GRAVITY,

it bows only to me.

[taitropa]

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An indie writing blog for Inej Ghafa from Leigh Bardugo's Grishaverse. Written by Mackie, they/them. 21+. Primarily headcanon-based with book influences and set post Crooked Kingdom.

Rules. / Inej. / Verses. / 💜

[hebzucht]

— @ensorscell as Captain Inej Ghafa 🖤

Kaz  Brekker  is  bound  and  kept  to  his  knees  on  the  main  deck  of  the  Wraith  alongside  five  other  men,    one  of  which  does  not  stop  weeping.    Loudly.    The  Quartermaster  jabs  the  snot  -  nosed  pigeon  with  the  toe  of  a  sea  -  stiffened  boot  accompanied by  a  laugh  that  booms  louder  than  any  cannon  could  boast  and  the  crew  surrounding  their  captives  as  audience  cackles  along  with  him.    It’d  been  a  rowdy  haul  off  the  currently  sinking  ship  on  the  starboard  side  and  if  this  display  is  anything  to  go  by,    the  headache  pinching  behind  Kaz’s  right  eye  will  not  subside  any  time  soon  either.

Yet  just  as  soon  as  he  grits  his  teeth  against  the  resignation, and the pain in his right leg,    a  hush  befalls  the  crowd.    Kaz  feels  her  before  he  hears  her;    the  water  suddenly  rocks  the  ship  steadily  in  spite  of  the  disruption  of  the  capsizing  vessel  alongside  its  hull  and  every  wicked  grin  on  the  pirates’  faces  goes  just  as  tide  -  wrenched.    Kaz  knows  she  resurfaces  from  below  deck  where  the  stowaways  she’d  pilfered  from  the  slaver  ship  are  now  safely  tucked  away,    but  he  doesn’t  lift  his  head yet.

❝    Please,    ❞  wails  the  fool  two  bodies  down.    In  their  peripheral,    Kaz  sees  him  scoot  forward  on  his  knees  with  his  hands  lifted  in  supplication.    Doubtless  the  children  hidden  beneath  these  wooden  planks  had  done  the  very  same  when  Inej  had  taken  them  from  the  belly  of  the  first  ship;    it’s  too  bad  this  spineless  bird  hadn’t  the  foresight  to  heed  the  warnings  of  her  divinity  in  the  first  place.

Specht  draws  a  pistol  from  his  hip  and  cocks  it in warning.    The  loud  click  startles  the  crying  man  into  near - silence,    though  he  continues  to  whimper.    The Quartermaster shows as much mercy as is allowed. That is to say, none. ❝    What’ll  it  be,    Captain?    ❞

Now,    finally,    Kaz  lifts  their  head.    Inej  wears  dark  boots  to  the  knee,    fitted  trousers  the  color  of  harbour  water,    and  an  algae  -  green  blouse  that  flows  loosely  around  her  arms.    Strapped  to  her  hips,    thighs,    every  other  slot  of  her  ribcage,    and  in  place  of  a  plume  of  feathers  in  her  tricorn  hat  are  familiar  knives  winking  in  the  blinding  sunlight.    When  he  seeks  the  warm  planes  of  her  face,    he  finds  her  already  looking  at  him.    The  cold  fury  limning  her  dark  lashes  sends  a  jolt  of  fire  straight  to  the  seat  of  his  spine.    Kaz  can’t  even  help  himself;    he  grins  at  her.

[taitropa]

The waves have become a comforting lull when once they might have unsettled her. Indeed this rocking ship too often reminded her, a fledgling captain some years ago, that once she was thieved away from home and kept in the belly of a hull not unlike the Wraith’s now. So she understands, you see, when the women and children stowed belowdeck grow sick and uncomfortable at being kept in the bowels of the boat. “Only for now,” promises the Captain because they’ve no wish to witness the punishment bestowed upon their captors. Or, if they do, Inej has no desire to allow them the opportunity. No blood on them like blood on her.

Above sea level, the sun warms her blisteringly so. In the early days, she insisted on hunting at night because old habits die hard and she was forged in the shadows. But these days she is renowned enough that it matters not when she tails the slavers so long as she catches them. And catches them she does.

Specht is in a good mood, humored and smug at a job well done. Her crew too is pleased and merry at the prospect of retribution. Inej’s First Mate is one of less than a handful of men aboard, an intentional decision in the hiring process. Each member of her crew has a personal stake in Inej’s mission or else believe in such nonsense as the deification of a lost Suli girl. Either suits her just fine so long as they’re loyal. Specht readies his pistol but he waits dutifully for Inej’s command.

A bird roosts among her captives. Fury plants an ugly seed in her belly. Worse— a sick sort of pleasure festers alongside it. More than anything Inej is at once annoyed.

The crew settles into quiet murmurs full of anticipation as Inej stalks slowly down her line of prisoners. When she reaches the one who weeps shamelessly, she pauses long enough to meet his eye. He ducks his head. Coward. “A gull’s feast at dusk,” she proclaims, receiving a roar of agreement from the crew. They fall all at once silent when she steps before a kneeling Dirtyhands.

Kaz Brekker has the nerve to smile at her. Inej bites her tongue so she won’t stick a knife in his eye. Her fingers twitch at her sides and Kaz grins wider like he knows. He probably does. “Captain?” Specht inquires, interrupting her plot to kill the King of the Barrel. The crew looks on in baited earnest. “The brig for this one,” Inej says. When Kaz’s smirk deepens, she adds with a sharp leer of her own, “I’ll hold onto his cane for him.”

[taitropa]

Inej’s trauma healing is NOT linear and is NOT fixed by true love yada yada yada. She can’t share a bed with Kaz for nearly a year and even then she needs a pillow barrier between them and she can’t sleep through a whole night. She needs to sleep on the outside edge so she can roll off the bed and get space faster and easier. She’s a very light sleeper and any change in even her partner’s breathing can wake her up, send her into panic. Of course it’s slow going. And that’s not even considering Kaz’s side of the equation.

[crowsource]

🐦‍⬛ 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇, 𝚙𝚝. 𝟸 — quotes taken from the album of the same name by twenty one pilots. some edits have been made to allow for rp purposes. feel free to adjust for pronouns/names/etc. [ part 1 here! ]

❝ Sometimes I feel cold. Even paralyzed. ❞

❝ Nice to know my kind will be on my side. ❞

❝ I don't believe the hype. ❞

❝ You know you're a terrible sight. ❞

❝ You'll be alright. ❞

❝ Don't believe the hype. ❞

❝ They might be talking behind your head. ❞

❝ You don't get thick skin without getting burnt. ❞

❝ I think we can do it. ❞

❝ I don't know which way I'm going. ❞

❝ They want to make you forget. ❞

❝ Save your razorblades now. ❞

❝ I'm higher when I'm heavy. ❞

❝ We'll find a way to pay for it. ❞

❝ We'll win, but not everyone will get out. ❞

❝ I'll keep on trying. ❞

❝ I'll keep on going back. ❞

❝ I'm still not sure if fear's a rival or close relative to truth. ❞

❝ I created this world to feel some control. ❞

❝ I want to stop time. ❞

❝ I'll sit here 'til I find the problem. ❞

❝ I'm done with tip-toeing. ❞

❝ You're a legend. ❞

❝ I'm sorry I did not visit. ❞

❝ I'm tired of tending to this fire. ❞

❝ I'm tired. ❞

❝ They know that it's almost over. ❞

❝ In time, I will leave the city. ❞

❝ For now, I will stay alive. ❞

❝ Last year I needed change of pace. ❞

❝ Couldn't take the pace of change. ❞

❝ They know what I mean. ❞

[yenvengerberg]

AMITA SUMAN as INEJ GHAFA Shadow and Bone, ‘No Shelter But Me’.

[hebzucht]

Would Kaz peel an orange for Inej?

kaz would tear out every single apple tree in the rietveld orchard and fill the soil with orange seeds. she would have an orange every morning if she wanted and he'd pick off all that nasty stringy shit from each slice too. if inej wants an orange, she's getting a whole fucking tree @taitropa

[avendell]

Kaz and Inej

[hebzucht]

Kaz  does  not  loosen  the  strain  of  their  ill  -  ease  at  the  girl’s  arrival.    Her  stampede  through  the  grass  was  little  more  than  comedic,    hardly  a  spy  would  she  make,    but  Kaz  has  the  misfortune  of  being  on  uneven  ground  less  than  familiar  to  him  here.    True  that  he  knows  well  enough  the  company  he  keeps  and  truer  still  that  he  basks  in  their  disquietude  at  his  presence,    but  he  has  so  little  control.    He  holds  little  water  in  a  space  not  meant  for  his  shape;    they  know  how  to  force  a  mold,    but  this  one  actively  revolts  against  them  though  truthfully  he  wants  little  to  do  with  it.

Sanjana  regards  him  with  eyes  too  large  for  her  face.    Twelve  she  may  be,    but  she  has  room  yet  to  grow.    She’s  young  enough  still  not  to  understand  what  she  regards  with  naive  curiosity  is  something  she  ought  to  fear.    Kaz  does  their  best  not  to  encourage  her.    Barrel  rats  fresh  to  the  canals  learn  quickly  who  to  avoid  and  with  whom  to  ally,    and  so  often  Kaz  is  both  depending  on  the  day  and  depending  on  the  rat.    Sanjana  has  already  proved  her  uselessness  to  him.

The  girls’  words  blur  together,    a  stream  of  warmth  passed  between  them  that  he  can  hardly  keep  up  with.    Snatches  of  words  register,    but  they  speak  too  quickly.    Kaz  takes  stock  of  Inej’s  posture,    the  way  she  embraces  the  girl  with  familiarity,    and  the  familial  way  they  exchange  what  are  clearly  teasing  jabs.    None  of  it  speaks  of  a  threat,    which  is  notable  given  Inej’s  own  discomfort  every  time  they  visit;    this  little  eases  him  though.    He  is  reluctant  to  release  his  defense  of  her.

They  clock  one  word  with  certainty.    ❝    Jadugara,    ❞  Kaz  repeats  clumsily.    Magician.

Sanjana’s  eyes  brighten  and  she  says  something  else  to him in  rapid  Nepali,    a  question  that  he  cannot  wrap  his  hands  around  and  make  sense  of  quick  enough.    He  and  Inej  lock  eyes;    with  mirth  swimming  in  hers,    she  supplies,    ❝    She  wants  you  to  prove  it.    ❞

Kaz  straightens,    the  leather  of  their  gloves  squeaking  when  they  tighten  their  grip  around  the  head  of  their  cane.    Sanjana  has  disentangled  herself  from  Inej,    who  takes  her  seat  at  his  side  once  more,    but  the  girl  keeps  her  distance  on  her  side  of  the  fire.    Still,    those  moon  eyes  have  nowhere  certain  to  focus  as  they  flit  excitedly  from  his  hands  to  his  face  and  back.

By  now  he’d  have  been  well  on  his  way  with  the  girl  probably  tossed  into  a  canal.    Instead,    here, Kaz  merely  narrows  his  eyes  before  retrieving  from  a  pocket  hidden  within  his  coat  a  deck  of  cards.    They  shuffle  lazily,    the  sound  of  the  paper  loud  even  over  the  crackling  wood,    and  then  fan  out  the  deck  so  that  the  filigree  backing  is  face  up.    With  a  single  flick  of  his  wrist,    all  of  the  cards  suddenly  sit  with  their  suits  on  display.    Sanjana’s  sharp  inhale  in  shock  motivates  Kaz further.    When  he  reshuffles  this  time,    he  draws  a  single  card  to  the  top  of  the  stack,    bends  the  whole  deck  inversely  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger,    and  then  snaps  the  deck  flat  once  more  revealing  an  entirely  new  suit.    The  ace  of  knives  glimmers  in  the  firelight  where  before  the  queen  of  crows  was  displayed.    Kaz  quirks  a  brow  in  challenge  to  Sanjana,    but  the  makings  of  a  smirk  plays  around  the  edge  of  their  mouth.

[taitropa]

What unease Kaz had hoped to inspire in Sanjana would have extinguished at his display but the girl had already been unafraid. She watches those trickster hands with rapt focus, like she hopes to replicate the moves just as soon as she can get her hands on her own deck of cards. Sanjana will have to wait some months before the caravan stops anywhere near a market which will have goods such as that. They make a habit of keeping clear of the shores unless necessity dictates the trouble. Too many merchants harbor ill will toward those whom they call interlopers. A softer name than some of the others they would lob at their traveling group.

“You are a jadugara,” whispers Sanjana in awe. She’s edged a few shuffles closer and Inej has stood once more to stand with her. Kaz doesn’t flinch at the nearing proximity yet or Inej's second departure but the Wraith’s captain eyes him with knowing suspicion. Sanjana notices nothing except Kaz’s shifting fingers. “Didi, tell him he must teach me.”

Inej breathes a laugh, the sort that only an audacious child can pull from you. “I will do no such thing.”

“Mister Brekker,” Sanjana says, undeterred. He is reshuffling his deck, but keeping the cards’ faces to himself. Inej rolls her eyes. The action draws their attention, though she knows that never truly deserts her, and she watches as Kaz’s lashes fan out over the hollows beneath his own eyes when he squints at her. Then he pins Sanjana with that hyperfocused regard. Lesser men have cowered beneath such a look. Sanjana simply smiles. “You must teach me how you did such a thing.”

Sanjana’s English is clipped and dragged through its syllables, a clearly slow going education. Kaz makes no move to show any emotion at the language switch, neither surprise or distaste showing in their face. Inej stands at Sanjana’s back like she is ready to defend her from a single snide remark. He doesn’t show his cards regarding that either.

“Sanjana,” scolds Inej, pinching the girl’s tricep between her thumb and the knuckle of her index finger. The girl makes a sharp noise of protest but Inej does not release her. In Nepali, she continues to admonish, “You are foolish and rude. Return to your mother before you get yourself in trouble. I will not save you if you cross yourself with the likes of Kaz.” It is an empty threat but Sanjana need not know that.

[crowsource]

🐦‍⬛ 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐒 —quotes taken from the first novel in rebecca ross' letters of enchantment duology. some edits have been made to allow for rp purposes. feel free to adjust for pronouns/names/etc.

❝ It takes courage to let down your armor, to welcome people to see you as you are. ❞

❝ I can’t risk having people behold me as I truly am. ❞

❝ You will miss so much by being so guarded. ❞

❝ I don't think you realize how strong you are. ❞

❝ Sometimes strength isn't swords and steel and fire, as we are so often made to believe. Sometimes it's found in quiet, gentle places. ❞

❝ I hope you will find your place, wherever you are. ❞

❝ I think we all wear armor. I think those who don’t are fools, risking the pain of being wounded by the sharp edges of the world, over and over again. ❞

❝ I am coming to love him, in two different ways. Face to face, and word to word. ❞

❝ I am destined to always be at war within myself. ❞

❝ Your grief will never fully fade; it will always be with you--a shadow you carry in your soul--but it will become fainter as your life becomes brighter. ❞

❝ You are not alone. ❞

❝ I never told you that I love you. And I regret that, most of all. ❞

❝ That’s it. You’re doing great, ____. ❞

❝ I think there is a magical link between you and me. A bond that not even distance can break. ❞

❝ It’s not a crime to feel joy, even when things seem hopeless. ❞

❝ ____, look at me. You deserve all the happiness in the world. And I intend to see that you have it. ❞

❝ I don’t want to wake up when I’m seventy-four only to realize I haven’t lived. ❞

❝ I’m not going anywhere, unless you tell me to leave, and even then, we might need to negotiate. ❞

❝ I realize that people are just people, and they carry their own set of fears, dreams, desires, pains, and mistakes. ❞

❝ I can’t expect someone else to make me feel complete; I must find it on my own. ❞

❝ I pray that my days will be long at your side. ❞

❝ Let me fill and satisfy every longing in your soul. May your hand be in mine, by sun and by night. ❞

❝ Let our breaths twine and our blood become one, until our bones return to dust. Even then, may I find your soul still sworn to mine. ❞

❝ I’m not afraid to be alone, but I’m tired of being the one left behind. ❞

❝ I broke my engagement, quit my job, and traveled six hundred kilometers into war-torn land to be with you. ❞

❝ And yet I keep moving forward. On some days, I’m afraid, but most days, I simply want to achieve those things I dream of. ❞

❝ Let us make our names exactly what we want them to be. ❞

❝ How do you make your life your own and not feel guilt over it? ❞

❝ I am so afraid. And yet how I long to be vulnerable and brave when it comes to my own heart. ❞

❝ I grew something living in a season of death. ❞

❝ I don’t think you can even begin to understand what your words mean to me. ❞

❝ I want your hand to be in mine, no matter what comes. ❞

❝ You’re distracting me, ____. ❞

❝ Endings were often found in beginnings. ❞

❝ By law, we’re both legal adults who can drink and be formally charged for murder. ❞

❝ Be safe. Be well. I’ll write soon. ❞

[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?    ❞

[taitropa]

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?”

[taitropa]

Oh FUCK you @hebzucht

[kanejforever]

Kaz had taught her to crack a safe, pick a pocket, wield a knife. He’d gifted her with her first blade, the one she called Sankt Petyr - not as pretty as wild geraniums, but more practical, she supposed.

@kanejdaily‘s Kanej Week - Day 6: Favorite objects - Inej’s knives

[taitropa]

The caravan is curious but not so curious that they are not wary. A dozen campfires ring the large grassy field they have deemed their resting home for the time they spend recuperating between travel. Families gather around the flames like they always do to unwind. The Ghafas have joined another group for the evening and Inej can only guess how relieved that makes Kaz. He sits stiffly beside her in front of their own little fire and stares pensively into it, less a scheming face than it is simply contemplative.

Before she can inquire, a flurry of movement and the sound of little feet stamping down the overgrown grass around them alerts Inej to a guest. Next to her, she feels the moment Kaz is aware of a visitor as well and sees from the corner of her eye when they reach for the cane they’ve leant beside him on the felled log they both sit upon. Inej throws her arm out, warning him off, and stands just as the interloper throws themselves from the tall reeds across from the flames.

“Sancai hunuhuncha, didi?*” The girl is tall enough that she reaches Inej’s collar when she flings herself into her arms. Her long hair is pulled back from her face in a braid as is custom for most girls in the caravan but for the baby hairs sticking with sweat against her crown. She smiles broadly and freely, her soft chin bony where it digs into Inej’s sternum in their embrace.

Inej says with a healthy dose of fond scolding in her voice, “Namaste, Sanjana.”

“Did I frighten you?” Sanjana asks mischievously in Nepali. Her dark eyes flicker, though the fire is at the girl’s back, and Inej can’t help but smile warmly in return.

“How could you when you parade through the camp as an elephant three times your size?”

“I frightened your sweetheart,” Sanjana accuses triumphantly, but gives a cautious glance to Kaz who has yet to rise. Or release his cane as though he might use it against a girl hardly older than twelve. Sanjana has every reason to be wary of Kaz but Inej shakes her head.

“If he were truly frightened, you would not be here to gloat over false victories. Where is your mama? Does she know you have come to pester me?”

“Not you,” says Sanjana. She has not looked away from Kaz, who Inej is sure has also not looked away from her if only out of suspicion, and Inej can see now that it isn’t caution in her gaze at all but curiosity. “Is he really a jadugara?”

@hebzucht hi

[taitropa]

Good morning. Inej always travels with a little plant to remind herself to always stay rooted somewhere because even though her family travels for performances a bird must always roost somewhere. It’s usually an aconite flower from her homeland!

[banschivs]

Habit bends her at the knees over Assailant Number One, the toes of her boots kiss the expanding sanguinary pool emanating from his fractured skull. While Inej appears every bit the surgical killer, Nix has most recently noted that the hilt of her bowie knife, carved from ivory to resemble the perched form of a barn owl, fits a little too perfectly into most eye-sockets. The blade holds little blood, but the knife's ivory hilt is a grisly sight. Any viscous remnants beneath her long, acrylic nails are picked at using Number One's shirt. Number Two, a few paces away and having been abandoned by Inej, will likely draw her attention soon after.

Gotham seldom leaves one lonely. Sirens wail in the not-so-far distance, those screams ricocheting around the endless labyrinth of concrete and brick they loiter at the centre of. Nix knows the flashing lights and sirens are not meant for them. The city's drowned by far too many despicable acts for she and her company right now to be of any concern. Any witness has scattered, or hidden themselves well enough that even Skizm's Killer Queen doesn't care to hunt them down. 

She sifts a roll of notes from Number One's pocket with the nonchalance of one of her children picking flowers to gift their father in the backyard. Nix observes the wad of cash she doesn't necessarily need, ere tucking it snug in her bra. As she moves to stand, the worn tail of her trench slithers through blood and puddled rainwater. It's likely to douse the scene in no time if the clouds crowning Inej from above are anything to go by. She appears as the shadows do, like a wisp soon to evanesce with the same grace Nix'll never have. She remains the antithesis, as much a stain on the scene of the grisly remains forking as rivers do on the concrete.

" I'm not really a... " Her brows lift, blowing her eyes impossibly large while she sheathes her knife alongside Kindness strapped to her thigh. " Run-to-the-safehouse-kinda-girly, y'know...? " A subtle tilt of her mouth alludes to humour at the mere notion, that flash of her canines snares the minimal light. " You don't kill like a safehouse-kinda-girly. " Inej's handywork lingers in their shared periphery. Nix admires it without turning her head, and runs fingers through her hair to snatch at any inevitable tangles. " These fuckers... " Judgement burgeons her downturned pout for only a moment, then she flashes her company an ill-suited smile. " They for you or your boyfriend? They're not for me. "

[taitropa]

That warning in the near distance doesn’t frighten Inej. There are enough shadows back here that she even goes so far as to pull the scarf from her face, revealing the lower two-thirds of her features to her company both alive and dead. The ones on the ground at least won’t give her up. Inej is an easy step around any pooling blood with all the lightness of a grain of sand, not a single step audible though there are enough damp pockets of questionable liquid to splash through. The Wraith has a care for leaving evidence behind even if GCPD won’t be able to trace her prints.

“No,” Inej agrees with her own flicker of amusement. “No, I don’t. I’m not.” Saves her the trouble of a fight later on. Nix dismisses Inej’s concern without an answer although a closer inspection with the safe distance of a couple bodies between them soothes her further. Not that there was any doubt that Nix could handle herself. The remains on the ground are proof enough of that.

Inej skirts her prey’s prone form with a more critical gaze now. From a shallow analysis, she doesn’t recognize him. Whatever information he carries, it isn’t anything Inej has had to collect. But she squats to check his pockets with the dexterity of a neurosurgeon, hardly there at all but for the thieving of a wallet. It’s a stupid mistake to have anything on hand. Or an intentional one, if the cards within are anything to go by. The New Jersey driver’s license is for a John Doe but the identifying image shoots ice along her nerves. Inej alights on the dead man’s face once more and then stands to put distance between them as if he could reanimate and snatch at her again.

She doesn’t bother getting a look at the eyeless assailant nearest Nix. Something tells her that she’d fare better placing his face than the one she'd felled and she isn’t keen on quizzing herself. Nausea’s already rolling through her gut and keeping her face ashen. “They’re security for the Menagerie.” A gentleman’s club uptown that she is all too familiar with. Inej fixes her scarf back around her mouth and nose and casts her eyes skyward to gauge the climb up the nearest wall. “I’m sure if we’d asked them, they’d have been sent looking for a Lynx. I don’t know if more will come. My contract with Heleen was bought out but…” Fear creeps into her cadence and steals whatever’s left of her words. She’s still debating an escape route.

[kraaiking]

If  she  wanted  to  persuade  him  to  roll  over  for  her,    she  only  fuels  his  own  brand  of  self  protection.    There  is  not  a  hint  of  amusement  in  the  slow  slide  of  forced  indifference  like  a  shutter  over  the  black  of  his  eyes.    Kaz  sits  back  in  their  seat  with  the  look  of  someone  balancing  a  dare  on  their  tongue,    sharp  as  a  blade  that  would  wound  if  accepted.    They  offer  it  with  a  voice  gone  low,    quiet,    too  soft  to  be  anything  but  dangerous.    ❝    Is  that  what  you  want,    Inej?    To  leave?    I  would  certainly never  stop  you.    ❞

Maybe  she  doesn’t  realize  just  how  heavy  her  threat  hangs  around  his  neck,    but  he  suspects  that’s  precisely  why  she  wielded  it.    The  problem  is,    he  would  never  fight  with  her  about  that.    He  gave  up  everything  to  his  name  so  that  she  never  had  to  stay  tied  here  again;    it’s  insulting  that  she  thinks  to  rub  that  in  his  face  now,    but  worse  than  that  it  fucking  hurts.    He’d  rather  be  gutted  and  shoved  into  one  of  the  canals,    left  to  rot  in  the  piss  and  the  waste  and  the  drowned  dead  vermin, than break her spirit with restraint.

That  merch  gone  cold  in  the  middle  of  that  market  had  no  time  to  heed  a  message  or  be  warned  of  a  threat.    Kaz  was  brutal  and  clear  about  his  motive,    but  never  had  any  intention  for  lessons  learned.    One  look  across  a  crowded  room  was  enough  to  send  Inej  into  a  near  catatonic  state  and  that  had  been  enough  reason for  Kaz.    Inej  can  cut  out  the  damage  at  the  root  with  her  work  hunting  down  ships,    but  Kaz  will  dig  their  fingers  into  the  flesh  of  the  poisoned  fruit  harming  her  and  destroy  it.    He  did  destroy  it,    at  least  this  time.    There’s  no  accounting  for  the  wounds  already  inflicted  all  those  years  ago from men no longer here.

❝    You  wanted  me  to  dismantle  the  businesses  here,    ❞  Kaz  reminds  her.    His  voice  is  still  menacingly quiet  even  as  it  grinds.    They  haven’t  broken  eye  contact  yet  either,    though  there’s  no  telling  who  between  the  two  of  them  is  more  furious  with  the  other  now.    Kaz  curls  their  fingers  into  the  arms  of  their  chair  to  quell  their  rising  temper.    ❝    If  the  brothels  have  no  clients,    they  have  no  money.    If  they  have  no  money,    they  have  no  business.    Is  your  recall  slipping,    Captain?    I  could  have  sworn  you  might  have  picked  up  those  basics  during  your  time  in  this  city,    but  perhaps  pirating  weans  you  of  those  details.    Good,    then,    that  you  no  longer  retrieve  information  for  me.    ❞

[taitropa]

Trading barbs with @hebzucht is always a fool’s errand because as much as you could try to wound him, his blade is always sharper. Inej can feel its cutting edge against her skin and he might as well have her pinned to the wall with all her insides exposed to him. They know exactly where to hurt her, vulnerable as she’s always been to them.

“You twist my words on purpose for your own agenda but does it truly make you feel better, Kaz?” She sounds as exasperated as she feels and she looks it too. Inej curls her fingers around the newspaper, effectively and swiftly crumbling it and obscuring the taunting headline. It doesn’t help her though because she can’t stop thinking about the corpse in the street and what his eyes looked like only the night before when they’d caught hers across the room.

The faces from her past blur together until she is faced with them all over again. All of the monster’s features are recrystallized in her memory. She doesn’t need to reach far to remember what it feels like to be grabbed or pinned or silenced or hurt because it’s right there on the surface. It feels like floating outside of her body. Shutting out of herself so she doesn’t have to feel it.

“But that’s not what you were doing. What you did last night was not for me. It was for you.” Inej shoves the wad of sensationalized gore in print across his desk and leans further into his view. Kaz is pulling on armor quicker than they can really hide behind it. The anger in his eyes is too bright to dull before he can tuck it away from her. “What will you do, Kaz? Go door to door in this city asking who fucked your Wraith so you can skin them for all to see? That isn’t what I want. I haven’t asked you for vengeance.” Inej rights herself and takes a step away from him. Then another and another until she has the desk between them. “Sometimes I will see ghosts from my past. But I do not need your protection from them. I cannot live my life depending on you for that.”

[rosettyller]