"We met before, haven't we?" I try to keep my voice calm, but the tone was desperate; a consuming curiosity brewing in the cauldron of my mind. It began to bubble over as the existence of silence grew. The sliver of sunlight left in the day cast a long shadow across Kaz, exaggerating the sharp parts of his face; the dark lines left from a life in the Barrel. It is a constant reminder of who he is and what he will always be. The Bastard of The Barrel.
"Life isn't fate driven, Y/n," Kaz finally mutters while tapping the metallic crow head of his cane with a long, gloved finger. My eyebrows crease in annoyance, I'm not going to get a direct answer out of him. I sigh softly and lean against a barren tree. The sharp bark still pierces my skin through the thick jacket wrapped around me; Kaz's jacket. A blanket of heavy silence draped over us as the moon became the only source of light. I close my eyes and attempt to sift through the old, painful memories from my arrival into Ketterdam.
✶ ♧ ✶
The thick smoke of the endless line of boats had filled my lungs. I surepressed coughs that tried to escape my cracked lips. The smoke and fog masked my clumsy escape off of the wooden ship; off of home. I looked back for longer than I should have, soaking in the remnants of my childhood.
I trudged past bellowing merchants at makeshift stands filled with stealable goods and promising services. The voices of the bustling streets meshed together into a white noise more crackly than the sea I was used to, and diverse smells wafted through the air; food, dirt, death.
My stomach growled like a starved beast, my muscles felt strained and tight. My hungry gaze had landed on a man selling fresh fruits and breads; a strange assortment, but an appetizing one. He was younger, but old enough to have to avoid taxes illegally. His dark skin and curly hair contrasted pleasantly with his orange button up. He had been calling out to possible customers; the walking wallets that roamed the streets. I shifted my demeanor and softened my expression; an attempt to look sweet and desperate. Do what your mother taught you, I had told myself. I took long, elegant strides toward the stand, clasping my hands together as he looked at me. A glint of intrigue sparkled in his deep, dark eyes as he rested his elbows on the wooden counter. It was covered in apples and grapes, as well as warm baked goods.
I greeted him with an innocent smile as he spoke to me, "Ah, what can I do for ya' miss? Maybe a pear, a biscuit... a date?" He had winked and flashed me a dimpled smile. I giggled softly and batted my eyelashes. It felt so embarrassing— so degrading at the time.
"Well, maybe a loaf of bread and an apple?" I requested with my honeydew voice, which poured into his ears with a pleasurable vibration. He nodded with another wink and placed both into a cloth bag. I searched in my pockets, calm at first, but then frantic, a false panic spreading across my face. "My wallet! Oh no, I think someone stole my wallet," my lip quivered as I looked at the shop man with desperation. His expression was unfazed, he even huffed with a deep chuckle.
"You're not from here, are ya', little miss?" He rested his soft-edged face in his hands, amused with how naive I seemed. I had blinked a few times, cocking my head in confusion. He sighed as tears began to pool in my eyes, wiping them away with a calloused finger. "I'll give em' to ya' for free, but next time you come around, take me out for a nice meal," he smirked and extended his hand towards me. I accepted the bag of finessed foods from his outstretched palm, thanking him excessively.
I had whisked my way through the tight crowds until the outdoor markets became scarce. The streets were darker now, oiled lamp light more haphazard the further I walked. The way people took up space was different here. Before, in the markets, pedestrians had grand attires, with even grander ambitions. The cramped space was borrowed by anyone who took it, and the attempt was abundant.
But here, it contrasted immaculately. Those who roamed visibly tried to take up as little space as possible; small slivers of rotting life in the decaying world around them. Most people hadn't wandered openly, instead choosing to slip through the cracks of the city.
These seemed to be the rules of those who lived here, except for a handful of daring strangers I saw lingering outside a packed bar, a few chuckling loudly, drunkenly swaying with the leaning buildings. The rambunctious group had begun to make their way down the street, following a tall man with a cane that clacked against the cobblestone roads. He looked old, or maybe just worn, from his intense angularity and sharpened points. Though, further inspection had proved otherwise, showing the man's— er, boy's- cheeks puffed slightly on his angled face and hard expression. His soft jaw had seemed to be the only way to know he was young. He had actually appeared to be my age.
As the gang passed me with animated motions, I gave a quick wink to one that peered at me for far too long. My eyes were welcoming; entrancing. They were an enticing trap; a siren song that lured in those who thought too little about importances and too much about lust. The man whistled at me and even stopped, turning in my direction. I scanned him for any riches I'd need for future purchases or predicaments. A pocket watch had caught my eye. It dripped out from his chest pocket by a chain, which adorned his tailored suit that had been mishandled from the bar.
His mates had stopped, one making a groan of frustration. "You cannot hit on every pretty gal who acknowledges ya', Big B," a man slurred with a drunken scowl. The broad man, apparently Big B, strutted his way to me, towering over my body with a sly grin.
"You alone in the Barrel?" His words slipped on the sharp constants and bubbled in his deep voice. The Barrel? I remember being confused by that statement. I looked away bashfully for a moment before offering him batting eyes and a small smile. He took both with haste, his gaze narrowing as I had stepped closer to him. Big B's friends behind him protested, a few stumbling towards him to drag him away. Shit, time for the emergency plan B, I had thought to myself, anxious to snag him watch and sell it to the nearest pawn shop for much too little.
I tripped over the uneven cobbles in the road as I shrunk the space between Big B and I, my hands falling in front of my tipping body onto his chest, right by his pocket.
"I am so sorry, sir, really, I didn't mean to-," my nervous pleas and apologies were stopped shortly by a deep, throaty laugh from the muscular man.
"Doll, no worries at all," he said. I had clutched my hands over my chest, the golden watch trapped between my palms. Shortly after, a few dirtied hands grabbed the thick arms of Big B before dragging him away from where I stood. I made a quick escape to a nearby alley as the men squabbled with one another. I slipped the watch into my pocket as I heard the enraged yells of Big B; he hadn't been able to find his watch for some reason. The roars faded and meshed with the voices of Ketterdam as I climbed my way up to the rooftops of the city.
The night had ticked away on the watched I clutched, my eyes filled with greed and satisfaction with every tik and tok it made. I had found myself my very own sliver of Ketterdam to hide in, an indent of a building that was covered with a dirtied sheet and stacked crates of spoiled produce.
My dreams of freedom and riches were halted by the familiar sound of a cane hitting cobblestone, followed by an unfamiliar noise of a cane hitting me in the arm, not hard enough to break it, but enough to leave a large bruise soon; a warning. I had yelped and contorted my body around the cloth roof of my shelter, lunging at the shadow of a figure; a diversion, as my father taught me, an eye catcher, as my mother had said. The attacker smacked me in the stomach with force, their cane causing my ribs to vibrate like a xylophone. I ignored the intense throbbing pain— another trick I had learned on the boat- as I rolled part of the sheet up. With a few flicks of my wrists, the wrung cloth was tightly around the neck of my current opponent. I squeezed tighter as I stared at them.
Before me had stood a reddening face— suffocation has that affect on people- of the sharp, dark boy from earlier. The ring leader of his own gritty circus. He once again used his cane to hit me in the leg, but I used this falling opportunity I had felt to smack my forehead into his. This along with the chokehold I had him in caused the boy to fall back, his well-groomed, dark hair covering his eyes a bit. He was strangely beautiful now that I had noticed it, in an intense sort of way.
Time was ticking away as I observed him, so I shoved him into the alley wall, where an eroded brick cut his lower lip. I ran with haste into the slick street as rain began to pour down in large globs. My hair had stuck to my skin, along with my wet clothes, where the gold watch was pocketed.
✶ ♧ ✶
My chilly hands fumble through my pants pockets, finding the signature time-teller of mine; a—now quite scratched- good pocket watch that hung from a thin chain. I held it in my palms, the sharp cold nipping at my finger tips. Kaz's eyes were glued on the small clock, his lower lip twitching. I toss it to him, and he unsurprisingly catches it with a single gloved hand.
"Maybe there is some fate," I finally melted the silence with a warm voice. I chuckle softly, looking at Kaz, his round cheeks and soft jaw were long gone, and he seemed to have become sharper and harder over the two years that past, the Barrel chipping away at his humanity with greediness to destroy a boy. His lower lip had a scar that ran down the center, an immortal reminder of the time a former pirate girl got a leg up on Kaz Brekker, no one got a let up on Kaz Brekker.
"Or maybe Ketterdam is too small for those with such high ambition," the oddly attractive boy responds with a rasp.
"I think that may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," I reply with a light laugh. Kaz doesn't say anything, but he met my gaze with eyes that weren't completely filled with hatred.
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Word Count: 1889
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I took a quick break from writing to allow my creative drive to return, thought it's better to write better than write more. I also draw a doodle of Kaz, (please don't not repost the drawing.) thank you-
-Valentine