#i'm forever screaming over them dude adsjfkdj

[howthesleeplesswander]

It would be a fair assessment to call both men seated at this table ruthless. Truth be told, it was the only reason Childe found his current company at all tolerable to deal with. For at his core, Kaz was just as insufferable as the other Harbingers: always plotting and scheming, more likely to play the long con with everyone he met than simply eliminate problems head-on. From the moment he'd sat down, Childe knew the shrewd stare across from him studied everything. Kaz's (usually) unflinching stoicism was a veil for cogs that never stopped turning.

That was where the two men seated at this table differed.

Childe's sharp gaze did not seek out weakness for the sake of a scheme. When prey exposed its throat, he did not use the opportunity to tie a leash around it to control and exploit at a later time. No, he latched on with his teeth.

The slip in Kaz's composure was only the briefest instant—but that was enough for the ferocity in Childe's blood to target that weak point. Heh, and he hadn't even been trying to earn a rise. How sloppy.

But Childe's (admittedly pointless) veil of civility had its flaws, as well. The less-than-subtle, deliberate taunt in Kaz's "follow-up query" stretched the corners of his grin just a fraction too wide. Teetering on a knife's edge of which Kaz's words tested the sharpness.

"I have no problem with you asking questions that are relevant to the job at hand. However, I don't see how that could possibly be of any concern to you when you stand to profit either way. Besides, I believe I just finished explaining why I'm a poor fit for the job." If he undertook the task himself, there would be blood and destruction...much like what would become of this very tavern if the man across from him didn't tread very carefully.

Shaking his head, Childe tsked as if scolding a literal bearer of his namesake. "Were you even listening to my proposal? And you call yourself a professional." Spreading his hands wide, his gaze once again lazily traversed the room, this time spurred by boredom. "If you have any legitimate questions, you'd better ask them now. Otherwise, this offer has a time limit—as much as I'd love to spend all evening indulging you, I have a few debts to collect before the night is over."

When he leveled the other again, Childe's stare was solid ice: a testament to the ruthlessness at his core. "Unless you'd like to give your wraith the chance to ask her own questions—now that would be worth my time, if the real professional could join us. After all, she's really the one who's services I'd be enlisting." He inclined his chin. Brazen. Inviting retaliation. "Or does everything have to go through Daddy for approval? Can't have your kids making any decisions on their own, now can you?"

Anyone else likely would’ve laughed at that: talk of trust as if the pair of them were long-lost friends, nothing at all shady or suspicious about how they’d tucked themselves away in their own corner. It was amusing. Because it certainly was the most absurdly incorrect thing that could ever spill from this ticking timebomb’s lips—and he knew it just as well. Kaz saw it behind that grating little performance of his.

So he wasn’t a complete idiot. You just look and behave like one. Kaz had yet to decide which was worse.

—particularly when blind loyalty still played so big of a role in his decision-making. (How truly intelligent could that even be?) And when Tartaglia’s cold, dead, arguably crueler in nature than Kaz’s gaze pinned him after his own surveillance of the situation, something stirred in him. Satisfaction, perhaps. A cautious reminder to himself: That’s one of his weak spots. Use it wisely.

“Her Majesty's mistake was asking nicely at all,” he interjected moments before the Harbinger dove into an explanation. And he listened. Quietly. Carefully. His mind was already puzzling and plotting, considering how much the proposal would be worth the risk…

Then—

“A task far better left in your wraith’s hands.” “—left in your wraith’s hands—” Your. Wraith.

His response was nothing short of instinct. Horrible, sloppy instinct. Before Dirtyhands had the chance to choke it down, a particular fragility bubbled up from the deepest pits of his humanity. Kaz felt a minute flinch right there beneath his skin, a passing flutter in his previously unblinking stare.

Arguably the worst part was that he was right. Inej would have no trouble at all. Getting in, getting out, gingerly handling the piece…

But that was hardly Tartaglia’s right to decide.

“And here I thought you’d be requesting the impossible,” he droned. Kaz flexed his fingers in their fold in front of his face, languidly unwove them to lean back, and let out a loud breath. “Then I have a follow-up query”—his leer steadied again on his guest—“is this a direct order from Mommy, or are you sweeping the chores you’d rather not do onto someone else’s plate?”