#a folding knife is probably the easiest knife to steal and hide

[blorboindulgence]

Love Letter - Pickpocket

Mr. "please don't treat me like fragile glass about to snap" preparing to snap. Set right after hug (x)

Based off Chapters 19-20 of Love Letter by @lunarleonardo

[doorsclosingslowly]

If This Changed Your Life Did You Have One Before

Kaz is dismayed to learn that for an entire year, the key to a three million kruge pay-out from the Ravkan crown has been hiding right under his nose. Even worse: he’s making excuses not to turn Jesper in, Sun Summoner or not.

4k | Sun Summoner Jesper AU | Jesper Fahey & Kaz Brekker | warning for on-screen torture

The Smirnov home was as easy a target as Kaz predicted. The entire family is out at some gala or other, the staff having used the reprieve to go out dancing, leaving only two guards patrolling in front of the villa. Really, he needn’t have brought in three other Dregs to make copies of the scheduled arrivals of the cargo vessels they have coming over from West Ravka in the next two months. Kaz could have easily done this alone, but his new spider Inej needs all the practice she can get, Anika’s been complaining about getting propositioned in a gambling hall, and Jesper—well, Jesper’s obnoxious when he’s bored.

He’s obnoxious anyway. Kaz has been back with Anika at her watcher’s spot for ten minutes now, Inej materializing out of thin air right after him, and Jesper’s still missing. Probably got distracted, the utter flake, and Kaz has half a mind to go back to the Slat without him. He’ll show up eventually. He always does.

It’s time to discern which lesson Inej needs to learn more at this moment. Should Kaz impress upon her the need for single-minded focus on the job at hand, lest she displease him? Make an example of Jesper that she will not forget? Or should he build her loyalty by implying—not promising—that the Dregs do not leave one of their own behind?

Inej does Kaz’ bidding without question. Only one of these lessons is useful for his new dutiful, terrified spider to learn.

“We could have called it a day early this time,” Kaz rasps, “but unfortunately Jesper has not yet learned the value of punctuality. Let’s hope he hasn’t found another kitchen boy, or we’ll be here all night.”

He hands the copied schedules over to Anika and instructs her and Inej to wait inconspicuously while he retrieves the errant sharpshooter.

The second entry’s just as easy as the first, and this time, he doesn’t take the stairs to the first floor where the office was but explores the ground floor that he ordered Jesper to case out. Useless as Jesper is, surely not even he would dare to diverge from Kaz’ plans that early.

The hallway is dark and empty, and so is the dining room, dark and empty except for—the crack under the door to the kitchen, casting out bright light, light that glints on the pearl-handle of a revolver on the floor. Kaz is almost relieved to see it. The second one, someone’s kicked under a chair, and he quickly picks them up. Guns might come in useful, anyway: Jesper wouldn’t just leave them, ever, he plays loose with money and orders but is far too attached to his weapons, so he must be in danger. He didn’t needlessly complicate Kaz’ plans by being stupid and distractible, after all. To lose a fight is far more excusable than flakiness, and Jesper’s usually a good thief and fighter and a loyal Dreg, so Kaz would hate to have to cut him loose just for his intrinsic character flaws.

It’s not only light that spills out from under the kitchen door. Voices, too, two loud and male and obviously drunk—one Kaz places as mercher Smirnov, who must’ve begged off from the gala, and the other has a similar West Ravkan accent—and then there is someone else, desperately breathless and sobbing and begging, and since Kaz has never heard him sound anything like this before, even though he already knew from the context, it takes him an entire second to recognize the voice as Jesper.

“Please,” Jesper slurs, “I’m sorry,” and then the dull impact of fist against flesh.

“I didn’t tell you to speak you piece of shit crook,” Smirnov hisses, “sorry won’t bring my brother back,” and then Jesper moans in pain again.

Kaz creeps closer, foregoing the use of his cane to avoid any noise despite the discomfort. The mercher sounds much angrier than the situation warrants. This is Ketterdam: the occasional breaking and entering is an occupational hazard for any wealthy person here, and teenage Jesper on his own is hardly a scary sight, unless he’s using his face to make the most hideous shirt look haute couture or he’s landing impossible hits in a shootout, and from the clean smell in the dining room and the fact that Kaz, who must have been a single floor up when Jesper was grabbed, didn’t hear anything, it’s most likely Jesper was taken by surprise before he could fire a single shot. A simple call to the staadwatch would have sufficed. This job was not supposed to involve the risk of torture.

It makes no sense for it to be personal. Kaz has never before targeted Smirnov or his business, and Haskell didn’t recognize the name when Kaz came to him to argue for his plan. Haskell’s not the most talented Barrel boss, to say it lightly, but he does have a good memory for past marks, so it’s most likely the Dregs have never crossed paths with Smirnov in any way. Kaz has never known him to have any siblings, either, and he did observe him for a while before this heist. Jesper, of course, gets into enough scrapes during his off-time, but they’re nearly all about gambling or money he owes from gambling, and if Smirnov was a gambler, Kaz would know. It’s his job to keep track of which merchers are easy targets.

It’s possible, of course, Kaz muses while he silently and gently lowers the handle of the kitchen door—in case this display is an ambush for him—and opens it to a small crack as quickly as he can—he’d prefer to keep his sharpshooter in working condition—it’s definitely possible that Jesper just annoyed the shit out of his captors. Kaz can empathise. He’s also annoyed that Jesper got himself caught by a random sadist on the easiest of jobs.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have enough time to heal up pretty before you get to the Little Palace.”

Or—

The kitchen is bright.

It’s a standard narrow kitchen, very orderly and clean, with a bottle of liquor and two glasses on the work surface. There are three people inside, and it’s ridiculously bright.

Brighter than any room with a single lit candle has any right to be. Brighter than daylight.

And it’s all coming from Jesper.

Jesper, who’s held in the arms of the non-Smirnov drunk, a man who has one big hand pressed to Jesper’s neck and is squeezing so hard that Kaz would probably see Jesper’s face turning blue if he could actually look, squeezing, and then letting go, squeezing again. His other arm is wrapped around Jesper’s waist, pressing both his arms against his body. Jesper’s feet are on the floor, knees bent even; he’s not being held aloft but he’s far too busy sobbing and shuddering to kick his feet against the man holding him captive.

Kaz has always thought Jesper unreasonably tall and lanky—only occasionally with vicious envy—but he looks weirdly small next to his captor, not because he’s shorter because he probably isn’t, just definitely not as broad-shouldered and muscular… Not because the other man is impressive. He’s got a red nose and desperate shallow scratches all over his face (so Jesper’s tried to escape. Kaz makes a mental note to force him to practice grappling and other forms of unarmed combat henceforth. Rotty’s a decent instructor, but he’s still hampered by the ethics taught in childhood boxing practice. Kaz will have to teach a few lessons himself, if he wants his sharpshooter to excel the next time he’s outmanoeuvred and alone). Jesper doesn’t look small for any of those reasons, but because he’s panicking and brutalized and miserably helpless in this mercher’s grasp, and that’s so hard to square with the presence of the flirty, boastful, loud boy he should be.

He lights up every room he enters.

Well, he’s lighting up the room now, just not like that.

All of Jesper’s skin is glowing brightly, every inch that isn’t covered by his hideous outfit (though the glare washes out the vivid contrasts of his chosen colours, rendering the coat slightly less of an eyesore), and the deep bloody slashes down his chest, the cut on his bruised cheek, the gash on his head where someone must have surprise-bashed him—they’re blinding, as if Kaz was looking straight at the sun.

Because that iswhat he’s looking at.

Jesper’s Grisha.

Jesper’s Grisha, and he’s far craftier than Kaz thought he was, because he’s been hiding his secret for a year now, Jesper who can’t keep his fucking mouth shut even when he isn’t drunk, Jesper who pretends to be an open happy book. He’s been hurt before, too, though not often enough for Kaz to give thought to his unarmed defence… so maybe something about the kitchen knife that Smirnov’s using to carve holes into his chest forced him to start burning, or maybe it’s the dazed hopeless terror that permeates every single one of his pleas, his laboured breathing…

“If you’d just gone and destroyed the Fold, instead of stealing from respectable men, this needn’t have happened,” Smirnov says with lethal friendliness, and then he punches Jesper in the face again. The ring he’s wearing tears another gash into Jesper’s cheek: another eruption of sunlight, another sob. “Sun Summoner.”

“Just please—” If Kaz could look at Jesper’s face for more than an instant, he could probably see him flickering through what he might offer—money, information, sexual services, appeals to this man’s mercy or veneration for a mythic Saint or reminders that the Ravkan bounty for the Sun Summoner is alive only. He doesn’t say anything but another “Please,” because it’s plainly useless: these two men have decided he can be hurt just shy of his death, and then he’ll be sold to the Darkling. And if no-one’s come to find him yet, no-one will. It’s over. Jesper knows. Those men know.

Kaz knows, and so he has to figure out a way to get the other West Ravkan to let go of Jesper. Right now, this is intimidation, punishment, and another minute or two while Kaz plots won’t make much of a difference; but once he transforms the nature of this situation by his own attack, Jesper’s safety is far less assured.

No matter how much money the Sun Summoner will fetch (and Kaz knows it’s millions) once they figure out that he means to kill them, and that he came here for Jesper, they’ll use his life to bargain and Kaz is not interested in bartering anything for an excitable fool who’s been lying to Kaz for the entire time they’ve been working together. So he could—

But while he plots, Smirnov walks up to Jesper, a cast iron pan in his hand, and bashes him over the head. The other guy must have known he would, because he lets go, and so Jesper just crumples to the ground, bleeding from yet another burst bruise in his forehead and unconscious and still glowing brightly.

Whatever their plan may have been, they’ve released Jesper. It’s the opening that Kaz was searching for.

He dispatches the other Ravkan with a cane-blow to his face, and then he disarms Smirnov and uses his kitchen knife to slit his throat. Beats the other Ravkan again and again, strategically, so he’ll slowly die from his injuries: killing a mercher is terrible form, especially on a heist he could barely get permission for, but this way, the Staadwatch might believe Smirnov got into a drunken fight with his companion that ended tragically. For good measure (and because Jesper’s still glowing, and he can’t very well bring him back to the Slat this way without attracting attention), Kaz trashes the kitchen as well.

Then, he collects Jesper’s hat from the dining room, and gently places it on his sharpshooter’s head. Jesper’s barely glowing now, and in just a few seconds—

He’s back to normal. Kaz nudges his shoulder with his boot.

“Kaz.” Despite the pain he’s in, Jesper’s face is bright with joy as soon as he realizes it’s Kaz beside him. None of the weird Grisha light—as he turns his head to meet Kaz’ eyes, his skin’s almost gone back to its normal warm brown, although it’s slightly ashen from shock and blood loss and it’s starting to bruise badly, too—but he’s glowing in his own idiot Jesper way, with a happiness no-one sane would feel upon looking at Dirtyhands, not even a Dreg whose life he just saved.

Jesper, though—even when Kaz has called him into his office to chew him out for some indiscretion or other, there’s this fraction of a second where he just looks happy to see him.

“Get up, Jesper. Inej and Anika are waiting.”

“What did you…” And just like during those reprimands in his office, Jesper’s light is dimming as he tries to work out how much trouble he’s in. He probably wants to know whether Kaz knows he’s Grisha, and given the work he put in to conceal it for a year and how brutal Smirnov turned after he found out, it’s a distinct possibility he’ll run away from Ketterdam if he thinks he got made. And deprive Kaz of his reward. That he’ll definitely cash in. In a couple of days, because unlike Smirnov and his friend, he’s not going to assume that the Darkling wants his prize looking a few punches shy of becoming a corpse. Even if he wants to despoil his mythic Grisha, he probably wants to start from something pristine. They all do.

“I found your guns in the dining room,” Kaz rasps. “So I assumed those sadists carried you off into the kitchen to have their fun. You were passed out when I arrived; they were taking a break from inflicting torture, and I need a sharpshooter more than I need to skim from West Ravkan shipments, so I took them out. Who knew these lovely expensive walls conceal such depravity? They’re worse than we are.”

“They didn’t say anything?”

“About why they hurt you? I didn’t give them time. Personally, I think it was your crimes against fashion.”

Jesper attempts a relieved snort, but just groans in pain. Hopefully his ribs are bruised, not broken.

“It’s time to leave now. Get up. I didn’t spend my time constructing the scene of a tragic drunken brawl just for Smirnov’s family to come back early from their gala and catch us in their kitchen.”

Kaz doesn’t offer a hand to help Jesper up, but then, he doesn’t need to. They left his legs and arms alone, apparently, focusing their attacks on his torso and his face for reasons now unknown to all living beings, which means Jesper looks horrifying, ruined, half-dead, but he can still walk unaided. That makes it easier: if there was no choice Kaz could hold him up, but Jesper’s dangerously over-familiar with him as it is, and doesn’t need the encouragement. He keeps Jesper slightly in front, since he’s shaking wildly and his balance is shot from being bashed to unconsciousness twice, but he makes it without incident to the shadowed spot where Inej and Anika wait.

“Jesper kindly volunteered himself to distract the men who stayed inside the mansion,” Kaz tells them, and the look that Jesper shoots him is weirdly—grateful? But then, Kaz just saved his life. “Anika, get a medik to the Slat. No Grisha, no Ravkans, just in case. I know Smirnov was involved in his community, and we should not arouse any unnecessary suspicion.”

“Yes, boss,” Anika says, glaring at him before jogging off.

Inej, too, looks deeply unhappy while they walk back. Almost like… almost like they’re assuming Kazbeat Jesper up in response to his tardiness. Well. That may even be of use to his public image, so he shan’t make a move to dispel the idea, but—

“Thanks, Kaz,” Jesper mumbles the second they meet up with Anika and a young freckled medik at the Slat, “They’d never have stopped if you hadn’t saved me.” Obnoxious, obstinate Jesper, who’s definitely seen the same worried glances. And took it upon himself to wreck any of Kaz’ attempts at reputation management.

Kaz collects the now worthless copied schedules from Anika. He’ll have to grovel before Haskell for this failure. He ignores the eyes burning holes into his back.

+

Jesper doesn’t stay inside his room for even a day. His face makes him look like he lost several boxing matches in a row, and Kaz assumes the medik sewed shut the cuts on his chest and belly but Jesper’s still wincing, as soon as he thinks he’s unobserved, whenever anyone hugs or touches him during breakfast. His neck is ringed with bruising so severe it looks almost black, and his damaged throat makes him sound, for the moment, uncannily like Kaz himself does. Jesper, being an asshole, of course exploits that fact to recount the sad tale of what happened to him: again and again, then in some flowery monologue he's pretending is from Kaz' perspective, changing details, changing everything, until there's nothing left of the terrified boy who knew the only way out of getting punched and cut because of his imagined crimes against a sadist was the sale to a more mysterious sadist. Until Jesper's story is so funny even Kaz, who was there, can't help but laugh.

Kaz would have preferred him to sleep, rest, or failing that, clean his guns or whatever, since Jesper’s left eye is swollen completely shut and he needs to heal up before he’s anything approaching useful again—that’s why Kaz ordered Jesper to stay in bed for three days—but then, this is Jesper. Jesper does not do bedrest. After that first breakfast, Kaz is careful not to cross Jesper’s path for those three days, so he does not technically know that Jesper’s being stupid and insubordinate. So he doesn’t have to endure, again, Jesper pointing out, with stubborn adoration, that Kaz saved his life. He’s approached Rotty for lessons in unarmed combat, and prepared exercises of his own, but these can wait. As long as Jesper stays inside the Slat, and that, at least, seems likely.

Inej, whenever she’s not working, stops by Jesper’s bed or his table or wherever Jesper is now, listening to Jesper recount his usual Jesper bullshit. Anika comes by, and Roeder and Rotty and Pim and Specht and Big Bol and Luig and whoever else does, too, sometimes enough to gamble Jesper out of yet more kruge and sometimes pretending to feel pity for the current invalid. Kaz can hear their laughter when he limps down from his office to talk to Haskell, and when he returns from the Crow Club to climb up again. He can hear their laughter, far more often than necessary, because he’s passing by far more often than necessary. Taking trips he doesn’t need to, and his leg protests, but it’s simple precaution to watch his future asset.

As long as Jesper’s happy with the Dregs, he’s not running; and as long as he’s not running Kaz can still claim his reward.

+

It’s a year after Kaz found out that Jesper Fahey’s the mythical Sun Summoner with a three million kruge bounty on his head. A year in which he’s failed to make use of his knowledge. Presently, Kaz is attempting to puke out the last dregs of harbour water (successfully) and also to tune out Jesper’s prattling on about the expensive gorgeous, by which he means mindbendingly ugly coat he just ruined and the hours of maintenance his babies will need before they’re back to peak condition (no success yet, sadly. Jesper’s hard to ignore).

Although Jesper’s pretending to be unhappy, the second Kaz’ lame leg caught on a raised stone when he tried to evade the new sharpshooter the Razorgulls hired, and he tipped over right into the water—the second Kaz fell in, Jesper dove after him, and wrestled him back onto the pier despite Kaz’ mindless panic and despite whatever damage his precious outfit might have sustained. And now, Jesper’s nattering on and on about fripperies while he waits for Kaz to come back from his terror. His left eye’s swelling shut, and Kaz must have been the cause of it with his mindless desperation, but since Jesper doesn’t acknowledge it, neither does he. Whether he was angry at first or not, he probably forgave all when he noticed Kaz’ panic. Jesper’s always been prepared to cover for Kaz’ weaknesses. He’s an integral part of the Dregs’ operations (of Kaz’ life) and his absence will wreck them.

The three million kruge for the Sun Summoner would pay off Inej’s indenture easily, but Inej loves Jesper, and if she ever found out where the money came from she’d never speak to Kaz again. Even if she didn’t find out it was Kaz: she would insist on rescuing Jesper, worse, Sankt Jesper she would call him, and then go off on her own. He’ll lose his sharpshooter and his spider.

Three million kruge will get Kaz much further in his plan to take down Pekka Rollins, but he does need loyal people in order to succeed.

Three million kruge is a lot of money, but Jesper’s so charismatic that all the Dregs adore him: when Kaz claims his bounty with the Little Palace, he’ll have to be as secretive as possible, because it’s hard enough wrangling his recruits now, let alone when they’re all devastated by the loss of Ketterdam’s most flirtatious gambler, and painting Kaz as the villain. Kaz doesn’t mind villainy—he is who he is—but there are reputations that aid his work and those that don’t, and if nothing else this reward would involve taking a genuine risk.

And drenched, swollen-eyed, inimitable secretive Sun Summoner Jesper is still stealing glances at Kaz, like he thinks Kaz won’t notice—and he probably didn’t notice, when he was drowning in corpses just a few seconds ago, before he managed to turn his mind to rewards and their downsides—he’s still looking at Kaz and then carrying on with his minuscule complaints. He’s making no move to get up. He’s looking away again, communicating something silent to Rotty while still talking at Kaz, and then he must see something in Kaz that makes him go, “I smell awful! Let’s get back to the Slat, I need a change of clothes. ‘Gulls are gone now anyway, boss.”

Kaz does not particularly enjoy being cared for, but if needs must then this style of pretend-apathetic easily denied help is certainly his preference, and Jesper his most frequent provider.

So then, if Kaz is going to leave the reward for the Sun Summoner as a back-up plan for when he is dearly in need of money… Kaz isn’t going to make of his knowledge any time soon, since he’s found excuse after excuse not to for the entire last year. Jesper is both an incredible shot and loyal. He does whatever Kaz asks, and even when he gets distracted half-way through, he still tends to deliver whatever Kaz wants. If Kaz is going to keep the Sun Summoner with the Dregs simply for his other uses, it’s time to start planning for a different set of eventualities. He doesn’t need to know exactly who to contact and how to drug Jesper and where to deliver him, anymore.

Jesper, though he’s managed so far, is not the most discreet of people. He’ll mess up at some point, and it’s Kaz’ task to ensure that no-one believes even the plainest, most obvious evidence of the Sun Summoner's presence. Whatever happens—Kaz doesn’t need the worry that someone else might discover Jesper and thereby ruin any heist that Kaz has sent his sharpshooter on.

If Kaz won’t give the Sun Summoner to the Darkling, he will make sure that no-one else can, either.