#iamarosegarden writes

[iamarosegarden]

ghost get scared too

guess who’s back, back again. with another chapter of her buzzfeed unsolved fic instead of her soc fic.

ao3 - part one - part two

ryan bergara is dead, and shane suddenly understood better than ever why the prospect of ghost might be appealing. ryan was dead, and the worst part was, they’d gotten it all on film.

well, maybe that wasn’t the worst part. maybe the worst part was that it was his fault. he still wasn’t sure what exactly he’d seen. right now, he was saying that ryan had heard a noise that scared him, and he’d slipped. he’d said it enough times that he was starting to think that is what happened, and it the heat of the moment he’d made up a crazy explanation to make himself feel better.

of course it wasn’t a ghost, or a demon, or whatever ryan had been sure was inhabiting the house. he’d been climbing, and shane had put him on edge with all the jokes, and he’d heard something come from the attic that had scared him enough that he’d let go of the ladder. shane definitely hadn’t taunted a ghost into killing ryan. this was all his fault. if he’d just shut up when ryan had asked him too, maybe he’d still be alive.

actually, maybe the worst part was that he might have to release the footage. right now, the fans just thought there was a delay, but they’d have to explain what happened eventually. and he knew they’d want to see the footage. ryan would probably want them to see the footage…

shane talked to just about everyone at the funeral about the footage and whether or not they should release it. some asked to see it, some didn’t. shane hasn’t. but just about everyone had said ryan would want it released, that he’d want the season to at least have a conclusion, even if it was the first episode. he’d gone as far as to talk to ryan’s ex, desperate to find someone who’d say “no, how could you even think about releasing this?” but no one said that.

so it was up to him. he had to make a statement about ryan’s death at some point anyway, what better way to do it than in one last episode of buzzfeed unsolved? he slumped into his couch and forced himself to re-watch everything they’d made for the episode so far.

“in the summer of 1989 in san pedro, california, jackie hernandez awoke in the middle of the night to noise in the attic and checked on her children, which is when she saw a ghastly vision in her children’s bedroom. over the course of several mounth jackie would see more apparitions, hire investigators, and finally move away. after the fact, several tenants continue to report odd sounds and even visions. this, is the site of jackie hernandez’s haunting.” ryan took off his theory voice. “i’m very excited about this episode.” he was standing in front of the house that he died in, smiling wide at the camera as he looked over to shane.

“is it because of the investigators?” shane asked, grinning back. “i’m almost certain it’s because of the investigators,”

“the investigators declared it officially haunted! officially haunted. take that,” ryan bounced on the balls of his feet, looking over his shoulder at the house. “i mean i’ll be scared the whole time and it’s gonna be really creepy but we’re gonna find a ghost,”

“paranormal investigators aren’t real investigators, so the fact that they declared it officially haunted means nothing to me. also, i concur, you will be scared the entire time,”

there was a couple hours of them just exploring the hose and doing the usual stuff, and then he caused ryan’s death he tried to convince ryan that instead of sleeping in the living room they should sleep in the attic.

“there’s no way i’m sleeping in that attic. we didn’t even go up there during the routine stuff. no way. no way!” ryan said incuriously, slumping further into the couch (clean, for once).

“what kind of investigator would we be if we didn’t?” shane countered, grinning at ryan and already shoving their sleeping bags into their sheaths and throwing them over his back.

ryan sighed. “i guess you’re right…” he trailed off, getting up and following shane down the hall and up the stairs to the attic’s entrance.

when they reached the entrance shane opened it and pulled down the ladder before stepping back and gesturing at it as if he were a gentleman holding open a door.

“oh no. i am not going to be the first one to enter their space. nuh-uh. nope,” ryan said, shaking his head.

“but you’re the leader!” shane said, grinning at ryan (as he almost always was) and nudging him toward the ladder. “don’t you want to make sure i don’t enter their space wrong or whatever?”

ryan sighed but relented again, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips every time he looked back at shane, smirking. “yeah… wouldn’t want you to piss off the spirits,”

“he said, acting as if spirits were real,” shane tacked on to the end of ryan's sentence, winking at the camera.

“they are real and one of these episodes is gonna prove it!” ryan said with conviction, beginning the fatal climb up the ladder.

“yeah right. if they were here they’d have done something by now,” stop talking stop talking stop talking

“they have done stuff. you’re just to stubborn to believe it was actually them,”

“i’d believe it was spirits if it was actually something more substantial than turning off a flickering flashlight,” shut up shut up shut up

“oh really? like what?”

shane paused for a moment humming in thought. “if you’re here then… throw ryan off the ladder,” he said. you’ve done it now, you idiot

“shut up. stop bringing me into your taunts. i’d rather not break my leg ‘cus some ghost was annoyed with your shenanigans,” ryan grumbled, trying to keep a steady grip while still holding a flashlight.

“shenanigans? what shenanigans? i’m just saying, if the ghost were really here they’d prove it. maybe they’re just too chicken, gone soft from all the years of being dead,” shane joked.

ryan huffed out a laugh begrudgingly, “seriously man, shut up, or at least wait ‘till-”

and then ryan fell. except, watching the footage it was looking less and less like a fall, even if that’s what he’d convinced himself it was.

it looked like fingers being hooked into ryan’s collar. it looked like ryan being flung onto the floor. it sounded like someone hissing ‘this is what you get’.

after the fall, the camera man and shane stood in stunned silence for a few seconds.

shane remembers feeling very cold, after it happened. like all the warmth had been drained out of him. he remembered that it had been that and the shock that had kept him from calling 911 right away.

then they both snapped out of it. the camera work was shakier than before, but still recording. shane was in frame, looking at his best friend’s maybe more than that prone body in dismay, ryan’s legs and the ladder taking up the rest of the shot. “ryan? ryan are you okay?” shane crouched down, shaking ryan’s shoulder. when ryan didn’t answer shane reached into his back pocket for his phone, still crouched over ryan on the floor, to call 911, his hands shaky with panic.

“i need an ambulance for 593 west 11th street. yes, it’s an emergency. my…   friend fell… off a ladder and won’t wake up. okay.” and then he hung up and started pacing.

shane slunk even farther into the couch as he continued watching, the back of his throat hot and the back of his eyes itchy. he was torturing himself, really. but he deserved it. he was going to watch everything, and start editing. even if he loathed to remember the sight of ryan on a stretcher, or the endless wait in the er, or the way he’d felt when he’d heard the news, or the funeral (because yes, they filmed the funeral too. his superiors really wanted this video to happen).

and then he forced himself to rewind, to the moment it happened. to pause. to study every frame as intensely as his tear filled eyes would let him.

he wanted to deny it. but

gravity didn’t work like that. gravity didn’t bend ryan’s collar and fight so hard against his grip on the ladder. gravity didn’t fling people against the floor so hard their ribs cracked and broke. gravity didn’t whisper in his ear how this was his fault and drain all the warmth out the room.

shane was a man built of logic and facts. he believed things when they were proven, and stuck to those proven things. he liked to explore and find and prove things himself. and he liked things that couldn’t be proven, couldn’t be solved. those things fascinated him, and that was why he’d agreed to become ryan’s partner/co-host on buzzfeed unsolved.

so it was hard for him to accept this… thing that he was considering.

---

i hope i got all the italics and strikethroughs back in place but... tumblr.

[iamarosegarden]

Can I Just...?

okay so this has probably been done before. but whatever.

Raven Cycle YouTube AU

Okay so Gansey starts the channel in high school while he’s at Aglionby (and believe me, he keeps that shit under wraps, he does not want anyone at school to see him screaming about ghost. politely talking about ghost? sure. screaming about evidence at ronan? no.) 

he starts it for kicks and to have all his research in an easy place. he has videos instead of a journal, basically. (that’s part of why he doesn’t want people at aglionby to find it cause it’s basically his brain on tape)

yes he still rants about ley lines

ronan still dreams and stuff (no cabeswater, maybe later)

sometimes they’ll show a dream object by accident and the fans will go crazy cause wtf

He and Ronan live together in monmouth, so it’s inevitable that ronan gets involved

Noah is the school ghost

Adam gets involved when he transfers to aglionby

and accidentally walks in on gansey and ronan filming in a classroom after school

they’re trying to comunicate with noah but he’s messing with them

and suprize he can see noah

henry gets involved because he finds the channel when he falls into an internet hole (hole hahahahaha ha ha ha)

kinda falls in love with gansey

he approaches gansey and is just like “hey ghost are cool, amirite”

he is not subtle about it

they go to 300 fox way to learn more about ghosts from the natives of this haunted town

cause adam only knows so much

that’s when blue gets involved

also do a video of them all getting readings

it starts off as just ghost stuff

and then other supernatural stuff

and then videos are requested by their fans

“we have fans? when did we get fans?” - ronan after someone asks them “to do a Q+A for the fans”

 the gang start doing other videos

blue does fashion

she and adam do tarot livestreams 

adam does storytimes (because the kid has like three jobs, goes to a rich school, and helps out at foxway, stuff is bound to happen)

ronan does stunts (noah sometimes shows up on camera)

ronan also does these really short videos where it’s just him and chainsaw doing stuff

gansey kinda just hops onto other videos and hosts the infamous Q+A’s

henry does vlogs

 feat. the��vancouver crowd

goes from ghosts to ghosts with a little bit of everything

when the graduate it gets really interesting cause they all still post videos and try to do ghost stuff

that's when they start getting really popular

oh btw i have no idea what the channel is called

*whispers* i might make this a whole fic?

Feel free to add on!!!!!! !!!

[iamarosegarden]

Better Than That

Part One  - Part Two  - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part NIne -

Ao3

The tag

Whoop this is part seven aka The Ingredients. Enjoy!

Kaz’s gravely voice was unmistakably amused, “My concubine, huh?”

“That’s not the point. I think you should take him up on his offer,” Nina said, shoving the window up further. Inej climbed in and set herself on top of the stone table.

“I assume you mean as an apothecary, not a concubine,” Kaz said dryly.

“She has a point, there’s been an awful lot of sick-beds at the Slate lately,” Inej said as Kaz hauled himself through the window. Nina shut the window behind him after he pulled his cane in.

“I think,” Kaz began, leaning on his cane, “that there are several ways that he could be of use. Give him the ingredients, but tell him I expect a better explanation.”

He had undoubtedly put on a scheming face, but without Jesper to comment on it no one said anything. Kaz didn’t want him to know anything about Wylan, partially because he knew Jesper would get upset about withholding the medicine and partially because of whatever had caused Kaz’s scheming face.

***

Jesper was tired of all this busy work. Kaz kept sending him on runs that anyone could do. Jesper didn’t know why he just knew he was tired of it. Specht was probably tired of it too, considering he had to be Jesper’s babysitter everywhere he went. He hadn’t even been able to swing by Piękni Ludzie to check on Wylan and his sick friend…

He was supposed to be Dirthands’ number two, but Kaz couldn't trust him to walk around and run errands without having someone there to look after him and keep him busy. Specht was next to him, shoving a revolver back into its holster harshly. Jesper winced a bit at the treatment as he slid his pistols back in place, running his thumbs along the handles.

He supposed not everyone cared for their weapons as much as he did, especially if it was something like the piece of shit Specht had to carry around. Honestly, Jesper could shoot anything, but he’d never trade his pistols, or any pistol, for a revolver. Six shots manually loaded with his aim was more than enough, but he found magazines more convenient to carry around.

At the same time, his pistols were handmade by fabricators, which meant they were more than just pretty, they were more efficient, more accurate, he could always trust the bullet would go where he aimed it. With other guns, the bullets -factory made- wouldn’t always be a good fit for the barrel. Sure, it worked, but the bullet knocked around inside the barrel. That did not make for a good shot. It wasn’t bad if you were firing into a crowd, but they didn’t do that often.

In the Dregs you needed accuracy. That’s why Jesper was Kaz’s number two, that’s why Jesper treasured his guns, he could trust them. They were part of the only thing keeping him alive right now. Well, that and his amazing charm.

“Jeez, go easy on that thing. I know it’s a piece of crap but it didn’t do anything to you,” Jesper said, swinging an arm around Specht’s shoulders.

“Made me miss my damn shot‘s what it did,” Specht said, shrugging off his arm and walking ahead.

“Oh, don’t blame that on the gun,” Jesper laughed, jogging to catch up, “you’re just a bad shot.”

“Only compared to you, Jesper,” Specht grumbled, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah man, your talent is wasted on these stupid runs. And so is mine! What is Kaz doing?” he put on a rumbly voice that bared no resemblance to Kaz’s, “ah yes, it’s a great idea to send two of my best men, nay, my two best men, on stupid drug runs and errands.”

Specht looked over at Jesper. “Pretty sure I’m just here to make sure you don’t go to the gambling dens, Jes. So you should probably be wondering why he’s tryina’ to keep you busy.”

Jesper would have said Kaz wasn’t hiding anything from him, except that it made sense. Sure, sometimes Kaz would ignore him and get icy, but that was just Kaz. Jesper had to try his hardest not to let it affect him. And to make sure Kaz didn’t get into those moods because it usually meant Kaz was going to “take a calculated risk” and get himself hurt in order for a “bigger payoff”. But Kaz had never actively pushed Jesper away like this. What was he hiding?

***

The dining room at Piękni Ludzie kind of reminded Nina of the mess hall at Os Alta. It was loud with clinking and clashing and chatting from both the tables and the kitchen but with an underlying unease. At Os Alta, it was the war, but you knew you were somewhat safe at Os Alta. Here it was just life, and you weren’t safe anywhere.

Really, Nina thought as the bag bumped against her hip from where it was tied to her belt, she should give it to Wylan as soon as possible otherwise she’d have to keep braving the glares from him and his pet Fjerdan. She started toward their table, plopping down next to Wylan and grabbing a scone from a platter on the table.

“Hey kiddos, where’s my patient?” she said in greeting, taking a bite of the scone.

“Oh, ya know, sick, in bed, on the verge of being discovered by Misstress Isidore. The usual,” Wylan replied, looking at Conrad across the table. Nina was honestly pretty impressed by how snarky the kid could be when he wasn’t worried or embarrassed, a little less so when it was directed at her.

“Don’t be like that, Wy,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “I got the go ahead from Dirtyhands.”

***

“Okay, so here’s the thing about water hemlock,” Wylan began, bounding up the stairs with Conrad and Nina on his heels. “Liling would have been dead much sooner if we hadn’t been giving her the charcoal, even if it was a watered down version. But now that we have this,” he shook the bag triumphantly as they continued up the stairs and into the hallway. “We can get rid of any traces of the poison with a concoction of items that counters the effects. It might not work. But I think it will. Probably.”

“I mean, what does she have to lose?” Nina said, stepping off the stairs behind them. Wylan didn’t bother turning around to scold her while he opened the door to Liling’s room.

“Will you get the other stuff?” he says to Matthias as he walks over to Liling’s desk, shaking Slava awake from where she was sleeping in the chair before pushing it out of the way. Wylan silently thanked his instincts for making him ask Jesper for this as he dumped the things out on the table. “This would have been better with fresh stuff but this will work, send my thanks to Jesper.”

“Maybe you can thank him yourself some time,” Nina said, slumping against the wall to watch him work.

Wylan didn’t really have room in his head to ponder what she meant by that. “Hey Slava, will you get me a knife from the kitchen or something?” Slava just stands up and opens one of the desk drawers, silently pulling out a knife and handing it to Wylan, who just shook his head before refocusing on the task at hand.

Of course, he had an idea of what he wanted to do with the ingredients. But it was a very, very vague idea. He desperately wished he had the tools to make something better, but right now he just had to prepare everything as best he could and pray. The leaves were pretty dried out…

He suddenly felt very out of depth when Conrad clattered back into the room with the metal plate and cup and lantern. He’d never done this before. Sure, he’d been helping Liling with charcoal but he’d never actually made a cure, an actual remedy before. This was all based on speculation, and even if he was correct these working conditions were not ideal. He ached for cleaner supplies, a cutting board and a mortar and pestle but again grit his teeth and cuts the lemon balm as fine as possible against the table. There was no way this was going to work.

He lit the lantern, told Conrad to fill the cup with water, and started chopping up the astragalus. “Do you have any clothes with mesh in them?” he asked Liling, who pointed to a top resting on the dresser. He peeled back the first layer of cloth and cut out a messy rectangle of mesh with the knife, staining the edges with green from the leaves.

Now the tricky part; he carefully stuck one of the acorns on the tip of the knife before holding it above the fire, waiting for it to catch. When it did he quickly used a hair pin to shove it off the knife and onto the plate. He did the same with two other acorns before so that he had a small bonfire of the three of them going on the plate.

Nina coughed into the crook of her arm and Wylan looked up for the first time in a while to see the room filled with smoke. He gave them all an embarrassed smile. The windows didn’t open so they just had to put up with it till it diluted. Liling was sat up in bed now, Nina having moved to the abandoned chair. Conrad and Slava apparently having gone downstairs so that Mistress Isidore didn’t get more suspicious than she already was. He would have asked what Nina was still doing with them, but one of the acorns let out a pop and he had to spin around and hastily fan out the fire out before they just burnt to ashes. Once they cooled downed he pried them open to add the dried insides to the pile.

He cuts a thin ribbon-sized piece off the shirt and ties the mesh into a makeshift tea bag. Now all they have to do is make the tea. He should probably leave and let Nina do it because he’s sure Mistress Isidore is having a fit. But he can’t force himself to leave, so he just hopes that Marel stepped in for him and continues to focus on the water. It’s nearly at a boil.

***

Watching Wylan work was exhilarating, in a way. Nina watched as he became surer of his actions with each completed step until at the end he handed the steaming cup to Liling with only the smallest traces of doubt on his face.

Liling carefully sipped the tea. “How long until it takes effect?” Nina asked, looking at Wylan, who pursed his lips before speaking.

“It should take about a day, but it will be gradual. Don’t expect to feel better right away.” The last part was directed toward Liling, who nodded and handed him the empty cup. He set it on the desk and turned back to Nina. “Why are you still here?”

Nina stiffened in the chair. “I just wanted to make sure everything went well,” she said. Wylan looked at her like it was a lie, which she could understand, but was still slightly offended. “I suppose I should leave then-

She was cut off. “Wait- actually, you should stay. Mistress Isidore won’t be suspicious if you’re not downstairs, and someone should stay up here in case something goes wrong,” Wylan said it softly like he really wished it wasn’t true, like he was still mad at her.

She smiled at him, “If you insist.”

So she stayed, she stayed until the workday was over, and Slava tried to relive her. She told Slava to get some sleep, and continued to stay, and watched as slowly, very slowly, a healthy flush returned to Liling’s face, and her fever broke, and her heart beat returned to something strong and steady.

[iamarosegarden]

Better Than That

Part One  - Part Two  - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine -

Ao3

The tag

Part six! yay! The Shortcomings of A Run-Away. I hope you all like it!!!

The dirty canvas bag full of Liling’s only hope was snatched from his hands before Conrad could even think about running away with it. And he was shoved out of the room before he could even think about attacking her, though it was a close call. As soon as he was pushed out, he whirled around -and the door was slammed directly in his face. 

“Nina,” he said lowly, “Nina, we need that for Liling.”

“Then ask your friend about his past,” Nina yelled, uncaring about anyone else who might be in the hallway. It made Conrad wince.

So, there was no convincing her. He would need to ask Wylan about Jan Van Eck.

 ***

Wylan stared up at the ceiling from his spot on the floor, the carpet itchy against his skin.

Reasonably, Wylan knew he’d sleep better on the bed, except he wouldn’t. Whenever he so much as brushed against the sheets it brought forth the feelings of lingering and intrusive hands. Him staring at the ceiling and counting the number of sequins on the canopy above the bed as it all happened. No control over anything, no way to get out, no way to do anything.

So, he slept on the floor. Or he didn’t sleep at all, something that was becoming more and more common. He pushed his head more firmly into the pillow and scrunched his eyes closed, then forced himself to relax. He focused on his breathing, reaching for sleep, not finding it. He sighed as he sat up, schooching so that his back rested against the wall next to the bed. Staring at the dresser and wondering how he ended up here.

Whenever he tried to trace it back to the beginning it was always his fault in the end. Always a mistake, always a failure.

 Before he’d run away, there’d been a thick envelope full of blank papers, and a crushing sense of disappointment. In himself and in the world. The day Wylan had run away, there had been water, and gunshots, and muffled voices. The day Wylan had run away he’d shoved a couple of his mother’s old necklaces into his bag and a some pairs of clothes -grabbed blindly, in the dark. He had enough money to cover the ferry fee on him, and when he arrived he’d pawn the jewelry. That was the plan.

The day Wylan ran away he’d been chased away by huge brutes that his father had hired. Looking back on it he figured they were probably ex-members of one of the gangs. But on the night he’d run away the only thing he’s seen was a gun and muscle and knives. The night he’d ran away Wylan had planned it out in his head; out the back door over the garden wall through the alleys to the ferry.

Out the back door:  He knew where to step on the stairs so that they didn’t squeak, as close to the railing as possible. As he should, from having to sneak into the kitchen for food so often. From the stairs it was down the hall, into the kitchen and through the servant door. He closed the door softly behind him, taking a moment to control his breathing. The sun was just edging over the horizon. He was supposed to meet his father for breakfast. Hurry.

Over the garden wall:  Wylan had never been athletic or particularly strong. But he had to get over the wall, and quickly. He had to get over before his father woke up, or those brutes came back. He wished he could just go through the front. But he’d probably be questioned. He was never out of the house without his father. So, over the wall and into the alley.

In. Out. As his breath clouded in front of him he set his toes on the edge of a brick that jutted out of the wall, digging his fingertips into a crack. He pulled himself into another foothold. Then reached for the top of the wall. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. A cocktail of fear and excitement churning in his stomach as he hauled himself gracelessly up on top of the wall.

 He sat there, his legs dangling down. He could jump. The wall wasn’t that far up. He knew because he’d just climbed it. But every time he leaned forward to push off a wave of fear pushed him back into place on the wall. Okay, he would jump in five seconds. One… two… three… A sound from behind him interrupts his counting. “Van Eck said the kid’s a brat, and he’s payin’ us so,”

 “I dunno, it doesn’t feel right,”

 A snort, “when does anythin’ ever feel right?”

 The two voices belong to the the ex-gang members. They round the corner of the house and spot him just as he found the courage to slip from the wall.

“Mother-! Was that him?”

 Wylan sprints as fast as he can and abandons the route he planned in favor of trying to throw them off. As soon as he landed on his feet on the other side of the wall he’d started running, dismayed at the heavy thumps from behind his that signaled the thugs vaulting over the wall. Wylan wasn’t fast, but he looked fast, small and thin. He just had to make them think he’d outran them. He poured on the speed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold it for long, but if he just got around the corner before them he could swivel into another alley or hid or… something.

He turns the corner, and sees a bullet ricochet off the corner when he turns around in search of a hiding spot. He would have cried from relief if he’d had the air for it when he see an overturned boat next to one of the back stoops of a restaurant. ‘Probably for deliveries’, he thought, then, ‘why am I wasting time’ and scrambled under the boat.

Ghezen, they would see him. He wasn’t small enough to fit underneath the boat completely, even curled into a ball, and he had his bag scrunched up in between his stomach and his knees. It was off the ground a bit, bobbing up and down with his breaths. He was dead. He held his breath, his lungs screaming, as he heard the steps get louder. ‘Please pass please pass please pass please pass please pass.’ They passed. He scrambled out from the boat, probably looking insane.

He had no idea where he was. Or the turns he’d made to get there. He tried his best to trace his steps, walking quickly. What if they realized he’d tricked them? What if they headed back to his dad to tell him that Wylan had gotten away? Wylan forced himself to focus. Feeling like Theseus with his ball of string, except he hadn’t slain a minotaur, he wasn’t a hero and his string was the scuffes in the dirt he and the brutes had left behind.

It was less noisy in the rich part of the city, and it made him nervous, like one wrong move and he’d alert his father of his presence.

To the ferry: This part was easy, no one was on his tail, and he knew where he was going. The ferry would take him to Shu Han. No one would know him there, they’d know his name Van Eck, but he wasn’t going to use that name. Hendriks. He’d use that. He had a plan.

 He emerged from the alleys, momentarily dazed by the sunlight that had been hidden from between the buildings. Okay, buy the tickets, get away from Kerch and Ketterdam.

The woman at the ticket booth seemed to know he was a runaway, but she didn’t question it when he shoved the money into her hand with a generous tip. A trick he’d learned from his father.

 He boarded the boat and trailed to the back. He was getting away and he was going to do something. The ferry went through this canal, and then the harbor, and then the ocean, and then to shu. The canal ended, or started, near the college district, so they were still in the nicer part of town, but to get out through the harbor they’d have to pass through the Barrel, which was one of the reason’s he was the only one out on the deck as they pushed off.

Or, he used to be the only one. Hands were grabbing him from behind. He was pressed up against the railing of the boat, and there was a sound he couldn’t identify. Or, he didn’t identify it until a blade was pressed up against his throat.

“We could just let him go, Van Eck would never know,”

‘Yes’, Wylan thought. ‘Yes, do that please for the love of all the gods do that.’

“We’re supposed to bring back a body,”

 ‘What kind of Fjerdan fairytale bullshit is this?’ On Gehzen, he was going to die and it was all his own fault. If he’d just jumped off that damn wall earlier. If he’d just jumped of that damn wall..

Wylan stomped as hard as he could on his attacker’s foot, and when the knife was away from his throat he clamored over the railing and into the canal and swam as fast as he could. It was about five seconds before both his bag and his clothes were heavy with water, dragging him down as the thugs panicked behind him. Just get to the edge. That was the only thought he could hold onto as bracky water found it’s way into his lungs and grated his throat raw.

They were still on the ferry, they wouldn’t be able to catch up to him if he got to the edge. He would get way. From them, but not his father, and not from Ketterdam, not from Kerch. A bullet whizzed into the water behind him and he was glad that they were such terrible shots. He was surprised when no one reacted to the shot, no one rushed out of the boat and into the early morning light to see what was going on. Until he realized that they were in the Barrel. Gun shots were just as common as bird songs here.

Hauling himself over the lip of the canal was a torturous task, waterlogged and shaking with panic and exhaustion. By the time he’d gotten over the thugs were far away in the canal, and he breathed a sigh and water trickled its way up his throat. Sending him into a coughing fit, hunched over on the pavement.

People were rising for their jobs, or rushing home from their night activities. No one paid him a second glance. He picked himself off the ground and struggled to an inn, his clothes and hair damp and grainy with salt. After procuring a room with the money he had left and locking the door behind him he tosses his bag onto of a table and then falls asleep on the bed, not even caring about how sanitary it is.

He’s too tired and angry and sad. That was his only chance for three months. Another ferry wouldn’t be making the trip until after winter. And by winter he’d be out of money if he couldn’t find a job. He was tired of running away. This had been a bad decision. There was a reason he’d never been able to do it before. He wasn’t cut out for this.

He wasn’t cut out for running away in the early morning and thinking on his feet. He wasn’t cut out for getting jobs and he wasn’t cut out for surviving. He wasn’t cut out for the crushing sadness that overtook him and he wasn’t cut out for the rage just barely simmering beneath the surface. He wasn’t cut out for being on his own and his father had known that. So his father had decided to trick him with fantasies of art school and faraway places. Running away was not at all how he imagined it.

***

Conner stared at the door, well less the door and more the space in front of the door. How should he go about this. Wylan would probably, shit, what would Wylan do? Should he ask and then relay to Nina, or just tell him what had happened? He’d figure it out after he knocked on the door. Or, he would have if Wylan hadn’t opened the door.

He eyed Conrad and then said, “You can’t sleep either?”

“Well, actually I was talking to Nina,”

Wylan leaned against the door frame. His hair was mussed and there was a tired look in his eyes. “What about?”

Conrad mentally prepared himself. “About you” he thought it would be best to attack the problem head on.

Wylan looked at him with big shocked eyes. He blinked a few times before refocusing his gaze on Conrad. “Why?” He drew out the word for a few seconds longer than necessary rising in pitch along the way.

Conrad gave him a slightly pained look. “She said to ask you about Jan Van Eck,” he shuffled awkwardly in the hallway.

Wylan moved his hand from his side to push it through his curls. He huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Why?” Short, simple, too the point, intimidating. Another thing he’d picked up from Jan Van Eck. He remembered the cold, one-word sentences. As if he didn’t want to waste words on his son. It made you desperate to prove yourself, made you want to use up the words left over.

Really, he didn’t mean to be so cold to Conrad. It was more directed toward Nina. He wanted to  trust her, he really did. But he couldn’t. Not when she was asking about his father and not when there was a legitimate possibility that she was not a healer.

“She had the cure for Liling, or the ingredients,” Conrad started pacing in the hallway, and the last part of his sentence came out in a growl, “but she won’t give them to us because it’s not what she’s being paid for.”

A heavy sigh. “Well, Jan Van Eck is my father,and he’s horrible. Which I’ve told you before.”

Conrad gave Wylan a confused look. “And why exactly does Dirtyhands want to know about your dad?”

Wylan gave another heavy sigh, he straightened his shoulders and spread his feet a bit farther apart. “Why don’t we ask her that?”

 Wylan turned around and closed the door behind him. Together they made their way through the hallways.

 ***

Nina heard a pair of urgent footsteps making their way toward her room. She spread her hands out and felt out for their heartbeats. Oh. It was Jan Van Eck’s son and the Fjerdan. That was a lot faster than she had expected.

“Nina?” That was Wylan’s voice, soft, a little scared. A knock, “It’s Wylan can I just tell you why my dad isn’t looking for me instead of having Conrad give you the information?”

Nina snorted. Welp. Conrad had more courage than she had originally expected, just outrightly telling Wylan about her request the way he did, but she supposed that this actually made her job a lot easier and quicker than it would have been otherwise. She moved to open the door.

“I suppose that works,” she said, stepping out of the doorway to let them in.  Wylan stepped in first and then turned around to let conrad move past him, Nina slid in front of wylan and spoke to Conrad directly. She leaned forward and braced her hand against the door frame. “Sorry sweetheart but this is information only members of the dregs should know, you understand, right?” She moved her free hand to pat him on the cheek lightly and then slammed the door forcefully in his face. Conrad, personally, was tired of looking at doors.

Nina turned toward Wylan and squared her feet her, already taller figure almost towering over Wylan now, she reached out with her power and looked directly into Wylan’s eyes, “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Wylan leveled a look at Nina, “Listen, my father wanted me gone because of my shortcomings as his son. I mean, why keep the failure when he has a replacement on the way?” He took a step back, wanting to get out of her shadow, “Look, can you please just give me the ingredients now? The faster we get it to Liling the higher chance we have that it actually works.”

Nina hummed, “I’ll have to talk to Kaz.”

Wylan let out a groan of frustration and threw his head back. “She could die, Nina, she could die and it would be your fault”

 Nina’s posture became more relaxed and she started herding him towards the door? “Wouldn’t be the first time someone died because of me.”

Wylan grabbed turned around before she could completely shut him out and looked up at Nina with desperate eyes. “Please, we need- we need to save her, she’s worked so hard for this,” he took a shaky breath and looked down at the floor, “I’ll do anything.” Wylan took another breath, tears of frustration pricking his eyes. His hands curled into fists. “Tell Dirtyhands that he can know whatever the fuck he wants,” he looked back up at her, taking a step away from the door. He threw up his hands, his voice no longer weak and shy. “Tell Dirtyhands, I’ll be his apothecary, I’ll be his spy, I’ll even be his damn concubine. Just tell him to give us the fucking medicine.”

Wylan felt pretty cool as he walk away from Nina, Conrad kicking off from the wall where he’d been waiting and joining him. But he also felt scared, and worried and oh, Gehzen this wasn’t going to end well.

[iamarosegarden]

Happy St. Marks Eve

So, originally I wasn’t going to write anything because at first, I didn’t know what today (2-24-17) was. Then, I thought it was too late to think of anything. Then, I thought I wouldn’t have enough time to write it. But here we are. I decided to write a bullet fic about Pie, and Adam, and Persephone, and St. Mark’s eve.  I took a few liberties, hope y’all don’t mind. : )

Even after everything, dreams and magic and deaths and demons, they still celebrate St. Mark’s eve the next April.

The holiday has a werid meaning among the gangsey, it foretold Gansey’s death but it also told Blue that he was her true love. 

It’s what lead Gansey to Blue in a way.

And the holiday, in general, has a lot to do with true love. (-St. Mark’s Eve- -/- -Day-)

The smaller women of Fox way (read: teens) make a small fire in the backyard so it’s not as cold out for the people staying up and so they can set walnuts on the embers and see if their love for their boyfriend is ‘true’

Calla scoffs at them “if you’re questioning whether or not it’s true, then it isn’t”

Bue makes everyone in the gang put a nut in the fire and tells them they’ll all jump

they do 

Opal runns around  Fox Way, causing general havock and running away from Ronan as he tries to get her to calm down and stop fucking cursing.

Before 10pm Blue and her raven boys celebrate at Fox Way, made Gansey help her steam vegitables as Maura made something with butter and Calla made something with bacon

It felt incompleat, but then Adam Adam came forward with a topelware container and said “I hope I’m not overstepping, but...”

And Calla ripped open the container andnd pursed her lips

and Maura gasped, and said ”you’re not overstepping,”

and everyone took a sclice, but the Women all hesitated before taking a bite

when they did Calla was the first to speak, an accusatory tone: “She gave you the secret ingrediant,”

Adam blushed as he said, “no, no she did not,” rubbing at the back of his neck as he recalled the nights of backing, searching for the ingrediant, listening to the faint wisper of the ley line that sometimes sounded like Persephone.

And the nights of learning how to bake in the first place. Though, his roomate and the people in his hall hadn’t minded eating all the failed attempts at Persephone’s pie. (which, yes, was the only the he could bake, thank you very much)

Now, the recipe was neatly written on a scrap of notepaper and in a recipe box at the barns, the secret ingrediant in invisible ink. Because for some reason, Ronan had invisible ink lying around.

Calla demanded the secrect, and Adam smiled and said “I don’t think that’s how she would have wanted it.” Calla cursed him out, but she was smiling, and Blue wrapped Adam in a tight hug, and Maura said thank you.

Henry was a little lost during the whole thing but he knew Blue would explain it later, so he stood to the side as everyone hugged and talked about a woman he had never had the pleasure of meeting.

Then it was ten till 10pm and Blue dragged everyone outside, Henry, Gansey, Ronan, Adam, and they all squished into the Camero and drove to the Church where Noah was burried and where they’d see the people who would die the coming year.

At first it was tence, but then Ronan made a joke about how if any of them showed up he’d punch them in the face and kill them himself.

Adam protested when he relized that Blue thought he would be able to see the ghost, and she smaked him upside the head in responce and asked if he still carried around Persephone’s cards.

They sat in the cold together as Adam asked invisible people their names and Blue took them down. Making jokes and laughing like people thir age should.

Sometimes it feels like Noah’s there, but whenever anyone tries to adress him or relizes he’s there the feeling goes away.

All in all, it was the beginning of a new tradition, Blue thought as they returned to Fox Way at 1:20am giggeling and drunk off happiness (and maybe a little bit off the wine that Blue had brought with her).

Yes, yes, I know it’s not that good. It’s pretty self indulgent and not very relavent. I just wanted to write about Adam making Persephone’s pie and the gang having a fun time. Have a nice day, everyone.

[iamarosegarden]

Better Than That

An AU in which Wylan is taken into a pleasure house. Enjoy!

Part One - Part Two - Part Three  - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Ao3

Wylan Van Eck ran away from home. He ran away from a late mother, an emotionally and physically abusive father, and the suffocating weight of expectations he couldn’t live up to. He stole a couple of things he knew his father wouldn’t miss but would bring in a fair amount of money, took his flute, his sketchbook and pencils, and ran.

Once out on the streets of Ketterdam he realized what a sheltered life he’d lived, He did not regret running away. He sold the items and got a room at a shabby inn in the Barrel. Searched for a job. He could not find one. Wylan ran out of money and was made to leave the inn. All his things stuffed into a small pack. He thought that maybe, he could join one of the gangs, though he was against the thought. He was useful enough, no matter what the mocking letters from his father letter probably said.

That next day, after sleeping under a very lovely bridge, and job hunting all day he was walking back to aforementioned bridge through the barrel. His satchel bummed against his side with each step, reminding him that all his belongings were in it. He tried not to check it's pockets as he walked past all the gambling halls and pleasure houses. Wylan hated walking past the pleasure houses. Any time the door opened you could just glimpse the resigned faces of the beautiful people inside. So, of course he avoided looking at them. The one he hated the most was probably Piękni Ludzie, know for not even bothering to trick people into indentures and taking people directly off the streets.

It was ornately decorated, like all the other pleasure houses in Ketterdam, though more modestly than most. Giving the impression that it didn’t need that kind of advertisement to draw people in. Empty frames hung and the outer walls, in gold and silver and bronze, in all shapes and sizes. Ment to mirror the mirrors inside of the house, Wylan had heard. The fast setting sun set the various metals on fire as he passed them and Wylan had to admit it was very pretty. He felt his nerves double. He’d seen three people taken, two girls and one boy. Dragged in by the owner of the house, Mistress Isidore, and somehow forced into an indenture.

It wasn’t that he thought that he himself would be dragged in, just that he couldn’t bare to see some other poor soul taken. Wylan’s mother had had a soft spot for people tricked into those kinds of things. Wylan could still vaguely remember her gently talking about the injustice of it. His mother had been a kind woman. Kinder than his father by any means. Wylan was dragged out of his memory by a clawed hand hooking onto his arm.Jerking him to a stop and causing him to knock into several people on the street. He started to turn around, started spurting out an “Excuse me?” But another claw grabbed his chin and sharply turned his face toward the them. Wylan felt his breath leave him. Mistress Isidore turned his face back and forth.

“Oh, such a gentle kind of beauty. These freckles… So odd, almost elegant… and this hair,” she cooed and removed the hand from his chin to touch his red-gold curls. The other claw still firmly hooked on his arm. “You’d do well,” She murmured, and Wylan was struck by how soft her voice was, the brush of a feather, unfitting for such an undoubtedly cruel and sharp creature.

Then she was moving toward the door of the house, and Wylan was too shocked to really do anything other than try to weakly pull away, but he’d never been very strong, another thing that his father hated about him. Had hated. “Come come, boy, I only want you to think about a job here,” she said, but Wylan was certain that she knew he didn’t buy it, and he was also sure she didn’t care.

Then they were inside the house. It was decorated to match the outside, millions of framed everywhere, not empty though. All the frames held mirrors, and the sofas that were littered throughout the foyer were white with reflective crystal details. Making the whole room seem shiny and reflective. A couple of the workers looked up from the couches they were lounging on, or the conversation they were having with a possible client.

You could tell the workers apart from the clientele because they all wore silver or bronze or gold colored clothes with flashy and reflective jewelry and embellishments. One girl draped in silver flashed a friendly smiled at him before returning to her conversation, one boy in tightly fitted gold smiled sadly and then turned back to his book, and one girl in bronze just shook her head at him while following a man into a hallway, that, judging by the fact that it was a pleasure house and the layout of the building, was probably full of bedrooms.

He was still being dragged through the room by Mistress Isidore who lead him to a door in the wall that he guessed led to her office. She pulled open the door and snapped her fingers twice. Wylan saw two of the workers move to flank the door before it swung shut behind him. The room was not an office. It was a bedroom. Or maybe a better way to put it was living quaters. One part of the room held things typically in a bedroom and the other held more sitting room-like furniture. The hand on his arm was gone and Mistress Isidore was sitting in one of the plush chairs. Wylan stayed standing.

“Sit down, sit down darling,” she cooed, but even though her voice was soft, it reminded Wylan of how his father sounded right befor a hit. He visibly winced and moved to the other chair, knowing there were people at the door. “Oh!” she cried after he’d sat down, “would you look at that,” she pointed at the carpet where muddy footprints were clearly visible, “I don’t suppose you have enough money to pay for that? Ten-hundred kruge?” She continued and Wylan ground his teeth. He knew for a fact that those footprints were not his.

“Those aren't my footprints,” he spit out. His voice much weaker that he wanted it to be. ‘This can’t be happening’ kept running through his head like the notes to a song. He could practically feel the anxiety pumping through his brain.

“Listen dear, I’m going to find a way to own you no matter what you do, so I suggest you give up now,” she said it like she was giving him a piece of motherly advice, and Wylan wanted to laugh. Mistress Isidore knew all the tricks in the book. He fuzzily remembered his father saying nearly the same thing, he’d said, “Wylan, I highly suggest you give up this act. Words can’t rearrange themselves. Just read the text.”

Wylan let out a sharp bark of a laugh, involuntarily. “Mistress Isidore, I knew that the minute you dragged me inside. I was just hoping you’d have a soft spot for pretty faces,” he replied and nearly clapped a hand over his mouth after. Why did his attitude always come out when he least needed it? He heard a snort from the other side of the door and watched Mistress Isidore’s face to see how she’d react.

He braced himself, but she only went a bit red with anger then clapped her hands together and said in an overly sweet voice, “let’s get you moved in then.”

***

“The Wraith and I are going to look through the pleasure houses for recruits and secrets,” Kaz called as he passed Jesper, who was sitting on one of the black couches in the Crow Club. Jesper looked up from where he’d been cleaning his pistol. Every now and then they made rounds through the pleasure houses. It was how they got some of their best secrets and their best recruits. Jesper jumped up and fell into step besides Inej and Kaz.

“Which ones are we sorting through today?” He asked, he knew The Migraine wouldn’t be on the list. Inje couldn’t go in there without having a panic attack.

“Emerald Palace, The White Rose, and Piękni Ludzie,” Kaz listed as they walked out of the club. Inje nodded and set her silent course toward Emerald Palace.

Jesper was regretting agreeing to come. He was tired, and though saying hello to Nina had been fun he was bored out of his mind. He sighed as they approached Piękni Ludzie, prepared for another hour of milling around listening to useless gossip that wasn’t actual secrets. Inside, the group saw that Piękni Ludzie had several new indentures in the newbie corner, or as clients liked to call it, the virgin corner. Two boys and three girls.

Two girls had black hair and looked Suil, the other one had short brown hair and pale skin, they were huddled in a group, whispering to each other. The two boys were sharing a couch. One with brown hair and tan skin was reading, and one with red-blonde hair and pale, freckled skin was drawing.

“I’m going to go see Isidore. Inje, you and Jesper see if any of the newbies are useful,” Kaz ordered and then waltzed off with his cane. Inje rolled her eyes and started toward the corner. As usual they were all attractive, but Jesper couldn’t stop looking at the red-headed one. Inje had moved to the group of girls, so he walked up to him.

***

“Hey freckles, what are you drawing?” Wylan blushed. He could feel it spreading across his cheeks. He smacked himself internally, a week of flirting and suggestive language and he still blushed every time. He looked up at the boy who’d asked the question, quickly shifting his sketch of the building’s layout under a sketch of a waterfall and pond with lilies on it while the speaker was, hopefully, caught up in the color of his eyes. A grey-blue that he'd always thought of as watered-down but had charmed some of the merchant's daughters. He shyly lifted the waterfall up to show the man before adding in some more details to it for show. “That’s really pretty,”

“Thank you,” Wylan replied and gestured with his pencil toward the crowd loosely, “one of them asked me to draw it.” It wasn’t a lie. A woman had been here yesterday, had seen him sketching and had then asked him to design her a tattoo for her back. “Something with water,” she’d said.

“Actually... It was her,” he added, seeing the woman in the crowd and stabbing his pencil at her.

The boy hummed and looked at the waterfall again. “Knowing Zofia she’ll probably want a border of some kind, did she want a tattoo?” Wylan added a board of water lily roots and did some more shading as he hummed a yes. The woman- apparently Zofia, came over.

“I believe...this is done?” Wylan held the sketchbook out to her in question.

She looked between the boy and Wylan, she eyed his still pink cheeks. “Jesper did you come over here just to fluster the newbies?” Zofia questioned as she gingerly grabbed the book. Wylan was charmed with how delicately she handled it.

Jesper laughed, “You ought to know better Zofia. Kaz wouldn’t come anywhere near Piękni Ludzie if we weren't looking for recruits,” he replied. Zofia let out a laugh.

“This looks great kid. Could you color it? I prefer color,”she rushed on, then pointed to t flowers on the sketch, “could you make these pink? I know white is more common but-”

“I actually can’t color it…” Wylan cut her off to answer. He would rather be rude than let her get her hopes up.

Zofia looked at him confusedly “Why is that?” She was almost pouting.

It was Wylan’s turn to give her an odd look. He gestured around him at the room. “I don’t exactly have easily access to colors, ma’ma,”

“I see,” she replied, sounding a little embarrassed. She recovered quickly though, a talented Wylan wished he had. “I’ll get you colors,” she declared, handing the sketchbook back to him. Wylan shook his head.

“You really shouldn't go through all the trouble, you can just have someone else color it,” he tore out the page quickly and handed it to her. Glancing down to make sure the building’s layout wasn’t visible.

Zofia looked down at the uncolored piece sadly, then turned to Jesper for support. Jesper rolled his eye and grabbed the paper and gave it back to Wylan. “She wants you to color it, and she's offering to get you supplies. Take the offer,”

“If you really want me to… then okay,” he said, but Zofia was already asking him was his favorite media to color in was and what brands he used and telling him about her favorite brands. Jesper had moved to talk to Conrad.

Zofia told him that she’d be back with paints on Friday, probably. She was a very animated woman and was infinitely excitable.

***

“Anyone useful?” Kaz questioned as the group emerged from the frame-covered building.

“I’d say no, unless you want an artist or a poet in the dregs,” Jesper reported. Inje gave him an odd look.

“The girls weren’t very useful either,” she said.

“What was that boy drawing anyway?” Kaz asked, out of boredom.

Inje said “a layout of the house,” at the same time Jesper said, “a tattoo for Zofia.”

“Odd, that Zofia wants a tattoo of the layout of Piękni Ludzie’s layout,” Kaz hummed with interest.

[iamarosegarden]

Better Than That

Part 2! The Auction. Featuring Nina and one of my ocs

Part One  - Part two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five  - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight -

Ao3

Wylan picked at a loose thread on his gold shirt. Today was the auction. Nine days after Zofia had promised to get him paints, and that boy had made him take her offer. He was expecting her tomorrow. He tried to distract himself with the color palette he would use, what would go well with Zofia’s coloring, but all his thoughts circled back to what was going on around him. The crystal details on the couch seemed sharper than normal, and they were digging into his skin. He still couldn't believe this was happening. That someone would do this. Even if that someone owned a pleasure house. That they would make such an affair out of this. Two weeks of viewing and then this. An auction for someone’s virginity. Wylan was disgusted and furious.

He’d been as much when Conrad had told him about it. Conrad was a Fjerdian boy who’d run away from home for reason’s Wylan couldn’t get out of him yet. He’d somehow stepped on a slaving ship and got bought by one of the Piękni Ludzie’s representatives. He wasn't even trying to pay off his indenture, requesting fiction books in Fjerdian, something almost impossible to find in Ketterdam. Wylan was the only one who talked to him, mainly because he was the only person who could speak Fjerdian. Wylan was very slowly teaching him Kerch, made harder because Wylan couldn’t exactly use visuals, something Conrad was very confused about.

Conrad had his auction last week and it was the first Wylan had heard about the ritual. He was very grateful for Conrad. He was the the first friend Wylan had made when he’d shakily sat down on that couch in the virgin corner his first day. He’d recognized Conrad as the boy who’d smiled at him sadly, but Wylan hadn’t thought he’d talk to him, and he didn’t really, not on purpose. Conrad was sitting on the couch reading some book that Wylan couldn’t read the title of. Wylan had sat down and put his heads in his hands. He’d still been in shock then.

“Poor little elf,” Conrad had muttered, in Fjerian, from his spot on the couch, his long legs spread out in front of him, glancing up from the book to look at Wylan's small form. Most people were taller than Wylan, but this was just ridiculous. Conrad was probably a foot and a half taller than him.

Wylan had unthinkingly grumbled back, in his schoolroom Fjerian, “I’m not an elf you giant,”

Conrad’s head snapped up look at Wylan. “You speak my language? You speak Fjerian?” He’d asked frantically. Wylan slowly looked up and met Conrad’s eyes.

“Yes, I do. My father made me learn, but my father is a jackass so I ran away and now I’m here. In this house full of sad people tricked into slavery,” Wylan had said in a tired voice, then let his head fall back into his hands.

Conrad snorted. “Schoolroom Fjerian then. I suppose it’s better than anything. You can teach me Kerch, yeah?” He’d questioned. Already turning back to his novel.

Wylan sighed, “I might be able to,” he’d answered, and it was set in stone. Conrad and Wylan were friends. So Conrad had told him how the auctions worked.

They went on in Mistress Isidore's chambers. The bedroom part was screened off and you were placed on the loveseat. Buyers gathered around. To buy your virginity. Officially it started at 4:00pm, but the door was left open in case anyone else was interested. Mistress Isidore stood next to the couch, rattling off numbers and good qualities so the price would rise. Once sold you were taken to your permanent room, instead of the communal newbie room filled with cots. Inside the room was only a lavish bed and wardrobe, though you were allowed to customize later. The buyer then had their way with you, though they were instructed to be gentle and not to be anything too wild. You were left in the room for the rest of the day to settle in. You were officially a prostitute. The next day before breakfast you got the brand of the house wherever Mistress Isidore deemed most pleasing to the eye.

Now Wylan sits with his head down, letting his curls hid his face as best they can. Focusing on that one thread on his sleeve. Six hundred kurge, eight hundred, eight hundred and seventy. Pick, pick, pick. One thousand. The rich bastards. Wylan knew for a fact his father had been to one of these. He knew the prices could get very high. He kept picking at the thread. His hands were trembling slightly. In fear and anger. Yet, he still didn’t regret running away.

He tried to distract himself again, with the song the pianist was playing. She was doing a good job. He recognized the song. Wylan couldn't place the title but he knew the notes. He nervously tapped out the melody on his leg.

***

Nina Zeniki had been asked to escort someone to one of Mistress Isidore's auctions, and though she should be used to it by now, she felt sorry for the freckled kid sitting on Mistress Isidore’s infamous loveseat. He was hiding it fairly well, but his hands were trembling. She couldn’t see his face as it was hidden by his red-gold curls, but she could see that his hands were shaking as he tapped his fingers on his knee. The poor thing. Nina longed to latch on to his nerves and calm him down a bit, but she was afraid she’d make a mistake from this far away, or that the boy would freak about how suddenly calm he’d gotten.

The man whose arm was loosely looped around her own cursed. The price had gotten too high for him to withdraw it from his bank account without his wife noticing. “ Two thousand three hundred going once,” Isidore was practically singing, “two thousand three hundred going twice,” the boy’s hands were still shaking, “two thousand three hundred going three times,” Nina was being pulled toward the door by her client, “and, the dear is sold, to Zofia Wellwring,” Nina had just enough time to see the boy’s hands clench into fist before she was back in the main room.

***

Zofia Wellwring. The name was echoing in Wylan head, which was still down, he looked at his fisted hands in his lap and slowly forced them to unfold. The other buyers filed neatly out of the room, along with the pianist, presumably to continue playing in the main room. Zofia walked up to Mistress Isidore and handed her several large wads of cash. Mistress Isidore flipped through them, then gestured toward Wylan. “Room one-oh-six, you know the rules,” she said in her soft voice. Then she snapped her fingers at Wylan. He stood up and followed Zofia out of the chambers and down a short hallway that ended abruptly in a staircase, that he climbed, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Zofia’s heels. They reached the room, and Wylan realized he’d been too wrapped up in his own thoughts to memorize the route they took.

Zofia turned the handle and walked into the room. Wylan almost laughed at himself. He didn’t know why he’d expected locks. She still hadn't said anything to him, which was unnerving, especially since he knew her to be so talkative. She switched her purse for a sign off the dresser which she hung on the door’s handle before closing it. Wylan guessed it read something along the lines of “I’m busy right now” or “do not disturb,” or “sex is happening” he’d try and read it later.

Zofia sat down on the bed. Wylan was too tired to make a study of the room, but he noticed how she sunk into the mattress. “Listen, Wylan. I figured it would be better if it was me, instead of some stranger twenty years older than you, and I mean I could just not but it’d have to happen some time right? I know you’re probably mad right now but-”

“Well, goodness Zofia, I’m am so glad you bought my virginity,” Wylan started and he saw her face brighten, “it so much better to be raped by a friend that you trusted than by some stranger, isn't it?” Her face dropped.

“Gods, I know Wylan, I know. But you’re in a pleasure house. This is basically your career now, at least until you pay off the indenture, which is nearly impossible. I figured better me than some old creep, right? You had to know I was interested in you. People don’t exactly go into Piękni Ludzie looking for a friend to chat with,” Zofia was staring at him from her place on the bed, and even though Wylan was standing, he felt like she was looking down on him. Wylan shifted his gaze from her to his feet.

“I know that. I just… I don’t know. I thought I could trust you to at least tell me. You know I didn’t even know this was going to happen until Conrad told me? It’s ridiculous. They treat us like pets that will do whatever they want. And it’s made true with these indentures hanging over our heads. I’m about to have sex with someone I thought I could trust. I know I shouldn't expect people to ask to touch me anymore. But I thought, that maybe you would. I don’t know if I can still be friends with you after this, Zofia,” he looked up and she was still looking at him, so she saw how his eyes were glazed slightly with unshed tears that he blinked away.

“I just… I,” she sounded like she was going to say ‘I’m sorry’ but she didn’t. Instead, she stood up and pressed Wylan against the door and kissed him and Wylan thought he was going to be sick. Her hand were moving and her feet were and they were on the bed now and he numbly registered that she was stripping them both of their clothing. The sheets were cool, and much smoother than the scratchy wool blanket on the cot he’d slept on.

Her lips were on his neck and she whispered “do something,” against his skin, like he was capable of moving at all. Did she expect him to make passionate love to her? He felt himself huff out a laugh that could have also been a sob. Her lips were on his and he shakily lifted his hands to run them through her hair. That was all he was doing. This was inevitable now, so he might as well try to please her. Right? He didn’t know what he thought about this anymore. Zofia grabbed his hands and brought them to her mouth, she whispered “gods, I love your hands,” against his fingers.

***-

Wylan was in the bathroom connected to his room, furiously scrubbing at every inch of his skin in the bathtub with soap that smelled faintly like mint. He felt like he’d never feel clean again. Zofia was gone, had left him there on the bed after she was satisfied. She whispered “goodbye” as she left instead of sorry and Wylan thought that more than anything else that was what he would never forgive her for. She picked up her purse, left some paints on the dresser and left with her whispered not-sorries. Wylan had laid there for some time. Trapped in his own thoughts. Then he’d stood up and made the bed, then he’d gone into the bathroom.

Once he was somewhat satisfied, and he’d rubbed his skin raw Wylan got out of the bathtub and let it drain, dried himself off, put on some clothes, and got his thing from the communal room he used to sleep in. Which he learned was called the Purgatory room. Oddly fitting, as it was filled with people terrified of what was going to happen next.

He got back to his room, this time taking careful note of the hallways to use, and added the new information to his map. He didn’t even know why he was making a map at this point. Probably it was a way for him to feel like he was doing something productive in this hell-hole. He also figured it would be useful later.

Now, he was in the bathroom, organizing his toiletries very precisely. There was a knock on the door and then it opened because there weren't any locks in the bathroom either. Conrad stepped in and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. He sat there until Wylan silently got up and moved to the bedroom. Conrad, just as silently got up and moved to perch on the edge of the bed as Wylan organized his things. Wylan restrained himself from throwing the paints out the window (which wouldn’t have been successful anyway because the windows, miraculously, had locks), and shoved them in one the drawers of the dresser. He made a note to ask for a desk of some kind.

Conrad must have taken the sign off the door, because it was on the dresser again, hanging off the mirror. Wylan would try to read it, but Conrad was right behind him and he didn't feel like explaining why it took him so long to read one sentence at the moment. Tomorrow then.

He sat down next to Conrad on the perfectly made bed. Conrad shifted, and then his arms were neatly folded around Wylan in a hug. He was big enough that his arms were crossed behind Wylan’s back, his hands grazing Wylan's sides. Wylan, still processing, nearly shoved him off, but relaxed into it after a moment. Breathing in and out slowly. Conrad knew that Wylan, though he avoided touch, was slightly touch-starved for intimate touch that doubled as something good. Instead of it being ‘just touching’, or doubling as something bad. This wasn't the first time the two had comforted each other through platonic something-good touches, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

Wylan pulled away. “Are you okay?” Conrad asked, a hand hovering over where Wylan’s shoulder met his neck, where a bruise was blossoming thanks to Zofia’s mouth.

“I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll be fine."

I hope you liked it, sorry if any mistakes. 

[iamarosegarden]

that feel when u actually wanna write for once but you have to do bullshit homework because you’re in high school and you’ll have a panic attack if your grades slip below a high b

[iamarosegarden]

Better Than That

Chapter three!!! I’m glad I’m finally posting these on tumblr. Hope anyone who reads likes it.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight -  Part Nine -

Ao3

The same day that Wylan had cleaned every inch of himself and Conrad comforted him, he went to sleep. Only to wake up at 7:00 am, which wasn’t really that early, but it was early if you kept the same schedule that the prostitutes of Piękni Ludzie keep. Because people usually wanted ‘pleasure’ at night, the workers of Piękni Ludzie woke up at noon, and went to bed at 4:00am, of course, that doesn’t include special appointments. So, for Wylan, it was early.

He ‘d woken up because of a nightmare, a nightmare that he suspected was his brain’s way of reminding him he had to get the house brand in the morning. 

Though, his brain was cruel about how it went about reminding him. He woke up with his father’s face fresh in his brain. His dream had been this; his father getting mad at him for not being able to read, grabbing an iron from the fireplace, and pressing the hot metal into his skin. Wylan shook himself, his father would never do something like that, something that couldn’t be easily covered up or lied about.

Wylan’s hand were shaking for the second time in two days and he thought that it was a problem he should really get under control. He thinks about getting Conrad but also isn’t really ready to have that conversation. So he stands at the end of his bed, undecided. The waterfall with water lilies is on his new desk, neatly colored in, and Wylan plans to have Conrad give it to Zofia. One-quarter to spite her, a quarter because he doesn’t want it to go to waste, a quarter because he wants her to know that anything they ever had is over, and a quarter because he hopes word will spread that he draws and people will pay him for drawings. His flute case in buckled closed, and he thinks he wants to make some music.

Because Wylan’s father seemed to always be disappointed in him, Wylan had always tried to impress him. Of course, it never worked, but it was the reason he could sing and play flute, piano, guitar, trumpet and clarinet. His father was also the reason he could speak, along with his native kerch, Fjerian, Shu and Ravkan. His father was also the reason he had started drawing, but not the reason he continued on with it.

In the end, he decides against making music in fear of waking anyone up but knows there is no way he’ll be able to fall asleep again. Instead, sits down and starts drawing the Fjerian mountains as best he can. He knows Conrad will enjoy pointing out how he got the colors of the sunset wrong, or how the shadows wouldn’t be that drastic. Conrad takes any chance he can to talk about his home. Wylan thinks he’s afraid he’ll forget about what it was like.

He’s just finishing up the colorful roof of a house when he hears three knocks on his door. He looks at the clock above his desk and sees that it’s 4:00. He guesses the knocks are a wake-up call of sorts. He shoves away from the desk and the painting and stands up to get dressed. The only time you don’t have to wear house clothes is pajamas, though a lot of people don’t have other clothes with them. Wylan changes out of his pajamas, a pair of white cotton pants with a drawstring and a matching shirt, and into another golden ensemble, this one with jingling beads sewn into the edges of the garments. He hates it. The only pro about the clothes is that shoes are optional. At least his hands stopped shaking long ago.

As he closes the door behind him he realizes he has no idea where to go. When you’re new food is brought to you in the Purgatory room. Wylan has a few moments of internal panic, but then he sees Liling walking toward the stairs. He jogs to catch up her, his bare feet padding against the tile.

“Hey,” he says in Shu once he reaches her. Liling can speak Kerch, but prefers her native Shu. Wylan likes the practice anyway. She had come up to him on his second day and introduced herself, saying she needed more friend who were shorter that her.

She turns toward him. She has to look just the tiniest bit down to look him in the eye. “Oh! Wylan, I didn’t know you were up here, what room are you in?”

“One oh six,” he responds.

“Oh, hey! We’re neighbors. I’m one oh seven,” she says cheerfully, and Wylan smiles at her. She has such a happy presence. “Did you just move up last night?”

Wylan frowns, “Yes,”

Liling rubs at her brand, an intricate oval frame burned into her upper right arm. “It hurts like a bitch,” is all she says.

They walk the rest of the way to the dining room in silence. Wylan spots Conrad’s head of dusty brown hair at a table in the back corner, where most of the seats are empty. He inclines his head in Conrad’s direction with his eyebrows raised at Liling. She nods and they take the two empty spots on Conrad’s right side, placing Wylan in the middle so he can translate if needed.

Conrad’s brand is a square frame on his wrist that showcases his pulse point. Wylan takes pains not to look at it as he asks “When do I get the brand?” in Fjerian.

“After breakfast, why don’t you have shoes on?” he responds, looking at Wylan’s feet.

“What’s he saying? Liling pokes at Wylan’s side when she asks and he swats her hand away.

She asked in Shu, but he responds in Kerch, because keeping up with three languages is too hard this early in the morning with so little sleep. “Told me I’m getting the brand after breakfast and asked why I’m not wearing shoes,”

“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” she asks in kerch this time, kicking his shin with her slippered feet.

“They aren’t mandatory and I hate shoes,” Wylan answers, once in Kerch and once in Fjerian.

“Thats weird,” Liling and Conrad say it at the same time, but in different languages. Wylan laughs.

At some point, during breakfast, their table fills up and Liling switches back to Shu. The breakfast was waffles, a staple in Ketterdam. The whole time Wylan dreads getting the brand, and when breakfast ends and Mistress Isidore drags him into the center of the hall, a very tall and wide man with different irons in his hands is standing next to her. Wylan briefly wonders how he is going to heat them up.

Mistress Isidore looks him over, laughing when she sees his bare feet. Then she gets a thoughtful expression. “One on the top of his left foot, and one on the bottom of his right,” she taps the circle frame brand as she says it. The man nods and a fire appears in his hand. He holds the brand above it for a minute before walking toward Wylan.

***

A month later and Wylan did think he was fine. Not great, not good, but fine. If you asked Conrad how Wylan was doing he’d answer with “fine, but if Zofia comes near him…” trailing off half the leave the threat there and half because he’s just realized you probably don’t speak Fjerian.

Wylan has gotten used to life at the pleasure house, something he admits sadly. It isn’t really a bad life though. You get food and a place to sleep, and things you request. You just have to work off a certain amount of money by the end of the month. If you don’t there are… consequences.

Every day is fairly similar, go out fishing for clients, have sex, repeat. Sex didn’t bother Wylan as much now, mainly because he as the one initiating it but also because he has to have it in order to have to consequences. In between selling a few drawings and chatting with friends. Each of Wyland friends has a style in which they reel in customers.

Conrad actually enjoyed being at Piękni Ludzie, at least to a certain extent. Conrad had very few options when it came to flirting, but he made it work. He exchanges looks with his target from across the room. When they walk across the room to find him he wouldn't be where he’d been sitting. He’l be off to the side, and the target will look around and notice him. When that happens, Conrad will walk up to them, murmuring lowly in Fjerian and tugging at their clothes. He usually says things like, “you’re very cute and I’ve been wanting to read Cas Wynat’s new novel.” The target would usually ask is he spoke Kerch and he would shake his head at them. Wylan had managed to teach him a couple phrases. Then he would pull them toward the staircase, the universal symbol in a pleasure house for “sex?”

Once, Conrad had done as he usually did, but the girl he’d been trying to seduce had spoken Fjerian. It had been pretty odd to watch. Conrad transformed from a mysterious and sexy Fjerian who couldn’t speak Kerch into a boy excited to find someone who spoke his language. He and that girl are friends now, she's a regular of his.

Liling’s approach was less direct but just as effective. She chatted with them, slipping in innuendos and casual touches. Leaving the client wanting more until they were herding her into the bedroom.

Slava, a girl Wylan had made friends with after his branding, she had gotten hers after him that same day. Her brand was on the side of her head, where half of her hair was shaved off. It had a very shocking effect. Wylan would never tell Slava this, but he thought that the placement fit her quite well. She just leaned against the wall her hallway was in and waited for people to approach her. If they did they were dragged into the bedroom (with consent of course).

Wylan himself used a mix of Conrad’s and Liling’s strategies. He lounges around, lets them come to him. Sketching of painting or talking to others to pass the time. When the target comes over he gives them seemingly half of his attention. That makes them want him to look at them more. He talks with them. He still blushed easily, something he’d learned to use, playing innocent. When they are sure that he is innocent they either want to walk away or drag him into the bedroom. If it is the former, he leans forward as they are turning around or standing up, lets his lips graze their ear as he whispers something he knows will turn them on. It works fairly well, and all he has to do is pay attention to social cues and blush. Two things he’s been doing since birth.

***

Wylan wakes up on the day exactly a month and two weeks since Zofia had raped him, he still winces when he thinks that word and has the idea that today would be an okay day. Not great, not happy, but okay. It’s 2:00pm, and he has two hours before anyone else will probably be awake, but when he walks out of his room, Mistress Isidore is yelling at someone, something he has never heard her do. He is outfitted in his usual gold, with no shoes, the brands on his feet clearly visible as he walks down the hall.

“You useless girl. The one time I really need you to play you go and injure yourself,” the sound of a smack echoes down the hall, and Wylan speeds up his pace, peaking around the corner to see what’s going on. Mistress Isidore is standing before a crying girl whose fingers are wrapped in gauze, he recognizes her as the pianist who plays every day. “You didn’t even appoint a replacement. Useless. How am I supposed to know if anyone plays piano as well as you? Dirtyhands is coming today for his secrets, and I need my house to be perfect, but no. You had to go and fuck everything up.”

The pianist sees him. Wylan makes a risky choice. “Mistress Isidore? She appointed me, I play the piano,” Mistress Isodore whirls around. Her eyes narrow. She turns back to the pianist.

“Well, it seems I’ve made a mistake then,” she picks up some papers that Wylan hadn’t noticed were on the ground and hands them to him. “These are the pieces you will be rotation through today.”

[iamarosegarden]

self note: write a really weird final girl that goes against all the normal characteristics for such a character 

[iamarosegarden]

note to self: have characters learn from mistakes you idiot

[iamarosegarden]

Better Than That

do i have motivation to write this fic anymore? a lil bit. lets hope it can sustain me until the end.

Ao3

Part One  - Part Two  - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six -  Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine -

Wylan bit back a smile as he watched Liling walk through the door to Misstress Isidore's office for what was hopefully the last time. Slava was looking on as well, one hand's fingers tapping nervously on her lips, the other pinned down by her thigh. She sat next to Wylan at the piano bench, Conrad on the couch nearest to the piano. He was looking at a book but hadn't turned a page for a while. He had his legs spread across the whole thing and a pillow stuffed under his back.

"Do you think she'll let her leave?" Slava mumbled against her fingers.

Wylan glanced over at Slava. A quick look that only revealed the small dark moons underneath her eyes, the bronze color of her clothing, and fact that her fingers had breached her mouth, her teeth nipping at her black-lacquered nails. “Probably? I think she’s a bit too prideful to try and keep Liling here at this point,”

He saw Slava’s dark hair bob up and down in a nod. “Yeah, yeah. That’s actually a good point.”

There was a lull in conversation as they both stewed in worry, with Wylan taking it out on the piano keys and Slava taking it out on her nails. Then Slava suddenly stiffened. “She’s leaving,” she gasped, the hand falling back into her lap. Wylan looked up just in time to see Liling’s head disappear behind the closing door.

She got out. He felt sick to his stomach. Pressed the keys just a bit more forcefully. Slava got up to and tell Conrad, who couldn’t see Mistress Isidore’s office door from the couch. He looked up from the music to watch them excitedly clasp hands, because, Gods! She’d gotten out.

The rest of the workday passed in a haze. Slava told them she’d tell Nina when their shift was over. Nina had been moved to the day shift, which meant he still didn’t know what Dirtyhands wanted from him in exchange for the ingredients. He should probably ask her about that, but when Wylan stumbled back into his room for the night he found himself falling into bed immediately, scrunching up his nose at the smell. He groaned as he got back up and stripped the bed of the comforter, throwing it on the floor before flopping back onto the bed. The heavy heat of Ketterdam’s summers was pressing down on him, not too unbearable without any sort of blanket.

He then proceeded to lay there staring at the ceiling until the backs of his eyes ached, and he realized he would not be sleeping tonight without the aid of some sort of medicine. Which, he thought pointedly, he did not have access to. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Opened the thick curtains on the window. It looked to be around twelve in the afternoon outside, based on the sun’s position high in the sky.

He shuffled around a bit, looking for something he could do in his zombie-like state. Then there was a knock at the door. He squinted at it suspiciously. The knock came again. Well, okay. He walked over and opened it a bit, enough for him to wedge his body in the opening he’d created, preventing the… oh. It was a fellow worker, albeit one he didn’t know well. A Kerch woman wrung her hands in front of her as she looked anxiously away from the hall to him.

“You’re Wylan, right?” She asked, her voice close to whisper. He leaned in instinctively.

“I- yes,” he glanced around the hallway behind the woman, trying to discern why she was asking after him. When he looked back to her she’d moved to tugging on the ends of her hair.

“And, you know medicine?” the sentence was punctuated with a sharp tug on her hair that made Wylan internally wince.

“I’m not formally trained-” he began, only to have her cut him off.

“But you resolved Liling’s poisoning,” she said. He felt himself tense. No one was supposed to know about that. He met her eyes. They were searching his face, just as he was searching her’s. She seemed worried, sincere, and he still had plausible deniability… so he nodded.

“Yes, that was me,” he said.

“Could you do it again?”

He thought about the amount of each ingredient he had left, about how everything he'd used to concoct Liling's tea was shoved into a cabinet in his bathroom. “Maybe,” he said. She slumped over a bit. He hurried to continue, “if it’s the same thing,”

“He’s- could you look at him right now?”

Another nod.

It was a tense and silent walk up to the third floor, during which he weighed the pros and cons. The only real con was 'getting caught'. She lead him to a room in which a man was sitting on the lip of his bathtub. He was clutching his stomach, and a cursory glance at the toilet revealed that he’d thrown up. His skin was flushed, and he looked a lot like Liling did in the early stages of her poisoning.

“When did this start?” he asked, approaching the man, laying a hand on his forehead. Hot.

“After lunch,” replied the woman, looking between Wylan and the man as if he’d be magically healed just being in Wylan’s presence.

It was shaping up to be a case extremely similar to Liling’s. Except for this time Wylan had everything he needed to help under his bathroom sink. “I can fix this,” he started, the woman drawing in an excited breath, “but you can’t tell anyone it was me. I’d rather not get in trouble with Mistress Isidore,”

The woman was nodding frantically. “Yes, yes, of course, when can you give Franciszek the cure?”

“I should have it done either today or tomorrow,” Wylan answered, “In the meantime, he needs to stay in bed and drink a lot of water.”

The woman gave another frantic nod. "Thank you," she said, walking toward the door with him.

He pursed his lips, nodded in response to her thanks, and then went to his room and slept.

[iamarosegarden]

Better Than That

Part five, Heartrending and Healing Are Very Different Things, which has been up on Ao3 for a while but I’m just now posting it here. Enjoy!!!

Part One  - Part Two  - Part Three - Part Four -Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight -  Part Nine -

Ao3

Nina Zenik was indentured to the White Rose but she wasn’t exclusive to the White Rose. She was loaned out to other houses every now and then. Sometimes it was because the owner wanted her as an attraction. Sometimes to ‘heal’ a worker, but she didn’t have the training for that, she was actually spying for Kaz Brekker. 

Nina had strolled into Piękni Ludzie, looking just like the part she played, a wise, sage healer. Her white and gold faux-kefta and the modest way her caramel hair was done up in a loose bun were just part of the illusion. She didn’t talk much, and followed orders quickly and efficiently. Almost like a solider. Nina was nothing like a soldier though, she was too... lively. At least with fellow workers. She was funny and a bit loud and everyone trusted her for it. Even if she turned into a different person in front of clients and superiors.

But Wylan saw something in the way she curled her hands into what might have been fists, hidden by the kefta’s gold embroidered sleeves. The way her fingers twitched when someone was rude. The way her eyes scanned a room. The way sly words that fell off her tongue so easily, she could probably get people to do anything she wanted. In that bun were hairpins as sharp as broken glass. 

She was dangerous, and he didn’t trust her. Something about how easily she turned into another person unnerved him. Sure, he and the others put on a different face around clients but she was so wholly different, and very, very convincing. He didn’t like it. It made him think she was hiding something. But, he was usually wrong about these things. 

She’d shown up the day after Jesper had left, minutes before the shift change, when the few day workers of the house took their place and the night workers had a break, dinner, and sleep. Mistress Isidore had an arrangement with the owner of the White Rose in which Nina came over once a year when it was most convenient for him. 

***

At least that’s what they told Mistress Isidore. In reality Dirtyhand’s spider had gotten dirt on the owner and used it to send Nina into other pleasure houses. He was addicted to Laudanum, a potent and expensive form of opium.

Nina walked in and made her way to Isidore’s chambers. She hadn’t know where the Wylan Van Eck that Kaz wanted her to find was, only that he had a sick friend, strawberry hair and an odd knowledge of healing.

“Ah, Nina. Your trip for the year?” Isidore exclaimed when she opened the door to find Nina, head inclined, hands encased by her kefta sleeves and held in front of her. She looked like one of the old nuns that liked to hover around the restaurants near the church. She nodded in response to Isidore’s words.

 Isidore’s chambers, and by extension, Isidore, always smelled of sandalwood and lavender, a sort of spicy-sweet that was pleasant in moderation, but made you sick after a while. Nina hoped she wouldn’t have to endure any prolonged exposure to it. Isidore stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

 “Lovely. Your room is right this way,” Isidore continued. Herding Nina through the foyer and a hallway. “How is Harold? Is the house doing well?”

 “Mistress Isidore, you know perfectly well I can’t tell you how the house is doing,” a conspiratorial smile, “I wish I could.”

They stopped at a door right before the staircase to the second floor. Isidore opened the door. Instantly a heavy wave of incense washed over Nina. Great.  The room was bare brick, with a fire pit in the middle. It looked like a primal healing hut. Frankly, it was a bit insulting. Scratch that. It was insulting. There was a cot in the corner across from the door. And a stone table diagonal from it. Very minimalist ancient healer.

 Isidore knew how to play a crowd. Nina was sure people would get a kick out of this. She smiled graciously at Isidore. “Do you like it? I thought you’d feel more at home like this, maybe enough to stay here? Really, how is Harold? He seemed unwell the last time I saw him.” Probably due to the Laudanum.

Nina sighed internally. Isidore had had her eye on Nina’s indenture for sometime. Luckily for Nina, or maybe unluckily, Kaz wouldn’t allow that. “Thank you Mistress Isidore.” She kept up her smile as she walked into the room. Knowing it didn’t go outside of Isidore's notice that she didn’t answer the question.

“You’re very welcome. I’ll leave you to get settled in then,” Isidore said, and walked out of the door, closing it behind her. The room was pleasantly warm, the fire and the window providing enough light to illuminate the room. Nina waited a few seconds, then opened the door and strolled out, leaving the door open behind her, hoping to air the room out a bit.

Piękni Ludzie was a little different than most pleasure houses. Most worked with scheduled appointments, had less workers. Piękni Ludzie was a walk-in palce. Kind of. It was, of course, more active at night, but it also operated during the day. Clients could walk in at anytime. So convienent, a whole new form of sexaual slavery!

The hallways were mostly empty, save for a few people going back to their rooms. A pair of Suli twins whispered to each other when they saw her, a dark-haired boy who paid her no attention. And, a strawberry-haired boy struggling to help a shu girl up the stairs. That must be Wylan and his sick friend. Nina had seen cases like this before, they weren’t uncommon in pleasure houses, from the looks of her the shu girl had about four to five excruciating days left until her body gave in to the poison 

She told Inej just that when Kaz and his wrath jimmied her window lock. “The poor thing has about five to six days left, I’d say. I thought water hemlock was incurable without professional help. At least, /I’ve/ never had the pleasure of seeing it cured. 

“Van Eck seems to think he can. Get some more information, I’ll give you the things he asked tomorrow. You can call it, but I want information or you are not getting paid.” Kaz’s low voice responded. That boy’s voice. Positively delicious. Too bad about the whole scariest gang leader in Ketterdam thing, and the whole repressed feelings for Inej Ghafa thing. But, really, Nina should focus on the task at hand 

“I haven’t talked to him much. When I got in Isidore immediately took me to my room. By the way, have you seen this?” She stepped back from window to give them a better view. Inej put a hand over her mouth. Kaz’s eyebrow twitched. “I mean, this is ridiculous.”

“Does she think you're from the stone age?” Inej laughed, peering further into the room 

“Right? Anyway I’ll try to talk to him and his group tomorrow. 

“Group?” Kaz questioned.

“From what I’ve seen-slash-heard he’s always with the same three friends.” Nina said. She started closing the window. “Well, I’ve got to get to sleep, on my cot.”

Inej let out another huff of laughter, muted because of the window. Nina smiled at them before closing the curtains.

***

Nina Zenik had been in Piękni Ludzie for two days. In those day she had successfully charmed everyone in Wylan’s vicinity. Slava loved her and Liling thought she could help. Conrad disagreed. At first Wylan had worried it was a prejudice against Grisha. But, at breakfast, the third day of Liling being sick and the second day of Nina, Conrad had leaned toward him and whispered: “I don’t think she’s a healer.”

“Nina?” Wylan questioned, bending his head to look at his plate, turning his right ear toward Conrad.

“Yes. I don’t think she’s a healer. She’s too… aggressively aware.” Conrad explained. Wylan looked up from his plate, his gaze going across the dining hall to Nina. Slava was with her. Slava wanted to trust Nina, both because of their common roots and for Liling’s sake. Wylan understands. His first instinct had been trust. But he was trying to change his instincts. After Zoya he’d learned he should be more careful about where he places his trust.

Which, he has been ignoring, he wants to trust people. Taking such a huge risk with Jesper was proof of that. A risk that had yielded no results. Jesper had not come yesterday. But, it could have ended much worse. In broken fingers and spirits. Ghezen, what had he been thinking?

Slava was probably right about asking Nina for help. Nina would be less likely to betray them to Mistress Isidore, being a fellow prostitute, and less likely to betray Slava, being a fellow Ravkan. One thing about Nina Zenik though; she was not a traditional prostitute. Apparently Mistress Isidore hadn’t even provided her with an actual bed, so she wasn’t expecting Nina to act as one either. The service she provided was healing. But, if Conrad was correct, she wasn’t a healer.

Wylan didn’t want her near his friends, but he had no other choice. Well he did, but it involved letting his friend die. All he could do at the moment was have her drink charcoal-water, so he needed someone’s help.

“If she’s not a healer, what kind of grisha is she?” He asked Conrad after a moment. He needed to work on not getting so caught up in his thoughts. His eyes were still on Nina and Slava. Nina looked up from their conversation. They met eyes for a moment and he looked down, his cheeks turning red at being caught.

“I do think she’s Corporalki, a Heartrender maybe.” Conrad had a concentrated look on his face as he looked away from Nina.

“Why would she-”

Wylan is cut off by Liling, her voice still unreasonably cheery if a bit weak, “are you too just gonna have a whole conversation about Nina without once talking to me? Seems a bit rude, considering I’m the one whose life is in question.” Liling had been anxious lately, with reason. It's one of the reasons Slava was rushing around looking for a solution. Liling was usually so positive. It was putting everyone on edge.

Really Wylan couldn’t blame her. You can’t expect people to be cheerful when they might die. “Sorry, I just… I think we shouldn’t ask Nina for help.”

Liling looked affronted. “What?”

“I don’t trust her, neither does Conrad.” Wylan explained, ready to bring out all his reasoning and theories

“Oh, you don’t trust a well known healer, but you trust Dirtyhand’s sharp shooter?” Liling accused. Wylan was affronted. He truly felt he’s been struck. He deserved it. Who was he to make that kind of decision for Liling?

“You’re right,” he said, trying to make amends, “let's try to talk to her after breakfast?”

“Okay, thank you. I’m sorry… I’m just,” Liling pushed her full plate away and massaed her temples, “scared.” She didn’t look better, but she didn’t look worse. She was stable, at least for the moment. Eventually her immune system would tire out and she’d be done for without a cure. If one existed.

Out of the four of them, only Slava ate anything at breakfast. Wylan was back at the piano. Liling was back at the couch, Slava next to her. Conrad looming against the wall behind the couch like a bodyguard, a very relaxed bodyguard. Nina Zenik waltzing up and leaning against the piano. “Liling? Nina Zenik,” an extended hand, “Slava told me you were sick?”

Liling eyed the hand, smiled and said “I don’t think I have enough energy to reach that hand.”

Nina laughed and replied, “I hope I can help.”

“When?” Wylan asked. Nina turned around as if just noticing him. Of course that wasn’t true, she’d leaned against the piano so that he would be in her peripheral view.

She stood up straight and turned around to look at him. He gulped. Adjusted his posture. “Well I figured I’d take a look at her, see if I can heal it, after dinner. Your room, not mine. I have no idea what Mistress Isidore was thinking when that happened. Bad working conditions.”

“Okay, see you then. Room one-oh-six. Thank you,” Wylan replied. Looking away from her and back toward his sheet music.

“You, are very welcome,” Nina called as she walked away. Conrad watched her go. Watched her look over her shoulder, watched her see him, watched her smile. He looked away. Waited a couple seconds. Looked back up, found the gold-white kefta that seemed to blend into the hallway’s mirrorless walls. Watched her walk up to Kaz Brekker, and slip into a room with him. Conrad had never seen nor heard about Kaz Brekker walking into a room with a prostitute before. Not that he always saw Kaz Brekker.

“Wylan,” everyone looked up at the sound of his voice. Conrad tried to keep his tone light. “So, I just saw the heartrender walk into a room with Dirtyhands,” he made sure that he didn’t use their names. Liling and Slava already though he believed grisha were witches.  

“What?”  

“If the heartrender knows Dirtyhands, she might be working for him,” Conrad said through his teeth.  

 “Oh. Why would he be interested in, uh, our sick friend?” Wylan looked in the direction Nina had gone.  

 “I don’t know. I’ll find out, though. I really don’t want to worry them, so don’t tell them and laugh like I made a joke,” Conrad laughed, leaning back against the wall. Wylan laughed too, though it honestly wasn’t that convincing.  

 Dinner came, the circular tables in the dining hall covered in food. Fish and rice mostly, that’s what was cheap to buy, herring because of the sea access and rice because of the trade agreement with the Shu. Rice didn’t go bad and was easily bought in bulk. There were also various breads and cheeses, and a couple of desserts. Conrad forced himself and everyone else to eat some of the food, despite their nerves. Nina didn’t sit with them. Liling couldn’t eat much, nearly threw up from just plain rice.  

They went back to Wylan’s room, as usual, the only difference being that Nina was tagging along. When they got in everyone went to their normal spots, Slava on top of the dresser. Conrad in front of the window, sitting in the chair for the desk. Liling on the bed, And, well, before Liling had been poisoned Wylan had been on the bed with Liling. Now he stood in front to the chairless desk to make charcoal water.  Nina closed the door behind them all and leaned against it. “So, all we’ve been doing so far is giving her some charcoal water, it doesn’t really do anything to stop the poison, but it helps with her stomach and absorbs some of the toxins,” Wylan explained it wasn’t very commonly known that activated charcoal could help with these types of things. The only reason he knew about it was, the same reason he knew anything about medicine, because he’s had a tutor whose sister had served as a medic in the first army during the war.  

“Where are you getting it?” Nina questioned, moving toward him.  Wylan’s cheeks went red again. “Well it’s just made out of some of my drawing charcoals and tap water. I’m about to make some now if you want to see.”  Nina nodded, reminding herself that she was supposed to know about this kind of stuff. She looked over his shoulder as he began the process. There was a gas lantern on the desk that he flicked on. He grabbed one of his charcoals and crushed it on top of a metal plate that must have been stolen from the dining room. He set the plate on top of the lantern. The bottom of it was already slightly darkened from the flame.   

“This helps sterilize it a little bit and begins activating it,” Wylan explained as dry crunching sounds came from the plate. He stepped away from the desk then, grabbing a metal cup from the bedside table and going into the bathroom. He came back with the cup, now about two thirds full of water. “Tap water isn’t the best, but… yeah.” Wylan switched the plate for the cup, which barely covered the lamps opening. “It’s kind of precarious so, don’t jostle the table or anything. We’ll have to wait for this to boil. I know that, ideally, we’d heat them both at the same time but we can’t, so this works, even if it means boiling them together for longer.”  Conrad smiled a fond smile. Wylan always talked more when it was about these things, it was a passion. Nina nodded like she understood what he was talking about. “Do you want me to do the check while we wait for that?” Nods from all around the room.   

She stepped forward. She hated tricking them like this. She moved her hands over Liling, helping her heart pump at a steadier rhythm, that tugged on a few for Liling’s nerves so that they’d stop sending messages to the brain about the pain in her stomach, at least temporarily. She couldn’t do anything about the fever, but this would convince them she could help. A cheap trick, but an effective one. “How does that feel?”  

“Oh! My stomach doesn’t hurt as much. Thank you.” Liling exclaimed, shifting into a more comfortable position. Conrad crossed his legs and glared at Nina. She didn’t seem to notice.  There was a clink from the desk and Nina turned to see Wylan carefully pouring the charcoal off the plate into the boiling water. “How do you know so much about medicine?” She asked.  Conrad narrowed his eyes at her. Wylan answered her without looking up from his task. “Tutors. I used to be a rich kid before… this.” Wylan was a bit proud of himself for saying it so casually. Even if his face went pink, they couldn’t see it anyway. This was the first time he’d talked about how he ended up here with anyone.  “Before what exactly?” Nina asked, pretending not to notice the way Conrad had blinked at Wylan’s explanation. The way Slava had shifted on the dresser.The way Liling’s shoulders had stiffened a bit. She’d known he used to be rich. What she was tasked with finding out was why there were no rumors or missing posters for Jan Van Eck’s only son. 

 “That’s a little personal.” Wylan said, turning around. He glanced at Conrad to see how he had reacted to the admission. Conrad gave a small nod of acknowledgement.  

 “Sorry,” Nina said. Obviously Wylan wasn’t the ‘here let me tell you my whole life story’ type. She’d either have to figure it out herself, make him talk, or try to earn his trust. The first option, she doubted she could do with out more help. The second option, she could do, but it would be a hassle and she’d really rather not do it. The third she doubted she had enough time for, but it was the most preferable option. So it would be plan C for now, and if it didn’t work, back to plan B.  Wylan used the end of a paintbrush to stir the water in the cup, which had turned a dark grey. “That’s fine.” His head was carefully bent, the light shining off his hair as he used a small towel to pick up the hot cup. He set it down on the table and wrapped the towel around it like cozy. He picked it back up and handed the warm charcoal water to Liling, maneuvering around Nina.  Liling brought it to her lips, blowing on it and making a face before taking a sip.  

“Yeah yeah, it doesn’t taste good, we get it,” Slava jeered from the dresser.  “You’re not the one who has to drink it,” Liling said before knocking the whole cup back like Slava’s alcoholic uncle at a wedding.  

 “I’m not the one who went and pissed off Mistress Isidore so that she’d go and try to kill me,” Slava’s tone was still joking, though she meant her words. The smile that had previously been on Liling’s face fell.  

“I did nothing wrong.” She said, suddenly serious.  Slava realized that her comment had been taken seriously, she hadn’t meant to cause a fight, but, “You came too close to freedom, Liling. That’s all she fucking needs, I don’t understand why you had to tempt her!” 

 “I wasn’t tempting her I was earning my freedom,” Liling growled back.  

“Which is tempting her! You know she doesn’t let anyone out of here unless it’s on her own terms,” Slava said. 

 “That’s not my fault,” Liling cried. 

 “I know it’s not… I’m just angry, ya’ know. I don’t understand why-” she used the heel of her palm to wipe at her eye, “-she is the way she is.”  Slava then seemed to realize that there were other people in the room beside her and Liling, including Nina, whom she did not know well enough to feel completely comfortable around yet, let alone comfortable crying in front of.  Liling struggled to sit up. “Sorry I yelled at you-” 

 “You shouldn’t be sorry! I’m the one who started blaming you for all this,” Slava exclaimed, hopping off the dresser and going to Liling. Everyone in the room suddenly felt that they were intruding on something personal. Nina stepped away, and toward the door through pure instinct. Wylan blushed and spun to turn off the gas lamp on his desk. Conrad looked down and crossed and uncrossed his legs.  

Slava sat next to Liling on the bed, taking her hands. Still aware of the people in the room. “Li, I just want you to be okay. I don’t think I can take this place without you.” 

 “I’m sure that you can. You’re so strong,” Liling brushed a hand across the shaved side of Slava’s head, over the brand, as if she were tucking a piece of hair behind Slava’s ear. Slava recaptured Liling’s hand, laid them both in her lap. She then crossed her legs, bringing them up onto the bed, kicking off her shoes along the way. She leaned against the headboard and Liling shifted so that her head against Slava’s thigh. 

 “I hope that you two don’t plan on sleeping there. Wylan kinda needs it later,” Conrad said. Wylan let out a puff of laughter, and was surprised when Nina did as well.   

“You speak Fjerdan? What did he say? Wylan doesn’t tell us sometimes,” Slava said, looking between Nina and Conrad. Conrad looked cross at this development.  After everyone had left, gone to their respective rooms and to sleep, Conrad lingered. “Why would a healer, presumably from the Little Palace, know Fjerdan so well?”  

“I don’t know Conrad, maybe she was rich too,” Wylan grumbled sarcastically from his desk, now complete with a chair.  Conrad continued to pace across the room. “She’s not a healer, she knows Dirtyhands. I don’t trust her.” 

 “You don’t have to trust her. She’s helping Liling, even if she wasn’t trained as a healer or whatever,” Wylan said, not looking up from whatever he was doing. “If she wasn’t trained to heal, she can’t heal. It’s a trick!” Conrad stopped pacing and looked at the door. Opened it.  

“Goodnight, Conrad.” 

 Conrad did not respond. Closing the door behind him, he stiffly walked to Nina’s room. Some would call it a march. He rapped on her door. She opened it. A fire was crackling. Nina up glared at him. 

“What do you want?”  Well, that was a different attitude than he was used to. He tried not to show it. Conrad looked up and down the brightly lit hallways, he watched a woman dressed in a white-silver gown was dragged down the hallway. Saw the man say something to the woman, saw her mutter and gesture down the hall. The man dragged her the way she’d pointed and the door slammed. 

“Can I come in? I’d rather not be interrupted.”  She huffed, but opened the door wider and stepped aside. 

“What do you want?” She said again, and Conrad heard a very faint accent on her words.  Conrad sighed, stepping in and closing the door. “I just want to know know if you’re actually a healer.”  

“What?” Nina whipped around from where she was in front of the door.  

“You don’t act like a healer, I just want to-”   

Nina cut him off with a hiss, “Drüskelle.”  

Conrad moved to take a step back, but found himself frozen. A hertrender then. “No, no. I’m not. I swear,” he rushed to explain.   

He still couldn’t move. Nina narrowed her eyes. “I suppose if you were a Drüskelle you’d have tried to kill me before now. Still, what do you want.”  

Conrad let a rush of air, thankful that she hadn’t questioned him further. “I just want to know if you can actually help Liling. She deserves to live, not to be caught up in one of Dirtyhands’ schemes.”  

“Now, who said anything about Dirtyhands?” This was more familiar, words said in a sultry tone, leaning sensually against the stone table in the corner of the room. Conrad shook out his wrist, stiff from not moving, and had a distinct feeling that she was playing with him. 

 “I saw you go into a room with him this morning,” he said, and put himself in the opposite corner of the room, as far away as he could get, and close to the door.  She hummed. “He was just dropping off this,” She turned around and reached under the stone table, bringing up a canvas bag and setting it down at her elbow.  

 “What’s that?” Conrad eyed the bag wearily.  “Come over here and see for yourself.” 

 Conrad rolled his eyes this time. He made his way across the room, almost forgetting the fire pit, narrowly missing it as he made his way to Nina. The canvas was stained by dirt and a drawstring held it closed. He looked at Nina, who shrugged at him. A vague go ahead. His still stiff fingers tugged at the opening. Inside were different bags of herbs and... acorns? “Is this…” he clutched the bag tightly. 

 “What Wylan asked for? The potential cure for Liling? Yes. So, actually, I can help your friend, but, that’s not what I was hired for.”

  “What?”  

 The ‘what’ represented a lot of feelings. Confusion as to what exactly was going on, he’d had a few clues and had seen no way to string them together. Now, suddenly she was offering explanations, but none that he’d thought of. The only thing he had know for sure was that she was not a healer, and the only thing he’d come to ask was if she could help Liling. Now he was a tangled mess of questions and feelings. Primarily, though, the ‘what’ represented the outrage he felt. She, a girl none of them knew, who had seen that Liling did not deserve what Mistress Isidore did (no one did), would withhold a medicine, a cure, because it was not what she’d been hired for?  

“I was hired to get information on Wylan, to figure out why Jan van Eck hasn’t filed a missing person’s report.”  Conrad had no idea who Jan van Eck was. 

Nina saw his confusion and let out a caramel laugh that matched her cocked hips and wavy hair. “Ask your friend.” 

[iamarosegarden]

Better Than That

Yes, hello, Part Four. The Far Away Tinking Of Piano Keys, one of my favorite chapters that I’ve written.

Part One  - Part Two  - Part Three  - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight -  Part Nine -

Ao3

After handing Wylan the papers Mistress Isidore had waltzed out of the hallway. Leaving Wylan staring after her, clutching the papers, and the pianist on the ground.

The music papers in Wylan’s hands were well worn, if you can say that about paper. The corners and sides had that fuzzy feeling about them and made them easier to turn and impossible to cut yourself on. It made Wylan admire her, made him a little more confident with his choice to play for the pianist with the bandaged fingers. ‘What had happened to her?’ He wondered as he escorted the pianist to her room.

Her short heels clicked against the wooden floor. The rhythm she tapped out against it was uneven, as she was limping slightly. Wylan wasn't sure if she wanted his help or not. Her shoulders were back and her chin high, but it seemed forced. Something he knew quite a bit about. Though he knew, he knew, that pleasure houses were like this, he didn't know. He hadn't experienced it, hasn't seen it. Until now.

He glanced at the pianist. Should he just throw her arm over his shoulder to help her? He knew that it had to hurt if she was limping so badly but he also knew that he didn't know this woman. If this happened a lot if this was the first time if she didn't like to be touched if she would say anything if she needed help. If he put her arm over his shoulder it wouldn't help much, because he was so short.

Oh Ghezen, he hated this. He looked the woman over. She was older than him, but he didn’t know by how much. Old enough to have prominent worry lines and silver streaks in her hair. What would he want? Wylan would want help but probably wouldn't ask for it. Shit. “Um, do you,” he paused, “do you want help? I just, you’re limping and I know that has to hurt but I don’t know if you-” he cut himself off and looked at her for approval as he grabbed her wrist and ducked under it, shuffling the well-worn music sheets into one hand.

“Thank you,” she said as she leaned against him. Her words had a Kaelish lit to them.

“Yeah, um... shit,” the last word was muttered under his breath as he struggled with whether or not he should ask. “Does this happen a lot around here or...?”

The woman let out a sharp bark of a laugh, wincing as it affected her bruised ribs. “This is a pleasure house, which says something for itself, but more over, this is the saintsforsaken Piękni Ludzie,” she emphasized the house’s name, shaking her head, “of course it happens a lot.”

Wylan swallowed, of course, he would run away from one corrupted house and fall into another. Of course. Really, it was his own fault. If he’d found a job or just joined one of the gangs right away he wouldn’t be here. But no, he was again limited by his inability to read and his morals.

“You seem like a nice boy, a smart boy, how did you end up here?” she murmured as the turned a corner. She had a motherly presence about her.

“You seem smart, and kind. How did you end up here?” Wylan countered, not wanting to relive the events that brought him to Piękni Ludzie.

Thankfully, she was on the bottom floor of the house, so they didn’t have to shamble through the empty hallways for long and Wylan no longer had to drag himself through those memories.

He fiddled with the fuzz-edged papers on his way to the grand piano in the main room. Wylan suspected that the house used to be a hotel, a big main room with lots of hallways filled with rooms? It had probably been someone’s attempt to bring something nicer into the Barrel. The cream tiled floor, the white walls with gold trim, covered in mirror upon mirror. It was luxurious, and Wylan hated it. The house was dressed up with shiny and distracting things as if trying to conceal its true nature.

The sheets on his bed were silk but not his pleasure or benefit. The locks on the window were not to keep intruders out. He was provided with clothes, not as a comfort or protection but to help advertise his body.

He would rather be back in the horrible, cheap inn filled with bugs and rats than in the cream and gold hallways of Piękni Ludzie. Hallways where you could just barely hear moans and sobs and groans -you could never tell if they were in pain or pleasure -through the gold-trimmed walls.

He sat down on the piano bench and flipped through the songs Mistress Isidore had given him. They were all ‘classics’ which meant he’d played them all before on various instruments. They were all kind of dull in his opinion, but easy to play for long periods of time. It was nice to play, even if he was playing classics. He’d heard about people getting famous off of music, that could never happen to him, but it was a nice thought.

“Are you going to practice?” Mistress Isidore was leaning in the doorway to her room, silhouetted by the light. Outlined in gold because of the way it bounced off of her dress. Wylan jumped a bit, startled. He hadn’t seen her. And it had been so quiet. The way she said the words made them sound less like ‘are you going to practice,’ and more like ‘you’d better practice’. Probably so she could see if he was any good.

Wylan coughed, “Yes,” he answered, in the voice he’d been trained to use in front of merchants and lords and ladies, positioning his fingers on the keys. “Do you want me to play a specific one first?”

“Wilting Spring,” she answered. Wylan shuffled to the correct music and looked at her for a cue to begin. Wilting Spring was, as the name insinuated, a darker song, lower notes with pops of playful melodies that tapered off. She pushed herself off the doorframe and sat herself down on a loveseat, delicately crossed her legs, and made a small motion with her hands before folding them in her lap.

The cool, orderly line of black and white keys felt familiar under his fingers. Though Wylan favored the flute, an instrument that rung clean and clear, made to imitate someone’s voice, he had a fondness for the piano. It was an intricate instrument, it echoed and the notes played seemed to hover in the air, sounding less like someone singing and more like a choir humming. His mother had played the piano.

Wylan glanced at the sheet music before pressing his fingers down on the keys. He almost stopped playing in his delight.

Several songs later Mistress Isidore pulled herself off the loveseat. “I suppose you’ll be a fine new pianist,” she stated as she walked away.

“I thought I was a temporary replacement?” Wylan hadn’t really meant to ask. You weren’t supposed to question Mistress Isidore.

Mistress Isidore didn’t mind being questioned this time though, she actually relished in her answer. “Yes, well Ghenna and I decided it would be best if she didn’t play again.” Wylan watched her disappear down the hallway. She’d wanted him to ask so she could say those words. They held a threat that Wylan did not want to consider. But he did anyway, sitting there on the hard piano bench, back no longer stick-straight. Why was it best that she couldn’t play? Those words had a sickening insinuation to them. Ghenna was no longer allowed to play. Ghenna could not, physically, play. A shudder ran through him.

Breakfast came and did not immediately go. Liling had almost paid off her debt, for days now everyone had been waiting anxiously to see if it could be done. But, the key word: Almost. Really it was a wonder she had gotten so close. She’d been roughly two clients away from freedom. Freedom.

Halfway through breakfast she’d clasped a hand over her mouth and rushed out the door. Trading concerned looks with Conrad, Wylan walked after her, trying to look calm. Trying to follow her calmly turned out to be a struggle, partially because Liling was rushing and partially because Wylan was worried.

As soon as the doors of the dining hall closed he started at a run for the stairs that lead to their floor. Running up the tight spiral proved to be dizzying. So much so that he stumbled when he made the turn onto their floor, nearly slipping. Liling was hunched over her knees on the floor. In front of what appeared to be the contents of her stomach.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” Liling moaned, curling into a tighter ball around her stomach. Wylan glanced nervously behind him.

“Let’s get you to your room,” Wylan tried to sound supportive and consoling and but failed miserably. If Mistress Isidore saw this… Liling whimpered but straightened up. Wylan held out a hand to help her up. He did more work than her, tugging her body off the floor and steadying her. “I’ll clean this up. Get to your room.”

Three towels and one-third of a bar of soap later Wylan was pacing nervously, waiting for Liling to come out. His bare feet didn’t make a sound against the floor, so he heard very clearly when leisurely footsteps started echoing up the stairs. It’s was not Conrad��s heavy, almost soldier-like walk or the wisp of Salva’s slippers against the tile. It was the carefully paced walk of Mistress Isidore, measured and precise. “Fuck. Oh, Ghezen fuck,” Wylan muttered, then silently winced at his own language. Being around prostitutes and gang members all these nights hasn’t exactly been improving his vocabulary.

He threw his knuckles at Liling’s door, the gold 107 glinting the light at him in a mocking way. No reply comes. He turned the laughing handle and pushed inside, quickly shutting the door behind him. He found Liling leaning heavily against the dresser, her reflection in the grand mirror (oh, the things she’d seen in that mirror) sheathed in a thin clammy sweat, her eyes wide. “I’m sick,” she whispered disparagingly at him, “I’m sick”.

Being sick meant no work, no work meant more debt, and more debt meant no freedom. Or, in the worse case scenario, being sick meant needing medical help. Medical help was expensive. “Help me down the stairs,” she said, determination lighting up her eyes.

“We’ll have to go down that set of stairs” he jerks a hand toward the stairway further down the hall, "Mistress Isidore is on those,” he waves toward the set closed to her room.

“Okay. Okay let’s go,” Liling’s arm hooked itself around his, and for the second time that day Wylan found himself hobbling down the hallway, trying in vain to support someone. They moved faster than he and Ghenna did, they had to.

They got to the foyer, with its couches like sharp rocks sticking out of a disastrous sea, enslaved sirens perched on them ready to sing their lovely songs to sailors who dared to come their way. Wylan lead her to a sofa in the corner, near the piano. When her hand slid out of his, and his palm became exposed to the cool air, it made him realize how hot her hand had been. “Just stay here…” he trailed off as he set himself on the piano bench, “This’ll probably go away, right?” Wylan hoped it would go away.

The foyer filled up with workers, filling the room with chatter and jingling jewelry. Conrad and Slava found Liling and him, ducking their heads and passing her some plain bread she could eat (if she could stomach it), and quietly asking Liling what had happened. Wylan began to play, trying to get into that musical niche. Customers began to trickle in, Wylan nearly missed a note when Mistress Isidore appeared in one of the many doorways, looking around as if searching for something. When her eyes landed on Liling she did nothing but narrowed her eyes and go to her rooms.

The day passed in vague impressions and cramping fingers from playing for over eight hours. It made him anxious, playing in front of so many people. Wylan distanced himself, pretended he was watching himself from the eyes of others rather than doing the things himself. If he pretended he was watching, he could more easily decide what to do. The boy should continue playing, the boy should ignore the people, etc. He’d started doing it when he was around nine and he couldn’t do anything without overthinking it and convincing himself that people were thinking horrible things. One day as he was suffering through one of his father’s business meetings he’d tried to trade places with his father’s business friends. And he became an observer and an actor at once. It calmed him.

Then a whisper spread through the clients and prostitutes, made it’s way to Wylan, Dirtyhands had entered. Odd that he’d been expecting something more dramatic, the doors blowing open and slamming against the walls, a sudden silence, the cracking of the infamous cane against the ground. Not this subtle shift in atmosphere, nothing but the suggestion of his presence.

The shift was so small that he hadn’t even realized it his first day in the house. When Kaz Brekker’s second had asked him about his drawings of all things. Gods, that could have been his ticket out. If he’d only know. Well, maybe not, he wasn’t exactly useful, and it wasn’t like the Dregs went around rescuing people.

Think of the devil, Jesper Fahey appeared in front of the couch his friends were sitting on, smirking as he asked, “What are y’all doing here in this corner? Oh, hey freckles,” Wylan swore the boy had an unending supply of energy. He went from standing in front of Conrad and Slava and Liling to behind them to sitting next to Wylan on the piano bench all during his short sentences.

Wylan’s fingers on the keys faltered for half a second, not noticeable if you weren’t paying attention, but Jesper was. Wylan felt the boy’s eyes take note of his hesitation. Hesitation caused by Jesper’s sudden closeness. Wylan longed to move away, to put a few more inches of space between them, but one did not do such things in a pleasure house. Especially not too important gang members. He settled for not looking at Jesper, keeping his eyes trained on the music in front of him.

Jesper, whose eye had tracked that small hesitation, shifted over on the bench. Farther away by at least three centimeters. It wasn't quite the inches Wylan had wanted but it was something. Something.

Wylan glanced over at Liling. She hadn’t been getting better during the day. If anything her condition was worsening. Her fever was evident on her face in the form of a red flush. The weakness of her muscles demonstrated by trembling limbs. Her hair limp and slightly damp with sweat. Her eyes alight with slight panic. Ghezen, he was so tired of pretending Liling wasn’t in the grip of a fever, one that made her tremble and cough. He watched as she lurched forward a bit then swallowed with a pained look on her face.

“How’d you land this gig?” Jesper asked, fingertips brushing the ebony of the keys as he fidgeted.

Wylan preferred not to discuss what had landed him on the piano bench. “Oh, you know. She figured out I played piano and…” he shrugged, continued the thought in his head, ‘and needed to punish someone for hurting themselves.’

Jesper hummed, acknowledging that he’d heard, and then: “Is she okay?” accompanied by a wave in Liling’s direction. Wylan took his eyes away from the notes, leveling a look at Jesper, his fingers still dancing across the keys as he answered.

Conrad leaned forward, seeing the wave toward Liling, and said, “Ask him to get her medicine. I know you know some herb that would help.” His voice was rougher than usual, and it took Wylan a few seconds longer than usual to translate the Fjerdan into Kerch. Wylan did know some things that would probably help, he knew astragalus was a good bet, lemon balm, acorns. Back when he’d lived with his father he used to leaf through his mother’s old gardening books. Half to find pleasant looking flowers to draw and half just to feel like he was sharing something with his long-dead mother. He was almost certain that Mistress Isidore had put something in her food, and judging my the symptoms it was probably water hemlock. There was an abundance of it in Ketterdam, at least in the seedier areas, growing on the sides of the canals, as commonplace as daisies but far more deadly. You could buy it dried up or liquified easy enough off the streets.

“No, she’s-” Wylan glanced back at Conrad, stealing himself before continuing, “She’s sick. She was too close to paying her debt and Mistress Isidore… she needs medical treatment but that would basically condemn her to an eternity here. Could you,” a glance at Liling, “could you get some things for me? Lemon balm, chain acorns, astragalus.” Wylan felt a weight lift from his shoulder at the same time one twice its weight was put on. Would Jesper tell anyone? Would he tell Mistress Isidore? Would he get the medicine?

“Oh,"

“Yeah, Oh,” Wylan responded dryly. Earning a slightly confused and amused look from Jesper. Then Wylan noticed a dark figure in the corner of his eye. He almost stopped playing.

“Jesper, we’re going,” Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands, was standing in front of Liling and Slava’s reclining forms, leaning on his cane. Well, Slava was lounging, Linling was sitting stiffly, eyes on Kaz’s shoes.

***

Kaz gave Jesper a look like ‘stop with your flirting/time wasting,’ as Jesper made his way around the piano and to Kaz’s side. They weaved their way through Piękni Ludzie’s crowds, Inej snaking her way to Kaz’s right-hand side as they exited.

“I don’t understand what you find interesting about that boy. Other than the map he’s just like all the others.” Kaz said. In Kaz-speak this meant, ‘either you’ve found out something useful about him, figured out about the map, or you’re wasting my time.’

“He has a map of the whole house in his room. Very detailed. I doubt he’ll do anything with it though. He doesn’t seem the type, being a Van Eck and all,” Inej inserted casually, her lips twitching up at Jesper and Kaz’s raised eyebrows.

“A Van Eck?” Jesper questioned.

“His artist signature it W.v.E, but I think he’s trying to change it to Wy. Anyway, that and the hair? He’s got to be a Van Eck.” She explained.

“This kid keeps getting more and more interesting,” Jesper said, slowing his pace as he noticed Kaz pounding his cane against the ground with more force, “he asked me to get some things for his sick friend, seemed to know his shit.”

“What did he ask for?” Kaz asked, cane hitting the ground with less force now.

“Um, acorns, lemon balm and, a-stra-ga-lus,” Jesper had to say the word slowly, breaking it into syllables.

Kaz hummed.

“Scheming face?” Inej nodded toward Kaz as they entered the Slat.

“Definitely Scheming face.” Jesper nodded exaggeratedly, a doctor breaking something to a patient.

“We’re going to see Nina after I check in with Per Haskell.”

[iamarosegarden]

note to -fucking- self:

don’t skirt around issues you’re writing about. that shits not cool. like funk man.

[iamarosegarden]

ugh I just would like my brain for once to let me finish a story before fic before writing another one omg