#taitropa

[yaburnaee]

❝ It began as all things did: a girl on the shore, terrified and desirous. ❞ for nirmala!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ— A STUDY IN DROWNING ( accepting! )

It’s  too  cold  to  linger  too  long  outside  today.    There  is  a  southern  wind  which  kicks  up  off  the  coast  and  brings  with  it  a  chill  that  seeps  into  the  bones.    It’s  a  bad  day  for  Baba,    who  keeps  to  the  first  floor  of  the  house  after  he  has  trekked  awkwardly  through  the  fields  and  orchard  despite  the  frost  -  blanketed  ground.    Nirmala  can  hear  the  long  drag  of  his  gait  and the uneven thump of his cane even  from  upstairs;    it’s  slower  than  it  usually  is  and  that  means,    @taitropa  says,    that  she  mustn’t  pester  him  too  much.

This  is  a  horrible  thing  to  Nirmala,    who  prefers  Baba’s  stories  over anything else.    Mama  tells  stories  just  fine;    she  tells  stories  about  ships  and  saints  and  sometimes  she  tells  them  in  song,    and  Nirmala  loves  Mama’s  voice.    But  it’s  Baba  who  tells  stories  about  girls  with  knives  and  boys  with  guns  and  the  danger  of  city  streets  rife  with  mischief,    which  are,    of  course,    far  more  exciting  tales. Especially because Mama hates that he tells them to Nirmala.

❝    Mama,    ❞  interjects  Nirmala,    who  sits  on  the  cold  wooden  floor  with  her  legs  crossed  beneath  her.    Mama  sits  behind  her  and  rubs  oil  into  her  scalp  with  calloused  fingers  made  rough  from  saltwater.    They  are  still  gentle;    if  Nirmala  closes  her  eyes,    she  might  fall  asleep  and  she  still  has  bribing  to  do  today.    Downstairs,    Baba  scolds  the  dog  for  getting  underfoot,    the  sanded  down  quality  of  his  voice  muffled  by  the  yowling  wind  outside.    Nirmala  tilts  her  head  back  until  her  neck  hurts  and  Mama’s  warm  eyes  come  into  view.    ❝    What’s  desirous?    ❞

[crowshoots]

@taitropa said — " if you're not ready to talk about it, let's not talk about it. "

ㅤㅤeven after so much time away from everyone else, inej knows exactly what she needs to say to him.

ㅤㅤreally, he's not surprised that she finds him. jesper's no rooftop climber, but he does go up - further up into the van eck mansion, climbing into the attic and finding the first window that gives him access to a little ledge that might've been a balcony at some point. jesper has no idea. the mercher houses are nothing like the cabin back home, but they still find themselves clambering to some place in the building like it can offer them comfort instead of a gambling table.

ㅤㅤhe's trying. fuck, at least he's trying. inej is giving him an out, but jesper rubs at his eyes and feels the hollow breath rattle in his chest, bracing his fists on the metal edge that ropes around in front of him. he breathes out, clenching his fists open and close. the split knuckles burn.

ㅤㅤ" you already know what happened, 'm sure, " they mumble, dropping their gaze to their feet. " punching some mercher's relative is the type of news that runs through a crowd like fire. " they scratch at their nose, rub the back of their neck, fidget back and forth with the ring on their index. "it's just - fuck, inej, he was - he had a hand in digging up things near my home. and there was this well, and - "

ㅤㅤshe cuts herself off, glancing up towards inej. inej's face is not judgmental, but open, and something about it puts a balm over her heart. " if it were you and he dug up a place near your home, would you have - ? "

[ragedagainst]

@taitropa , continued from here !

the dregs are, in many ways, just like the partisans had been at their peak ( before saw had left jyn behind with only a ration pack and a pistol ). small, relatively close ranks, and, for the most part, loyal to each other. there's a part of her that's envious of the relationships they have with each other, the close affection inej has for jesper and nina, and even kaz reminds her a bit too much of what she'd had and what she'd lost. ( for a few seconds, when she's reminded of those years absently, she remembers maia, codo, magva, and saw fondly, warmth expanding outward from underneath her ribcage. and then, when the realization sets in, the reminder of what had truly happened, it all crumbles away. )

navigating through the busy streets of os kervo with a pirate captain at her side, the easy, low stakes camaraderie she has with the other woman is an echo of what she'd once had, but it'll never be more than that. she's spent long years ensuring that her walls stand tall and impenetrable. years ago, she'd have agreed to inej's offer eagerly, looking for anything to ease the sting of saw's betrayal ; now, she deflects the offer with only the barest passing of regret.

" i don't think you'd particularly enjoy having me on your ship full time, wraith, " jyn replies with a flash of teeth, but her words come easy, almost teasing. for all the respect she has for inej and the life she's created for herself, jyn doesn't think she'd enjoy spending weeks on end trapped on a tiny ship. " though, by the looks of it, you might need the extra muscle. some of these merchants look as if they want to take you down in the middle of the street. "

[queenwolf]

❝ It's very hard to believe something when it feels like the whole world is trying to convince you otherwise. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—ㅤA STUDY IN DROWNING. (accepting!)

The  prow  of  the  Wraith  disappears  against  the  black  of  the  horizon  now  that  night  has  cast  across  the  sky.    Set  against  the  dark  like  this,    the  ship  suits  its  name  just  as  much  as  its  captain.    Allison  casts  a  watchful  eye  on  that  endless  pitch  in  the  distance  from  her  place  beside  the  wheel;    at  her  side,    Inej  has  locked  the  direction  into  place,    but  holds  steady  at  the  command.    The  crew  sleeps  below  and  all  is  quiet  save  the  wood  creaking,    the  water  cut  through  by  the  keel.

They  have  said  little,    yet  so  much,    tonight.    It  had  gone  silent  between  them  for  long  enough  that  Allison  is  forced  to  think  back  on  what  last  was  said,    if  she  spoke  at  all  and  if  it  was  anything  of  much  worth.    Something  about  faith.    Something  about  the  heart.    Allison’s  is  a  steady  thrum  in  her  chest,    a  rhythm  set  in  tandem  with  the  waves  all  around  and  just  that  constant.    Above,    the  moon  is  hidden  but  full  of  milky  light  where  it  is  tucked  behind  the  clouds.

❝    I  know  few  who  compare  to  your  steadfastness.    ❞  Allison  smiles  at  her  companion  beside  her  and  suddenly  it  is  no  longer  quite  so  dark.    That  lunar  light  spills  between  them  when  Allison  reveals  her  teeth.    ❝    Has  it  not  been  you  yourself  who  has  turned  even  the  most  hardened  of  hearts  into  something  tender?    ❞  There  is  the  length  of  a  strip  of  wood  or  two  between  them  and  Allison  doesn’t  dare  cut  into  Inej’s  space,    but  she  considers  it  for  only  a  moment.    Instead,    she  softens  her  smile;    she  won’t  dull  her  teeth  though,    not  when  @taitropa  bears  such  sharp  knives  herself.    ❝    What  is  this  foul  mood?    Have  you  been  at  sea  too  long,    Captain?    ❞

[handirtys]

a little touch of heavenly light... for @taitropa <3

[batgeance]

Those  twin  daggers  glint  in  the  darkness.    They’re  the  only  thing  that  really  give  her  away,    swathed  as  she  is  in  the  shadows.    The  Bat  can  barely  glimpse  her,    having  only  managed  it  when  he’d  cut  off  her  own  pursuit  of  the  target  he’d  been  tailing  a  block  previously,    but  that  flashing  shine  adjusts  his  eyes  at  least  to  her  outline.    It’s  still  too  dark  to  scan  her  face  for  recognition  with  his  contact  lenses  and  from  what  he  can  tell,    something’s  covering  her  from the nose down  anyway.

Vengeance  rotates  his  jaw  amidst  the  swell  of  irritation  rising  in  him.    It  isn’t  the  first  time  he’s  got  competition  for  a  lead,    but  it  never  gets  any  easier  to  put  up  with  it.    The  Detective  takes  a  step  closer  even  in  spite  of  her  defensive  stance;    this  only  inspires  her  to  lift  one  knife  higher  in  threat  and  stalls  his  advancing  temporarily.    He’s  still  trying  to  get  his  facial  recognition  to  kick  in.

❝    I’m  not  asking.    ❞  The  Batman  has  stopped  closing  in  on  her,    but  he  holds  his  ground.    Around  them,    Gotham  has  a  heartbeat  and  steadily  breathes  those  noxious  fumes  into  the  air.    This  rooftop  isn’t  very  high  when  built  amongst  bigger  rises;    Wayne  Tower  isn’t  visible  over  the  top  of  the  apartment  complex  to  his  right  though  he  knows  he’d  glimpse  it  if  they  vaulted  to  that  roof  instead.    She  doesn’t  move  anymore  and  it’s  impossibly  eerie  just  how  still  she  is.    Maybe  that’s  why  his  lenses  can’t  seem  to  lock  onto  her.    How  could  they  recognize  someone  who  isn’t  there?

The  Batman  shifts  on  the  balls  of  his  feet  and  raises  his  own  fists.    Knifes  are  easy  to  deflect.    Easy  to  take,    too.    Donning  the  cowl  is  always  assuming  that  risk  and  he  does  it  now  after  so  many  times  having  already  calculated  the  odds  thousands  of  times.    The  woman  in  the  pitch  of  Gotham  doesn’t  so  much  as  flinch  when  he  widens  his  stance.    Something  about  that  irks  him.    ❝    You  in  a  big  rush  to  catch  up  with  him?    Partners?    ❞

“Go look another way”

Truthfully she hates this city. She hates it as much as she hated the last city, the crawling wet backstreets of these terrible places with their terrible people, all hungry for whatever sin appears more delicious than the last. There is no feeding such a beast, these living breathing entities that wear the face of both commerce and crime. Greed bows to no one and nothing, but welcomes and devours all who bow to it, no matter what Kaz says.

And yet as much as she hates it, she blends so seamlessly within. Gotham’s shadows are as welcoming to the Wraith as any other city thriving best in the dark. Whatever height the tallest building here thinks it claims, Inej Ghafa would strike it down and go far higher. There is none to contest her yet and none there ever shall be, if she has any say about it. And she does.

The figure opposite her opposes all light. The Batman regards her with such animosity, she might have believed herself the object of his nightscape had they not been tailing the same target. Who, much to both of their frustration, has escaped out of range for now. He clearly places the blame on her, but Inej knows better. After all, she isn’t the one with the telling profile. No one spies the Wraith and it’s only because he has ruined her job that she allows him to do so.

“You are mistaken if you think you can deter me from my path.” Inej bends her knees until she is half squatting, pulling twin ring daggers from their sheaths flush against her belly. She has two fingers slid into the open handles, the blades tucked flat against her palms as she lifts her fists. It looks almost defensive except for the threat of those knives. “I’m certain that I saw him first.”

🔪 UNREAL UNEARTH PROMPTS.

[yaburnaee]

[ 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ] : sender is expressing anger over receiver's constant recklessness. but reverse for binsa and neems!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ— FOR YOU I WOULD ( accepting! )

There  is  a  river  nestled  on  the  sparse  treeline  separating  the  Rietveld  property  from  the  wilds  of  the  country.    The  next  closest  family  is  two  kilometers  away,    wheat  farmers  with  a  sizeable  amount  of  oil  in  the  ground  that  the  local  government  hasn’t  a  clue  sits  there  but  which  Kaz,    ever  the  businessman,    has  already  noted  for  future  use.    The  river  isn’t  actually  much  of  a  river  at  all,    but  a  stream  that  freezes  over  early  in  the  winters.    The  water  is  waist  -  deep  if  Kaz  was  to  wade  into  the  water,    but  truthfully  he  rarely  pays  it  any  mind.    He  should  have.

The  treeline  is  visible  from  the  house,    if  not  the  water,    clearer  still  from  the  edge  of  the  yard  and  better  yet  from  the  profile  of  the  orchard.    The  air  is  wet  with  the  scent  of  apple  blossoms  and  Inej’s  flowering  garden,    and  Kaz  is  taking  his  time  trudging  toward  the  trees  fattening  with  fruit  when  he  sees  them.    He  really  should  have  minded  the  damn  stream.

Terror  is  the  wet  -  slick  slide  of  skin  against  the  back  of  his  neck.    Kaz  feels  those  long  -  dead  hands  on  his  shirtsleeves  before  he  can  register  that  he’s  dropped  his  cane.    He’s  running  without  care  for  the    pain  to  his  hips,    the  sharp  revolt  of  his  poorly  -  healed  bones.    It’s  so  rare  lately  that  he  is  swallowing  saltwater  that  he  doesn’t  know  it’s  filling  his  chest  until  he  realizes  that  he’s  shouting around the diluge,    the  rasp  of  his  voice  splitting  the  stillness  of  the  country  air  and  disturbing  the  sheep  he  passes  on  his  way  across  the  fields.

Nirmala  hears  him  first,    fear  so  foreign  in  her  wide  eyes  that  Kaz  stumbles  only  once  with  the  blip  in  his  adrenaline.    She’s  half  hauling  her  sister  from  the  water  when  her  father  clears  the  tall  grass  and  snarls,    ❝    Ga  weg!    Ga  weg!    ❞  Binsa  squeaks  a  shocked  protest  when  he  closes  his  hand  around  her  arm,    Kaz  having  splashed  through  to  his  shins  to  reach  them  both,    but  he  doesn’t  hear  it.    He’s  submerged,    too.    He’s  face  down  in  the  water  and  inhaling  the  harbour  by  the  lungfuls.

❝    Have  you  lost  your  fucking  mind?    Ga  weg,    ❞  this,    he  snaps  directly  to  Nirmala,    who  follows  him  out  of  the  water  with  a  wariness  he  hasn’t  seen  in  near  a  decade.    She’d  only  ever  been  timid  in  the city,    unsure  of  her  place  only  so  long  as  Kaz  was  at  odds  with  Inej  over  the  girl’s  permanence  in  their  lives.    Now  she  looks  at  him  with  such  distrust,    he  will  recall  it  with  weighted  remorse  for  weeks  to  come.    But  not  yet.    Right  now,    Jordie’s  at  his  shoulder  and  laughing  in  his  ear.

❝    Baba,    ❞  pleads  Binsa,    her  wet  little  fingers  clawing  at  the  shackle  of  his  own  hand  wrapped  a  little  too  tight  around  her  bicep.    ❝    Baba,    why–    ❞

❝    Stay  out  of  the  water!    ❞  The  girls  have  never  met  Dirtyhands  before  and  Nirmala  is  the  only  one  who  knows  Kaz  Brekker.    The  flashes  of  both  ghosts  cut  his  face  grim  and  feral,    the  corners  of  his  mouth  no  longer  softened  the  way  they  alone  know  very  well,    and  it’s  that  dissonance  that  startles  them  both  into  fearful  silence  now.    They  do  not  know  this  version  of  Baba.    ❝    Do  you  hear  me?    What  the  hell  were  you  thinking,    Nirmala?    Bringing  your  sister  here  when  you  should  know  better–    You  are  supposed  to  protect  her,    you  are–  ❞

❝    Kaz.    ❞  Inej’s  voice  cuts  into  the  tension  so  sharply,    she  might  as  well  have  used  one  of  her  knives.    Binsa  whimpers  for  her  mother  and  only  then,    only  then,    does  Kaz  remove  his  hand.    Only  then  does  he  flinch  away  from  both  girls,    stalking  down  the  grassy  shoreline  and  fighting  back  bile  with  the  bared  grit  of  his  teeth.    Vaguely,    he  hears  @taitropa  speaking  soothingly  to  their  children,    but  he  does  not  turn  to  look  at  them.    Snippets  of,    ❝    Hush  now,    ❞  and,    ❝    I  know,    I  know,    ❞  and,    ❝    Are  you  hurt,    chhori?    ❞  cut  through  his  panic.    When  Binsa  says  tearfully,    ❝    Baba  said  bad  words,    ❞  he  breaks  from  the  scene  and  starts  back  toward  the  house  in  an  effort  to  calm  down.

[yaburnaee]

❛ i didn’t realise i was still afraid. ❜ for specht!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—ㅤMABEL ( accepting! )

The  sea  has  a  funny  habit  of  drawing  time  out  of  its  constraint.    There  is  no  such  thing  as  today  or  tomorrow  when  the  ocean  is  in  charge  and  no  pirate,    deified  or  otherwise,    can  defy  her.    The  Wraith  parts  the  waters  clean  and  smooth,    but  she  has  no  bearing  on  what  a  storm  might  do  to  her  direction.    Inej’s  crew  finds  this  out  the  hard  way,    fresh  ruthlessness  giving  them  new  destruction  with  every  new  journey;    they  are  a  young  bunch,    hand  -  picked  by  the  captain  with  the  help  of  Specht  himself,    but  none  of  them  new  to  salt  winds  and  tying  up  sails  if  the  job  called  for  it.    These  are  all  ocean  -  bred  creatures,    even  if  Ketterdam  had  claimed  them  for  a  spell.

❝    Aye,    ❞  says  her  first  mate  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes  that  smacks  of  fond  amusement.    @taitropa  stands  proud  at  the  wheel,    but  there  is  a  gloom  about  her  shoulders  that  keeps  them  drawn  tight.    She  carries  herself  as  the  water  does,    as  if  she  too  were  born  for  little  else  but  the  freedom  that  the  sea  might  give  to  those  worthy  of  it.    What  he’s  seen  of  her  leadership  thus  far  only  proves  that  there  are  none  so  deserving  as  Inej  Ghafa.

Specht  ties  knots  with  ease  where  he  perches  on  the  wide  wooden  railing  bolstering  the  quarterdeck.    From  this  position,    he  spies  only  her  profile  which  gives  nothing  away  so  much  as  her  posture.    She’s  a  hard  one  to  understand,    his  captain,    but  they’ve  had  time  enough  to  begin  learning one another as crewmates of both a ship and a gang.    ❝    S’all  part  of  the  job,    I’d  say.    ❞  Specht  folds  a  wad  of  chewing  jurda  from in  front  of  his  bottom  row  of  teeth  against  his  cheek  instead  to  better  speak.    ❝    Living,    I  mean.    For  what  it’s  worth,    none  of  these  idiots  know  any  better.    You’re  the  Scourge  of  the  True  Sea,    Captain,    and  they  all  believe  it.  ❞

[yaburnaee]

Binsa  is  napping  in  the  bed  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,    her  snores  almost  louder  than  the  wind  outside.    She’d  broken  a  fever  overnight  and  her  hair  is  coming  out  of  her  own  braid.    Wisps  of  black  tendrils  stick  to  her  forehead  as  if  stuck  there  with  paste.    Doubtless  Mama  will  wrestle  the  girl  into  a  bath  before  the  hour’s  up  and  go  through  this  same  ritual,    but  for  now  Nirmala  has  all  the  attention.    It’s  not  an  unusual  feat  except  that  Mama  will  leave  in  a  few  short  days.    Hence,    the  submission  to  hair  oiling  and  storytelling  riddled  with  hidden  messages. Well, that and Nirmala's own hidden agenda.

❝    Well,    she  probably  wanted  to  leave,    ❞  Nirmala  guesses  with  a  little  shrug  of  her  shoulders.    It  jostles  her  in  her  mother’s  hands  and  Inej  bumps  a  knee  to  the  back  of  her  arm  in  place  of  verbally  scolding  her  daughter.    Nirmala  sniffs  primly.    ❝    She  wanted  to  go  somewhere.    You  said.    It’s  obvious.    ❞  Nirmala  doesn’t  actually  know  if  it’s  really  obvious,    but  she  certainly  thinks  so.    Mama’s  stories  always  have  a  lesson  and  only  sometimes  can  Nirmala  and  Binsa  make  meaning  of  them.

Maybe  it’s  because  Nirmala  wants  something  herself  that  she  can  see  what  Mama  is  trying  to  say.    Or,    if  not  what  she’s  trying  to  say,    at  least  what  Nirmala  would  like  her  to  say  when  she  finally  plucks  up  the  courage  to  ask.    Desirous,    Mama  had  said.    Well,    Nirmala  really  wants  this.

❝    Is  this  a  Saint’s  story?    ❞  They’re  almost  always  Saint  stories.    In  her  bed,    Binsa  makes  a  snuffling  noise  and  rolls  over  with  a  sigh.    Nirmala  tries  to  peek  over  at  her  sister  without  turning  her  head,    but  the  strain  on  her  eyes  isn’t  worth  it.    Binsa  doesn’t  get  out  of  bed  so  she  must  be  alright  and  Mama  makes  no  move  to  go  to  her  either.    The  eldest  Rietveld  girl  hugs  her  knees  to  her  chest.    ❝    Why  do  all  Saint  stories  have  sad  endings?    ❞

The cold festers deeper than the bones. For broken bones not properly healed it is an agonizing affliction with an infection radius as large as this country property. Inej had determined Kaz’s poor mood as soon as she’d woken up and found his side of the bed long gone vacant. It’s impossible to get in the way of his morning ritual, but she usually has good luck delaying his walk to thieve a few extra hours of his warmth. But if he’s out of bed this early, he’s seen fit to make himself more miserable. She’s glad he doesn’t make the attempt up the stairs. For the sake of his leg and the bruise of his mood escalating if Nirmala were witness to it.

Her daughter bats her big cow eyes up at her mother and even upside down Inej is sure she’s never seen a better intimidation tactic. She simply wants a story, but Inej knows better than to underestimate her. After all if she’s asking her mother for a story rather than her father regardless of his mood, that’s cause for suspicion. And Nirmala Rietveld hates when Inej braids her hair. What are you up to, Shevrati?

“It means wanting,” Inej supplies. “Wanting something very much.” Nirmala’s hair is unruly even with the oil and Inej has to coax it into a single plait with painstaking patience. Every few strands requires that she pluck a twig or leaf from those Ghafa waves after the previous day’s adventures. Her mother shakes her head fondly each time.

“Now this girl on the shore was afraid but not so afraid that she dared not go. The fear did not outweigh the wanting. So she gathered her courage and swallowed that fear and off she went.” At the nape of Nirmala’s neck, Inej gathers the start of the braid in one hand and pokes her daughter’s shoulder until the girl looks back. “What do you think she wanted?”

[crowshoots]

ㅤㅤINEJ HAS A way of making one feel the silence. jesper usually hates it. their mind is not made to stand silence - it makes them antsy, gives time to their darker thoughts to crawl in through the cracks to exist in a space where they won't quite vanish underneath the thrum of jesper's pounding heart.

ㅤㅤit's not as terribly bad when inej is there for company. instead, it lingers, long but not uncomfortable. jesper nearly misses the start of her story. she says it so softly, so gently that it nearly blends in with the rest of the city. forever awake, ketterdam. jesper ends up abandoning his work on getting the blood out of his silver ring just so he can try and hear it all. he ends up turning his head just so he can watch her, and it means that jesper sees the expression on her face. it's not quite mournful. jesper doesn't know what it is.

ㅤㅤit only takes a few moments for the anger to return. anger suits jesper more than it does inej, but they keep it the same way she does: turned down low, away from everyone's sights. or, at least, he tries. he's always trying.

ㅤㅤ" saints, inej, that's... " jesper doesn't know what else to add, so he ends up looking towards the city. " is that - common? for the type of stuff you encounter out there? "

Inej goes contemplative. This quiet, she is again that silent specter she was handpicked to embody all that time, and so little time really, ago. Isn’t it funny how the things you lay to rest still find ways to haunt you? No matter how many times she prayed, there was no scrubbing her hands completely clean. It isn’t just returning to Kerch that reminds her. Being out there in the world gives her just as much clarity as it humbles her. Not that she wants for the memories. It’s just that she makes enough new ones these days all on her own.

“A few weeks ago,” Inej finally says and her voice is so soft that the breeze could lift it on wings into the smoggy sky, “we tracked a lead off the Wandering Isle. It took us months to find the ship. They called it The Mystic Lady. She was the largest we’ve pilfered so far.” Maybe that is something to be proud of. Her crew still boasts about the job without prompting even now on reprieve, shorelined and home safe. Inej just feels sick.

“Jes.” Her name is hushed. This is a secret, one that Inej cannot face her friend to share. Her knuckles are white on the railing in front of her now. “There were two dozen children on board. Twenty four children.” Beneath her sickness sits an anger that scares her. Anger doesn’t suit her. She leaves that to Barrel bosses and Crow kings. But it sits in her now, something new that is big, something new that she can’t quite navigate like the high rise or rooftops.

At last she looks at Jesper beside her. Her expression is muted but apologetic. “We didn’t leave anyone behind.” The children or a breathing crew. These two friends are skin only, nothing within them holding them up but the company they keep. At least there is comfort in knowing it isn’t so lonely doing these horrible things. She hopes so anyway. Inej smiles back and echoes Jesper’s emptiness in the gesture.  “I would have asked forgiveness when I was done with him.”

[crowshoots]

ㅤㅤhe'd felt it - in his chest, in his head, in the weight of his hands. jesper has spent time away from the barrel, but the barrel never quite leaves, not after so long. jesper stepped off that boat years ago as a boy, and ketterdam's done the same thing to him it does everyone else: it eats. he felt that urge, too: to break, to do more than hurt. that's what they learned on the streets: if you're not going to kill, maim. damage. ruin. in an attempt to comfort themself, jesper splays their hands over the metal railing, pushes their fingers hard against it. their skin catches between the spot of their rings and the railing and pinches. there's still bloody pulp on their rings that she hadn't managed to pick out just from a wash.

ㅤㅤmaybe it's the fact that it's inej. faithful, good inej, who's never done wrong except when it was needed. she offers him no judgement, no shame. it is the reassurance they need, and their shoulders fall a little from where they've bunched up. they try to use their nails to pick at the bit of dried blood that's still there on one ring.

ㅤㅤ" saints, maybe i should've done something more to him, then. might've been better for it, even if it did get me hauled off the premises. " jesper's smile flashes white in the dark, but it's hollow. then, tentatively: " what would've you done? "

On the other side of Ketterdam, far from the Barrel, sometimes you can pretend that it’s another world. Inej can understand, a little bit, how easy it is to hide behind a smoke screen and pretend that the other half of the city isn’t bathed in debt and suffering. She doesn’t forgive it, but she can see how those rosecolored glasses would soothe an ego.

Jesper is all nervous energy, something frenetic rattling around in their chest, and it’s a comfort that eases Inej as she joins him. There’s nothing in them that wants to harm her. That’s always been clear to her. Up here and alone, they are simply two friends who need each other. That’s enough for Inej today. There is nowhere to go and no one to pay and no leads to hunt (she is telling herself that there are no leads to hunt and for now she is choosing to believe it). Inej settles against the metal supports by her forearms, facing the sprawl of the Geldin District. She’s raced across these rooftops so many times, hundreds of times, and a few times even with the friend beside her. Her eyes betray nothing but warmth when she tilts her face to look at Jesper.

“I heard some people were hoping you broke his nose.” Of course she knows what happened. Officially, she is no longer the Wraith, but old habits die hard and stepping off the docks in Fifth Harbor is always an opportunity to prove to herself if no one else that she alone would hold such a title. She isn’t sure it would be a good idea to tell Jesper that the Barrel had been thrilled at her display of violence, too risky a chance at temptation would it be to remind him of his vacancy in the Dregs, so she keeps this to herself.

“He would be sorry.” It’s the truth. Inej has nothing else to give him at this moment. She smiles and jerks her chin just once, further assurance that she thinks they must need. “I would have made him sorry. What he did was wrong, Jes. It was wrong.”

[ragedagainst]

after saw had abandoned her, jyn had taken to wandering. as soon as she'd hitched a ride off of tamsye prime, she'd made a point to go to as many cities and continents as she could, though pointedly avoiding any areas with partisan activity. eventually, she'd spent a good chunk of that time in ketterdam ( with her skillset, it'd just made the most sense ), but os kervo is not entirely unfamiliar to her. even though she's never been to this particular marketplace before, she navigates between the stalls with the ease of a seasoned regular, keeping pace with inej.

at the other woman's easy hospitality, jyn raises an eyebrow, even if the corner of her mouth tugs up good-naturedly. she accepts the offer of a waffle –– an unusual indulgence for her –– though makes a point to place a stack of coins on the vendor's counter to cover her own. nothing comes for free, even something as simple as a waffle, and she doesn't like being in anyone's debt if she can help it. and, though not rich by any means, this is the first time in a while that she's been relatively stable financially.

inej's reputation is not exaggerated ; jyn's only seen the other woman in action briefly but that had been enough to prove most of rumors true. " i don't think you need me, " she replies easily, " not with those knives of yours. " from a brief once over, she can see more than five strapped to various places on inej's body, and knows that there's more she can't easily find. " –– but sure, wraith. you can count on me. " for now, anyway.

The further they stray from the sea, the less the waves tilt her legs. Inej finds ease in her gait across a steady foundation and lets the scents of the Ravkan market tempt her. They amble through several food stands now, fried skewers and vegetables proffered for taste testing, still-warm donuts stacked so high it would be difficult to purloin one without the whole lot of them toppling. A cart selling waffles stirs her incurable heartache, but not enough to chase her smile.

“I think you underestimate my hospitality,” counters Inej with a cheek-pocked grin of her own. Those dimples are indelible now that she is faced with food untouched by saltwater. She stops for the waffles and inquires of Jyn with a pointed lift of one thick brow should she want her own plate. Inej indulges if there is an affirmative and either way she asks for hers to be wrapped. Cutting through crowds in the likes of the Barrel has long taught her wariness, even in the less grimy Os Kervo.

“They can try.” She sounds chipper for having been all but threatened with only the presence of merchers benefitting from her death. Inej can feel every single knife tucked along her body and recites the names of them every time she makes eye contact with a lurker in the corners hoping to surprise her. It would be difficult to startle the Wraith. Her good humor is not unfounded. “I can count on you, then, if they do. Is that what you imply?”