There’s a particular scent in Ketterdam. It didn’t get carried off in the salty sea breezes by the harbor, nor did it seep fully into the streets. No, it lingers, sometimes more prominent than others but ever-present. It’s the stale, smoky scent of want. Those in Ketterdam were always in need of something, always after what might be around the next corner. In part it’s because many lack the basic comforts that others take for granted. For some though it’s a need they can’t quite place, or perhaps a past that can’t be replicated. Figuring out ways to fill in gaps and not lose anything else in the process.
Kaz knows it well, it’s coated him since childhood. He’s turned wanting into a weapon, staking his claim in the city without resting on laurels. There’s little that makes him nervous these days, or at least, not nervous enough to where he has to make an effort to smother it showing.
It’s after one of their missions, a successful venture that left one of the crooked local merchants destitute and their shipping business now in debt to the Dregs. A debt to be paid in coin for the next few months, which had meant many of the crew were already off drinking. Kaz could hear them downstairs from where he’s locked himself in his office. The rowdy blowing off of steam that echoed in sounds of laughter and taunts. It’s muffled but he can hear some of it.
He doesn’t precisely hear Inej over it, it’s more the sound of silence and sense of presence behind him that he notes. Rising to his feet from where he sat at his desk, he leans against it a little and studies her. His coat and hat are off but otherwise he’s still dressed, gloved hands resting for now on the wooden desk’s edge. He studies her a moment, not bothered by her presence. She doesn’t need an invite. “Tired of the festivities downstairs?”
Rowdiness, unless it's followed by money she's earned, isn't something that Inej is fond of. Her youth was spent performing — dancing, acrobatics, and the like — and, after her time at the Menagerie, she's less inclined to spend time with people in general, much less the people that frequent the club. It's knowing that Kaz is upstairs, locked away, that sends her looking.
"You know how I feel about festivities."
Her tone is dry, her own quiet judgement on his question. He knows better than to ask the question, just like she knows better than to ask him the same. Neither one of them are cut out for group activities, unless it's running down corruption and greed. Even greed that belongs to Kaz is somehow unsullied by corruption. After everything, despite his claims to not care, she's noticed the things he does for those in the Barrel. Those like them.
She doesn't move from the two feet she's climbed inside, doesn't fidget, or become uncomfortable. Instead, she waits for him to make a move or suggest their next play. He's at his most casual, she notices, and her only tell — something she never gives in to on any other night — is that her eyes wander over his waist coast and pants before meeting his once more.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2023-03-29 05:39 pm (UTC)There’s a particular scent in Ketterdam. It didn’t get carried off in the salty sea breezes by the harbor, nor did it seep fully into the streets. No, it lingers, sometimes more prominent than others but ever-present. It’s the stale, smoky scent of want. Those in Ketterdam were always in need of something, always after what might be around the next corner. In part it’s because many lack the basic comforts that others take for granted. For some though it’s a need they can’t quite place, or perhaps a past that can’t be replicated. Figuring out ways to fill in gaps and not lose anything else in the process.
Kaz knows it well, it’s coated him since childhood. He’s turned wanting into a weapon, staking his claim in the city without resting on laurels. There’s little that makes him nervous these days, or at least, not nervous enough to where he has to make an effort to smother it showing.
It’s after one of their missions, a successful venture that left one of the crooked local merchants destitute and their shipping business now in debt to the Dregs. A debt to be paid in coin for the next few months, which had meant many of the crew were already off drinking. Kaz could hear them downstairs from where he’s locked himself in his office. The rowdy blowing off of steam that echoed in sounds of laughter and taunts. It’s muffled but he can hear some of it.
He doesn’t precisely hear Inej over it, it’s more the sound of silence and sense of presence behind him that he notes. Rising to his feet from where he sat at his desk, he leans against it a little and studies her. His coat and hat are off but otherwise he’s still dressed, gloved hands resting for now on the wooden desk’s edge. He studies her a moment, not bothered by her presence. She doesn’t need an invite. “Tired of the festivities downstairs?”
no subject
Date: 2023-03-31 01:43 am (UTC)"You know how I feel about festivities."
Her tone is dry, her own quiet judgement on his question. He knows better than to ask the question, just like she knows better than to ask him the same. Neither one of them are cut out for group activities, unless it's running down corruption and greed. Even greed that belongs to Kaz is somehow unsullied by corruption. After everything, despite his claims to not care, she's noticed the things he does for those in the Barrel. Those like them.
She doesn't move from the two feet she's climbed inside, doesn't fidget, or become uncomfortable. Instead, she waits for him to make a move or suggest their next play. He's at his most casual, she notices, and her only tell — something she never gives in to on any other night — is that her eyes wander over his waist coast and pants before meeting his once more.