everymonstrousthing | (no subject)

(no subject)

There is shit going on in the city, but the Crow Club stays open. Kaz is of the opinion that there is nothing more valuable in a storm than the perception of a safe harbour. It's quiet, but that doesn't mean it's not worth being open. With his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his gloves still firmly in place, Kaz cleans. He empties the back bar and he cleans. Yes, he could pay someone to do this but, honestly, there's never a job done as well as he would do it himself.

Unless Inej does it. And he won't ask her to clean for him.

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Kaz glances over his shoulder, catalogs the scars, the obvious sources of injury. He doesn't look afraid, though; nothing about his face actually chances. Kaz Brekker, more than anyone, knows the value of wearing your monstrosity open to the air.

"Everything's good," he says. "Depending on your tastes."

The fact that the young man stood unflinching was refreshing. Bull supposed he was not an unusual fixture around Darrow now that he'd been here almost a year, but for most people seeing him around and seeing him up close were different things. He took note of the gloves, the tailored clothes.

"Got anything strong enough to put a grown man on the floor?"

"A selection in fact," says Kaz, pausing in what he's doing to select a bottle, pouring a large measure. "Do you want to open a tab, or will it just be the one?"

He arches one eyebrow, sharp as a razor cut.

"Might as well open a tab, might take me a while to get to the floor," he said, voice smooth and warm.

"What's your name?" As he asked, he shifted his weight to the right, taking it off the braced leg.

"Brekker," he says, nudging the glass across the bar. He doesn't make a note; like everything else, he keeps the tabs in his head when he's the one behind the bar. "And I do relish a challenge."

"As long as you're not gonna try to keep up. I'd feel bad trying to explain to your next of kin how it is you died trying to go one for one with me."

But Brekker didn't look like an idiot. That was a good start.

"I'm not drinking tonight," says Kaz, starting to replace things on the back bar. "I'm alone here until my girl gets back." Any other girl, he might have worried about, but he knows that Inej can more than look after herself in the dark.

"And who's your girl?" he asked easily, watching Brekker move around. He took in the rest of the place, noticing a very nice looking cane leaning against the back wall behind the bar. The top of it looked like it could do some damage, if swung by someone that knew what they were doing. Brekker looked like someone that, generally, knew what they were doing or knew how to fake it.

That made Bull curious.

"Her name's Inej," says Kaz, meticulously reassembling his backbar, occasionally looking at Bull. "We knew each other back in Ketterdam."

He finally picked up his drink to try it; he almost choked when he swallowed. Perfect. He took another slow drink from the glass, appreciating the burn on the way down.

Everything here was neat, meticulously kept, and apparently it was Brekker that kept it that way.

"I'm the Iron Bull, formerly of Thedas."

"Kaz Brekker, Ketterdam in Kerch," says Kaz, and he doesn't offer his hand. "That's an interesting name."

"I chose it when I started working as a mercenary. I like the article at the front. Makes me sound like I'm not even a person, just a mindless weapon, an implement of destruction. It works for me."

Bull took another drink. He had to bring Krem here, see if they could find something that could be the equivilant of maraas-lok.

"If everyone knows you're a monster, then you don't need to waste time on every monstrous thing," says Kaz, still replacing things on the back-bar, working methodically. "I can see the value in that."

In Ketterdam, it had been a game that he loved best of all.

Bull looked at him keenly and he smiled. "Yeah, and when you look like me, the effort is minimal." Bull didn't have to project anything monstrous; he just had to exist. But when he did, it was particularly effective. It didn't hurt that he really did like killing things, or that he was good at it.

"You a monster where you come from, Brekker?"

The boy was all sharp edges in well tailored clothes. Bull had seen the look before.

"Some people tell you I was," he says, glancing up, a strand of hair slipping across his forehead. "The others hadn't met me yet."

"What kind of monster were you?"

Bull could guess; he was actually positive he had a pretty good idea of what kind of monster a person like Brekker could be. But asking was fun, too. He finished his drink, slid the glass across the bar to solicit more.

"What kind of monster do you think I was?" Asks Kaz, turning his shoulders towards Bull, giving him his full attention for a moment.

Bull looked at him, considering. "One that people don't always take for a monster. One that proved them wrong quickly, efficiently. An underworld monster. You don't command armies, you're not a thug - not like that. You trade in coin and information to get what you need and what you want."

"Plenty of merchs back in Ketterdam would have been happy to tell you that I was a thug," he says, picking up the bottle to top up Bull's glass, keeping a mental note. "Unworld is right. Coin, too."

"That's the trick, right? Gotta ask the right people." Bull grinned. "My trade was information. And killing things." And he was good at both - really good. As soon as his glass was full, Bull took another drink from it.

"When most people see a cane, all they see is a cripple," says Kaz, straightening his hair with one gloved hand. "And that's useful, sometimes." His coffee-dark eyes dart down to Bull's knee brace.

"It is," he said. "Hard for me to get away with that ruse. Too big, too monstrous. No one seemed willing to assume I'd be slowed down by a bum leg or missing eye."

Enough had figured out that he didn't catch things on the left fast enough, though. Some managed to take advantage.

"I can see why that would be a challenge," says Kaz, pouring himself a drink, going back on something that he'd said earlier. "Not a problem I ever had." Kaz is tall, yes, and relatively broad, but the tailoring hides that, rather than announcing it, and the cane? The cane just underlines everything.

"No, I don't think it was." Bull grinned and adjusted his weight again, briefly leaning it on his left leg before easing it back onto the right.

"Why crows?" he asked.

"Because I'm Dregs," says Kaz. "Through and through." Not as true as it would have once been, not with his girl's initials and a flood of flowers where, once, his Dregs tattoo would have been. Crows because they were clever, because they remembered human faces. Crows because they knew who hurt them, and who helped. Crows because they mourned and plotted. And understood.