and your black hearts can desire once this is all over."

Cole found a chair to sit in and did so with his left hand resting his head as if revealing so much took a great effort. "Your suspicions are correct, I am Cole Eriksson Halber. What business?" He said quietly and slowly, allowing the weight of his words to settle on himself more than anyone else.

 

[StormWolf]

The truth will out, at last. But at what cost? The faintest ripple of expression crossed Ben's face as he watched Garitt - Cole - finally unmask. It was an effort for the young man - the merchling - but Ben didn't discredit him for the deception. It seemed as fine an idea as any given their previous public surroundings. Cole's sudden proximity to Nadya stirred those years of drilling, conditioning, and instinct within Ben that he stamped down with an effort of will. Ben's arm tensed in a twitch as it was halted from reaching for his pistol. He would have commended Cole's bravado, but he had to go and pull the lioness' tail.

Shit. . .

Casting his glance to the divan, Nadya's catlike nonchalance melted away before Ben's very eyes. Her cavalier disinterest burned away like a morning fog as those green eyes hardened. Ben had seen that expression more times than he could count. The detached calm of a killer. Ben's eyes flashed to her hands, vigilant against the sign of a Heartrender's gestures. Meeting her eyes, Ben casually put out a hand the way one would to ward off a snarling predator.

"Clarity at last," Ben sighed, a sound that was more akin to a low growl as he interposed himself between Nadya and Cole, for all the good it would do. "In the interest of individual longevity, herr Halber, I would encourage restraint in disclosing the secrets of others. Especially when the other in question can turn your insides to soup." He cast another cursory glance back to Nadya, a cursory sternness there that seemed to say restrain yourself.

"The business of blood and bullets, herr Halber, as you have said. You want to clean house. Get your revenge. I understand that more than you know. . ." Ben's lip twitched. A hound wanting to snarl. "Let us start simple: who is the first target on your list? Consider this like commissioning. . . a piece of art or fine machinery. Certain factors will have an impact on the cost." Benhamin deigned to not address the comment about hearts or their color. It was a lure if he ever saw one, intended to spurn defense of oneself and their ideals. Ben had made his rule known at the onset, and he had no illusions about the nature of his being. Anything that was gentle, kind, and good, he had been forced to butcher and bury in order to survive. Everything Benhamin was, he took from the indifferent, cold, and unloving bosom of this world with blood and toil. Death was his business. That was, after all, why he was here, and not any other trigger-man or Grisha-for-hire in the city.

 

[Morrighan]

The moment those words had left the merchling's lips, he'd been marked a dead man.

It took everything she had not to send the otkazat'sya crumbling to the ground in a heap of broken bones at his pathetic attempt to "calm" her. She was Nadya Krovopuskov, the greatest Heartrender to come out of the Little Palace in centuries. She would not be so easily dismissed.

She didn't bother to lift her hands as she formed a tight, sudden fist.

Iceveins, of course, didn't react to the closing of his windpipe. He merely froze, standing utterly still as a final sort of barrier between her and the Kerch boy.

She twisted one fist, and he collapsed onto his knees.

The Halber brat was next.

Nadya rose from the Chaise, her movements the slow, graceful motions of a coiling snake. She completely ignored the others, walking right past the man on the floor, until she was leaning down, close enough to kiss the Halber boy.

"You've just signed a death warrant for every person in this room with one, stupid comment, Cole."

Then she released the fist she had on the otkazat'sya - her other hand snapping out to grip Cole's throat - and lifted it high into the air, ready to fall.

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

Would I be stupid enough to stand this close to a heartrender such as yourself?

The answer, it seemed, was a resounding yes. Then 'Cole' went and revealed that Nadya had been one of the Darkling's Grisha. Louis might've whistled, had the temperature not dropped several degrees immediately after. A boy with too full pockets and little sense, clearly. Louis, content to be a fly on the wall, smiled when the blue-eyed boy said he was from Ketterdam, as if that was supposed to mean something, as if that gave him more knowledge of the place than the rest of them.

'Cole' might be from Ketterdam, but he wasn't from Ketterdam. It grated him, like 'Cole' took sandpaper and rubbed it right on his face. But that was becoming typical of this group. If he was a heartrender, the lot of them would be dead at his feet already. Except maybe Ben. He hadn't done anything to piss him off. Yet. There was still plenty of day left, after all. But since he wasn't a heartrender, and he could maybe stab 'Cole' to death before the others were on him, he only maintained his smile.

Just as Benhamin got back to the most important part of all this, the pay, he went quiet and dropped.

You've just signed a death warrant for every person in this room with one, stupid comment, Cole.

Louis stopped smiling. What did 'Cole's' blunder have to do with him? His eyes flicked to the front door, considering. Benhamin might be content to be Nadya's plaything, but Louis was not. Fortunately for 'Cole', he'd made a fatal mistake in telling them that they could have all he could give. Louis intended to make good on that promise, and he couldn't if the blue-eyed boy was dead. What did it say about the rest of them that he had to play mediator?

Louis shook his head. "Kill him and we get nothing. Not a single coin," he reminded Nadya. "Or, if this is where we all die, what will you do after? If the puppy could figure out who you were, the other Halberd's can too. Every Grisha in Ketterdam will be after your head. How many people are you willing to kill for one mercher boy?" He crossed his arms, looking down. "And I know it won't be easy to get the blood out of these rugs. If you still want him dead after we're done, then I'll help hold him still. Until then, he's not worth the trouble."

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

Garitt closed his eyes for a moment, apparently thinking about what to say. He responded to Ben in obvious irritation, but it seemed he was simply stating possibilities for the sake of rhetorical argument rather than actually providing a real explanation. And in his irritation his true self showed clearly through. He continued to all but talk to himself, continuing both the part of the clueless boy and that of their collective voice of reason. He stopped pacing then, and turned to the Heartrender.

"Suppose that I am the person who hired you. Would I be stupid enough to stand this close to a heartrender such as yourself? An ex-Ravkan soldier that served under the Darkling himself? Your decor is impressive enough to lead me to believe that the rumors I've heard of your profession are -- if not factual -- underspoken." Which was essentially a direct admission, but he only seemed to realize this after he'd already said it and couldn't take it back.

He faltered and took a step back. When he spoke of Ketterdam and how it needed to change, she believed he was telling the truth- that this was what he really felt. He took a seat finally, seeming rather defeated as he revealed who he actually was, giving the customary Kerch greeting. Neige tilted her head to the side, studying him carefully.

So this is Halber's son? she thought. What exactly is he thinking? If he had expected his charade to work, he obviously hadn't thought this through, and that was worrisome. Being hired by a mecher's son with an overabundance of money and no knowledge or common sense didn't exactly inspire confidence in his mad scheme.

Ben walked over and placed himself between Nadya and... Cole, a placating arm held out towards the former as he advised him against giving away people's secrets. Neige had to agree on this- many people in Ketterdam worked hard to keep their true identities hidden, and giving away that information (or even simply possessing it) was basically grounds for a summary execution.

Ben said that he understood the young merch's motivations, and Neige frowned at him. The moment passed quickly as he proceeded to ask leading questions about the job, essentially instructing him on how things worked. When he fell silent, Neige thought nothing of it, until he suddenly collapsed, falling to his knees. Her eyes went wide as the Heartrender rose from her chair and advanced on Cole.

She lifted the boy bodily by the throat, every bit the savage predator and, though Neige was scared, she also couldn't help but think it was beautiful to witness- like a snake, or a jungle cat.

Louis tried to reason with the enraged Grisha, making arguments, unsurprisingly, related to money. Which made sense for him but, judging by their surroundings, the Heartrender was not remotely short on cash, and either way Cole had crossed a line. It was clear that killing them mattered more to her now than whether or not they did this job or got paid for it. The rest of his arguments made more sense, but she doubted it would sway the assassin given her current rage.

Neige kept silent, watching the scene unfold. If the Scarlet Flower decided to kill them, the bottom line was that none of them would be able to stop her. It was up to Cole now.

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

Cole fought the instinct to resist her grasp; it would waste the oxygen he had in his lungs, and it would destroy whatever reputation he could build before it was built. He kept his dulled blue eyes on Nadya and made his hand into the shape of a gun, bringing it from in front of his holster, up and over his head to point at the Heartrender holding the thread of his life to a blade, and brought his thumb down. It would be kind of easy, he thought to himself, making the assumption that if she squeezed his heart he could retain the control required for such an action.

The others were playing their parts beautifully. Louis wanted the money and therefore wanted him alive, Ben had done at least some kind of preventative measure, and Neige was revealing how complacent she was. As for Nadya, well, he needed to see just how ferocious she was, didn't he?

"Listen to the pickpocket," he managed to say through the choking, "you have no idea what contingencies I have in place. Exposing that part of you was my mistake, and I will make it up to you; I need you, just as I need every one of the others." He felt his vision starting to darken at the edges.

This he'd felt before. The burning in his chest, the pressure against his trachea, the tingling at his hands and feet. Still, he kept his eyes open and looking at Nadya. If I go, I won't even notice beyond passing out. Realize the suffering that will continue if I don't succeed.

"I didn't even know if I was right about your past," the right side of Halber's lips curled into a slight smirk. His eyelids were starting to twitch as the black closed in.

 

[StormWolf]

No matter how hard one trains, conditions, or hardens themselves to the harsh realities of life, they can never truly shake off the panic brought on by something purely biological. The need for food, for water. The need for air. A trickle of ice cold dread slithered down Ben's spine, eyes widening as he saw Nadya's hands move in those dreaded Heartrender motions. A thousand foul, fetid memories roiled in his head like a maelstrom. He tried to call out to her, to get her to stop.

"Nggh..." was the all he could muster, a rasp like rough iron on a whetstone.

The Grisha's fist clenched, and Ben felt his body seize. His limbs obeyed the command of another like a damned marionette. He hit the rug with a dull whump, brought to a knee, a hand planted to keep him upright rather than prostrate. Ben's heart raced, blood roaring in his ears. As was his nature, he pushed stubbornly back against his mutinous limbs. His face had settled into a feral snarl, froth flecking his lips.

What are you, otkazat'sya?

I am nothing.

"Nngggh!" He choked, eyes watering. A vein bulged at Ben's temple as his face reddened. He hated himself for this, for how simply she could turn his own body against him. All his life's work, all his efforts, everything he committed himself to for two decades... It still was nothing compared to a Grisha. Compared to her.

I am nothing...

Do it, he thought grimly, just have the decency to look me in the eyes.

As if she heard his thoughts, the hand that oppressed Ben with her power relaxed. Any other Heartrender - any other Grisha - and he would have blown their brains out of their nose, but even as Ben stumbled to his feet, dizzy from the lack of air, he stood and clasped Nadya by the wrist. After years of thinking her dead, even after that casual display of power and disregard, he couldn't even fathom hurting her. Any Grisha but her.

Always the dutiful ovcharka.

"Nadya," he croaked, giving her wrist a squeeze, "that is enough." He was breathing deep and desperate, lungs burning as his broad chest rose and fell. Louis' reasoning, while commendable and unashamedly Kerch, was the wrong bait for the kind of beast that was Nadya. At least the Nadya I once knew.

"You are free of him. Do not become what he wanted you to be. Please." In that last word, there was real emotion in Ben's voice, pleading and raw. There and gone like a sea breeze. "If you will not heed me, then listen to Louis." Ben gave her arm another squeeze, then a shake. The leather of his gloves creaked in protest. The Merchling had balls in greater quantity than he had brains, or perhaps the boy was more like Ben than he dared fathom. Either way, it took a measure of restraint to not cuff Cole upside the head. Complacency through unconsciousness was better than fanning the flames, but Ben needed to be an anchor. Louis had a finer way with words than he, which could quite possibly be the key to bringing Nadya down. But for Ben, the only tether he had was a bitter-sweet memory.