#aka a feral idiot who's liable to rip you to shreds at any moment 8') likely for no reason besides WANTING to asdjflkd

[howthesleeplesswander]

Even a sky-high offer didn't phase a stoic poker face. But considering it was a significantly higher price than the Fatui had paid before, Childe knew the job had to be of interest. Patiently, he watched Kaz feign indifference the same as he pretended not to notice two sets of eyes observing them from afar. Common thugs who were no more of a threat than a pair of lapdogs, but oh was it delicious to make a man as unshakable as Kaz Brekker feel the need to ensure his "backup" was paying attention.

"Awh, come on, I haven't earned even a little bit of trust after all this time?" He shook his head as if deeply wounded, despite the feeling being entirely mutual. Before continuing, Childe too glanced around the bustling club, scrutinizing nooks and crannies as devoid of light as his wandering eyes. The bloodlust in his veins couldn't help but wonder if any other real players were here tonight. Seeing no sign of them meant nothing, after all.

No matter. If Kaz dared utter many more slights against the Tsaritsa, Childe would give his infamous wraith and gunslinger every reason to show themselves.

Steely blues slid back to the man across the table. "Our sources have learned that Fontaine's government has come into possession of an artifact of great value," he began. "When Her Majesty attempted to purchase it fairly, she was told it wasn't for sale. We only ask nicely once."

His easy smile sharpened around the edges. "We know where it's being kept; ordinarily I'd like nothing more than to fight my way in and retrieve it myself, but the artifact is...fragile. Tap it the wrong way and it'll shatter into dust." He shrugged a shoulder. "You see? A task far better left in your wraith's hands, I'd say."

I don’t imagine there’s a high percentage of people who are happy to see you, Kaz mused to himself, keeping that quiet simply for the sake of avoiding pointless banter—no matter how much someone like Tartaglia deserved to hear it.

But that was just it.

He knew there was nothing to be gained arguing with a feral pup who was not built for using his brain.

So he listened for now, only somewhat sated by the harbinger getting to his point relatively fast. The pup knew what game was to be played here more than that of the literal cards and dice flying about the gambling floor, and he came forth with fixed numbers before shedding a semblance of light on the job requested. An attempt at an ultimatum. An establishment of what “Her Majesty” (which was the title bestowed reverently by the simpleminded) was willing to offer before Kaz had the chance to suggest otherwise.

No small sum. As much as his interest was piqued, a well-trained poker face showed no sign of it. Again, his focused gaze drifted back out to the clamor and ruckus of the Crow Club, pinning the attention of two Dregs who knew to be vigilant to his presence, ready to react to any silent command he gave them. For now, they waited. But they knew well enough what the conclusion to this negotiation would be.

—when the curtains lifted for a show.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion on what my time is worth,” he answered readily. “I trust that your judgment is untrustworthy.” You use your fists before you use your head. “When I know what manner of ‘delicacy’ your grandstanding Majesty requires, I can determine whether that payment is of any real value to me. So.” His head cocked, brow expectantly lifting. “What business?”