Fandom Grishaverse (Main)

[Morrighan]

Nadya bared her teeth at the Otkazat'sya, eyes flashing with rage at his touch, his pathetic attempts to pretend that this wasn't his fault.

You left me! She wanted to scream. You ran like the useless, treacherous coward that you are!

Instead, she turned her attention back to the merchling, who had only pissed her off with his venomous little mouth. He was a cockroach, a pebble in her shoe. How he had found her out, she didn't know, but she couldn't just let him live.

"You think you are so fucking smart, don't you? Congratulations! You figured out that I was one of The Darkling's pawns. I was forced to flee my country for this shithole because of him! I was a soldier, a servant of Ravka. You? You think yourself righteous because of your thirst for the blood of those you naively deem worse than you, as if it makes any difference! I will not let some pathetic little Kerch blyad destroy the life I have built for myself!"

Nadya clenched her captive arm's hand into a fist, cramping up Iceveins' muscles long enough to wrench from his hold. She drew a knife from the small sheath at her thigh and held it to Cole's throat.

"Even if you swear on your life to keep your mouth shut, what's to stop the rest of your little pawns from talking?! My life will be forfeit the moment anyone learns of my connection to The Darkling, regardless of the fact that I left Ravka. Do you have any idea how many of us are alive? We kept in touch, many of us, and one by one we've been hunted down and butchered!" Nadya hissed, the rage and grief in her voice causing her words to shake.

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

Louis felt for Nadya, he did. But as she made her impassioned speech, his eyes darted to the exit again.

A few discreet steps and he could be done with this. As if he could make it a step before he was a corpse on the floor. There was stupid, and then there was Cole, who had scraped the bottom of the barrel of sense and was determined to keep going down. He seemed fully content to drag them all down into the muck with him. Louis' fingers twitched. He would've knocked Cole out himself, but that would leave them nothing to do.

He didn't come here to stand around in a room while two ex-lovers quarreled waiting for their benefactor to wake up, hopefully with a brain this time. The fact that Ben touched Nadya and was still alive said it all.

"Your life would be forfeit anyway, if you kill him," Louis spoke up, because someone had to. "You, of all people, understand the value of money to people who deal in bodycounts. The Halberd's can, and will, throw money beyond Ketterdam, to Shu hunters, Fjerdan Drüskelle, and even Ravkans. The puppy might want his family dead, but he isn't disowned. Even if they don't care about him, they won't let this go." He leaned back against a wall, the picture of nonchalance. "Have patience. Once everyone he wants dead is dead, there will be no one left to care if the puppy has his heart pulled from his chest."

He gestured at himself. "Besides, who will believe the word of a rat from the Barrel?"

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

"Listen to the pickpocket," the slowly suffocating boy managed to say, "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."

Given his lack of intelligence in the choices he'd made up until now, Neige was inclined to believe that his threat about 'contingencies' was a bluff, but it was possible he was serious.

"I didn't even know if I was right about your past," he added with a smirk. Neige wanted to roll her eyes. Even as the assassin choked the life from his body, he was still bothering to be cheeky. Clearly, he had no sense whatsoever.

Just then, Ben rose unsteadily to his feet and grasped the Heartrender's wrist, pleading with her not to do this, his voice emotional and raw. Neige blinked in surprise, a vague memory once more stirring at the back of her mind. Nadya bared her teeth in response, looking more like feral animal than a rational human being.

Turning back to Cole, she said "You think you are so fucking smart, don't you? Congratulations! You figured out that I was one of The Darkling's pawns. I was forced to flee my country for this shithole because of him! I was a soldier, a servant of Ravka. You? You think yourself righteous because of your thirst for the blood of those you naively deem worse than you, as if it makes any difference! I will not let some pathetic little Kerch blyad destroy the life I have built for myself!"

Neige felt her heart speed up at the Grisha's words, even as she watched her escape Ben's grasp and put a knife to the boy's throat.

"Even if you swear on your life to keep your mouth shut, what's to stop the rest of your little pawns from talking?! My life will be forfeit the moment anyone learns of my connection to The Darkling, regardless of the fact that I left Ravka. Do you have any idea how many of us are alive? We kept in touch, many of us, and one by one we've been hunted down and butchered!"

The grief in her voice was palpable, and entirely unexpected, and Neige's eyes filled with tears as she looked at her.

Louis made another case for letting Cole live- namely that, if she killed him, his very rich and very powerful family would have her hunted down which, admittedly, seemed exactly like what they would do.

Spurred by emotion rather than by sense, Neige stepped forward, looking directly at Nadya and entreating her with her eyes to see reason.

"Louis is right," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "You let him go and you walk away from this with a fortune and your secret intact. But if you kill him, they'll send the whole city after you and the life that you've built will be taken away."

"Please," she begged, not for herself, but for this woman who stood to lose everything, tears falling down her cheeks, "please don't do this."

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

Blacking out was as he remembered it: The fuzzy dark rolling into his vision, the tingling, and finally the briefest sleep.

---

She stood in the courtyard in front of him, standing in the servant's pose of attention that she was taught to retain when in the presence of people like Erik. Of course, she didn't look at Cole; he wasn't her concern at this moment. The fountain behind Erik was clean as always, and just as useless. A flaunt of wealth that rubbed Cole the wrong way.

The insults, the accusations, the dowsing, the rage, and the sendoff all came in a blur.

He felt himself starting to wake, but he wanted to stay. He wanted to follow her out of the gates, to m--

---

The blade was uncomfortable against his throat as the Raven-headed boy brought breath back into himself. His limbs jolted, as if he was realizing their existence for the first time again, all at once.

The silver rat looked at him as if he was a fool, and the others appeared to be more concerned about Nadya's safety than the job itself. He couldn't blame them. With a wave of her hand, they'd all be dead moments after Cole. He looked at the people he hired and let the heartrender's words sink in: ...thirst for the blood of those you naively deem worse than you, as if it makes any difference...

He wasn't better than the rest of them, was he? Even back then, those couple of years ago, he was just the same. And if he succeeded, what then? People just as bad would eventually take the place of those that he destroyed. They were all the worst kind of Phoenix.

His blue eyes settled on a floorboard with a splinter that was waiting to catch onto some unsuspecting flesh, and he was quiet for too long. I don't need to do anything permanent. Once they feel me under their skin, they'll redo the entire floor.

His eyes didn't leave the splinter, they seemed distant this way. "No one gets paid if anything happens to Nadya on the basis of her past profession, and you'll be listed by name if I die by one of your hands before this is over," he said quietly, almost defeatedly. He was still alive, which meant that everyone was still doing what he wanted them to given the scenario. He picked wisely.

Only, he wasn't done with this. He realized he needed a different approach. His words here were as worthless as gutter water.

 

[StormWolf]

When Nadya once again wrested control of Benhamin's own body, something cold and dark churned in the pit of his stomach. His joints creaked as his muscles marched to a different drum, and Ben set his teeth in a grim, furious, and determined expression. When control was returned to him, Ben almost went to grab her again, but the keen edge of a knife was fickle. A twitch the wrong way and all their negotiation wouldn't matter.

Butchered...

That in particular weighed heavily on Ben. He could have leaned into his Fjerdan heritage and become drüskelle. He could have sold the Grisha he hunted to the Shu cutters. But after the siege on the Little Palace, he'd just wanted to hunt them. To hurt them. When face with honor, faith, and duty...

Ben chose hate. And for what?

"Listen to them, Nadya. He's still just a child. Let him go." Ben knew his stance was weak in this. She'd never listened to him when it mattered, and when both of them were Cole's age, they were already killing people for a supernatural despot. Just to feel the shine of his approval. Clearing his throat roughly, Ben crossed to his cello case.

"Why do you think he hired me? Among all the trigger-men in Kerch? Botkin taught me everything he knew..." The case opened, revealing the impression of a rifle, wrapped in a bolt of crimson silk, embroidered with gold, burned and frayed. The Ravkan Eagle sat chief among what was once the cuff of a kefta. Her kefta.

"At the Little Palace, I thought they killed you. Your quarters, your paintings. Burned. Those... things wriggling through the cracks. I was always supposed to keep you safe, but I couldn't when it mattered." Ben took a knee and unfolded the cloth, bearing a long rifle, the pale zebrawood etched with a haunting bounty of tallies. Ben picked it up by the barrel, slowly, racking the bolt and leaving it open to show it was empty.

Eya Sta Kara was carved into the stock. I have become the Scourge.

"Over ninety notches. Each a Grisha who never forsook the Darkling's message or mission. Those who burned our home. Those who I made disappear."

Those I killed for killing you...

Another deception, another lie. Ben didn't move after that, resigned to Nadya's wrath. It was a Heartrender's rage that made him. It seemed fitting that a Heartrender's wrath end him. It might as well be his Heartrender to do so.

 

[Morrighan]

The world stilled, and Nadya felt herself go into shock. Suddenly, everything was too loud and too real. She would hear her heart pounding as her body began to tremble at the hideous truth.

She dropped the boy and the knife without even realizing, and before she could reign in the horror she was falling to her knees.

He killed them He killed them He killed them....

She wanted to scream. She wanted to crush his bones and rip off his limbs. She wanted to howl her grief to the sky.

Instead, she stared, tears falling in a steady stream down her face, at the rifle. Each mark was a Grisha. She wondered which belonged to Anastasia, or to Viktor, or to Marc.

Marc had been a Squaller, blindly loyal and a little cruel. He had loved to wrestle and to sing baudy tunes.

Viktor had been an Inferni, loud and wild with youth and power. He'd fucked more women than any other man she'd known, but it was all because he'd gotten his heart broken when he was young and foolish.

Anastasia had been a Heartrender, quiet and stern. She'd followed her orders without question, because she'd believed in The Darkling's regime with all she'd had.

They'd all been soldiers under her, dutiful servants to a man they'd believed would create a paradise for Grisha. They'd fought and killed and bled for him, because he had taken them from a life of being powerless and made them deadly, made them strong. Nadya had been just the same, loyal and fierce and foolish.

Her eyes landed on the remnants of her kefta, the fabric faded, torn, and scorched from a long-ago fire. Did he honestly expect her to believe that he had murdered his former comrades out of some guilt-hearted vendetta? He'd left her, vanished into the night while she'd been forced to watch the man she'd loved fall deeper and deeper into his own insanity. The night he'd left, Nadya hadn't even been at the Little Palace. The Darkling had sent her off to hunt down a group of traitors, and when she'd arrived home she'd seen her believed Palace still wafting smoke into the sky, The Darkling enraged and her life in ruins. The next evening, she'd recieved her scars, the vicious, cruel marks that reminded her every day of what he'd done to her.

"Do you think me a fool, Otkazat'sya?" She breathed in a voice that was cold and dead as the grave. "You turned your back on everything you swore to protect and now you have the audacity to claim that you murdered your comrades, our friends, because you believed me dead?"

She didn't know what to do, couldn't think beyond the rage and grief and heartache. She had thought she'd known betrayel, but this?

She didn't know how to come back from this.

So she wiped her eyes, stood as with as much dignity as she could muster, and turned to look at Cole.

"You get one chance to prove to me that you will keep to your word, boy. If I suspect that you have lied to me, I will gut every person you have ever cared for and hang them by their entrails by the balconies of the Exchange. Now tell me, who is my first target?"

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

It was a sign that his life was truly in shambles when the prostitute was the only other person to call him by his name.

Pickpocket. Thief.

Louis supposed he deserved the puppy snipping at his heels, but Nadya? She had the audacity to think herself above him when she used to be a toy soldier of the Darkling, possibly the root of all evil himself? She'd never said it to his face, of course. She was just referring to those other pesky Barrel rats. He refused the surprise when Ben explained what the notches on his rifle meant, strangled the tiny thread of fear, and, when Nadya fell to her knees in despair, he kicked his sympathy down a well. Not that she wanted it.

He looked at the rifle and felt nothing. Even if he hadn't shoved his emotions into a pit and set fire to it, no one in this room knew him well enough to tell the difference, anyway.

Alkemi, his gift and his curse.

Louis the Pretender, they should call him. It was more accurate than pickpocket.

He made himself think about all the money he would squeeze from Cole once this was all over. He wouldn't ask about it now, as interrupting Nadya when she was weepy and angry sounded like the second worst idea he'd had all day. The first was stepping into the bar. He'd ask later, once he and Cole were alone.

The money was all that mattered. Not Ben and his Grisha-hunting rifle. Not how close he'd come to death from having the misfortune of being in the same room as Cole Halber. Nothing else. Louis stopped smiling, only because Nadya might take it as him being amused. But, as that left him with nothing to do but watch and stare, he pulled out his dice and focused on twisting them between his fingers, half-listening to the conversation in front of him.

He was sure he was the only dry-eyed person in the room.

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

Cole's eyes had closed- no doubt the lack of oxygen reaching his brain was impeding his ability to stay conscious. His eyes snapped open and his limbs jolted as he returned to the room.

"No one gets paid if anything happens to Nadya on the basis of her past profession, and you'll be listed by name if I die by one of your hands before this is over," he said quietly, sounding defeated. From his tone, Neige believed him.

Ben told Nadya to let Cole go, crossing over to his cello case. Neige got a strange feeling of foreboding in her chest as he removed a rifle from the case, wrapped in crimson silk, revealing another piece of their history. She gasped as she saw the notches. Ninety... ninety Grisha? He had killed ninety Grisha?

Nadya dropped the knife and sank to her knees in shock, tears pouring down her face. Before she even knew what she was doing, Neige had rushed to her side, placing a no-doubt unwelcome arm around her shoulders, wanting to offer some comfort.

"Do you think me a fool, Otkazat'sya?" she said in a deadly and ice-cold tone. Neige let go of her immediately, as if burned by it. "You turned your back on everything you swore to protect and now you have the audacity to claim that you murdered your comrades, our friends, because you believed me dead?" Neige thought surely she would murder Ben on the spot but, instead, she wiped her eyes and turned to Cole, making a terrifying threat to his life and that of his family before enquiring about the first target.

Neige stepped back and returned to her former seat. She wanted to ask about the money again, but felt it would be unwise to come between Nadya and her getting a response to her enquiry. Even Louis was keeping quiet, watching the proceedings with an air of calculated boredom and playing with his dice.

Cole has gathered an extremely volatile and dangerous group for this task, she thought. Though I doubt he knew everything about Ben and Nadya's past, he obviously knew enough to predict how tense it would be to have them working together- a Grisha hunter and a Grisha assassin?

Of course it made sense to have them both- killing people was the mission and no one was better at it than a powerful Heartrender. As for Ben, he could take care of any indentured Grisha their targets had on-hand to protect them. Still, the whole thing remained extremely risky.

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

Cole got to his feet quietly, rubbing his throat. He wasn't surprised by Nadya's hostility -- in fact, he was glad for it -- but Ben's appeasement and honesty took him off guard. He knew that Ben was a hunter, but he had no idea what made him one in the first place. Horrible stories from a troubled country; it felt like he heard them every week about Ravka. Maybe things have finally settled.

Once he regained his composure (a different one this time, more disconnected and focused now that he didn't have to hide his identity), he spoke up about their first mission.

"Brande Libins owns several moderately successful taverns in the Lid, and makes an impressive amount of money through a network of pickpockets. Tourists that he robs completely blind either end up dead after wandering in the Barrel, or they find themselves scratching for a living under Libins as a pickpocket themselves. It's a self-feeding cycle that earns him plenty through the year, and allows his workers to be as expendable as saltwater. Before he gets around to paying them any significant amount, he turns them in to the authorities."

Cole looked at the individuals around him. "He'll be spending some time in the Lid himself, supposedly running some kind of 'charitable' show at some garbage stage. Neige, I need you to distract him at his seat and find out where he keeps his documents. Nadya will stop his heart from a few seats over once Neige has what she needs with Ben keeping watch, and Louis and I will make a run for his stuff wherever he keeps it once we get the information. This is the easiest job, and if it's done right, no one will suspect murder at all. He's fat enough that his heart's bound to fail anyway."

 

[StormWolf]

"You know better than anyone, Nadya. I had no friends in that place," Ben said, his voice deep and dark as the sea. He snapped the bolt closed, wrapping the rifle in the fabrikator-silk with an almost ritualistic reverence. Ben's face was an implacable, unsettling, tenuous calm. A sheet of ice through which one could see the roiling leviathan beneath.

Everything I swore to protect was gone.

"A friend would have the courtesy to call me by name, rather than refer to me as a thing." Still, the names brought images to mind. A puff of pink mist down scope, a canister bomb in a coach, steel guiding through the places that make someone work. Most vivid was Viktor, face frozen in horror as Ben charged through the flames. He pleaded, like they all did. Viktor had the hardest goodbye for telling such hurtful lies. I was following orders. Nadya's alive, I swear!

Ben remembered beating the handsome young man into a pulp until his fists were scuffed to the bone, and pulled teeth and skull from his knuckles in the aftermath. His eyes were distant, looking into the middle space of recollection when Cole's voice snapped him back. A brief furrow of those sullen brows, Ben cleared his throat and took out his black book and pen once again.

Focus. Intent.

"Public spectacle, deniability," he muttered aloud as he scribbled. "Do you want me on overwatch," he gestured to the cello case, once again closed, "or in the crowd?" They were finally getting somewhere, but the toll had been heavy. The best thing, in Ben's mind, was to stay on mission. He wasn't all that aware of their target, though Ben could safely assume that each and every person in the room had stumbled over one of Libins' pawns.

 

[Morrighan]

A simple job, a typical target.

These were the things she needed to focus on, not the memories threatening to devour her or the ache in her heart. She'd believed Ben dead, had hoped he was dead so that she could push aside what she'd foolishly begun to feel for him. The truth of what he had done was like a brick to the head.

Still, she was no longet Nadya Krovopuskov, the Oprichniki Kapitan.

She was Natasha Chernov, famed assassin and sought-after artist to the Kerch elite. She was her own monarch, and followed no law save for that which she had written for herself. She killed those who'd earned it, and lived as she saw fit. She ate the best food and wore the best gowns. Her life was better than some Merchers.

But she still felt empty, still woke each night from dreams and nightmares of all she'd lost or left behind. She saw the faces of the people she'd killed, felt them die over and over.

She saw The Darkling, shadows pooling at his feet and a crown of ebony on his head, the corpses of a thousand innocents beneath him.

She saw a soldier dressed in grey, with eyes the piercing blue of a Fjerdan winter, disappearing into a darkness that she could not enter.

"Send me the details by messanger," she told Cole, before turning towards the others. "All of you, get out."

She refused to look at him, even as the others gathered themselves and made their way out. She couldn't be bothered to check their pockets, or to even care that Louis might have stolen from her despite her threats.

She needed to cry alone, without these people here to watch and judge her.

Before the room was even empty of her guests, Nadya turned and walked out of the sitting area and over to the massive set of stairs just visible through the archway leading from the room. Her feet made no sound as she climbed up the carpetted stairs, her eyes already aching from the effort.

A bath...she would take a bath and let herself fall apart in the safety of her marble tub, surrounded by steam and warmth.

But before she even reached the doors to her room, she felt her strength dissolve as she remembered how she and Anastasia had once visited a sauna in Os Alta during the fall, along with several other Grisha women. They'd laughed and gossiped for hours, and she remembered having felt so completely at peace in that moment.

But Anastasia was gone, along with those other Grisha. Some had died during the war, but the rest?

They'd all been butchered by Benhamin Iceveins.

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

Louis knew of Brande Libins.

Other than occasionally turning his indentured fools into the stadwatch, he was a man of integrity. Louis' kind of integrity, but still. Though, usually when his name was said, it was accompanied by someone spitting on the ground or choking back a strong drink as if to wash the taste of the name away.

He was still thinking of this, ignoring the relationship drama in front of him, when Nadya abruptly told them all to get out. There was nothing left to say to her, no point in pointing out that regardless of what story the messenger was fed, it would be another person who knew where she lived, who knew at least a little too much. How was a messenger supposed to deliver details on something like this without knowing said details? But Louis only tipped his hat, turned, and left.

He thought of taking a souvenir, but they would see each other again, and then he would be a Louis-shaped folding chair. He turned to the other three. "I'm feeling generous, so if we want to keep talking about this in a more private place, you can come back with me. It's not quiet, clean, or--" he gestured back at Nadya's door. "--that, but there won't be anyone listening in. It's a once in a lifetime offer."

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

Cole took his time responding, getting slowly to his feet and massaging his throat. The plan for his initial target seemed relatively low-risk and well thought-out, which was comforting. Neige had heard of Libins, of course. She suspected they would have heard of most (if not all) of Cole's targets, given who he was after.

Ben, after his earlier revelation, had reverted to his businesslike manner, pulling out his notebook once more, muttering to himself as he wrote down pertinent details and asked for some precisions. Nadya instructed Cole to send her the details by messenger, and then told them all to leave. The pain in her voice was unmistakable, as was the implied threat of what would happen to them, should they refuse to comply.

Neige wanted to stay, to say something to her- to offer some comfort. But she knew the gesture would be poorly received, and she was not foolish enough to attempt it. She followed the others out as the Grisha climbed the stairs towards her upper rooms, ignoring them completely.

Once they were outside, Louis offered for them to come back with him to discuss things further. Neige hesitated. She'd only been meant to go to the first meeting, and had already gone to one second location. If she went to another, and returned too late, she was likely to find Tante Vorst in a foul mood, which she actively tried to avoid.

On the other hand, she still didn't have the information she needed, and returning without it would probably prove worse than returning later than planned. She gave a small, hesitant nod.

"I was really hoping the issue of payment-" she laid a delicate stress on the word, "-would have been settled by now," she admitted, free to speak her mind now that they were no longer in the Heartrender's irate presence. "I must return to the House, but I cannot return without that information."

She looked at Cole now, letting her irritation show. Even though Nadya's request for information and subsequent dismissal had not been under his control, she felt he had caused it with his attitude towards her and, now that all of their lives weren't under immediate threat, she felt her frustration rise.

"And what was the point of that charade anyway?" she demanded, her voice becoming a little louder. "How on earth did you expect this to work without you telling us who you were, and why try to push for making Ben the leader? What are you playing at?"

She glared at Cole openly. Even though the decision of her participation in this was, technically, not up to her, she felt frustrated with the way the merchling had been prepared to play them for fools and gamble with their lives, and worried at the lack of foresight or savvy it hinted at.

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

Cole left Nadya's living space respectfully, the near-silent soft thumps of his boots the only sound coming from him for now. Once his mind had a chance to settle, he was ready to answer questions.

"Dealer's choice, Benhamin. Overwatch gives you a good overall view, but being in the crowd gives you all the subtleties you'd ever need to make decisions," he said without looking at the tall Ravkan. His eyes stayed low, and he ran his fingers through his hair to fix what Nadya had ruffled.

"I can promise each of you about 68 million Kruge. I trust that you'll buy yourself out of that house, Neige -- and be smart about it, your mistress may well attempt to trick you out of your money and your freedom," he said matter-of-factly, but meaning no disrespect. His eyes went from Neige to Silverhands when he finished talking, expecting that the thief would be glad to hear a number. "Maybe more. As for my facade, this group of all people should understand. Every layer I can put on myself separates me from the job. It's life insurance." The last words came out in a darker tone. He saw something in his future he didn't quite like.

The boy gave no opinion on Louis's offer, but looked to the remaining two to decide amongst themselves. They needed to know the plan, certainly, but following Louis anywhere unknown may not be in their most trusting minds.

 

[StormWolf]

Benhamin was aware of the risks of unveiling the truth, that the group could turn on him, or that he might be removed from their roster and tossed to the jackals of the Barrel. The look that Nadya gave him was like being flayed with jade daggers. Nadya had been strong and imperious as ever, yet she had steadily withered in his presence since they returned to eachother's lives with all the grace of a shipwreck. She was right to look at him in such a way. In a lifetime of powerlessness, Ben had finally wrested power of his own, and he'd inflicted it upon others out of rage and grief.

All for a lie. A mistake. Could things have been different? Would it have mattered? Ben wasn't a man of faith; not Fjerdan nor Shu, Kerch nor Ravkan. It didn't matter to what power people prayed to, their answers were always "no". Except, Nadya was alive. So that was something. As she trudged upstairs, Ben wanted so desperately to follow her and tell her what had happened. But she wouldn't listen. She never would listen to an otkazat'sya.

I wish you were Grisha, Benhamin...

Clearing his throat roughly, Ben took an empty page from the back of his notebook, a brief flash of his pen dancing across the paper before he folded it into a delicate, complex structure. Shu papercraft, a trick he had picked up in his travels. The simple page became a white rosebud that he placed on the Grisha's banister before taking up his hat, his bear coat, and his cello case. He'd been fighting back a rising gorge in his stomach, forcing that mask of implacable, frigid iron. Stepping outside, Ben reflexively flexed his hands as the others spoke outside. Seeing Neige adopt such a different demeanor in such a short span told him enough about her specialty. She was mercurial.

Saints... he swore inwardly. Sixty-eight million... to call the sum lofty would be as gross an understatement as calling water 'damp'. That kind of money had its own problems tied to it. People would take notice of that kind of wealth. Ben shrugged his shoulders with a visible discomfort, expression no more than a whistle and a brief jump of his eyebrows.

"Damn... I would say that I would destabilize a nation for that much, but it sounds like that is the job, regardless." Benhamin sniffed, helping himself to another cigarette now that they were out in the open.

"If there is more business to discuss," he said, exhaling a plume of rich cobalt smoke, "then we had best get it resolved tonight. Anything less than actionable information will not go over well." He nodded is head to the deceptively plain facade of Nadya's studio-fortress. Ben knew that the job took priority. That was how he made his way in this business; focus, commitment, sheer will. But his ire was up, his blood like fire. He needed to hurt somebody tonight, and it couldn't be this lot.

"So long as we do not discuss overlong. I need my beauty sleep more than the rest of you." He didn't feel it necessary to gesticulate as to what he meant. There was a reason he'd remained mostly unmolested on the streets of Ketterdam.

 

[Morrighan]

By the time Nadya managed to stop crying, the sun had fallen towards the horizon. Her grief had swallowed her, hardening her until her pain and rage was a deadly thing. She needed to kill something.

The killing calm had settled into her soul, her eyes seeking the shadowed corners of The Barrel as she prowled.

She hired a young girl, barely old enough to have had her first bleeding, to serve as her snare. As instructed, the child wandered the streets in a seemingly aimless manner, her path leading her through the pleasure district's most infamous haunts for slavers, rapists, and child-molesters.

Nadya followed in the darkness, gaze carefully marking each and every movement made towards or near the girl. Some of the men merely stared with leering grins, others called out sickening invitations, but it was the three men - stood around a small fire in Black Alley - who surrounded her like ravenous wolves.

She put them all into comas before they could even lay a finger on the child.

After tossing a heavy stack of kruge to her young helper, and instructing her to head as far away from The Barrel as the hefty sum would take her, Nadya got to work.

It wasn't often that she employed the use of a knife in her work, not when she was able to kill more efficiently with her power. It was only on nights like this, with targets like these, that she bothered. She wanted to feel the comforting weight of her knife, wanted to feel their blood on her hands as she slowly brought them -one by one - out of their sleep and ended their meaningless lives.

She took her time with the first man, who'd been the most liberal with his eyes when cornering his prey. She cut out his tongue to keep him quiet, but in the end he'd ket out a shriek that forced her to kill him to avoid notice.

The second man was smaller, like a human weed. He shook like a trembling fawn at the sight her his friends corpse, but didn't even have the guts to scream. She'd sliced his throat and moved on.

However, the third man had gotten chatty.

"If you're going to kill me, gorgeous, you might as well bring your little friend back for one last ride," he sneered. "I'll Fuck her good, I promise. You too, if you want. Hell, even if you don't!"

Then he'd made the mistake of attempting to lunge for her, and she'd knocked him out. The decision to take him home with her had been an easy one, especially when she realized that this was the same creep who had been charged with raping his six year old daughter last month, only to get off with nothing.

She paid some Razorgulls she knew close by to carry the fucker to her place, and then promptly made it clear that - should either of them speak a word of it to anyone - they would have the priviledge of seeing just how slow a death could be.

They didn't seem to get the message until she shattered one of the men's ribs.

They ran off, no doubt intent on never setting foot near her place again, leaving Nadya to carry her charge down into her cellar, where she kept the majority of her toys.

He awoke chained and already bleeding steadily from two viscous slices down his abdomen, shaking and breathing heavily from the pain, to see Nadya holding a long, bloody knife. Her face was hard, and utterly expressionless, as she looked at her prey. Anyone else might see a frightened, injured man.

All the Grisha saw was a sack of organs.

"Kidney, Gall bladder, spleen, eyes, tongue, fingers, toes, perhaps a lung...I could remove any or all of these things from your pathetic body and keep you alive while doing it, Drekkle Hynes."

He shivered at the sound of her voice, utterly devoid of emotion, of feeling.

She cocked her head at him, letting her fingers play along the edge of her blade, cutting her own skin with an unnerving ease.

She let him watch as she healed herself, let him see what she was.

"Please..." He begged, shaking. "Please!"

But she was already moving, and he was already screaming.

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

68 million kruge— Well, maybe the puppy wasn't as dense as he appeared. Three words and Louis was permanently shackled to this dysfunctional little group. He couldn't leave or jump ship until he had his cut, and that was that.

Maybe more, said the puppy. Oh, there was no maybe about it. Louis was going to take everything Cole had, down to the buttons on his coat. It was only a matter of when.

"If you're coming, then follow me," he instructed the group as he gestured for them to follow and headed deep into the Barrel, to the East Stave. There were more people starting to mill about, heading into gambling dens after a long work day with high spirits and full pockets or leaving them drunk and much poorer. Ignoring the bright signs, lights, and the scantily-clad women promising that his first game was on the house if he only stepped inside the Cumulus Club, Louis stepped into a tavern wedged between Blue Paradise and another gambling den.

The lettering on the front read, 'The Iron Pelican'.

Inside, men and women crowded the bar, drinking away their loses with dirt cheap liquor, celebrating wins with friends, or downing liquid courage (or for good luck) before they headed next door. Strangers shouted and cheered and clinked drinks like lifelong friends. Another group smoked and played cards in the back corner, while the owner was on the floor next to an overturned table, fighting to pull two drunks apart.

Between fists and flailing feet, Pim glared at Louis as he pretended to be deaf and blind to the fight. His smile was genuine as he led the group upstairs. Open doors lined the hall, only closed when they were occupied, mostly by intoxicated tourists, who were the only one who could afford them. At the end of the hall was Louis' room, with only a single plain bed and a cheap dresser inside. It looked plain and barely lived in, but that was only because Louis stashed his stolen goods under the floorboards. It was half the size of Nadya's living room, if that.

"If you were robbed on the way up you can take it up with Pim. He owns this place. He was the big guy breaking up that fight down there."

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

"I can promise each of you about 68 million Kruge. I trust that you'll buy yourself out of that house, Neige -- and be smart about it, your mistress may well attempt to trick you out of your money and your freedom," Cole replied, startling Neige completely. Not only was the sum enormous but, after all the rigamarole they had gone through to get any information from him, he was just blurting it out in the street? Her unease about the whole thing was growing very great indeed.

As for the advice about what she should do with it, well... It wasn't like she didn't know all of this already, but she had no choice in the matter. Yes, 68 million kruge was a lot of money but, if she was dead from having succumbed to parem withdrawal, she wouldn't be able to enjoy her freedom or spend it anyway. Her initial reaction to Cole's suggestion was frustration, but it quickly turned to the customary defeated sadness she experienced whenever she bothered to actually think about her situation. In her view, there was nothing she could do.

Cole's eyes turned to Louis as he continued. "Maybe more. As for my facade, this group of all people should understand. Every layer I can put on myself separates me from the job. It's life insurance," he added darkly, then turning to look at her and Ben for a decision on whether or not to follow Louis to his Barrel lair.

Neige snorted derisively, glaring at him with open scorn.

"What I understand, merchling,"she said coldly, sounding similar to Nadya in that moment, "is that you have no idea what you're doing, and that we're all far more likely to see the end of a noose at the end of this than the money you promised. Luckily for you," she added with a sigh, "my personal opinion on this fool's endeavor is irrelevant, as whether or not I actually end up participating isn't up to me."

Ben shrugged with obvious discomfort in response to the sum's announcement, pulling out a cigarette (no doubt to calm his nerves). He was of the opinion that any further business should be discussed that night, mostly because Nadya would be displeased if she did not receive the particulars from whichever unfortunate messenger was sent back to her later. Neige privately agreed with his assessment.

"If you're coming, then follow me," Louis instructed at that point. Neige took a step back, shaking her head.

"I've already gotten all the information I need, in order to determine whether or not I actually participate," she said. "As I mentioned, it isn't up to me. I shall return to the House."

She turned away from the group and marched with a quick and decided step in the direction of the West Stave and the House of Snow, not daring to look back at the three men behind her. Fears and deliberations whirled 'round in her mind as she walked.

I'm making the right decision by leaving now, she thought. I have the information I was asked to get, and if I come back too late Vorst will be in a temper. Not to mention that there's no way wherever Louis is staying is safe for me, nor would be returning to the House after dark, alone and from no doubt the worst part of the East Stave.

Still, she couldn't help but feel apprehensive about this whole thing.

This is a terrible idea, she thought. Even if we succeed (which is extremely unlikely), what are the odds of us actually getting away with it? Cole can simply let us all hang for his mad scheme while he gets what he wants. And that's not even the worst part, she added darkly, thinking back to the worrisome gleam in the mercher boy's eyes; his unpredictability and fluctuation. No, the worst part is he doesn't know what he'd doing.

She heaved a great, weary sigh, shivering in her jacket.

This whole plan is insane, she complained. It's madness to think about- let alone attempt to put into action! For these kinds of targets and that kind of reward, we're now all marked men simply for having been informed of it! She felt trapped by the truth of these words. Even if Tante Vorst decided that she shouldn't be involved, it was too late now. She knew of the plan, knew of the reward, knew who Cole and Nadya were. And if she didn't help them to do this, they would make sure she was dead before the week was out. Anyone who knew who they were or about this operation was a liability, pure and simple.

And they didn't even know how much of an issue working with Neige actually was. She was bound to tell Vorst what she had learned- she didn't have a choice. If she attempted to conceal information and the matron found out about it, there would be hell to pay. If he had known about her addiction, Neige felt certain Cole would never even have considered hiring her for this job- it made her far too much of a liability. Giving this information to any of them had been bad enough, but something like this in the hands of someone like Vorst? Neige shuddered to think of what the woman could (and no doubt would) do with it.

I wish I had never gone with him that day... she thought, in a rare moment of self-pity and regret. As a rule, she tried not to think about the events that had brought her to this point, or to dwell on the terrible lack of control she had over her own life. She tried to ignore the impotent rage and frustration, the helpless fear and anxiety, and that gaping, empty hole within her- the bottomless abyss of sadness and despair that she was at all times under threat of falling into.

Instead, she lived her life as if it were normal, and pretended it didn't affect her. And it worked... for the most part.

*****​

The closer she got to the House of Snow, the tighter the knot of apprehension in her stomach became. She dreaded the idea of reporting to Tante Vorst, of disclosing all she had learned, of the matron's questions and greed and evil schemes. She took the steps up to her employer's office excruciatingly slowly, feet weighed down as if with lead.

When she knocked on the door, she received the usual bark of response.

"Ah, it's you, finally," the matron said once Neige had stepped inside. She waved her summarily over to the desk. "So, what did you learn then?" Neige forced herself to look the older woman in the eye.

"The job is a series of high-profile assassinations," she said immediately. Vorst's eyes went wide.

"Assassinations?" she repeated. "What d'they need you for then?"

"Intelligence- gathering information," Neige replied. Vorst nodded, though she was frowning. Neige was a commodity at the House of Snow, and it was clear she was reluctant to let her get mixed up in something that might result in her losing that commodity to a prison cell or a hangman's noose.

"What's the pay?" she asked, though it was clear she'd made up her mind to turn the job down.

"Sixty-eight million kruge," Neige answered, looking down this time. Vorst's mouth dropped open.

"Sixty... sixty-eight million?!" she repeated incredulously. Neige nodded. "Impossible, no one has that kind of money." The courtesan shrugged.

"Holt does." The matron's eyes narrowed, shrewd and calculating.

"And who is this... Garitt Holt then? Did you find out anything about him? Anything we can use?"

"He's a mercher's son," Neige replied with affected disdain in her voice. Well, maybe not entirely affected.

"Holt, Holt..." Vorst mused to herself, contemplative. "Name doesn't ring a bell. Must be a false one." Neige kept her expression blank and neutral. "Well, either that or he's acquired that wealth through back-channels," she continued, speaking more to herself than anything. "Did you find out anything else about him?" Neige shook her head.

"He was pretty tight-lipped on anything not directly related to the job," she said. Vorst nodded.

"I see..." She was silent for a while, apparently weighing the options in her mind, though Neige could tell that, with the prospect of so much wealth, her greed was quickly overpowering her concerns.

"Sixty-eight million kruge..." she repeated again. "Did he say how many people it gets split between?" Neige cleared her throat delicately.

"It's actually sixty-eight million per person," she clarified.

"Per person?!" Vorst screeched- Neige winced at the sudden noise, but nodded again. "How on earth is that possible..." the matron wondered. The courtesan shrugged- what did she care? She'd never see a cent of it no matter how things turned out.

Vorst was silent for a long time, occasionally muttering to herself as she went over some point of contention in her mind, seeming to be having an internal argument. Finally she shook herself and looked Neige dead in the eye, that menacing gleam she was so familiar with glittering darkly.

"Very well," she said. "You will tell this Garitt Holt that you'll do the job. But mind you keep your eyes and ears open- any information you have on him, or the others he hires, you bring to me. This goes belly-up like the rotten fish it smells like, and we'll need every bargaining chip we can lay our hands on. You got that, girl?" Neige nodded, her face an impassive mask.

"All right, away with you!" Vorst waved her off. Neige took the concealed corridor back to her room, knowing that her employer was probably busy plotting and scheming and daydreaming about what she could do with all of that money...

When she reached her room, she let herself fall limply onto the bed, suddenly finding herself drained by the events of the day.

There is no way this is going to end well for any of us, she thought miserably, wishing she'd never heard the name 'Garitt Holt'.

Before she even had time to think that she really should be getting dressed, going downstairs, and doing her job for the evening, she was already fast asleep.

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

Cole kept his head low as they walked through the public space, and kept his hands near his belt, just in case. Neige's tone towards him was still rattling around the back of his mind; he'd been trying to show at least some kind of concern (though not very genuinely), and that was what he got for it. Just as before, the realization that he needed to be as inhuman as expected to succeed with these people solidified further in his mind.

Louis's living space was a surprise to Cole. As much as Silverhands decorated himself, he expected his room to be at least close to the same flair. "Modest," he said under his breath.

"Benhamin, you likely have the simplest job of all of us: Watching over the scene to make sure nothing goes deadly wrong. Verstehst? Since I don't think Nadya wants to be withing a mile of me and I don't want her so close to my organs, it's probably best that you relay her her information.

"She's to pose as a tourist sitting near to Libins and wait until Neige gives her a signal letting her know when to squeeze the fat man's heart. Things should get chaotic after that, seeing as how someone's just fallen dead in the crowd, so Nadya will have to oversee Neige as she makes her way to me and Louis to tell us what she learned from Libins.

"Once we know what Neige learned, Louis, we go find Libins' estate, you break open the safe he keeps his will in, and I'll change it however it must be changed."

Halber took off his cloak and draped it over his arm. The room was too warm for him with it on, and this was one of the few places he could feel semi-comfortable removing it. He'd have to get barrel clothes tonight.

 

[StormWolf]

Traversing the East Stave was never something Ben ever considered pleasant. Ketterdam by its nature was a den of sensory overload, but the East Stave was something else entirely. Sour and briny on the nose and tongue and glaring on the eyes. Strangers got too close and too familiar for Ben's comfort. The rasp of a mask-wearing individual's nails across is chin was almost enough to raise the Ravkan to violence. Ben settled on a grimace and a baleful glare, trying and failing spectacularly to make himself small in a crowd he towered over, for he most part.

The Iron Pelican was an establishment Ben had passed on several accounts, but never came within close enough proximity to be harassed by hawkers. The tussle of patrons and the intervention of establishment security added to the clamor. A splash of cheap beer flecked Ben's cheeks, which he wiped away with a hand. Ben's nose scrunched up as Louis lead them through the raucous lobby and up to a room that was... surprisingly plain. It reminded Ben of his own loft, which garnered a glimmer of respect for the silver-haired rogue. Setting his case down by the door, Ben folded his hands at the small of his back once again and regarded the group as they spoke.

"Da, I think I can manage," he responded to Cole with the faintest quirk of his dark and sullen brow. The black book filled Ben's hand as he started making notations on Cole's instructions. "I will be on overwatch, then. Simple enough. What are the chances Libins will have hired security from the gangs, or taken stadwatch on loan for this event?" It was just another hunt. A wild boar that needed to be trapped and shot. Like any other quarry, Ben needed to know the terrain, the beast's den, and how many were counted as part of its herd - or if there were any other rival predators to contend with.

"If it is in fact the latter, the chance of dead uniforms are a real possibility."

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

Louis wished he could've framed the looks on their faces. If only they knew how many wallets, trinkets, and random ID's they stood on. Not to mention the initial letter full of kruge, hidden in a crevice behind the wall near the door. The floorboards didn't creak and there was no obvious seam in the wall, because Louis was a professional. He sat on the bed and spread his cards out next to him, mostly to keep his hands busy.

"I left all my fancy vases and million-dollar paintings in my other room in the gambling den next door," Louis said to the puppy, amused. "Sorry to disappoint."

He half-listened as Cole told them their roles in his mad scheme, shuffling and re-shuffling his cards, despite the fact that he'd already shuffled them back at their first meeting place. While all the questions Benhamin asked and the details he would no doubt get sounded useful and important to know, it was background noise to Louis. He already heard the most important part of all this--the amount. Though, it was still better to discuss all this now rather than run around to different locations later in the name of privacy.

"I have a question," he interrupted the conversation he'd checked out of when Benhamin started talking. "What makes you think I can crack a mercher's safe?"

 

[Morrighan]

She was covered in crimson, the blood adorning her like a stinking, sticky second skin. What was left of her victim she’d tossed into a heap of parts and organs, already too exhausted to bother thinking about how she’d dispose of him. A few thousand Kruge to the right guardsmen usually did the trick.

As she made her way up to bath, Nadya couldn’t help but feel the comforting blanket of her hatred slip away into the recesses of her mind. So much had happened in too short a time, and she realized with no small amount of despair that she may well be going insane. Three years of lies and masks and nightmares, and all at once she’s forced to revisit all she’d been forced to flee?

If she’d believed in the Saints she’d be certain the bastards despised her.

Her movements were mechanical as she cleaned the blood from her skin, her thoughts a hurricane of memories and manic ponderings. She recalled the taste of her favorite peroshki from a small restaurant in Os Alta, the sound of her beloved Aleksandra’s laughter, and the way the lake at the Little Palace had seemed made of gold at dawn. They were memories she’d not been brave or stupid enough to summon in the last three years, but something about it all had brought them to mind.

She realized then that the bath had long gone cold, and quickly got out. The sight of the bloody water made her feel a bit ill, though she honestly couldn’t understand why. It had been over a decade since she’d first spilled blood.

She wrapped her arms around her middle - where long, black scars stretched grotesquely across her womb - and moved on to tame her hair.

The sight of herself, naked and looking for all the world like a frightened girl clinging to her scars, sent a jolt through her. These days, she rarely gave them a thought. Lovers saw them and left, and she never blamed them. She was beautiful and powerful, but even she could see that they were hideous in a way that anyone would find nauseating. The Darkling had wanted to break her, and what he’d desired he’d always gotten.

Except for Ravka.

Except for the little Sun Saint.

Glaring at herself, her eyes spilling silver in the dim candlight, Nadya finished up hurriedly and left for the comfort of her bedroom. She knew sleep was not an option, not tonight, but she needed her paints, needed the familiarity of her brushes and pigments.

And so she took up her supplies, clad in little more than a robe and her scars, and painted through the tears and memories, until the dawn greeted her with mournful arms and pulled her into the embrace of her bed.

Into her Nightmares once again.

 

[EasyWright]

"I doubt Libins will hire anyone conspicuous like the stadwatch. After all, who would want to kill such a kind, charitable, crime-stopping man?" He said as dryly as possible. He despised the fat man not because he held a ring of pickpockets or dealt in other forms of illegal practices, but because he was at heart a traitor and a fraud.

"If he does hire someone, they probably won't know where to look; the area will be full of your average Lid visitors who paid to get a good view of the show or snuck in otherwise."

Louis's question was a good one. Cole knew Silverhands was a thief, and he knew that he was good enough to have rarely ever been caught, but his knowledge on Louis's actual abilities was very sparse. "Call it a hunch," he said, and the corner of his mouth curled into the slightest, briefest smirk.

"Be in your positions by six bells tomorrow. Is all clear?" The boy crossed his arms and looked at the other two in the room expectantly.

Leaving Louis's abode was nearly as identical as entering; the persons at the bar were as much of a ruckus as before, and Cole had to take a couple of steps to avoid being bumped by a couple of disputing drunkards. Once he split off from Benhamin and became out of sight or hearing of the bar, the raven-head pulled his cloak back on and slinked as unnoticed as he could to a machine shop someplace north of East stave. He didn't like getting nearer to a watchtower in his Halber clothes, but it was a necessary evil.

Inside the shop, at his desk sat a brown/ruddy haired apprentice by the name of Simon. Simon was someone Cole had only seen once or twice before in his life but could rely on well enough that he was coming to the machinist at a time like this. The relative silence of the exchange wouldn't cause a rise from anyone, and under the cover of getting his pistol "fixed," Cole was able to conjure together a more acceptable disguise. This in combination with working in the shop with Simon for a night gave him the more worked, tired look most of Kerch has.

-- -- --

A letter slid under the House of Snow, addressed to Neige in the same manner as the first letter. The contents were simpler this time, only a street corner to meet at and the actual letter,

"Positions at 6 bells, if there's more you need to know about your job, I will answer them.
~Garitt"
​

Cole had been careful enough about the delivery that he wouldn't be recognized by anyone within -- not that they would think him more than a regular barrel kid or apprentice -- and kept himself moving so that he would get to the street corner before Neige. He was in the borrowed working clothes from Simon with a burgundy cloth tied around his neck, ready to be pulled over his face if and when he needed. The only weapons he had now were his dagger and his pistol, both things easy enough to conceal.

 

[StormWolf]

It seemed that the Merchling had thought of everything, then. Tenacious planning and forethought put into the deliberate and concise demise of a hated enemy. Cole possessed a cold confidence of a hunter now that the charade had been abandoned, suave with Mercher manners and learning. With his dark hair and cold blue eyes, it was like Ben looking in a carnival mirror.

He hated it.

Appointment Six bells, blank swatch client. Room reservation o/look plaza. Ben's pen scratched softly against the paper of his book. Satisfied with the information, he nodded and put the book and pen back in the folds of his coat. They had a plan, which was usually the first casualty of any operation, but going in with no plan at all meant they would all perish instead.

"Until six bells, then. Da'svidanya until tomorrow." Ben tipped his head to Cole as he left, then to Louis in thanks for playing host, brief as it was. Taking his instrument case, Ben followed suit in his departure, shouldering by the occasional swaggering drunk. Anyone with a fraction of their faculties made sure to give the giant a wide enough berth.

Walking the rim of the Lid, Ben stopped by a quaint tavern with a nautical theme, rapping his knuckles on a porthole connected to the kitchens. Brass hinges swung open to a bald-headed man of middling years, face red with drink and heat from the ovens. "Allo!" The cheerful greeting was like nails on a chalkboard. Ben passed a fold of kruge.

"Killepitsch. Ein glas."

A small phial with of blackish liquor sealed with red wax was pressed into Ben's palm. Exchanging a nod with the clerk, Ben broke the seal and sipped. In his travels, from the Wandering Isle to Ahmrat Jen, he found every region had their own little treasures in terms of delicacy. Kerch was their waffles, a generally universal sentiment, but for Ben it was also the tiny bottle of liquor in his massive fist. Potent as it was in such a small serving, it was a wonder it didn't blatantly qualify as poison. Pungent and potent, it made even him fit in with the crowds. Just a musician spending the day's wages one of three ways one does in Ketterdam.

Finding the plaza for the mission in the morning, Ben meandered in a diagonal path. Counting his steps and gauging the dimensions of the perimeter, he made the calculations in his head. A painted signpost hung overhead with the beloved Brute characters all engaged in general bacchanalia on a massive bed.

The Carnivalle, a boarding house for drunkards and whores, and other such trysts. Throwing back the last of his killepitsch and discarding the bottle, Ben made a show of stumbling into the foyer. That earned him a weary scowl from the aged concierge-woman, who quickly covered it with a practiced smile.

"Ah, wilkommen, mein herr. Do you require lodging?"

Ben nodded, wiping his nose on the back of his hand with a loud sniff. "You have a room onna top floor?" He slurred. The way the woman's face curled told him that the little bottle of liquor was worth the kruge already. "I... I didn' gedda ticket for the... the think. But I wanna watch." He leaned in, the wooden desk groaning under his weight. Fear nibbled away at the discomfort in her face.

"I have kruge, and pretty little woman," Ben laughed in the languid, cruel way his father did when drunk. It made him want to chew on glass. The concierge moved her mouth in a silent 'ah'.

"I'm sorry, sir. The upstairs rooms were taken in advance some time ago..."

Shit. Ben stifled a sneer, feeling that familiar writhing in his chest. "Oookay. I'll be back to change your miiind," he said, slithering away from the counter, deaf to what would have likely been a condescending answer. Ben couldn't blame her, it was part of the job.

***​

Trekking back down into the Barrel, Benhamin shouldered his way into the repurposed warehouse. It reeked of blood, sweat, and cracked leather. A fresco of a lion and a bear wearing boxing gloves dominated the far wall. The Lion's Den was the worst kind of pugilistic club. Bare-knuckle and almost entirely devoid of guiding rules or principles.

It was perfect.

"Been a while, Bennie," called out a robust older fellow, his iron-grey mustache bristling around a smoldering cigar. "You here to train or fight?"

"Fight." Ben said flatly, shrugging out of his coat, dressing down to the waist in a methodical procession.

"Been one of those days?"

"Worse," Ben answered.

"Saints. Just don't kill anyone. It's bad for business."

Hands bared and taped, clad only in his boots and trousers, Ben was a truly terrifying sight. Criss-crossed, patched, and peppered with scars beyond counting, the worst of which were raised and the color of charcoal. He paced his side of the ring like a caged animal, volcanic blue eyes focused on the pure-bred Fjerdan giant before him, who stood head and shoulders over even Benhamin, a Dime Lion tattoo on a massive forearm.

Perfect,

"Tonight, we have the house favorite! The Scourge of the North! Rollond!" The giant raised his massive fists in celebration of his own name and title. "His challenger is the Rabid Ravkan. You lads know the rule. No fatalities. Fight!"

The first blow came deceptively fast, the apish length of the Fjerdan's arm catching Ben on the cheek. He felt his teeth rattle, tasted blood, but he didn't skip a beat. There was always a grim satisfaction in seeing the confusion in they eyes of a would-be predator. Ben struck with the force of a draft horse's kick, closing the Fjerdan's windpipe, shattering a collarbone, and finally turning the beak-like nose of his opponent into pulp.

"Next!" Ben bellowed. The next came. Suli, built like a jackal. Ben caught him in the midst of a flying knee with enough force to strike the woman blind.

"Next!" A fellow Ravkan, laid low when Ben sent the man's kneecap skip into the crowd.

"Next!" A Shu who gave Ben a run for his money, but once they were in a grapple, a few firm headbutts turned the Shu limp as a fish.

"Next!!!"

Ben's lungs burned, his blue eyes wide and wild. The bloodlust of the crowd had abated, struck silent. "Ben. That's enough." The Ringmaster's voice was hollow-sounding. "There's no other challengers today..."

It had been a year, maybe longer, since Ben had let himself off the leash in such a way. The people he'd gone into the ring with would all survive, but they would never be the same. The Suli would be blind, the Fjerdan would never eat solid food again, the Ravkan would forever limp and suffer in the winter. The Shu might never wake up. That was up to the medik and how rapidly the brain could swell.

Benhamin himself looked like hell warmed over; mottled with bruises, some split to lazily weep blood down his cheek, flecked with blood, sweat, and tears. Ben took his winnings and didn't bother cleaning up. Returning to The Carnivalle, Ben insisted upon the upstairs room and two keys. It took twenty minutes and a fistful of kruge, but the room was his.

"The Carnivalle. Room 405. Six bells.

~B​

With the note tied around the spare key, Ben dropped it in Nadya's mail slot. He helped himself to the facilities of the Carnivalle, bathing with a case of lager from their kitchen close at hand. Stitching up the split on his cheek, Ben moved around the furniture to set up his nest. It had a lovely view over the plaza, seeing most points of entrance and egress as well as the rooftops of opposite buildings.

Falling into a mantra of sorts, a ritual, Benhamin cleaned his rifle and pistol, oiling his knives. The hour was late when he fell asleep, catching only a couple hours, but he was too tired to dream. After a day like today, it would have been more than he could bear.

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

A hunch, huh?

Louis made a noise of acknowledgement at the puppy's answer, very carefully maintaining his disinterested persona. He pretended not to notice the smirk. As if the answer alone wasn't enough to stir mystery. Luckily for him, Benhamin had been stiff and distant since his ex-lover kicked them all out, less interested in banter and picking apart every idiotic thing to leave the puppy's mouth.

The puppy appeared determined to make enemies out of all of them before this was all over.

"Ja, I'll be there," he said to the puppy, waving away his awfully bossy tone. And here he thought they voted for Benhamin to take the lead, Cole Halber or not. He dipped his head towards Ben. "Vaarwell.." He watched them with cat-like eyes as they left, listening to the sound of boots moving further away down the hall. He counted to thirty before he wiggled a plank near his foot until it came free.

An assortment of wallets and purses were tucked into a small cavity, squished and bent from how tightly they were packed together. All the money in them was long gone, but if any were missing or moved he'd know if Pim or someone in his line of work had been in his room. If someone was looking for hidden goods, they'd most likely check near the bed first. Louis pushed the board back down and took a quick look at his other hiding spaces; Cole's envelope - still there, the handful of bracelets, rings and earrings he didn't pawn off just yet - accounted for, under a plank near the door. Foreign ID's that were all but useless to him? Check, unfortunately.

He'd have to check his other stashes the next day - assuming he returned alive that is.

Taking a hundred kruge from the envelope, he went downstairs to earn his keep. Pim was gone, no doubt taking a long cigar break out back. The drunkards had disappeared too. There was a mysterious liquid that might've been piss at the bottom of the stairs. Eyes turned toward him and then quickly away. He took a seat with the card players, all people he'd swindled out of their money at some point, and smiled when they gave him unfriendly looks. They were already mid-game, a messy stack of kruge on the table.

"I'm in the mood for a game," Louis drawled, elbows on the table. "What do you say, three-blind dice?"

"Dontya see we're in the middle of a game, kid?" An older man grunted at him without looking up, cards held closer to his chest.

Louis looked him over but didn't recognize him. A newcomer, then. Ignoring him, he let his gaze linger over the four others around him, all tough-looking types. "Well?" Most of them were like him. They came here night after night, regardless of losses or wins, just for the thrill of gambling with kruge they didn't have. The others didn't acknowledge him.

The older man finally looked up, snarling. "Are ya fucking stupid? Get outta here!"

Pretending the man was an annoying fly on his wall, Louis sweetened the pot for his future players. "Beat me and I'll buy you all drinks," he offered. He'd never been beaten before, but a few eyes still turned to him at that.

The older man stood, throwing down his cards. He was unsteady on his feet. "Why the shit is this little stain--?"

BANG

Louis' hand was gripped around the hilt of his dagger, the point firmly in the table. The tavern quieted and one of the men at the table collected his winnings and exited the game. Louis' smile was sharper. "Why don't you sit down and enjoy the game? We're all here to have a little fun, after all."

The man looked distinctly Kerch, with graying hair and a coat that looked a tad too expensive for this place. He'd probably been pickpocketed clean already. "And who the fuck are you? Who the hell is this guy?" He looked around the table for an answer, but no one gave him one. He pressed a hand against the table and leaned close. "You think you're hot shit just because you've got a little knife?" He held up his middle finger.

The pommel of Louis' hidden dagger cracked against the man's nose and his head snapped to the side. Louis listened to him howl as he pulled his other dagger free from the table, watching him as he curse and spit and struggled to stem the tide from his broken nose. Louis ducked under a wild, enraged swing, cutting a red line down the man's front as he did. His coat may as well have been made of paper.

The table was thrown away, the players giving them space and soon enough there was a ring of rowdy patrons circling them, egging them on. Louis sidestepped a clumsy grab and drove his heel into the back of the man's knee. He dropped like a rock. Drinks and cigarette stubs were thrown at them. Louis ignored them. With a quick kick to the head, the man fell onto his back.

Louis got on top of him, driving his fist into his broken noise. He ignored the man's gasps, the arms raised to defend against him. Kindness and mercy had no place in Ketterdam. Louis pummeled him until his knuckles were bloody and the man was limp, his face a mess of blood and bruises. He barely looked human. Louis jerked him up by his collar.

"Welcome to the East Stave." He pushed the man down and stood. His hands ached. It didn't matter. He returned to the table, which had been righted and the cards collected from the floor. No one said anything when he dealt his own hand.