[ After she set sail, he watched the ship make its way out of the harbor and out to sea, the shape of it becoming a dot on the horizon. It'd taken a while, even though the wind had been in their favor, and his leg had cramped up from remaining in one place for too long.
Eventually, he'd turned away and gone back to his work, feeling like he'd just lost a limb.
That hasn't dissipated over the time she's been gone. He works just as much as usual, if not more– he's got a whole Barrel to run, after all– avoiding sleep even if he knows it's not a good idea. It's too much when he finally does rest, mind jumbled with thoughts, one layering over another like someone's dropped a deck of cards. Sometimes, it's a memory on loop. Inej feeding the crows at his window, the sun catching half her body and the rest draped in shadow. The quiet tap of the crows feet as they hop along the sill. They show up still, like clockwork, and leave as soon as they know he isn't who they're looking for.
More often, he drifts off to sleep and wakes up in a rush, imagination filling in blanks as if it's been starved to. It's usual for a dream to start in the bathroom where he'd bandaged her and then the scene playing out differently, skewing from reality. He'll come to with the impression of her capable hands on his body, heart pounding, warm all over as though he's fevered.
The first month, he thinks maybe it'll get better. That some distance will do them both some good. Of course, that doesn't mean he gives up on trying to keep his promise; he goes for minutes, then hours, then a day without having his gloves on.
By the end of the second month, he's up to three days without the gloves and he's nearly given up the idea that his dreams are going to stop torturing him.
A runner nearly kicks down his office door halfway through the fifth month and before the girl can say anything, he knows exactly what it's about. It takes all of his self control not to sprint to the docks, to sit still and finish his Saints-forsaken paperwork. It feels like forever before he finally gauges it's been enough time for a ship to make its way from the outer edge of the harbor to its berth.
By the time he gets to berth 22, he's trailed behind an excited Jesper and Wylan, who look like they're ready to abscond with Inej. Their faces are lit up with joy and he suddenly feels like an intruder. After all, nothing can prepare him for the shock of seeing her after so long, skin darker and smile brighter, freer. Heart stuck in his throat, he stays right where he is, bare hands white knuckled on top of his cane. ]
[Of course he doesn't rush to her. Maybe the storybooks would find it more romantic if he had, but she's learned him more by now. Learned how he works, though she doesn't dream she understands all of him just yet. And she knows, now, that he arrives slowly because he can't bear to be vulnerable and arrive early; that while Wylan and Jesper can grab her arms and babble about the latest news, it takes so much courage for him to even show up.
But he shows up. And her heart aches for it. For him.
The boys talk, and she adores hearing their news, because she missed them as well. But her gaze is caught by Kaz, and after a time, Jesper makes an excuse and drags Wylan off. They'll meet later, they tell her, for drinks and talks that will last all night.
And then it's them, and Inej smiles. Soft, but not shy.
He doesn't have his gloves on, she notices suddenly, and her heart swells even further.]
I missed you.
[Oh, there it is. Offered freely, because five months has given her, if not a new look on life, at least a sharp confidence of her own. She isn't his Wraith any longer. She's her own captain, and this is a meeting of equals.]
[ He's willing to wait. In fact, he needs the time to simply soak her in, something like a ghost come back into the flesh. Five and a half months is nothing in the grand scheme of things and yet, it had felt like a lifetime. They'd been around each other nearly every day for two years.
And maybe, he's still processing that she came back at all. Logic said she would– she has ties here, even if Ketterdam had only been a temporary stop in her life. But some part of him had been afraid she wouldn't be back, that she'd find something else out there that gave her all the fulfillment she needed.
She's here though, and Wylan is gently tugging at Jesper's sleeve, the latter finally dragging away with what sounds like promises to meet later.
It takes him a second to find any words at all. ]
Welcome back, Captain. [ I missed you so much I thought I would suffocate. ] I've heard some stories.
[She wants to hear of him. Of Ketterdam, and how he's changed it. She knows he has. She hasn't the faintest idea how, but she's faith enough in him to know he's done what's right. She wouldn't have come back if she'd had her doubts.
She takes a step towards him, and then another. Not too close, not something intimate, but a prelude to that, perhaps.]
[ The years have seen him shedding armor, piece by piece, past falling away and put where it belongs. He'll never be rid of them, not entirely—the deceased write their names in your bones—but he's no longer pulled in the undertow by their greedy hands.
No, now he can walk through the Barrel with his hands bared without the fear of fainting because someone's jostled him by accident. Just earlier, he'd shaken hands with one of the council members, barely even registering the contact. Something more prolonged has him thinking of the harbor, but the water no longer rises above his ankles these days; easy to ignore.
Inej has worked through her own past in much the same way. In stages, with them both pushing where they could, when they could. Their frequent distance helps, oddly enough, because it means they have to soak up the physical contact when the time allows. Before she goes back off to sea, leaving a bloody trail of slavers in her wake.
There's also the fact they've moved away from the Slat, both of them out growing it. Her room had been filled shortly after she'd first left, years ago, and he eventually needed more space than the boarding house would allow for. Their own place has no prying eyes, no possibility of being startled by a sudden noise down the hall or the raucous laughter floating up from the bar. She surprised him once, about a year ago, by putting up bright curtains and decorations, shelves looking less empty with things she'd collected from her time abroad.
Now it feels less like they're masquerading as normal. This is their reality: she's back for now, having decided to spend the worst weeks of winter in Ketterdam instead of sailing. Parts of the harbor have sheets of ice floating on the water and Specht had looked pained when she'd asked him if it would be advisable to sail around them.
(Kaz owes him, despite the man having done nothing besides tell the truth).
They're settling in for the night, wind blowing against the shutters in noisy gusts. It's warm in the room, but he still fiddles dubiously with the buttons on his vest, as if worried the chill outside will more firmly make its way in. ]
[The days have gotten easier and easier. She still kills. She doubts that will change any time soon. There's still a lot of blood to pay, and she's collecting, surely but slowly. There's a harder edge to her when she's Captain Ghafa, but here...
Here, she can just be Inej. It's warm enough in the house (Kaz had made sure that the house was warm and dry, a retreat for both of them) that she's wearing a tank top and with bare feet, hair down and falling in shiny black waves around her shoulders. She's comfortable. She has has no reason to be on her toes here.]
I kind of wanted to, [she admits sheepishly.] But I'm glad we've waited. Safer for the crew.
[It also gives her a chance to see him for a while. Kaz, who's grown so much, who's proven so much to her in their visits. It makes her greedy, makes her want to take and take more of him. Which isn't as hard nowadays as it used to be. She watches him now, with a gleam in her eye, one that must be familiar to him by now, with how often they've tried to get further.] You know, you don't have to be dressed to the nines when we're relaxing. I wouldn't judge you for an undershirt. [She glances over at him, considering, then adds:] Or less.
[She returns to reading the same sentence over again in the book she's been trying to read for the last twenty minutes, her lips quirked up.]
I know. [ It's become her life, after all. A dream realized. Tilting his head, he quirks a smile her way, suddenly amused. ] Just think of how tough a time potential slavers are having.
[ Dreadful.
He moves away from the window, shedding his vest as he goes, hanging it off the back of a chair. Her comment doesn't exactly surprise him, but there's still a little thrill that goes through him every time she's feeling bold enough to give those thoughts a voice. ]
Force of habit. [ Kaz shrugs, looking about as sheepish as he ever gets. That quickly changes, though, hands stilling right over the button on his pants. ] How much less?
[Her smirk turns into a grin, amused. Kaz relaxing and joking around with her was a precious gift that she always cherished.
She watches him strip, her grin cooling and her expression turning possessive. Hungry. Her eyes follow his slender fingers to the button on his pants.]
All of it, [she says, voice a little breathless as she sits up in her chair.]
[ In order to make Sanguis' cycle more manageable, both he and Matthias have agreed that something more pre-emptive would be best. Instead of being at the whims of the moon, instead of waiting for someone to hit the exact wrong nerve, they take the extra energy out on each other. It had taken some planning and a few failed attempts—mostly in being at the wrong venues—but they've worked out a schedule.
Which is what leads them here, to the grove.
Here, there's space to think and less of a possibility of encountering other people. Just them, the pulse of Sanguis, and maybe some ill-advised fighting. Really, it's sparring. Or should be, but they're a little too worked up to be truly pulling their punches.
And it might've also devolved into rolling around brawling. Very unseemly and extremely reminiscent of his early fights in the Barrel. Kaz has long tossed his cane off to the side and is currently attempting to keep Matthias from pinning him. His elbow comes up, pressing to Matthias' collarbone, making an annoyed grunt at the resistance. ]
[Matthias does not fight the way he was taught as a drüskelle. He fights the way he taught himself in Hellgate, built on that solid foundation his training had provided. Military precision pairs with brute force, and through it pushes animal rage that grows wilder with every blow. He has already amassed a collection of bruises scattered haphazard over his body. Blooming over his ribs and reddening his cheek. The howling in his veins pushes the ache to the edges of his awareness, though, as it pushes all of him into fighting for dominance.
And with every smack of his knuckles against Kaz — every brush of their bodies that results from a block or a miss — comes that little crackle of chroma. It enlivens his skin, leaves him hungry for the next hit.
When Kaz's elbow collides with his collarbone, Matthias leans back to lessen the impact. He grabs at the opposite arm, aiming to force it to the ground — and if he succeeds, he'll be quick to follow with his knee pressing down on the bend of Kaz's elbow. Aiming to crack it open like a shellfish to lay his other arm flat.]
[ He knows enough by now what to expect. Knows how much Sanguis takes over and how Matthias uses all of his experience in their little tussles. This isn't just the Matthias who had trained in military precision, but the one that survived Hellgate. It's in the brutality of movement, how much he aims to leave him hurting enough that he won't get back up.
Suffice to say, he's glad he got his fighting education in the Barrel, where that sort of fighting is the only language it spoke. Otherwise, he wouldn't be doing half as well. Which is already saying something, because he can feel the bruising on his ribs and cheek, the sharp pain of his split lip. The injuries are dulled by the adrenaline, but he knows he'll feel it when it wears off.
For now, he focuses on keeping Matthias from snapping his arm, using the changed weight to slide his forearm from his collarbone to his neck and giving a shove. Oddly, he notes how the warmth from his exposed neck seeps through his shirt, feels that trickle of chroma add to the pooling amount. ]
[ Inej sets sail a month after she gets her ship. It's a hectic month, full of preparation, pulling her crew together, learning as much about sailing as possible in a short amount of time. Specht fills in the gaps and soon enough, Kaz is at the end of berth 22, watching as the ship makes its way out to the True Sea.
Nearly a year passes with somewhat frequent visits. She stops in whenever she's near Ketterdam, sometimes staying only a few days before taking off again. Kaz slowly but surely sheds his armor and by the time a year has almost passed, he can go without his gloves every day.
(Usually he wears them anyway, for effect).
In the same time, they've kept in contact with Nina when they could. Well, more like Inej does and Kaz listens to the updates. He'd written once, a brief message about business he'd heard from Ravka. There hadn't been a response, but he hadn't expected one. Business was business. And Inej was the one that had forged the emotional connection. Though maybe, just maybe, he worries about Nina sometimes. The memory of her stricken face won't shake away; Matthias' death had taken its toll.
Still, he isn't expecting her to show up in Ketterdam. Inej had given him a heads up that she'd be bringing her along, but it's still a surprise. He doesn't ask why she's here and neither her nor Inej give any reason, though he has his suspicions. Whatever the case, he gets her set up at the Slat, in one of the quieter rooms, so she doesn't have to hear the younger gang members carousing into the night.
Her arrival had been a few weeks ago now. Inej departed again shortly after dropping her off, with instructions to not kill each other. They haven't even sniped too hard at each other, at this point. It feels like the whole rhythm of their relationship has been tilted. Which is why he's here, in front of her door, knocking lightly. She isn't beholden to him anymore, but he at least wants to see if this possible scheme is of any interest. ]
[ Ketterdam, he thinks, brings out the worst in people. Or perhaps it’s just revealing their true natures, the ugly things that people like to hide under their skin, the things they keep from significant others, from friends or family. If someone comes in thinking they’re pure, they’ll learn better, soon enough.
He knows he learned that lesson early on. Learned how to speak the language of violence and the tinkling of coins, the rustle of kruge. Hollowed out whatever was left of that naive boy who’d come from Lij, thinking the city was a dazzling oasis, full of opportunity. Now he’s something else, something with a cruel edge who doesn’t believe in anything but money and his ability to keep the Dregs in it.
Which is what he’s keeping an eye on right now. It’s not too late into the night and the Crow Club is busy, tables full of eager hands and the room echoing with raucous conversation. One table in particular has been the source of entertainment for a couple of hours, ever since that one young man had stepped in– brunette, tired around the eyes, the tilt of his mouth that meant trouble. He’d been right, of course, because that young man’s hands were just a little too clever. Kaz has let it go to keep the others losing. And to keep the crowd interested, because everyone loves to see a winner against the house.
He checks his watch and decides it’s gone on just long enough, nodding to the dealer. Soon enough, the young man will be escorted to his office and they’ll have a friendly chat. Kaz steps off the floor to said office, not bothering to sit at his desk. ]
[ There are worse things, probably than falling into a mirror like you're Alice in Wonderland. Having Penny fall in with you, he thinks--that's certainly worse.
There's a lot that can be worse. Quentin isn't usually an optimist, but he supposes he has two options--he can sit and sulk and starve to death or he can force himself to do something.
(if he's being honest, this place is kind of like a Steampunk Fillory. He should be excited, he thinks--a new world, far away from whatever New York was--but instead he's just panicking. He's not even looking for a way back, yet, he's just trying to survive.
Quentin Coldwater has been in Ketterdamn a grand total of one and a half days and he has learned three things. One, there are no Magicians, or at the very least no identifiable marks of them. Two, his Brakebills Uniform (which he hates) at least helps him half-fit in and three, his Dutch is fucking awful. He can get by, but it's rusty and he speaks slower than he likes and it's not like Brakebills teaches you anything beyond the archaic shit that's used for spells. Quentin's just lucky he's big on Germanic languages. Probably because he taught himself Elvish when he was 12.
The fact of the matter is that he's in a fucked up world when he should be, realistically, studying to skip a year at Brakebills. He asks a few questions when he can, and eventually realizes he's going to have to make some money if he wants to get anywhere.
Gambling, at least, is the same in every language. Gambling with cards is the same no matter what: count the system, palm cards, produce others, and don't get caught. And Quentin, he's good at it--he needs the confidence boost, really--and he spends half of the day winning. Like, a lot.
He's drunk on power and also sort of drunk in general when he's called to an office. Big Scary Office, all capitals, like it's something out of a Guy Richie movie. Quentin, stooping so his 6'3" frame is just a little shorter, has half of his hair hiding his face. ]
Are you going to give me detention?
[ He should probably keep his mouth shut, but he's running on 3 power naps in alleyways and no food. He's tired, and maybe a little cranky, and definitely annoyed at himself for getting caught. ]
[ When the young man comes in, he’s able to get a better read on him. Kaz takes those few seconds to look him over from head to toe, expression impassive. Truthfully, he doesn’t look like much, but he knows that’s no reason to write him off. Plenty of Grisha look like snappable twigs but their power says otherwise.
For now, he’ll catalogue the facts: he’s tall, taller than Kaz by at least a few inches. The hair in his face is either a fashion statement or something indicative of esteem problems. His suit is... unusual. Not completely out of place, but he isn’t sure he’s seen the cut of it before. Some new fad? An old one he’s trying to bring back?
Whatever the case, the smart remark brings his attention back and Kaz arches an eyebrow. Clearly, someone is new around here. ]
I was going to give you some advice, but now I’m considering breaking your fingers for cheating under my roof.
[ They've been sharing a bed for a while now. It took him what felt like years to get used to it, to the weight on the other side and the surprising amount of warmth she put off in the middle of the night. That first year, he shied away when he got too close by accident, heart feeling like it was about to come up through his throat.
All those feelings of nervousness have dissipated and changed; now he finds himself moving towards her while they're sleeping. Well, and when they're awake— as if his whole axis tilted, priorities shifting with it. Before, he would do anything to get out of bed as quickly as possible to start the day, exhaustion meaningless in the face of work (and revenge). He still keeps the irregular hours, because that's not likely to ever change, but he can't say he's exactly eager to leave bed anymore.
Not with Inej curled close as she is, her neat braid coming undone from the toss of sleep. His one arm is numb where it rests under her pillow but he has no intention of moving it just yet. She's just. So comfortable looking? It also gives him the excuse to turn closer towards her in an attempt to get some feeling back in his limb. He presses up along her back, face tilted down towards the unfurling braid. She still never carries a strong scent, but it's there, under the more perfumed shampoo she's taken to using.
Really, he should get up, there's a lot to do. But now he can't stop glancing down to the curve of her legs, remembering the flex when she scales up a sheer wall. It's distracting. ]
[There is no question in her mind that sharing a bed is something that they've fallen into purely because it's convenient and practical. They can share warmth this way; in the event of some sort of attack there's no need to worry about finding each other if all she has to do is reach out and grab his shoulder.
It's practical. Kaz Brekker is not someone that Inej ever has to be concerned about sleeping beside. She knows that.
She knows, but there are nights when Kaz is the first one in bed and she's the one to slide in beside him, to wake him just enough that he rolls towards her while still half asleep, curving toward her body without touching her to welcome her into bed in his own distant way, like he was waiting for the secure weight of her to even out the bed and put him to rights.
There are nights when he's the last one in and she wakes to feel him squeezing in too close for it to be mistakable, when she feels the brush of his nose ruffling her hair and the faintest intake of breath like he's making sure she hasn't changed, is still the same Inej he said goodnight to hours before. It makes her think of the things Nina has claimed to see, the things that Kaz himself has said that she chose to believe weren't as deep as they sounded. It's those nights that she lays there as still as she can, breathing still even, a perfectly convincing show of still being asleep, that she wishes he would just put his arm over her. That his hand would find her hip, that his lips would touch her neck, that he would say her name and help her turn to face him and-
But she buries all of that down every time because he's Kaz Brekker and she knows better. She's his spider, his Wraith. Her feelings, whatever they are, are her own. Wishing is pointless.
Now, though, she isn't feigning sleep. In the half-light of morning she's kicked her covers off because even in the sleeveless shirt and light sleeping shorts she's taken to wearing as her pajamas, she's overly warm. It's odd for her to feel that way when she's so used to being cold, but there's a flush on her skin, a heat burning under it, a sweeter scent. As though she can sense his attention, her body shifts to meet his as he moves, her back resting gently against his chest and her legs curling up, the curve of her ass nudging just a little closer to where distraction might be an understatement.]
[ He senses her wakefulness before she moves. Really, he isn't sure how, has never been able to pinpoint why he knows these subtle things about her. No one else seems to be able to sense Inej when she's trying to keep hidden, but he always knows. Maybe it has something to do with growing up the way he did.
(Who is he kidding? No one will ever be as painfully and desperately aware of Inej as he will, past or not).
She seems to delight in that fact. And has no problem using it against him, as she does right now, pushing the fold. There's no way her movement is a mistake, not with how purposefully she presses herself back, the curve of her ass fitted right near his hips. Kaz feels a flare of warmth in his chest and returns the gesture by settling his other hand on her waist. Everything he's ever bottled feels like it's going to come right up, enough that it has him shakily sighing out against the curl of her hair.
Nerves jangling, he slides his hand further down to her hip, fingers flaring to span towards her ass. ]
[ He gets the missive halfway through the day– The Wraith’s sails had been spotted out on Ketterdam’s horizon. The word puts an itch under his skin that he can’t shake, no matter how much he tries to keep concentrating on his work. And there’s just so much of it anymore; ever since he’d assumed control of the Dregs a few years ago, the work piles on and on. It never seems to matter how much he delegates, he still ends up with a chaotic pile of papers on his desk that won’t shrink.
(Truthfully, it’s a good thing. Business is up and thriving, which means he can probably look at expansion again).
So, he ends up uselessly shuffling papers, achieving almost nothing in the process. Annoyed, he scrawls out a to do list and pins it to the least precarious looking stack and then promptly decides he’s done for the day. A glance at his watch tells him he’s wasted enough time to make it to the harbor before she docks and that sends a warm hum through him.
Before, he never met her directly. Tried to keep from being seen together so much. She’d been cut loose to live her own life, she didn’t need his shadow looming over the bright path she was sure to make. Now though, he’s less concerned with dirtying her reputation. People know who she is and what she’s done; they’re their own, now. She isn’t Brekker’s little Wraith and hasn’t been for what feels like a long while. And he’s... well, he’s still Dirtyhands, though there’s been a shift in what sorts of jobs he’ll take up.
Either way, it doesn’t matter, because when he stands at the end of the dock waiting for her to disembark, they’re just going to be Kaz and Inej. ]
( docking takes time. a protocol sequence, measured by the sum of its parts and their willingness to help out. it'd certainly go quicker if inej stuck around to empty their cargo, but —
by the time anyone thinks to look for her, she's already gone. and by the time the bridge lowers itself at kaz's feet with a resounding thunk, and dark haired beauty makes his way towards him.
it's a burly looking man known only by the name drowned rat.
in actuality inej was the first off the ship about two minutes prior, taking a loose swing on a wayward rope and landing on a secondary pier, flighty and breathless, walking it off effortlessly enough that no one suspects any the wiser. she watches him, one pier away on her walk down — sturdy shoulders ever weighed with whatever stressor is currently bothering him, stark black against the mucky waters, pale skin almost illuminating the nearby air. no one sees kaz this way, really. bright, radiating, with his own orbit inej can't help but get stuck in rotation. it's been too long since she's seen him.
footsteps light as ever, she pads behind him, swinging her braid over her shoulder. she blows her own cover, clearing her throat. )
You look lost, sailor. ( grinning, she slinks around him, hand on her popped out hip. ) Well, well. The Dirtyhands of Ketterdam — you didn't come all this way for me, did you?
( she laughs lightly, hovering near him but not near enough to touch, turning her chin up either defiantly ... or imploringly. )
Actually, I don't feel like being cute right now. Let's just go home, hm? I've been without certain luxuries for too long.
[ When the first person he sees is Drowned Rat, he knows she’s gone somewhere else. He’d thought while she was on the seas that she’d lose some of that acrobatic flair without so many buildings to leap across, but the years have taught him that she’s as flexible and sure footed as ever. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d leapt straight off the port side to one of the other docks on their slow approach in.
He’s partway through idly calculating the angle and distance while wondering if she’s skated off to Wylan’s when he feels a familiar presence. It’s a welcome weight between his shoulders, as though someone’s placed a palm directly there. He lets her have her fun, mouth slanted up in amusement as she sidles up, grin lighting up her face.
(His heart skips a quiet beat, happiness bubbling up enough to make that smile reach his eyes). ]
Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? Sailing all over and you came here of all places. [ No, he’s never going to be over how much that means. ]
After you, captain. [ Kaz gestures with his cane, falling somewhat in step with her as they head off. ] I heard your count was three this time.
[ Three slaver ships, all of whom learned a valuable and deadly lesson. ]
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I'm not scrapping it just because you can't get your contacts air tight.
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If she blabs and tips the pigeons off, I'm breaking her fingers.
[ Can't text with fingers bandaged up. Doesn't stop her from calling or talking, but it's less easy to get ahold of people via phone now. ]
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if i had my way, i would run to the rescue; inej/kaz
Eventually, he'd turned away and gone back to his work, feeling like he'd just lost a limb.
That hasn't dissipated over the time she's been gone. He works just as much as usual, if not more– he's got a whole Barrel to run, after all– avoiding sleep even if he knows it's not a good idea. It's too much when he finally does rest, mind jumbled with thoughts, one layering over another like someone's dropped a deck of cards. Sometimes, it's a memory on loop. Inej feeding the crows at his window, the sun catching half her body and the rest draped in shadow. The quiet tap of the crows feet as they hop along the sill. They show up still, like clockwork, and leave as soon as they know he isn't who they're looking for.
More often, he drifts off to sleep and wakes up in a rush, imagination filling in blanks as if it's been starved to. It's usual for a dream to start in the bathroom where he'd bandaged her and then the scene playing out differently, skewing from reality. He'll come to with the impression of her capable hands on his body, heart pounding, warm all over as though he's fevered.
The first month, he thinks maybe it'll get better. That some distance will do them both some good. Of course, that doesn't mean he gives up on trying to keep his promise; he goes for minutes, then hours, then a day without having his gloves on.
By the end of the second month, he's up to three days without the gloves and he's nearly given up the idea that his dreams are going to stop torturing him.
A runner nearly kicks down his office door halfway through the fifth month and before the girl can say anything, he knows exactly what it's about. It takes all of his self control not to sprint to the docks, to sit still and finish his Saints-forsaken paperwork. It feels like forever before he finally gauges it's been enough time for a ship to make its way from the outer edge of the harbor to its berth.
By the time he gets to berth 22, he's trailed behind an excited Jesper and Wylan, who look like they're ready to abscond with Inej. Their faces are lit up with joy and he suddenly feels like an intruder. After all, nothing can prepare him for the shock of seeing her after so long, skin darker and smile brighter, freer. Heart stuck in his throat, he stays right where he is, bare hands white knuckled on top of his cane. ]
stretches out in here it's been so loooooong
But he shows up. And her heart aches for it. For him.
The boys talk, and she adores hearing their news, because she missed them as well. But her gaze is caught by Kaz, and after a time, Jesper makes an excuse and drags Wylan off. They'll meet later, they tell her, for drinks and talks that will last all night.
And then it's them, and Inej smiles. Soft, but not shy.
He doesn't have his gloves on, she notices suddenly, and her heart swells even further.]
I missed you.
[Oh, there it is. Offered freely, because five months has given her, if not a new look on life, at least a sharp confidence of her own. She isn't his Wraith any longer. She's her own captain, and this is a meeting of equals.]
the sound i made upon seeing this was inhuman
And maybe, he's still processing that she came back at all. Logic said she would– she has ties here, even if Ketterdam had only been a temporary stop in her life. But some part of him had been afraid she wouldn't be back, that she'd find something else out there that gave her all the fulfillment she needed.
She's here though, and Wylan is gently tugging at Jesper's sleeve, the latter finally dragging away with what sounds like promises to meet later.
It takes him a second to find any words at all. ]
Welcome back, Captain. [ I missed you so much I thought I would suffocate. ] I've heard some stories.
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[She wants to hear of him. Of Ketterdam, and how he's changed it. She knows he has. She hasn't the faintest idea how, but she's faith enough in him to know he's done what's right. She wouldn't have come back if she'd had her doubts.
She takes a step towards him, and then another. Not too close, not something intimate, but a prelude to that, perhaps.]
Have you found yourself a new Wraith?
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now I know who you are // kanej
No, now he can walk through the Barrel with his hands bared without the fear of fainting because someone's jostled him by accident. Just earlier, he'd shaken hands with one of the council members, barely even registering the contact. Something more prolonged has him thinking of the harbor, but the water no longer rises above his ankles these days; easy to ignore.
Inej has worked through her own past in much the same way. In stages, with them both pushing where they could, when they could. Their frequent distance helps, oddly enough, because it means they have to soak up the physical contact when the time allows. Before she goes back off to sea, leaving a bloody trail of slavers in her wake.
There's also the fact they've moved away from the Slat, both of them out growing it. Her room had been filled shortly after she'd first left, years ago, and he eventually needed more space than the boarding house would allow for. Their own place has no prying eyes, no possibility of being startled by a sudden noise down the hall or the raucous laughter floating up from the bar. She surprised him once, about a year ago, by putting up bright curtains and decorations, shelves looking less empty with things she'd collected from her time abroad.
Now it feels less like they're masquerading as normal. This is their reality: she's back for now, having decided to spend the worst weeks of winter in Ketterdam instead of sailing. Parts of the harbor have sheets of ice floating on the water and Specht had looked pained when she'd asked him if it would be advisable to sail around them.
(Kaz owes him, despite the man having done nothing besides tell the truth).
They're settling in for the night, wind blowing against the shutters in noisy gusts. It's warm in the room, but he still fiddles dubiously with the buttons on his vest, as if worried the chill outside will more firmly make its way in. ]
Glad you aren't sailing through that?
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Here, she can just be Inej. It's warm enough in the house (Kaz had made sure that the house was warm and dry, a retreat for both of them) that she's wearing a tank top and with bare feet, hair down and falling in shiny black waves around her shoulders. She's comfortable. She has has no reason to be on her toes here.]
I kind of wanted to, [she admits sheepishly.] But I'm glad we've waited. Safer for the crew.
[It also gives her a chance to see him for a while. Kaz, who's grown so much, who's proven so much to her in their visits. It makes her greedy, makes her want to take and take more of him. Which isn't as hard nowadays as it used to be. She watches him now, with a gleam in her eye, one that must be familiar to him by now, with how often they've tried to get further.] You know, you don't have to be dressed to the nines when we're relaxing. I wouldn't judge you for an undershirt. [She glances over at him, considering, then adds:] Or less.
[She returns to reading the same sentence over again in the book she's been trying to read for the last twenty minutes, her lips quirked up.]
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[ Dreadful.
He moves away from the window, shedding his vest as he goes, hanging it off the back of a chair. Her comment doesn't exactly surprise him, but there's still a little thrill that goes through him every time she's feeling bold enough to give those thoughts a voice. ]
Force of habit. [ Kaz shrugs, looking about as sheepish as he ever gets. That quickly changes, though, hands stilling right over the button on his pants. ] How much less?
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She watches him strip, her grin cooling and her expression turning possessive. Hungry. Her eyes follow his slender fingers to the button on his pants.]
All of it, [she says, voice a little breathless as she sits up in her chair.]
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prisma au // matthias/kaz
Which is what leads them here, to the grove.
Here, there's space to think and less of a possibility of encountering other people. Just them, the pulse of Sanguis, and maybe some ill-advised fighting. Really, it's sparring. Or should be, but they're a little too worked up to be truly pulling their punches.
And it might've also devolved into rolling around brawling. Very unseemly and extremely reminiscent of his early fights in the Barrel. Kaz has long tossed his cane off to the side and is currently attempting to keep Matthias from pinning him. His elbow comes up, pressing to Matthias' collarbone, making an annoyed grunt at the resistance. ]
awoo
And with every smack of his knuckles against Kaz — every brush of their bodies that results from a block or a miss — comes that little crackle of chroma. It enlivens his skin, leaves him hungry for the next hit.
When Kaz's elbow collides with his collarbone, Matthias leans back to lessen the impact. He grabs at the opposite arm, aiming to force it to the ground — and if he succeeds, he'll be quick to follow with his knee pressing down on the bend of Kaz's elbow. Aiming to crack it open like a shellfish to lay his other arm flat.]
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Suffice to say, he's glad he got his fighting education in the Barrel, where that sort of fighting is the only language it spoke. Otherwise, he wouldn't be doing half as well. Which is already saying something, because he can feel the bruising on his ribs and cheek, the sharp pain of his split lip. The injuries are dulled by the adrenaline, but he knows he'll feel it when it wears off.
For now, he focuses on keeping Matthias from snapping his arm, using the changed weight to slide his forearm from his collarbone to his neck and giving a shove. Oddly, he notes how the warmth from his exposed neck seeps through his shirt, feels that trickle of chroma add to the pooling amount. ]
delicately dials up the homoeroticism
I'm blessed
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i caught your eyes, bird of prey; kaz/nina
Nearly a year passes with somewhat frequent visits. She stops in whenever she's near Ketterdam, sometimes staying only a few days before taking off again. Kaz slowly but surely sheds his armor and by the time a year has almost passed, he can go without his gloves every day.
(Usually he wears them anyway, for effect).
In the same time, they've kept in contact with Nina when they could. Well, more like Inej does and Kaz listens to the updates. He'd written once, a brief message about business he'd heard from Ravka. There hadn't been a response, but he hadn't expected one. Business was business. And Inej was the one that had forged the emotional connection. Though maybe, just maybe, he worries about Nina sometimes. The memory of her stricken face won't shake away; Matthias' death had taken its toll.
Still, he isn't expecting her to show up in Ketterdam. Inej had given him a heads up that she'd be bringing her along, but it's still a surprise. He doesn't ask why she's here and neither her nor Inej give any reason, though he has his suspicions. Whatever the case, he gets her set up at the Slat, in one of the quieter rooms, so she doesn't have to hear the younger gang members carousing into the night.
Her arrival had been a few weeks ago now. Inej departed again shortly after dropping her off, with instructions to not kill each other. They haven't even sniped too hard at each other, at this point. It feels like the whole rhythm of their relationship has been tilted. Which is why he's here, in front of her door, knocking lightly. She isn't beholden to him anymore, but he at least wants to see if this possible scheme is of any interest. ]
Is this your card? // Quentin + Kaz
He knows he learned that lesson early on. Learned how to speak the language of violence and the tinkling of coins, the rustle of kruge. Hollowed out whatever was left of that naive boy who’d come from Lij, thinking the city was a dazzling oasis, full of opportunity. Now he’s something else, something with a cruel edge who doesn’t believe in anything but money and his ability to keep the Dregs in it.
Which is what he’s keeping an eye on right now. It’s not too late into the night and the Crow Club is busy, tables full of eager hands and the room echoing with raucous conversation. One table in particular has been the source of entertainment for a couple of hours, ever since that one young man had stepped in– brunette, tired around the eyes, the tilt of his mouth that meant trouble. He’d been right, of course, because that young man’s hands were just a little too clever. Kaz has let it go to keep the others losing. And to keep the crowd interested, because everyone loves to see a winner against the house.
He checks his watch and decides it’s gone on just long enough, nodding to the dealer. Soon enough, the young man will be escorted to his office and they’ll have a friendly chat. Kaz steps off the floor to said office, not bothering to sit at his desk. ]
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There's a lot that can be worse. Quentin isn't usually an optimist, but he supposes he has two options--he can sit and sulk and starve to death or he can force himself to do something.
(if he's being honest, this place is kind of like a Steampunk Fillory. He should be excited, he thinks--a new world, far away from whatever New York was--but instead he's just panicking. He's not even looking for a way back, yet, he's just trying to survive.
Quentin Coldwater has been in Ketterdamn a grand total of one and a half days and he has learned three things. One, there are no Magicians, or at the very least no identifiable marks of them. Two, his Brakebills Uniform (which he hates) at least helps him half-fit in and three, his Dutch is fucking awful. He can get by, but it's rusty and he speaks slower than he likes and it's not like Brakebills teaches you anything beyond the archaic shit that's used for spells. Quentin's just lucky he's big on Germanic languages. Probably because he taught himself Elvish when he was 12.
The fact of the matter is that he's in a fucked up world when he should be, realistically, studying to skip a year at Brakebills. He asks a few questions when he can, and eventually realizes he's going to have to make some money if he wants to get anywhere.
Gambling, at least, is the same in every language. Gambling with cards is the same no matter what: count the system, palm cards, produce others, and don't get caught. And Quentin, he's good at it--he needs the confidence boost, really--and he spends half of the day winning. Like, a lot.
He's drunk on power and also sort of drunk in general when he's called to an office. Big Scary Office, all capitals, like it's something out of a Guy Richie movie. Quentin, stooping so his 6'3" frame is just a little shorter, has half of his hair hiding his face. ]
Are you going to give me detention?
[ He should probably keep his mouth shut, but he's running on 3 power naps in alleyways and no food. He's tired, and maybe a little cranky, and definitely annoyed at himself for getting caught. ]
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For now, he’ll catalogue the facts: he’s tall, taller than Kaz by at least a few inches. The hair in his face is either a fashion statement or something indicative of esteem problems. His suit is... unusual. Not completely out of place, but he isn’t sure he’s seen the cut of it before. Some new fad? An old one he’s trying to bring back?
Whatever the case, the smart remark brings his attention back and Kaz arches an eyebrow. Clearly, someone is new around here. ]
I was going to give you some advice, but now I’m considering breaking your fingers for cheating under my roof.
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uses actual book journal
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even if i had to die for you // kanej
All those feelings of nervousness have dissipated and changed; now he finds himself moving towards her while they're sleeping. Well, and when they're awake— as if his whole axis tilted, priorities shifting with it. Before, he would do anything to get out of bed as quickly as possible to start the day, exhaustion meaningless in the face of work (and revenge). He still keeps the irregular hours, because that's not likely to ever change, but he can't say he's exactly eager to leave bed anymore.
Not with Inej curled close as she is, her neat braid coming undone from the toss of sleep. His one arm is numb where it rests under her pillow but he has no intention of moving it just yet. She's just. So comfortable looking? It also gives him the excuse to turn closer towards her in an attempt to get some feeling back in his limb. He presses up along her back, face tilted down towards the unfurling braid. She still never carries a strong scent, but it's there, under the more perfumed shampoo she's taken to using.
Really, he should get up, there's a lot to do. But now he can't stop glancing down to the curve of her legs, remembering the flex when she scales up a sheer wall. It's distracting. ]
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It's practical. Kaz Brekker is not someone that Inej ever has to be concerned about sleeping beside. She knows that.
She knows, but there are nights when Kaz is the first one in bed and she's the one to slide in beside him, to wake him just enough that he rolls towards her while still half asleep, curving toward her body without touching her to welcome her into bed in his own distant way, like he was waiting for the secure weight of her to even out the bed and put him to rights.
There are nights when he's the last one in and she wakes to feel him squeezing in too close for it to be mistakable, when she feels the brush of his nose ruffling her hair and the faintest intake of breath like he's making sure she hasn't changed, is still the same Inej he said goodnight to hours before. It makes her think of the things Nina has claimed to see, the things that Kaz himself has said that she chose to believe weren't as deep as they sounded. It's those nights that she lays there as still as she can, breathing still even, a perfectly convincing show of still being asleep, that she wishes he would just put his arm over her. That his hand would find her hip, that his lips would touch her neck, that he would say her name and help her turn to face him and-
But she buries all of that down every time because he's Kaz Brekker and she knows better. She's his spider, his Wraith. Her feelings, whatever they are, are her own. Wishing is pointless.
Now, though, she isn't feigning sleep. In the half-light of morning she's kicked her covers off because even in the sleeveless shirt and light sleeping shorts she's taken to wearing as her pajamas, she's overly warm. It's odd for her to feel that way when she's so used to being cold, but there's a flush on her skin, a heat burning under it, a sweeter scent. As though she can sense his attention, her body shifts to meet his as he moves, her back resting gently against his chest and her legs curling up, the curve of her ass nudging just a little closer to where distraction might be an understatement.]
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(Who is he kidding? No one will ever be as painfully and desperately aware of Inej as he will, past or not).
She seems to delight in that fact. And has no problem using it against him, as she does right now, pushing the fold. There's no way her movement is a mistake, not with how purposefully she presses herself back, the curve of her ass fitted right near his hips. Kaz feels a flare of warmth in his chest and returns the gesture by settling his other hand on her waist. Everything he's ever bottled feels like it's going to come right up, enough that it has him shakily sighing out against the curl of her hair.
Nerves jangling, he slides his hand further down to her hip, fingers flaring to span towards her ass. ]
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Tie me up, show me what’s real // Kanej
(Truthfully, it’s a good thing. Business is up and thriving, which means he can probably look at expansion again).
So, he ends up uselessly shuffling papers, achieving almost nothing in the process. Annoyed, he scrawls out a to do list and pins it to the least precarious looking stack and then promptly decides he’s done for the day. A glance at his watch tells him he’s wasted enough time to make it to the harbor before she docks and that sends a warm hum through him.
Before, he never met her directly. Tried to keep from being seen together so much. She’d been cut loose to live her own life, she didn’t need his shadow looming over the bright path she was sure to make. Now though, he’s less concerned with dirtying her reputation. People know who she is and what she’s done; they’re their own, now. She isn’t Brekker’s little Wraith and hasn’t been for what feels like a long while. And he’s... well, he’s still Dirtyhands, though there’s been a shift in what sorts of jobs he’ll take up.
Either way, it doesn’t matter, because when he stands at the end of the dock waiting for her to disembark, they’re just going to be Kaz and Inej. ]
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by the time anyone thinks to look for her, she's already gone. and by the time the bridge lowers itself at kaz's feet with a resounding thunk, and dark haired beauty makes his way towards him.
it's a burly looking man known only by the name drowned rat.
in actuality inej was the first off the ship about two minutes prior, taking a loose swing on a wayward rope and landing on a secondary pier, flighty and breathless, walking it off effortlessly enough that no one suspects any the wiser. she watches him, one pier away on her walk down — sturdy shoulders ever weighed with whatever stressor is currently bothering him, stark black against the mucky waters, pale skin almost illuminating the nearby air. no one sees kaz this way, really. bright, radiating, with his own orbit inej can't help but get stuck in rotation. it's been too long since she's seen him.
footsteps light as ever, she pads behind him, swinging her braid over her shoulder. she blows her own cover, clearing her throat. )
You look lost, sailor. ( grinning, she slinks around him, hand on her popped out hip. ) Well, well. The Dirtyhands of Ketterdam — you didn't come all this way for me, did you?
( she laughs lightly, hovering near him but not near enough to touch, turning her chin up either defiantly ... or imploringly. )
Actually, I don't feel like being cute right now. Let's just go home, hm? I've been without certain luxuries for too long.
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He’s partway through idly calculating the angle and distance while wondering if she’s skated off to Wylan’s when he feels a familiar presence. It’s a welcome weight between his shoulders, as though someone’s placed a palm directly there. He lets her have her fun, mouth slanted up in amusement as she sidles up, grin lighting up her face.
(His heart skips a quiet beat, happiness bubbling up enough to make that smile reach his eyes). ]
Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? Sailing all over and you came here of all places. [ No, he’s never going to be over how much that means. ]
After you, captain. [ Kaz gestures with his cane, falling somewhat in step with her as they head off. ] I heard your count was three this time.
[ Three slaver ships, all of whom learned a valuable and deadly lesson. ]
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