#𝐓𝐇 01. ┊ morbid topics amidst the pouring rain. ( 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐀. )

[thiefofcrows]

@veitsia | CONT. from here.

  When I die … the mere idea of those words made something deep inside of Kaz Brekker twist painfully. At the same time, the vicious and wounded thing he’d become after his last true brush with death thrashed with rage. Both sensations swept over him so abruptly, it was difficult to reign in an outward response. Kaz still clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the pen he was writing with — even his writing stopped, albeit briefly as he caught himself, took the faintest breath through his nose. The force of such frayed, raw rage scared him still, deep within his bones and, the only reason it scared him was because it was for her.

   He didn’t want to think about what life would be like without listening for her, without instinctively seeking with nothing but vague senses for her approach, where she would simply melt back into the world, emerging from the shadows like magic. He didn't want to imagine never seeing her seated at his window again, feeding the crows that would always remember her kindness.

   Kaz had said the words as a joke, light and teasing, despite the fact that maybe he might actually mean it, but … of course she had turned it into something too real. He would surely paint the streets red with the blood of those who’d laid their hands on her without a moments hesitation. How had it come to this?

   A quiet scoff followed and, he too felt the twinge of irritation at himself as he tilted his head in her direction, seeking to steal a glimpse of her. He often found himself gazing into those rich dark eyes and itching to understand the things she didn’t say aloud, longing to solve the puzzles in which she presented him with — the only case where he would solve one only to receive at least three more, each more baffling than the last.

   ❝Escaping obstacles of my own design is what I’m good at, Inej.❞ He’d cheated death more times than he could perceptibly count, but that was how you won a game that was rigged against you from the start, wasn’t it?

   ❝But if you don’t at least haunt me, I’ll be sorely disappointed,❞ Kaz continued, a long, exaggerated sigh carrying the words from his mouth.

[thiefofcrows]

   Does the reek of death never bother you? Of course, Inej knew nothing about how intimately Kaz was acquainted with the reek of death. He'd offered her a small, crooked smile in response to her teasing, but ... merely hearing the phrase made his stomach churn, made him swallow thickly as bile swiped at the back of his throat, his amusement vanishing. Suddenly, he felt sick and it took every ounce of his will to stop himself from closing his eyes, from taking a much needed staggering breath, to reassure himself that he was not in fact encased in the horrific scent of disease and decay.

   Instead of answering, Kaz said nothing for a long moment and seemed to return his attention back to his work. He breathed through his nose and focused on his senses — numbers scrawled across the page, the texture of his clothes against his skin, the weight of the pen in his hand, the dim light cast by the small fireplace and the sound of the fire crackling. The sickness did pass, but the faint whisper of it lingered, hovering like a vulture, ready to pick his bones clean.

   Kaz knew he should lie — the instinct rose to meet him easily, the words were at the tip of his tongue ... but for some reason, the lie would not come. He could tell anyone else that it didn't bother him. His shame, mingled with the rage that came with knowing such weakness resided inside of him, would ensure it, but ... for Inej, he thought he could at least give her a half truth. It was more than he offered anyone else.

   ❝I haven't met anyone who enjoys the smell of death, and I'm no exception.❞ The rasp of his voice felt like sandpaper at the base of his throat, but a slight waver softened the sound of it, despite himself.

   There were many things Kaz did not want to stay the same — he wanted wealth, of course, but he also wanted to take the Dregs and the place they called home as his own, because he had built it all from the ashes of Per Haskell's neglect. He didn't want to answer to someone who couldn't be bothered to join them in the trenches. He wanted to destroy the life Pekka Rollins had built off of the backs of himself, of Jordie, of all the pigeons who hadn't known any better. Who, like him and Jordie, were met with merciless suffering.

   He wanted to rid the barrel of any pleasure houses that used indentures to substitute for slavery. He wanted this wretched place to give two young, naive farm boys a chance to thrive ... or preserve a young suli girl's agency and prevent her from being forced to become a thing of nightmares. There were even more things he wanted, but ... Kaz was not prepared to let his mind wander to such flights of fantasy just yet.

   However, Kaz Brekker wasn't some kind of hero in a storybook. He was dirtyhands, a demon, the bastard of the barrel. Perhaps that's what this city needed in order to drag it from the depths of its debauchery. It takes a monster to destroy a monster. ❝I have my aspirations — but they can only be achieved on the back what I've already built.❞ Finally, Kaz once again cast Inej a lingering, curious glance. ❝And what about you, Wraith? ❞

@veitsia

To her, the concept of obstacles equaled minor grievances. One sacrificing their final ounce of goodness to a personal hell seemed something a lot more concerning than he made it sound; no comment about this was made out loud by her, though. What she focused on more 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 here was the way her name rolled from his lips ever effortlessly, for it brought her silent, secret comfort. It was a confusing pattern really — there were days when she wondered why she even bothered trying to hold up a conversation with him, and nights when the mere knowledge of him being within these walls brought her enough ease to fall into sweet slumber. In time she'd learned to think of it as a gift; as a sign of how there still resided something good and pure inside of her, that not all of her edges had been permanently sharpened.

To see his pencil's movements coming to halt had been a small victory for Inej. A reaction she had yearned to see, be it of whatever kind. With her fingertips now idly fidgeting with a loose string peeking from the side seam of the pads sown to the knee of her trousers, she still had her eyes locked in his direction, though now lowering it to break direct eye contact. ❝ A human mind is capable of creating all sorts of traps. I suppose you are gifted in avoiding them, then. ❞ This, or then he was a great actor, or something else entirely — she couldn't know for sure.

Ever slightly the corners of her lips rose in a pensive smile, ❝ Oh, I will. Be careful of what you wish for. ❞ He relied on no Saint, she knew, but on a ghost of her he just might. Still, the thought of an early grave didn't 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭 her any longer, if it had at all. She would rather lurk in the shadows, watching over him, always there even and especially when out of sight. Like a ghost, yes, but with an unwavering pulse and the scent of mystery in her raven locks, unforgettable. Unforgettable like the familiar rasp in his voice playing with each letter of her name. It tormented her.

Her lips parted again to share a piece of her mind, but no sound came out, anticipation filling the atmosphere. Inej tilted her chin and directed her gaze in her own hands, still fidgeting. What about life ? What about dreams locked in a box in the back of her mind that he couldn't 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 ? ❝ Do you wish for things to remain the way they are now, for the rest of your days ? ❞ A vaguely formed musing, but an important one to her nonetheless.

❝ Does the reek of death never bother you ? ❞

@thiefofcrows