Fandom Grishaverse (Main)

[Morrighan]

His eyes...they were lifeless, cold, and unending as the sea. In their depths she saw the ruin of a kingdom, the damnation of an army, and endless desire for more.

He held her down with one arm, strong beyond what his slender, lithe body suggested. His lips were parted in a sneer she’d never seen before, at least never directed at her. Shadows surrounded her, bound her to the table as surely as chains.

“You disappointed me, Kapitan,” he purred, voice as cold as the darkness. “You failed me, and for what? A couple of peasant children?! All of Ravka is at stake, the life of every Grisha forced to cower down to a powerless king, and you chose them?! Disgusting...”

She was crying, shaking, begging, but he did not care.

“We can do what we must without using innocent children as bait!” She screamed, enraged and heartbroken. “They did not need to die for our war, not when they have no place in it!”

The Darkling said nothing, but merely circled round to grab hold of her face as one of his creations materialized out of the shadows that had filled the world. The sight of it, with those lifeless eyes and clawed hands, made her nauseous. She felt her gut clench, and fear raked icy claws across her skin.

“If you care so much about them, why not join them?”

Then the door opened and in walked Marc, stone-faced as he held the two young boys she’d helped escape. She’d hoped they’d gotten out, had done all she could to see them safe.

It had clearly not been enough.

The creature hissed with malice, a blood-curdling hunger growing on its face.

The Darkling’s smiling was lupine as he signaled for Marc to leave them there and return to guard the door. He refused to do much as glance at her, believing like all the others that she had betrayed them.

But she hadn’t!

“Please, Moi Soverenyi! Don’t hurt them! Punish me, kill me!” She screamed, knowing that her time was growing short anyway.

She’d allowed herself to believe that he was everything he promised. Like a fool, she’d fallen for him, and like a fool she’d played his games. Never once had he felt for her what she did for him. All Nadya had ever been was a tool, a weapon to swing towards his enemies.

He smiled coldly.

“How maternal, Nadya. You’d make an excellent mother. Pity you’ll never get the chance.”

Before she could scream, beg, or even so much as suck in a breath the creature was upon her, it’s vicious claws raised high as it’s mouth opened in a hideous grin.

There was nothing she could do but watch as it brought that hand down, watch and scream.

Nadya hurtled out of bed with a screech, and barely made it to the bathroom before she was hurling her guts up. She was shaking uncontrollably, her lungs gasping her air as she fought to control her nausea. It took her longer than she liked to admit before she was able to stand from the marble floor at the foot of the toilet and stumbling over to the sink.

Ignoring her reflection entirely, the assassin cleaned herself up as quickly as she could and returned to her room, where she dressed herself with the help of her maid Lillian. She was a kind woman who’d been working in one of the brothels when Nadya had arrived in Ketterdam. After seeing the disgusting conditions and learning of the regular abuse she endured, Nadya bought her contract and immediately paid off the indenture with no intention of making Lillian pay her anything in return.

Of course, Lillian had ended up needing a job and had asked Nadya for a position in her home, so the assassin had taken her on as her one and only maid.

“You’re wearing one of your best gowns today, Miss,” remarked the redhead knowingly.

Nadya frowned at her reflection in the massive mirror that dominated her dressing area. She was indeed wearing one of her nicest gowns, a fine cream and ivory ensemble that made her skin appear practically gilded.

“You know I don’t like it when you call me that, Lillian.” She sighed. “And yes, I have something to do today that requires proper attire.”

Lillian merely smiled and finished her hair in silence, never having been one to say much. Much of their banter was silent, and consisted of little smiles and glances from across the room. In fact, the woman did not speak at all again until Nadya was fully dressed and rose to leave.

“This was left for you in the post,” She said, and handed her mistress a key and slip of paper.

She knew exactly who it was from the moment she glimpsed that hideous, plain scrawling. In three years, his penmanship hadn’t changed, let alone improved.

The sight of it made her want to break something, but she read it anyway despite the vicious voice in the back of her mind reminding her of what he had done.

No pleas for understanding, no apologies or placating words of remorse. It was a time and a place, and nothing more.

The job, then.

She pocketed the key, tossed the letter into the hearth, and made her way downstairs. However, when she reached the bottom of the staircase, she saw a little paper flower on the floor by the banister, as if it had fallen from there at some point during the night. She didn’t remember having seen it the night before, but a glance at the cellar door was all the reminder she needed to know she likely wouldn’t have noticed such a thing in the state she’d been in.

She knew it was from him, and so refused to touch it.

Instead, she merely walked away, trying her best to hold herself together. She would go, get the information she needed, and then leave. If he made any move to touch her or spoke a word about anything besides the mission, she would kill him on the spot. She had already made up her mind that he would die the moment she received her pay, that it would be slow and thorough. She’d see just how far his pain tolerance really went, and then she would make him beg for death.

But for now, she would play along.

For now.

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

Neige awoke the next morning groggy and disoriented. Tangled up in her sheets, and with a pounding headache splitting her skull, she curled up into a ball, pressing her hands against her forehead in a vain attempt to make it go away, eyes screwed tight against the glare of the sun pouring in through her window and the wide-open drapes.

She groaned, unsure why she was feeling so agitated, the pounding of her heart accelerated by her parem withdrawal. She was used to the drug's physical effects by now, but it had been a long time since she'd been so emotionally drawn as well. She felt feverish, her skin like it was on fire, exacerbating the raging inferno within. She turned and screamed into her pillow, digging her nails so deeply into her palms that she left marks.

She screamed until her throat was raw and her jaw ached with the tension, devolving into sobs when she couldn't scream anymore. A knock came on her door and she snarled at whoever it was to leave, unable to bear being with herself, let alone another person.

Undeterred, Ladli walked in anyway. The Suli girl was an indentured servant at the House of Snow, cruelly branded by the slavers who had sold her to Tante Vorst, the scars on her face preventing her from working as a Lady of the Night. This might have been considered a blessing, only she was treated horribly by both clients and the other girls, and exceptionally cruelly by Vorst, who took issue with the girl's dark-skinned appearance.

Neige, on the other hand, had always liked her. She had a rare strength to her- an inner resilience that Neige wished she could come even remotely close to-, and a way of calming your soul and easing your pain, making you feel like your troubles were not so bad as they seemed. It wasn't the first time she'd seen the courtesan in such a state and, just as the other times, she was not the least bit deterred by it.

She bustled in with a tray laid with fresh rolls and hot coffee. The smell was mouth-watering, but also made Neige even sadder. Like a child she sat at the edge of her bed, shoulders slumped defeatedly, tears pouring down her cheeks as she quietly sobbed. Ladli pushed a plate with a roll on it at her, as well as a cup of coffee. Neige stared at the food helplessly, feeling empty and hollow.

The other girl clicked her tongue in irritation and huffed as she put the plate and cup down, planting herself squarely before the fille de joie, hands on hips.

"Neige, you must get up now," she said authoritatively, lilting Suli accent skipping off the 't'. Neige raised her eyes slowly, her own vacant and zombie-like.

"It is past noon- you must get up," Ladli repeated. When the other girl continued to stare at her blankly, the servant sucked in an angry breath, raised her right arm, and slapped the courtesan across the face- hard. Neige gasped as if she'd just been dunked in cold water, dazed and breathing hard, but now effectively woken up.

"L-Ladli..." she said in shock, turning slowly to look at her, wide-eyed. The Suli girl shrugged.

"My mother always said it is not pain that is our greatest enemy, but when we go past it- to absence of feeling," she declared. "No feeling, no movement- no life. That is the worst place a person can put themself in. And sometimes, they need to be brought back to life with force." Neige stared at her, blinking slowly, as Ladli busied herself with the tray once more, placing the plate with the roll on her lap. She took a bemused, reflexive bite, suddenly marveling at the taste as the sugar and butter melted on her tongue. Ladli handed her a cup of coffee, and she took a sip, feeling the warmth course through her as it went down her throat, burning the numbness away.

Ladli smiled.

"See? No matter what, life is always worth living," she said, her voice strong with the steady assurance of true belief. Neige nodded, continuing to nibble at the roll and sip at the coffee as the other girl busied herself around the room, cleaning and organizing as she went. By the time she'd finished, Neige was done eating, and the color had returned to her cheeks.

"Thank you, Ladli," she said, feeling embarrassed as always at her meltdown. The Suli girl smiled again.

"You are welcome." She paused on her way out, turning back just to say "I'll be back later with some sharab, for your throat." Neige nodded gratefully as she left the room, rubbing a hand ruefully over her larynx- it would not do for her to have a sore throat today.

She sat silently for a long moment after the girl had gone before slowly rising from the bed and walking over to the window. She looked out on a rare blue Ketterdam sky, the city sprawling beneath it. Despite the sick feeling in her gut and the customary trembling of her limbs, she enjoyed the feeling of the warmth on her face, and at that moment she wished with all her heart for nothing more than to just be free of her addiction to parem. It was hollowing her out- hour by hour, day by day, and she honestly didn't know how much of her was still left.

*****​

By the time the note arrived, despite the parem and the jurda and the honey sharab, she was agitated again. Worries chased themselves through her mind one after another, and she couldn't stop them. She worried that they had decided to go ahead without her, that they had decided she needed to be eliminated, that this was a setup, that she would get caught... She worried and worried until she started to feel a little lightheaded and, as her apprehension grew, so did her rage.

She didn't care about the money, she didn't care about Halber's stupid agenda, and she was angry about being put in a situation to suffer or die for them. Why me? she was barely able to stop herself from thinking.

When the note finally came, she stared at it for a long moment in utter consternation, unable to believe it.

He must be joking, she thought. The message was short and curt and infuriating- exactly Cole's style. She turned it over a couple times- even held it up to the light-, looking for the rest of it; information, instructions, a means to contact him with. Nothing. The location and the time- that was it. She re-read it a third time. Six bells.

He can't be serious, she thought in shock. Five bells had already rung- he was essentially directing her to come do the job now, with absolutely no warning, information, or preparation.

What on earth is he playing at? she fumed as she pulled on a jacket and began lacing her boots. What if I had been with a client? What if I had been out? She raged against the merchling as she left her room and headed for the stairs. He's planning the assassination of the most important people in the city, and he leaves important things like this up to chance? Just what is he playing at?

Her heartbeat accelerated as she left the House of Snow, from a mixture of anger and apprehension and frustration. Cole confused and frustrated and scared her to no end. At times he seemed incredibly smart and shrewd and calculating, and at others irrational and unbalanced and impossibly young. She didn't know what to think- was his absurd way of doing things reflective of inexperience and immaturity and lack of basic common sense, or was it a roundabout way to hide his true plans and intentions, which in that case would be more sinister even than killing off all the merchers and their families?

Neige had no idea, and in truth she wasn't sure which scenario was worse, but she knew she didn't like it one bit. Of course, her anger's real target was mostly Tante Vorst and her situation and herself, but it was easier for her to direct it at Cole than to acknowledge the fact that it stemmed from her own feeling of helplessness. Besides, something about the merchling just rubbed her the wrong way.

She reached the indicated street corner at the appointed time- just a few minutes before six bells. Cole was already there, waiting for her. He had done a far better job of disguising himself this time, all but indistinguishable from a true Barrel rat, weapons well-concealed.

Neige walked straight up to the familiar dark-haired young man, glaring pointedly and making no attempt to disguise her ill-humor.

"Let's get this over with, merchling," she said acidly.

She was well-aware it would be pointless to express her feelings to him, and the only way she could keep a handle on her roiling temper was to keep moving and stay focused and just do the job. Otherwise, she knew she would lose it again. "Lead the way."

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

Cole watched the familiar face approach. His eyes were dull this morning: Tired but focused.

He started walking, but it was unhurried -- both to avoid suspicion and because he knew there was time enough to afford the slower pace and for him to explain Neige's part better to her. "All you need to get from the fat man is his safe's location. He doesn't spend a lot of his time in your part of the Ketterdam, so it's unlikely he'll recognize you. Ben's keeping watch to make sure no one else recognizes you, either. You'll also have Nadya somewhere nearby as further insurance." He spoke quietly, but loud enough that Neige could hear him clearly.

The frustration on the tailor's face sent a signal to Cole that made him want to roll his eyes at her, but he fought it off well enough. "Keeping the letter vague leaves less evidence in the end," he explained in a short tone, and focused his eyes out in front of himself again. He hadn't bothered to give her appearance instructions because the event was a populous thing, and he knew that Libins found himself in the company of very few women; he was practically desperate.

"You'll probably find the most success with the fat man if you act dumb; he likes to feel as if he has manipulative power over whoever he's trying to court." This was an assumption. Cole didn't know Libins well enough to understand what kind of sorry girls he went after, but based on the methods he knew Libins used to recruit end-of-the-rope tourists, he could at least assume that he looked for the same things when he was courting. "He should be at the top center of whatever seating he arranged for this thing."

The sounds of a small festival were growing as they neared the Lid, and more foreigners filled in the space. Cole made sure there was still time to clear details up, but it would have to be done quickly.

 

[StormWolf]

Morning came as an unwelcome thing. A sliver of dawn cut through the window and stabbed Benhamin in the eyes. Face scrunched, he awoke with a start, pistol in hand. The room was unfamiliar at first, but recollection gradually trickled through the crumbling wall of sleep. Easing back the hammer of his revolver, Ben swung his legs out of bed and rubbed groggily at his eyes. While he didn’t feel the ache, he knew the tightness and strain. He told himself it was just fatigue, and not that some phantom-dream had tormented him in the night. He had no recollection, but his face felt heated and dry, his eyes swollen.

You cannot let anybody see nor tend your weakness.

Washing his face in the room’s sink, Ben helped himself to the house’s morning bacon and coffee, both of which where burnt, but functional enough. A touch of jurda to chase the lingering fatigue away, and he was ready to get to work. Shrugging out of his jacket and rolling his sleeves past his elbows, Ben moved the table to the central window, situated perpendicular to make a shooting bench. When folded again and again, Ben's bearskin coat made a fine enough rest for the barrel. Racking back the bolt, Ben loaded the magazine one round at a time in a practiced, rapid motion. He had stripper clips in his pockets, just in case he needed them.

Keeping the rifle within the shaded recess of the window, Ben gauged his field of view through his scope. He could see the whole plaza, except for the narrow span directly beneath him. As far as blind spots went, it was well within acceptable margins. Colored flags lanterns hung for the celebration proved excellent indicators for wind speed and direction, though it would take a true deluge to make any sort of difference in the plaza.

With no bags to speak of, Ben was ready to evacuate his position at a moment's notice with no sign of his being there. The cello case sat open beneath the table to catch brass and receive the rifle once the job was done. It was too easy. Far too easy for sixty-eight million kruge, but if the Merchling wanted to burn that kind of money to make sure a man was dead, Ben would bring Cole scalps, if he asked. Ben's rough hands ran along the carved stock of his rifle, feeling the familiar grain and the snag of the notches. Finally, the oath carved into the butt of the weapon: Eya Sta Kara

I Have Become the Scourge

A lowly otkazat'sya that had been broken again and again, forged and reforged, tempered and honed. An instrument of retribution that was pushed too far and turned on its masters. Men and women he'd broken bread with, once, yes, but he had ever been lesser. Ben was always the guard dog on a leash, lovingly tossed scraps from the table. Not a single one of the oprichniki was a friend in the end. Not a single Grisha had been an ally or confidant. Not since the Little Palace burned.

Baptized in blood and black powder for a lie.

Ben sneered, those cold and stormy eyes hardening with a killer's countenance. His focus became a singular flame in his mind; a bonfire of discipline and that ever-present rage that coiled in his stomach. Every distraction, every sensationalist mewling and softhearted notion thrown into that flame until only the mission remained.

"Eya. Sta. Kara..." Ben muttered. His ritual. His mantra. His prayer. There were no gods, no Saints, no spirits. No higher power than someone with the intent to end a life. People worshipped the ground the Darkling walked upon for that very purpose. So if he was a god to so many, Ben would be their devil.

 

[Morrighan]

The building was a shabby little spot, but she could see even from the street that it’s uppermost floors would offer discreet access for a marksman looking to take out an old Kerch bastard. She did her best to appear shy but hairy as she dealt with the rambling owner of the place, the woman clearly desperate to get a hint of the wealth her attire boasted. Nadya claimed that she’d come from the festivities to get away from an unwelcome suitor, and paid the wretch a fat sum to keep her mouth shut.

It wasn’t difficult to find the room listed on the note, especially when she could practically smell the predatory focus the man inside emanated as he watched their prey through the scope of that disgusting rifle.

The Grisha wanted nothing more than to burn the damned thing.

Perhaps I’ll make a pyre and throw the blasted thing onto it. Hell, maybe I’ll toss him in too to burn and burn.

“You have five minutes to say whatever it is you wanted to tell me before I leave to kill my mark,” murmured the assassin in a voice like death.

He’d heard that voice, or a parody of it, before - when they’d both been young and stupid and blind. She doubted he’d forgotten, even when she herself had fought to do so herself. This woman, the murderess standing still and cold as a wraith behind him, wasn’t kind or gentle. She knew neither mercy nor forgiveness, and Nadya - just this once - was glad for it.

Glad, because even after all he’d done - destroying all she had loved and fought to defend - she could not bring herself to end him.

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

Louis woke up facedown against a gambling table, which, admittedly, wasn't abnormal for him. The Iron Pelican closed late into the night and opened in the afternoon when the largest groups of tourists came down from the Lid, which only meant that he was alone. Pim didn't care for him beyond the 'valued employee' sense, and so would more likely step over his lifeless body on the floor than wake him up to tell him to sleep in a proper bed.

A quick pat-down revealed that he hadn't been pickpocketed in his sleep. Even with the message he'd sent the night before one couldn't be too careful around crooks. He'd cleaned out the gamblers from the night before, but he made sure to lose a few times too, because Pim would be azel if they didn't come back. He gave himself a quick wash in the bathroom upstairs, stashed his kruge, then helped himself to some of the cheaper swill when he came back down. Pim wouldn't notice, because the stuff was made from water and the souls of the dead. It smelled like it too. How he wanted to finish the whole bottle. But it wouldn't do for him to be wasted today.

He made his way to the Lid early, partly because of habit, partly because it was always a competition for who could claim the spots nearest to the ships first. Louis knew better than to rely on a future promise of money. He'd keep relying on himself until the puppy's kruge was in his hands.

He picked a spot towards the far end of the plaza, where he could see the others when they arrived but still be in the thick of tourists. By noon, Louis' hat was upside-down next to him, filled with coin and kruge, his 'magic tricks' in full swing. It would be easy for Neige to slip seamlessly into the crowd around him to deliver information, and even easier for him to use the inevitable panic to make his own exit.

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

Halber had begun to walk before she reached him, but at a slow, unhurried pace, and she fell into step beside him as he explained his plan.

"All you need to get from the fat man is his safe's location. He doesn't spend a lot of his time in your part of the Ketterdam, so it's unlikely he'll recognize you. Ben's keeping watch to make sure no one else recognizes you, either. You'll also have Nadya somewhere nearby as further insurance," he delineated, his voice quiet and crisp as dry paper.

"Keeping the letter vague leaves less evidence in the end," he added, addressing her frustration. She huffed and rolled her eyes. As if you couldn't have found a way to get me the information in advance, merchling, she thought vehemently. And you're playing with people's lives. Cole's methods exacerbated her feeling of helplessness, of lack of control, drawing out all of her impotent frustrations and rage.

I need to find something I can channel this into, she thought with sudden clarity, or I'll end up losing control, and probably at the worst possible moment. Ashamed as she was at the thought, she wished she had some jurda with her at that moment to help calm her down.

"You'll probably find the most success with the fat man if you act dumb; he likes to feel as if he has manipulative power over whoever he's trying to court," Cole said. "He should be at the top center of whatever seating he arranged for this thing."

She nodded, focusing on his words, on the job. If he was right about Libins, the information would be easy to get- those who felt they had the upper hand were always the ones easiest to trick and manipulate. She frowned at that last part though- the man was going to be center stage for the event, and yet he still expected her to somehow magically get away after the job was done? Either Cole really was that naive, or there was something he wasn't telling her.

Purposefully waiting until the last minute to summon her hinted at some secret design, and she was growing agitated with the scenarios running through her mind, trying to figure out what it might be. As they entered the festival crowd and passed a stand selling the traditional costumes of the Komedie Brute, Neige paused long enough to purchase a cheap version of the Lost Bride ensemble. It wouldn't help her stay safe from those who inevitably recognized her from the event, but at the very least it might help her get away from the area once her job was done.

Despite her frustrations, she nodded again, her eyes taking in the general layout. "Where do I find you and Silverhands once I've gotten the information?" she asked. Once she had the answer, she pushed further into the crowd, no longer bothering to track whether or not Cole was still at her side- they shouldn't appear to be together anyway.

When she reached the stage, the crowd was already milling around thickly, the atmosphere festive and excited. Neige made a beeline for the area Cole had indicated, placing herself as near as possible to where Libins would no doubt soon be appearing.

Getting into character, she quickly adopted the demeanor of a simple but animated girl, enthralled by the sights and sounds of the festival as if it were the first one she'd ever been to. Let's get this over with, she thought, discreetly scanning the crowd for Libins, as well as any potential threats she might have to deal with. She focused on staying in character, rather than on her worries about the million-and-one ways this could go wrong. And the curtain rises... she thought, smiling despite herself.

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

"If everything works smoothly, you should be able to figure out where silverhands is while you're talking to the fat man," Cole said, keeping his volume low and his visible connection to Neige minimal, "but if that doesn't work out, find me behind the seats. Make sure no one follows you -- I doubt anyone will, they'll be too focused on the dead body.

Make sure you're one of the first people to scream about it; that's the signal for me and Louis. Nadya should be within sight of you when this all starts to happen, so give her a sign to let her know she can take out the trash."

Cole could feel his heart beating hard in his chest as he split off from Neige. He never liked Libins, even before he did research on the man. He didn't think any of the powerful merchers liked him. Still, the fact that he was making the first push to rock the boat of Ketterdam's elite sent a chill down his own spine. It was too late to go back now. He wanted changes to happen, so he had to do it himself, and Cole was certain that if he dropped out of the game now, at least one of the people hired would find him and end him anyway.

The boy couldn't stop a laugh from escaping him. He saw important irony in his own situation everywhere he looked.

---

Brande Libins stood at center stage, preaching of prosperity in Kerch and programs to help the Barrel come out if its crime-ridden abyss. tourists roared with approval, but whatever locals knew of Libins's lifestyle rolled their eyes in disgust. "Now enjoy the show!" his high-pitched voice rang through the air like broken glass during a shoot-out as he concluded his self-absorbed talk.

Brande carried his unhealthily-rounded body back to his seat and relieved his legs to his seat with a labored huff. Hearing the movements above him, Cole figured he owed Neige waffles for the job that he gave her. The people in the audience didn't seem to really be enjoying the play in front of their eyes, but that wasn't anything the alcohol in their systems couldn't resolve; if their attention wasn't on the stage, it was amongst each other, making and sharing jokes, casual flirting, betting. Everything one would expect.

 

[StormWolf]

Even with the mechanical click from a key turning the bolt in the door, Benhamin’s off hand drifted to the grip of his revolver. The door creaked open and he put tension on the hammer, drawing it to a half-cock before he smelled that same perfumed scent drift into the room like a gasp of Ravkan summer. Ben eased the hammer back in place.

If there was ever any doubt it was Nadya, between her smell and the keen prickling of another’s disdain between his shoulder blades, she deigned to speak in that same haughty manner of hers. Ever the imperious Ravkan heiress, the Grisha Queen. There was iron in her words, though. She had always been ruthless, but she had changed just as he had.

“Primarily, I wanted you to orientate to my position. In the case of a riot or flood of stadwatch, there is a fall back point. Whether or not you tell the others, of course, is entirely your prerogative.” Ben spoke with a distant professionalism, never once taking his eye from the scope. Not even blinking. The shambling remains of that love-struck boy screamed at him to just talk to her, to tell her how the thought of her death had utterly broken him. That there was no Ravka for him without her in it.

“Nadya...” Ben said lowly after a lengthy pause, finally breaking his focus on the scope to look her in the eyes. “I know you never cared for me much,” he lied, “and as such, I will not waste a hope on forgiveness, but your Grisha friends were no saints. None of you bothered to see just how young some of the girls Viktor chased actually were. They were only otkazat’sya after all.” His voice was cold and bitter at the end, like a knife on a whetstone.

Child-cutter, the servants called him. Ben kept count of every young girl he had found battered and abused in the halls outside Viktor’s room. In the Little Palace, the Grisha were untouchable to the likes of the Refused. Until they weren’t. Ben had killed people for money before, but Viktor was the kind of creature he would gladly kill for free.

“That they lived when I thought you had died was an injustice of the highest order. You might have been insufferable, but you were good.” The severity in Ben’s tone faltered and he cleared his throat as the festivities just outside broke out in full. Ben cleared his throat and nodded toward the window.

“Showtime. You should get to position,” Ben said, returning his hunters eyes to the scope of his rifle, the crosshairs trained just above the glistening head of Libins.

I will watch over you. Just like before.

 

[Morrighan]

She was shaking with rage, with memory and horror, at his words. She’d known he might attempt some sort of explanation - a feeble thing, she’d known - but this?

First you butcher what was left of my life, now you dare insult their memory?

For a long moment she considered ending him then and there, while his back was turned to her. It would be so easy to stop his heart, especially without those haunting eyes in her sight to give her pause, to remind her of long-ago daydreams and visions. For what seemed an age, and yet a breath, Nadya felt all too aware of her power, and the certainty of her ability to destroy this man.

But then she saw the scars on his hands and arms as they cradled that rifle, scars she had witnessed him receive time and time again as nobles and other oprichniki cut at him for amusement. He’d never complained or spoke a word, his eyes always fixed on wherever she’d been standing, watching to guard and obey her. It had been an easy thing to pretend she had not known, had not seen, and to ignore the blood on his uniform as he’d escorted her back to her chambers to resume his watch at her door each night.

But she had seen, and even now the memory of what her comrades had done for jest disturbed her, even knowing that their victim had butchered them like animals.

It was enough to make her turn away without another word, eyes hard to block out the surging memories, and walk away.

The mistress of the inn said nothing as she strode past, a perfect smile on her face as she thanked her for the hospitality. The trick was an easy thing, and she’d long since mastered the art of making it reach her eyes.

Easier still was finding Neige, the pretty little courtesan already close to the target. No doubt she’d signal to the assassin when it was time to strike, so Nadya made herself comfortable well within sight of the woman, who nodded once towards her to show that she had seen the Grisha.

And so the game began.

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

Louis was all bright grins and waving hands as Libins left the stage. There was only a small crowd in front of him, children with no interest in politics dragging their parents along with them. He made a die appear behind the ear of a little girl, had a boy pick a card and correctly guessed what it was, and made coins disappear — all basic tricks he'd been doing for years, but they served their purpose. Children ooh'ed and clapped while their parents tossed a few kruge in his hat.

He saw Neige out of the corner of his eye when he took a bow, but didn't look further.

A father didn't notice that a few extra kruge disappeared from his wallet. A mother's bracelet slipped off as she was walking away and he quickly made it vanish. All that was left for him to do was to watch and wait.

 

[Ayama]

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"Whatever you wish, I will be."

[/div]​

Brande Libins was not, by any standards, an attractive man. His straw-like thatch of dirty blonde hair was both greying and starting to recede, his features were small and mean-looking, reminiscent of a rat or a mole, and his obvious paunch and wobbly walk placed him squarely in the 'affluent and overindulgent' category. Neige dealt with many men like him in her line of work- she'd gotten used to it.

As he gave his grandiose speech before the start of the play and then headed in her direction, towards his seat, she continued her discreet scrutiny of the throng surrounding her. She spotted Louis a little ways away, entertaining a small crowd with parlor tricks. She sorely wanted to roll her eyes- while the children 'ooh'ed' and 'aah-ed', their hapless parents were, no doubt, being robbed blind.

Shortly after Libins reached his place and sat down with a grateful and telling exhalation, Neige noticed the Ravkan heartrender. She stood out from the multitude effortlessly, regal in bearing as always and dressed in an exquisite gown of ivory and peach, her long hair elaborately twined at her neck. Nadya's rare beauty and sheer presence were sure to draw attention in any crowd, and Neige wondered in sudden alarm why she wasn't dressed more casually. She was, after all, the most deadly hired killer in the city- how could Cole possibly expect people to still believe Libins' death was accidental when it happened a few paces away from the famous Grisha assassin?

She gritted her teeth even as she gave Nadya a nod to indicate that she had seen her, digging her nails into her palm again. What is Cole playing at? she fumed afresh, wishing at that moment that she could grab the infuriating upstart and just shake the truth out of him. But she couldn't- he was the employer, and she had a job to do and, as usual, no say. An outlet, she thought desperately, using her observations of the crowd to distract her and calm herself down.

As the play began, she pretended to be surprised and delighted in turn by the trappings of the Komedie Brute. She'd seen it a hundred times by now- most everyone had, really, but as she was affecting an innocent, naive, out-of-town character, she couldn't exactly look as blasé as she felt. The spectators enjoyed themselves as best they could, even though the whole thing was mediocre at best- most weren't even paying attention to the stage, content to talk and laugh amongst themselves.

When Mister Crimson stepped out onto the stage and the audience cried out "Mother, Father, pay the rent!", Neige seized her chance, tugging meekly on Libins' sleeve and asking in a low, timid voice "Why do they call out to him so?" She looked at Libins directly, her eyes wide and inquisitive, and waited for him to take the bait.

[/div]

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scrolls, hover over photo​

 

[EasyWright]

Cole took a spot away from the seats to loiter, but near enough that he might get a general idea of what was being said. If, by some miracle, Libins had caught on to their plan and tried to spur a betrayal against Cole, Halber wanted to at least have some kind of warning. He pulled his eyes up towards the building Benhamin was keeping watch from, though he didn't know which room exactly. Good; fewer parts for me to keep track of.

Yet there was a natural discomfort in his gut seeded by not knowing.

Brande's attention was brought laboredly to Neige, and a crooked but trying-to-be-charming smile spread across his round face. "It's a tradition of sorts--" He began, but before he could get much further in speaking, Mister Crimson appropriately replied to his begging dears.

"I can't, my dear, the money's spent!" the actor shouted in a gleeful and fatherly golden tone as he showered the waiting audience in coins for the taking.

Brande nodded his head towards the scene. "I think few people know where this act comes from, but I think someone as inquisitive as you can find the appeal in the spirit of the theater," his voice whistled through the air unpleasantly. If he was a hundred pounds lighter, he would have moved closer to Neige, maybe even tried to fix a strand of her hair or put an arm over her shoulder.

This was a spoiled man. One for whom money and luck had given everything in the worst possible ways. People were cheap to him, but he recognized the value in masked sympathy. That, too, was cheap.

"Oh, I see!" the girl exclaimed, eyes going wide as the coins rained down into the audience. "People here must be extremely rich, if actors can afford to toss coins away like that!" she pretended to marvel, knowing full-well the coins would be fake.

Nevertheless, Libins would not let loose a chance to brag. "Well, I thought that the play needed some authenticity." His smile became inward-focused, as if he was proud of the ruse he was building and confident in its functionality.

Neige's eyes went even wider. "You mean... all that money is yours?" She placed her hand discreetly on the man's arm, loath as she was to draw any closer to him.

"For the good of the cause," the fat man reminisced. "After all, if I don't look after the less fortunate in this wonderful country, they would be eaten up!" He casually put his jeweled hand on top of Neige's, eclipsing it.

"Oh that's simply wonderful!" she exclaimed as she leaned against him. "I had no idea there were such kind people here. My father told me Ketterdam was full of cutthroats and thieves, you see." She gazed at him with a smile. "But how ever can you afford to be so generous?"

"My investments have proven to be successful. Ghezen has blessed me."

Finally, the topic of interest rose from Libins.

"What is it that you invest in, then, to have made you so successful?" the courtesan coyly asked.

"Tourist spots!" The fat man exclaimed, almost as if he was trying to convince himself that he was honest in addition to being excited about the prospect named Neige. "Taverns, mostly. Later on, I moved into running gambling spots." He smiled in an attempt to spur some long-lost charm and gave her hand a friendly squeeze.

"G-gambling?" Neige pretended to falter, looking at Libins uncertainly. "Isn't that a very dangerous business though?"

Libins chuckled heartily and ran his fingers through his dry straw hair. "It's only dangerous if you do it without good assets. Security is a must, and you have to make sure you trust your dealers."

Neige nodded earnestly, eyes wide and looking convincingly awed. "What kind of security do you need for this kind of business? I'd imagine it would have to be quite extensive!"

"Oh, it's nothing you wouldn't find in any other establishment."

Neige could tell a little bit of prodding was required at that point, so she pressed in closer and batted her eyelashes a couple times. Not enough for the seduction to be obvious, but enough to make him notice.

"What you mean, like, guards?" she prompted. "Secret codes? Safes?"

Cole was starting to become anxious. He felt the wrong path of information being walked, but he could do nothing now to stop it.

"Well, all of the above!" Libins's tone suggested a second meaning: How smart you are! it suggested in a patronizing way. His hand moved blatantly from Neige's hand to her thigh.

The fat man was growing closer to the Tailor by the minute.

Cole could feel himself getting more of a headache by the minute as Libins spoke. His voice was piercing and his attitude was insufferable. He ran his fingers through his hair and tucked some strands of it behind his ears; he needed a good view of the area, and observing the Kerch commoners was only beneficial. He would learn to be indistinguishable from them.

The play was about halfway through by now, and the audience only grew more drunk and rowdy.

 

[StormWolf]

Sequestered in the shadows of his perch, Benhamin watched the menagerie of vulgar color and sound that milled beneath in kaleidoscopic splendor. Only in Kerch could such displays be done so publicly and still be called normal. Not even in the degenerate soires of Ravkan nobility did Ben witness such. It was part of what made Kerch unique, Ketterdam the black diamond among the rest. Perhaps it was part of its allure to the ragged company with which he now served.

No matter who you are or where you came from, you can make your way in Ketterdam if you have the stomach for it. The rise of the boy-king of the underworld here was proof enough for that, even if only a measly fraction of the tales were true.

Like a panther in the trees, tail lashing in anticipation, Ben swept the long scope of his rifle across the killing floor, catching the unmistakable red-and-gold of Nadya as she stalked through the celebrant crowds. A lioness in the tall grasses. Ben set his teeth at the bitter irony of their lot as she attended another dance and he kept his distance.

No less than ten paces, he mused bitterly, and moved the cross-hairs on to the target.

It wasn't a new nor familiar feeling for Ben to hate someone at a first glance. It was something he'd conditioned himself for as a marksman, as it was easier to pull the trigger on a target you detested, but this was something more. Another bejeweled ponce, a swine who gorged and glutted at the trough of self-importance. The sound of Ben's grinding teeth filled his own ears as he subconsciously lowered his finger to the trigger. All it would take was three pounds of pressure, and everyone in that crowd would see brains fly.

But that wasn't the plan. Those weren't the orders. Taking a deep breath, Ben forced his finger back to resting upon the frame. There was little else to do but wait. Without the time or means to have coded messages or signals, it was all Ben could do. Easing the sight picture back, he followed the Heartrender's gradual progress, keeping an eye trained for an ambush in the crowd. Any foolish interceptor who accosted her directly would be dealt with before Ben could pull the trigger, anyhow.

 

[Morrighan]

The performance was drab and poorly done, the actors prancing about the stage clearly half-rate and desperate to make any sort of impression upon the rowdy crowd. They spoke their lines with the overdone bravado of the young and untried, and yet the Kerch cheered all the same with gold in their palms to goad them on to another cheerful round of applause. It sickened her.

They sickened her.

She was ready to kill the fat wretch, whose slimy gaze remained ever fixed on Neige’s pretty face - her favorite mask. The Tailor had yet to give the assassin any sort of sign or signal, and so the Ravkan meandered through the small area set aside for the wealthier attendees just beside the platform upon which the man lounged. All around her were men and women dressed in similar attire to her own, tittering behind lace fans and sharing the newest gossip.

Nadya already knew it all, but she smirked and giggled right alongside them.

“Tell me, darling Natasha,” one of the Merch’s wives began with a dim smile. “Is there a man you fancy? Surely a woman of your beauty would have an army of suitable prospects!”

She gave a flawless laugh, lofty and light, but it was quickly drowned out by echoes of the same inane question from the other pretty peacocks.

“I’m too old to marry,” she answered simply. “Besides, what would be the fun in choosing one when I can have them all?”

Her smile and confidence seemed to convince them, despite their squawks of protest about how ‘devilishly handsome’ this man it that man happened to be, but Nadya was quickly finding it difficult to ignore the constant burden of familiar eyes.

She knew he was watching from that shabby little room, peering at her through the scope of the weapon that had ended the lives of her comrades. Was he fighting the urge to pull the trigger? Was he trying to come up with some way to evade retribution?

Was what he’d said true?

And her friends been the monsters he’d claimed?

The truth was she did not know, but she also knew that there was a murder to be committed and not much time left to do so.

And so she kept on smiling, kept on lying, and waited for the call to kill.

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

It was paradise for a pickpocket.

The coins Mister Crimson tossed stole the attention of the kids he'd been performing tricks on, and the crowd around him dispersed almost as fast as it formed. Louis tucked his 'donations' in his pockets, or under his collar, careful to distribute the weight evenly so it didn't look like his pockets were full. He was standing again before Mister Crimson stopped throwing coins, hat on his head. If anyone was looking, they'd chalk it up to another magic trick.

Louis loved Komedie Brute. Not because of the play itself. He heard it so often that it was all white noise. Komedie Brute always attracted a crowd. The actors distracted them so he didn't have to, kept them bunched up so an odd feeling here and there was usually passed off as being bumped into or the feel of the crowd, and best of all, the crowd kept their backs to Louis. It was almost asinine how much he could get away with when the play begun.

He pretended to watch the Scarab Queen, slipping ID's up his sleeves, documents that felt important, and even swiped a passport. Stolen identities could go for a lot of kruge, if sold to the right people. Louis spotted Nadya easily, because she couldn't blend in as someone who belonged here if she tried. She didn't look like she was attempting to, either. Louis let his eyes slide over her, to where Neige was working on Libins. He only looked for a brief second, but he saw that it took around three seconds before Libins got handsy.

Of course, Neige was only playing her role in all this. He'd been there as the puppy laid out the plan and told them where they fit. Louis still felt disgust. He hated them both.

This isn't the time. Think about the money.

He was all bright eyes and dazzling grins when he looked up again, real to anyone who didn't look too close.

 

[EasyWright]

Neige pretended to be far too enraptured to notice the obvious movement of the mercher's hand.

"But surely, you wouldn't keep everything important in the same place? My father told me the Kerch banks can't be trusted," she added conspiratorially.


Brande tilted his head at Neige. "However do you mean? My establishments are spread around the Lid. I want anyone passing through Kerch to have the opportunity of experiencing Libins hospitality."

"Oh how marvelous," cooed the courtesan. "But I meant, well, in terms of your holdings and important documents, surely you wouldn't trust a bank with them? After all, that would give them far too much access to your personal affairs, and I'm sure a man such as you," she added with delicate emphasis, leaning in a little, "must need to be extremely cautious about such things."

He raised an eyebrow towards the girl. He was starting to see more intelligence than she'd initially let on. "Only a fool doesn't use a bank," he quipped and smirked to himself. He knew his more "suspicious" money out of such facilities in cash. "But some things can't be trusted in even the most secure vaults."

Brande continued his friendly, warm efface for now; he though he was getting somewhere with Neige.

Neige's eyes went round with well-practiced wonder. "What could possibly be more secure than a vault?" she asked with convincing innocence.

"The unknown, sweetie," the man cooed and took a glance at the show as it neared its oh-so predictable end.

With the show nearing its end, Neige was beginning to panic. If they couldn't pull this off while the event was ongoing, the suspicions would mount and their whole plan fell apart. She leaned into him further, giggling softly.
"The unknown? Whatever do you mean by that?" she asked.

Libins shrugged and started to stand up for the end of the show. "If no one knows where it is, it can't be found."

Neige was panicking in earnest now- they'd never made a plan for what to do if Libins didn't give them the information they needed during the event. In any case, since the play was ending, she figured the priority for now was to get out of there as quickly as possible. They could spy on or question him to get the information later, though making his death look accidental at that point would probably be more difficult to do.
She smiled and stood up with him as the show ended and the crowd, belatedly realizing it, began to clap.

Brande relied heavily on his chair to assist his rise, and promptly bowed when was his queue to do so. Once the show was ended entirely, he turned his attention back towards Neige.

"I hate to put our conversation on hold so abruptly, but I'm afraid here is where we must part ways. I have some things to attend to, but if you happen to be free later, my door is always open to friends such as yourself." He smiled and began making his way down the stairs.

Cole heard the conversation droll by and gritted his teeth in frustration. He hadn't expected Brande to be as secretive as he was, and now he was paying the price for it; an unprepared team and an escaping target. His limited options felt like walls closing in on him, and the doorway was only getting slimmer.

He raised an open hand towards Benhamin's building and brought it suddenly forward towards Libins. He tapped the back of his knee immediately after and hoped his sniper got the message.

This new pressured plan was going to be messy, but it was something Cole assumed would work just as well. All he needed was for the crowd to scatter for a few minutes before the stadwatch arrived, and he might get all the information he needed.

 

[StormWolf]

Ben had been observing the entire exchange through the lenses of his scope. Though he couldn't hear the words and only read the lips when they were in his view, the subtle tells were enough. Things were not going to plan. The marksman had to give credit where it was due. Libins, slug as he was, possessed greater moxie than Benhamin would have anticipated. To have a pretty young thing all but melting over you and to not be completely absorbed in that, was a greater deal of control than Ben would have expected from any fat cat, be they Kerch or Ravkan.

Cole's game of gestures brought a low huff of bemusement from Ben. It wasn't subtle, but in his surroundings, the boy could probably be written off as another party-goer already a few sheets to the wind. Eyes narrowing in focus, Ben drifted his scope to Libins. Minor adjustments were made for wind, distance, and target speed. Arthur exhaled in a long, serpentine hiss.

Bang!

The rifle kicked like an angry draft horse, its report more akin to a small cannon. Ben had worked the bolt with the smoothness of muscle memory as soon as he pulled the trigger, prepared for follow-up shots if they were needed. Designed for hunting the largest and most dangerous game in the world, the high-powered, high caliber slug was more than enough to ruin a man. The point was split beforehand by Ben, causing the bullet to split and fragment upon entry to the target. It wasn't sporting in the slightest, but it got the job done. There was a sickening crunch of bone and tissue as the bullet made contact. Libins' knee all but exploding from the spiraling velocity of the projectile; his fibula - or what was left of it - ejected from his leg to skip along the cobbled stones like a piece of a broken toy.

"Hurry up and do you thing, Cole..." Ben muttered, training his rifle scope on the points of ingress, awaiting the inevitable flash of stadwatch colors.

 

[Morrighan]

The moment she heard the shot, Nayda forced herself to scream in horror along with the other women, who flew to their husbands or clutched one another pathetically. She made herself seek comfort for several moments with one of the mercher wives, but made her escape as soon as she could and disappeared into the roiling crowd.

As she moved, she slipped off her jewels and removed the golden pins from her hair. At the edge of the street, she ducked behind an old produce stand quickly changed into a simple dress she’d hidden amongst the barrels and boxes. Her gown - beautiful and worth more than what many made in a year- she threw into one of the old fire bins they kept lit to warm the beggars.

The Merch boy deserved to die for his shit planning, and for allowing her kill to be stolen and utterly fucked by that useless sniper. They’d have evidence left behind them now, and that bullet would no doubt be traced back to one of the zemeni suppliers in the city.

Why the hell didn’t he just let me do my fucking job?!

 

[S n o w]

Louis​

Of course the puppy's plan was in shambles. Of course.

Shame on Louis for putting even a little faith in Cole Halber. To think for a second there he thought this whole charade might actually work. Puppy was a moniker that never seemed to fit more than when Libins dropped. The sound of the rifle was unmistakable, and chaos quickly followed. He ducked low, as did others as they pushed and shoved relatives and children towards the closest thing to hide behind.

Why had Louis worked so hard the day before to convince Nadya not to kill the puppy again? As people screamed and wept around him it became increasingly hard for him to remember. He should add a 'complete fool' tax to his cut. If they didn't all hang for this first, that is. Louis tipped his hat down over his face and sighed. Regardless of what whim made the puppy ignore the 'group' part of his group plan, it was time for Louis to make himself scarce.

He counted to ten, followed Nadya, and warmed his hands over the remains of her dress, keeping his hands up and visible to prevent any misunderstandings. "Leave it to the puppy to make messes out of his messes," he said. "Can't say I'm surprised after, well, yesterday."

Louis wouldn't outright remind her of the puppy outing her identity, because he knew better than to push a heartrender. Especially one that was already pissed off.

 

[EasyWright]

Cole kept low and hid at first just like everyone else, but made sure he ran over to Libins as one of the first people offering help. There were two others; one putting pressure on the fat man's irrepairable knee and the other was talking to him directly.

Cole grabbed the talker's collar and jerked him towards himself, off and away from Libins. "I know him. Go find a grisha for this." He said sternly and seriously, keeping his mask on for now. He couldn't afford a passerby recalling his face to the stadwatch.

After looking around for a moment to make sure everyone was dispersed enough, Cole looked in Nadya's direction and squeezed his fist in a gesture towards the person trying to stop the bleeding. Whether she saw or not was irrelevant. "Keep the pressure," he ordered the straggler, and knelt down next to Brande's head, facing away from the stranger.

He pulled away his mask so that Libins might recognize him easier. Thank god he's still awake. "Brande, it's Cole Halber. You've been shot and we need to make sure this wasn't a distraction. You're going to be unconscious soon, all I need to know is where your assets and holdings are so the stadwatch can make sure they're secure." He wasn't the best actor, but he knew Shock would fill in the gaps for him. He only needed to seem sort of concerned for Libins, and for that he was grateful.

The shot had rattled Brande's mind as soon as he felt the pressure of his leg being destroyed and the sudden loss of balance that made him topple down against the last jagged stairs of the seating area. Then the pain hit. The intense burn of great injury was foreign to a sugar-rotted loaf such as he, and it was easy to make him scream. Everything was so bright around him, and seemed to only come into conscious thought in small, vague bursts. He didn't respond to Cole at first.

Cole set his jaw and got behind Libins's shoulders to lift him. It took much more strength than he wanted to use, but he needed to be convincing. "Get him to cover," he barked at the man tending to Brande's wound, and started -- slowly -- dragging Libins away. "Hurry, Brande, there's not much time. You could be robbing you right now!"

"In.. I-in the wall... The basement," was all the fat man could manage before choking on his own spit. "The Harpy's Nest," he concluded, then rambled something about gratitude and worry. Cole wasn't concerned with it; he had his answer.

Cole dropped Libins with a huff of released strain, replaced his mask and looked for Louis in some low level of frantic. He had the location. All he needed was Louis and to get there before the law or a treacherous partner of Libins's.