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pathetichimbos · 10 months

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What kinds of decorations do you think Thomas has in his room? Is he pretty goblincore with handmade animal skin trinkets and various pretty things stolen off visitors? Or does he keep it classic and relatively bare?

Hmmm, I've always headcanoned he keeps a blank and empty room, but I know he enjoys making things... So, let's talk about it!

I think Thomas enjoys making things like jewelery with things he finds interesting, like various nature related things he's found outside, or even cool looking teeth or something off a victim, and of course a claw or something from an animal

It's not exactly a relaxing process but he's gotten really good with working with the jewelery over the years and it gives him something to focus on, and when he's wearing something he's made it gives him a way to stim and provides comfort when he's overwhelmed with something, so he makes the jewelry really strong so he can pull on it, maybe lightly snap it against his wrist, or just rub the charms between his fingers. Though, this habit died down a lot as he got older thanks to Hoyt and Montys unfriendly teasing.

He'll make other similar things from time to time, like wind chimes or sunlight catchers, using things like (again) bones, or sticks that make a certain noise he really likes when they clonk together, pieces of glass from a busted window in the barn, or light catching jewelery or anything of the sort off a victim.

I also think he'd enjoy working with clay. I like to take from the original movie and assume there's a lake nearby the Hewitt household that Thomas used to skip school (when he first went) to go play at as a kid, when no one else was around. He used to dig clay out of lake shore and make little sculptures to leave in the sun and dry. He still goes to the day, but it's harder to do since he has such a big responsibility in the household, but when he manages to sneak off he'll enjoy trying to make something again.

As for keeping things from the victims, I think Hoyt generally has first grab rules that Thomas doesn't try to fight against, and he gives his mother any particularly pretty jewelery he thinks she'd like. After that, it's free game, though there's not much left usually, so that's why he works with the actual body so much more.

But, at the end of the day, where's all this stuff go? You've been in Thomas' room, there's just a bed and a dresser, even the mirror is covered with a sheet. No trinkets, no decorations, nothing.

You've seen him make a few things, on one of the occasions you were sent down to fetch him by Luda Mae, and he's even given you a couple of the trinkets himself.

You'll see them in the house, scattered around. An unidentifiable clay figure, sitting on the shelf with family pictures. A handmade bracelet in the bowl kept by the door. A light catcher swinging around in the kitchen window, even a few he really liked kept in the basement at his crafting station, but never any in Thomas' room.

But, you can find them. If you start showing extra interest in his makings, asking to watch him work, lighting up like a Christmas tree when he gives you something, you can find them.

You'll be laying on the couch with him, your legs thrown over his lap as you lay out, his hand in your own lap as you tug and stim with his bracelet as the two of you watch the old black and white TV across the room, and you'll mention how nice the bracelet is, and how you wish you had one of your own.

You didn't really mean much by the comment, just sort of lazily mentioned it as you zoned out watch the cartoons you had found, but suddenly Thomas is standing up, one arm under your knees and the other cradling your back as he lifts you with ease.

He carries you up the stairs, and you're caught a little off guard when he takes you to the bedroom the two of you have been sharing.

It wasn't uncommon for him to simply grab your hand and pull you places when he needed or wanted something, since he couldn't exactly tell you directly, but it wasn't often he carried you like this.

He'll set you on the bed after shutting the door, and hesitant for a moment, before pulling a small wooden box from his closet and showing you.

When he opens it, it's filled with a lot of things he made over the years, things he couldn't part with but couldn't find anything to do with. Several bracelets are inside, all with different kind of textures and things, and he insists you pick your favorite and keep it.

You can't help but notice several things you really like, though, and you ask him if you can keep them out and put them on the dresser.

His immediate answer is no, after all, men aren't supposed to make things and fill their room with such pretty and happy things, right? That's too childish, that's too girly, and that's exactly what he hears for years from his uncles.

You're persistent though, after all, *you* were the one that wanted them out, if they had such a problem with it they could take it up with you, and after living there so long you had built up a thick skin to the two men, something that Thomas admired and worried over often.

So, in the end, I think Thomas would love to decorate his room with all the pretty rocks he finds and trinkets he makes, but he won't really do it unless he's given that push, because Hoyt and Monty are old school, even for the 70s, and Thomas would rather comply than deal with their relentless bullying.

Thanks for sending in the ask!!!

#whew got a little drabbly there #meant to try and keep it short but thats what tommy boy does to my brain #make brain go brrrrrrr #also passed out in less than ten minutes after i made that post about not sleeping god bless my manager for answering the phone #but feel free to send more things like this in!!! good shit #thomas hewitt #slasher fandom #slashers #thomas hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #thomas hewitt x s/o #thomas hewitt x y/n #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #shuddup jamie

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fluffyhare · 2 months

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Like Real People Do, Part 2! ♡ (Casper x Avery)

☁️ Summary: Casper waits for Avery to make good on his promise to visit, and gets more than they bargained for!

☁️ Warnings: Suggestive language, mild tickling (please do not interact with this if you're a minor!)

This is a series now!

Part 1

Part 2 *you are here

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

If you just got here and want to know more about my characters, you can read my comic starting right here!

Everything that hurt, always hurt more the second day.

I sat up in bed, pain wrapping around my middle like a boa constrictor, squeezing agony into my bones. It was four a.m. again, but now it was Monday; a workday.

I grabbed my phone and opened my company's intranet page, hastily navigating to the HR section of the site and putting in for a sick day, followed by an email to my boss and coworkers.

Good morning,

I am not feeling well and will not be in today. All incidents assigned to me are up-to-date with notes. In case of emergency, please text me.

Thank you,

[deadname]

I stared at my reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. My teal hair looked like the aftermath of a fork stuck into an electrical outlet, and there were pale violet circles under my eyes. While they were genetic, they had become even more visible since my insomnia started. Lifting my shirt, I looked at my stomach, where a bruise like an arm of the Milky Way bloomed in shades of blue and purple, fading to yellowish green at the frayed border. I clattered three Excedrin into my palm and swallowed them dry.

My apartment didn't have a dining area, so I sat on my green-corduroy couch as I peeled an orange. Aside from the hum of the air conditioning unit, it was quiet.

What the hell happened yesterday?

Given the shape and location of the bruise, I felt pretty certain that I had, indeed, crashed my skateboard into the pier's guardrail.

"Oh, shit! My skateboard!" I remembered dismally. It was probably at the bottom of the ocean by now, waterlogged and unsalvageable. Unlike most other skaters I knew, who often had a quiver of five or six boards, I only had one; a drop-through longboard that wasn't too long, which meant it was perfect for my short stance. It was the first board I'd learned to ride, and I'd saved up for months to afford it. My heart sank as I remembered how much research I had done to find the perfect beginner skateboard, and the graphic I had so carefully selected -- a stylized depiction of a person surfing beneath a cloudy, pastel sunrise.

Sunrise. Clouds.

The rest of my memories from the previous day surged back.

"Avery!"

I nearly choked on an orange slice as I glimpsed the microwave's digital clock. It was five a.m. now.

"Sunset time Port Oleander," I googled frantically, the search engine responding with cruel indifference, "seven-thirty p.m."

My fingers counted the hours: fourteen and a half. I collapsed back into the couch as impatience like a cartoon anvil fell on me. How could I possibly wait that long?

Memories of the lighthouse assailed me as I slumped, stunlocked, on the couch; wet brick, old paper, bergamot, sea spray. An embarrassment of books. Sunlight glinting off bits of ice in Avery's swirling, translucent head. His huge, sincere, almost goofy smile. His laugh.

My stomach twisted with a swell of emotion so strong it was almost painful as I recalled the sensation of Avery's warm, boisterous laugh vibrating my ribcage. I wanted - no, I needed - to hear it again and again and again. My fingernails dug into the couch cushion as I fought to gather myself.

"This is just infatuation... right?"

I wasn't exactly a stranger to romance. I'd had partners here and there, but admittedly, the termination of my previous relationship over two years ago had left me unsure that falling in love was, well. For me.

The initial "spark" that seemed a crucial part of attraction for other people, for me, was apparently defunct; attraction did not happen often, and when it did, it was more a slow and methodical building of a home, less a match igniting an all-consuming fire. Love, intimacy and trust were all building bricks, predicated upon a wrought-iron foundation of knowing a person well, forming a bond as friends over time.

Physical intimacy, itself, was a whole 'nother ballgame. As a solitary person, most physical touch -- even mundane -- carried a weight of closeness that was not always comfortable or welcome, but was embarrassingly out of my control. I recalled my recent visit to the doctor, cringing a bit. Though I was loath to admit it, even brushing hands with the grocery store clerk as they handed me my change left a lingering sensation that I had to fight to ignore. I wasn't the type to hug a stranger; I wasn't the type to even hug my friends unless we'd spent significant time together. I certainly didn't think about ti...

My ears suddenly grew hot.

Was I already thinking about... that? With Avery?

Avery's hand holding mine over his kitchen table, his palm cool and soft, the mysterious and silent storm rushing beneath his skin. His gentle gaze that, despite his obvious years, held an innocent curiosity. His playful-yet-shy bravado as he introduced himself with a flourish of his hand, the way he so effortlessly scooped me off the ground. I wondered if his skin felt the same everywhere else... on his body, and on mine.

"Oh, no. We just met, we are NOT doing this," I argued, trying to appeal to my own sense of reason,"you're just gonna have to tough this out, Casper. Don't rush into things and scare him off, this is probably just a crush you're going to get over once you get to know him."

"But I've never even had a crush before, I don't know what to do!"

"Dude, just be regular! Just hang out with him like normal and see what he's like! I don't know, take him to the fair or something!"

"Is that a good way to get to know someone you're attracted to?!"

"I don't know, I'm you!"

I lowered my reeling head into my hands, suddenly regretting eating that orange as my stomach churned. Things were happening so fast. I looked at the clock again -- agonizingly, only an hour had passed.

A horrible thought occured to me, then:

What if Avery didn't feel the same?

"Don't go down that road," my internal monologue chided, "you have no idea how he feels. Don't spiral out of control."

"Why would he even be interested in me? I'm weird! I spend all my time by myself, I'm chubby, I barely have any talent, I don't even have any friends since I moved here! Not to mention how much trauma and baggage I have-"

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about! Stop it! Everyone has baggage, even Avery probably does. You don't have to earn other people's love! You're good enough just for being who you are, and if he would only love you for what you can do for him, he wouldn't be loving you for the right reasons, anyway. Now get up and channel this nervous energy into something productive for god's sake, before you burn a hole in the couch."

I stood.

I cleaned up the coffee table.

I vacuumed my carpet. I washed every thread of clothing I owned, and my bedding. I did the dishes, cleaned every window and mirror and dusted every surface. Raiding the fridge and freezer, I threw out everything that was expired, then I alphabetized my spice cabinet. I mopped, scrubbed, wiped, and folded until my apartment looked like it was straight out of an IKEA catalogue.

Then I left, and ran every errand I had been putting off. I finally emptied my mailbox, bursting with junkmail (I was sure that our postal worker just loved me). I got my car inspected and put air in my tires. I went to the grocery store and restocked my fridge.

All the while, my mind reeled like a YouTube video set to loop:

Avery, Avery, Avery.

+++

By the time I was done, it was six forty-five p.m. I sat on the couch in my favorite pair of jeans and my coolest short-sleeve button-down: a navy blue number with tiny koi fish print. My hair was perfectly quaffed, and I radiated a shower-fresh clean. My apartment was silent, my palms sweating as my hands rested on my thighs. Despite all my arguing and resistance, I was the very definition of down bad.

My incessant thoughts piped up.

"You're trying too hard. You realize that Avery saw you yesterday, unconscious, in a ratty t-shirt and cargo shorts, nasty and sweaty from skateboarding, right? You probably looked like shit, and he probably thinks that's how you normally look. You probably smelled bad, too. He's gonna know."

"He's not gonna know. How would he know?"

A soft knock on my door interrupted my internal warfare and made me jump out of my skin.

I put my hand on the cold doorknob. My heart beat so furiously I could feel the fuzzy edge of my consciousness, and I silently bargained with my hypotension that if it just left me alone for now, just for tonight, I would pass out all it wanted tomorrow. I turned the knob and opened the door.

"Hi!"

It was my neighbor. I experienced an emotion that could only be described as crushing relief.

"I found this outside my door, I think it's yours, isn't it?"

She was holding my skateboard. It was wet, but it didn't look to be soaked through. I gasped, taking it from her.

"Yes! You said it was outside your door?"

"Yeah, I don't know how long it was there, though. Probably since this morning. This is the first time I've gotten out today, so..." she trailed off. We'd spoken in passing, but we didn't really know each other.

"Well, thank you, I lost it yesterday. I think my friend found it and probably just forgot which apartment was mine."

"Hey, no problem. Have a good one," she said, smiling politely as she left.

When she was out of sight, I hastily looked around. The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon, and as I looked up, I could see hard chips of stars starting to appear. Over my shoulder, I checked the microwave clock again. It was seven o'clock on the dot. How much longer? What would I say when he arrived? What would I even do when he did? My hands grew cold as I realized that, in all of my stress-cleaning, I hadn't planned anything for Avery and I to do together. Maybe I still had time?

"Good evening," a familiar, airy voice spoke from mere inches in front of me.

I jumped again, head snapping forward as my suddenly weak hands dropped my skateboard, which rolled lazily across my small patio.

Avery stood before me in the dying light. He wasn't completely transparent yet, and the fading sunlight behind him illuminated the delicate curves of his head, giving new meaning to the phrase "silver lining." He was grinning like a child who'd just had ice cream for the first time.

My words caught in my throat.

"I'm glad you found your skateboard! I fished it out of the water after I took you home, but I couldn't remember which apartment you lived in -- sorry about that. I hope it isn't ruined."

Across the courtyard, a man opened his door and stepped out, snapping me out of my besotted daze. My fight-or-flight engaged.

"Get in here!" I whispered urgently, grabbing his shirt sleeve, eliciting a surprised yelp as I pulled him into my apartment. He was lighter than I expected, and as the door swung closed, I tumbled backwards onto the floor.

"My goodness, Casper, are you okay?" He offered a hand to help me up. I scarcely had time to brace myself before taking it, and had no choice but to endure the overwhelming thrill of sensation as his cool palm pressed against mine, pulling me to my feet. He was light, but his strength was undeniable; he practically pulled me off my feet by my hand.

"Oh, yeah, fine... ah... I saw someone... out there, across the yard, and I was afraid they would see you," I hastily explained, avoiding his eyes as I tried to calm my palpitations.

"Well, that was kind of you! Believe it or not, though, humans do see me sometimes. Usually you just assume I am something else, like fog, or simply a trick of the light. Come to think of it, though... I suppose, technically, I am both of those things..." He put his fingers to his lips contemplatively. It was only then that I noticed a few things about him that were different from last time -- he was wearing square-framed glasses, and he seemed... shorter? The first time I saw him, he practically towered over me; now, though, he was only about a head taller.

"Did you get shorter?" I asked rudely, wincing before the words had even left my mouth. Mercifully, he didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, yes! It's a scorcher today, isn't it? I evaporate when I get too hot, or if I go too long without water, similar to how you run out of energy when you don't eat."

I realized that I hadn't offered him a seat or anything to drink since I abruptly yanked him into my apartment. I sensed my father rolling in his grave.

"I'm so sorry, can I get you something to drink? I have plain water, but I also have flavored sparkling water, you know, like La Croix? They aren't sweet, but, they're kinda fruit flavored. The kind I have is strawberry. I also have hot tea? I don't have any soda or anything, I don't really drink soda or alcohol, I also have m-"

Avery put his large hand on my shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. I flushed immediately, becoming aware that I had spoken in such a rush that I'd forgotten to breathe. I inhaled greedily, unable to meet Avery's eyes as I gestured to my small couch for him to sit.

"Sparkling water sounds lovely. I've never had that before, but I love strawberries!" he said, taking a seat.

I cracked open a can for each of us, then took a seat on a cushion across the coffee table from Avery. My couch was so small -- really more of a loveseat -- and I was afraid it was too soon to sit so close to him.

As Avery took a sip of the fizzy drink, his eyes lit up, like they did when he laughed. The liquid entered his mouth, and I watched the bubbles swirl like a hurricane just below the surface of his clear skin, before disappearing into the cloudy translucency of his body. Almost imperceptibly, such that I might not have noticed if I wasn't watching, he grew a bit taller.

"Hehe, that kinda tickles," he said, giggling, "it's not much of a flavor, is it? More like an idea of strawberries. Nonetheless, I like it! It reminds me of the flavor of tea."

"Oh, god. Oh, no."

My mind spun like a top flying off a ripcord. I felt my blush rise cartoonishly from my neck all the way to my hairline, like mercury in a glass thermometer being thrown through time, straight from winter into summer. Had I been a cartoon, I was sure that steam would be whistling out of my burning ears.

"The way that word sounds on his lips... oh, god, this is more than I can bear," I thought, watching him read the back of the La Croix can, his head tilted upward as he peered through his bifocals. There was no denying anything anymore; no bargaining, no holds barred. I was helplessly, hopelessly, powerlessly smitten. I had no choice but to admit it, now: all I could do was double-down.

"Hey Avery?"

"Yes?" He smiled again, and I realized with dizzying elation that he always smiled when he looked at me.

"Have you ever been to the fair?"

#tickle fic #tickle fluff #tickling community #casper and avery #like real people do #fluffylore #writing #my fic #romance #tickling #ocs #my ocs

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girlactionfigure · 10 days

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Prophetic Times

As predicted ?

#attack #Bible #Dry Bones cartoon #End Times #Ezekiel #Iran #Israel #Jews #latter days #Oct 7 #Prophecy

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eretzyisrael · 1 month

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Purim 2024

Suddenly more than just "fun and games."

#Dry Bones cartoon #Holiday #Israel #Jewish #Oct7 #Purim #War

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gameraboy2 · 7 months

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Schoolhouse Rock (1973), "Them Not-So-Dry Bones"

#my gif #Schoolhouse Rock #Them Not-So-Dry Bones #gif #gifs #skeleton #vintage #television #vintage television #animation #cartoons

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isawhitney · 2 months

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Well,

Here I am writing a prose poem at last, all run-on sentences that don’t end for miles at a time, simply stretching along like some landscape in a Looney Tunes cartoon, all backdrop. and then when it stops it stops, abruptly, and I leave you Wile-E.-Coyote-hanging in the air so Don’t Look Down, Not For Anything, do you get that? or otherwise the quantum field of believing will collapse and the gravity will suddenly shockingly assert itself so Do You Get That? and I hope you do because the artifice, as I am told in the dry as old bones poetry class, is part of it. ‘but Miss?’ I shoot back, in defiance of all grammatical and social convention, ‘isn’t all poetry?’ and I could go on and talk about life and the road runners and the truth of all poetry (which I’ll tell to you now, only Don’t Let On) which is that everything is a poem if thinking makes it so - but she cuts me off with a groan and anyway. next week we’re onto villanelles.

#poem #poetry #poems on tumblr #books & libraries #literature #poems #words #spilled ink #spilt ink #libraries #writers on tumblr #writing on tumblr #prose poem #my first one! could you bloody guess?

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env0writes · 6 months

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Spilled Inktober, 10.25.23 “Growing Up: In A Sense"

Up is where things go, in boxes packed and taped Filled with hot air, balloons, and crayon doodled-cartoons Is it special? No, and yet– I made it, so a self is shaped As morning grows high and aged to deep hued afternoons Before new bed sheets, bed fellows Linens and opinions of simple weave Bleached and blank, before adulthood yellows Aged in sun and tall grown; filled to believe Take my innocence, with the strum of a mandolin This too– will be placed safe in a box Moments are far too fleeting to be meeting such sin Greet each confrontation, inquiry with many locks Up, up, up, high is where hello’s have gone To collect dust, with collectibles lost There will likely too come a time, when the packing too wrong Will become boxed itself, one more memory overgrown and mossed Before grayscale adulthood, wait– and childhood color palette Countless colors illustrate each painful thought Bones will break and grow mold and wet With tears I place them on high shelves to dry, – And yet how many there are, I forget I’ve got To remember, to take them down one day- to try

@env0writes C.Buck Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist! Photo by @env0

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 4 months

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Daughter of the Rain and Snow

Concept: Around ten years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa frees Maya Olsen from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is looking for revenge against the man who put her in her position, a man who she knows nothing about except his name: Kaz Brekker.

Tags: @wraith--2 @lunarthecorvus @just2bubbly @real-fragments7 @ethereal-maia @cartoon-clifford @origami-butterfly @lady-a-stuff

If anyone wants to be added let me know :)

Content Warnings: in more general terms I want to remind people to be aware of the nature of Kaz and Inej's experiences and relationship since even if I'm not directly addressing these things they tend to be implicit in any writing about them, but specifically to this chapter there's implied ptsd references.

Chapter 46 - Kaz

“You should go back to the house,” said Kaz, adjusting his gloves slightly, “I only needed you for the interrogations, you should go into lockdown with the others now,”

He watched Nina and Jesper share a look between them and suppressed the need to roll his eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, “I’m not going to do anything rash. Go back to the house and I’ll be there by this evening,”

“Where are you going?” asked Jesper

“I’m going to try to find Alby - he has to be hiding out somewhere nearby,”

“And what if you need us?” asked Nina, folding her arms across her chest.

“I won’t,”

A moment passed.

“Go home,” said Kaz, “If you don’t start walking I’m sure I can find a more creative way to get you there,”

Nina sighed melodramatically as Kaz turned away.

“What do we do if you aren’t back this evening?” she called after him as he began to walk.

Kaz looked over his shoulder.

“Give me until ten bells. After that?” he shrugged, “Pray,”

He walked away, hearing Jesper mutter behind him that ten bells was really night, not evening. Kaz flexed his fingers inside his gloves, fighting off the exhaustion seeping through his bones. He hadn’t stopped to rest since lying on the bed with Inej as she fell asleep, and hadn’t for some time before that either. A new day was beginning over Ketterdam; the sun was forcing its way between the slowly thinning clouds from the rain of the last few days. Kaz thought of Inej’s girls - wherever they’d been in the days before they returned to the shelter had probably not been warm and dry. And what of Maya Olsen?

Maybe she had followed Inej’s instructions and left the city, but he doubted it. He didn’t blame her for her accusation - whatever her father had done to her aside, Inej had told him about the other Fjerdan girl at the Tulip Mill. He’d known of course, though admittedly only in vague terms, that he’d dropped from two information sources at the house to one, but he’d given it less thought than he ought to have done. People died all the time in Ketterdam, and in his line of work more than most. But he couldn’t deny it, could he?

He had killed Celina Muff no less than Pekka Rollins had killed Jordie.

Kaz felt sick.

No, Maya would not have left the city yet. And if Alby really was building himself a little army of walking grudges, she would be a prime candidate. Kaz needed to find them quickly, shut this thing down before it started - and hopefully pull Maya out of the action. He knew she was angry, but she didn’t deserve anything he was about to bring down on Alby. If she was smart, she’d let him and Inej get her out of the way.

Kaz didn’t really know where he was going to start looking for Alby, but he needed the others out of his way. He needed to be alone - and he could admit to himself that he also needed to know they were safe. He counted the bedrooms of the Hendriks’ house in his head - Wylan and Jesper’s, then him and Inej in one room, and the girls in the other two. Space would be tight to fit in Nina tonight - even tighter if Inej needed the bed to herself. Maybe Kaz could take a sofa, or just spend the night working in Wylan’s office. He knew that most of the house’s upper rooms lay empty, as Jan Van Eck’s servants had moved on to other employment over the years Wylan and Jesper had replaced only a few of their positions, but he didn’t know how much space there was. Still, maybe Nina at least could find a bed up there; Kaz would prefer not to negotiate four flights of stairs anyway, if possible.

“We don’t really need anyone,” Wylan had once told Kaz, when he noticed they hadn’t hired anyone to fill an empty maid’s role.

It must have been almost three years ago now.

“I would’ve thought you just wanted to offer the employment,” Kaz admitted with an easy shrug.

“If someone needs it they can have it,” said Wylan, “But there’s hardly that much to do…”

He’d paused for a moment and glanced at the door, lowering his voice in case Jesper could hear him.

“Maybe if we adopt it will be different; we’ll have less time on our hands. But I don’t know if Jesper wants to or not - and right now the house is quiet and generally always tidy; it’s just us,”

Kaz raised an eyebrow.

“You want a kid?”

“Maybe - but that’s not the point, the point is that I will offer something if someone needs it, but we don’t need it,”

Less than a week later, Kaz had knocked on the door once again.

“Wylan, Esme. Esme, Wylan,”

Wylan had stared at him.

“Erm, hi?”

Esme had said nothing.

“Go on then,” said Kaz, “Inside,”

She stared between him and Wylan with wide eyes as Wylan stepped to one side to let her pass. Kaz followed her inside and Wylan closed the door behind them.

“You gonna elaborate, Kaz, or…?”

“Esme came to the Crow Club last night,” said Kaz, “And asked me for a job. I don’t have anything for her, but I thought you might,”

Shortly later, Wylan had murmured to Kaz.

“You had nothing for her?”

“I have nothing for her. Look at her - that girl wouldn’t survive a week in the Barrel and you know it,”

“You’re protecting her,”

“I’m protecting myself,” he glared at Wylan, “I don’t need a liability on my crew,”

“Of course,”

“Don’t look at me like that,”

Wylan just smiled. It had made him look very punchable, but Kaz showed remarkable restraint.

Kaz walked towards the Slat with no particular intention of finishing up there, he just needed a sensible direction to walk in whilst he thought - one of his clubs had been struggling for at least a month, the other had been half-destroyed, and yesterday half the damn Barrel saw him running through the streets at top speed towards Fifth Harbour. He couldn’t afford anything more that might look like a slip in his reputation. His property on the Lid was currently the only thing bringing in notable funds, but he supposed the silver lining of that was that it was where he kept prices highest. He had little day-to-day involvement with it himself, but checked the books just as he did those for the Crow Club and the Silver Six.

Maybe the Slat wasn’t the worst starting place. After all, if he didn’t calm the troops this could spiral and he could very well end up with a mutiny on his hands - he didn’t have time for that right now. He would go in, spin something short about having the situation under control, encourage Anika to share - and, only of course if she saw fit, embellish upon - his interrogations of the crew that attacked the Crow Club, and find his old papers on Dime Lions safe houses. He was sure they were somewhere in his and Inej’s apartment. Whilst he was there he’d find Ethan to finally discuss the Olsen ledger - damn it, he couldn’t. Kaz’s mind had been clouded when he demanded from Filip the ledger that had been stolen from his office; he’d been wrong. The entire ledger hadn’t been taken: it had pulled open and left on the floor, a fistful of pages ripped from it like a gutted fish, the Olsen transaction one of them.

And he’d been stupid enough to tell Anika she was looking for a ledger, not a page. The thing was probably already ashes on the Reaper’s Barge.

It was a setback, but still the Slat was the most sensible starting point. The building was crowded, it was always crowded, but as Kaz walked in a hush fell over the room and all heads turned towards him. All of them were hiding anxiety with anger, and most of them weren’t doing a good job of it. He smiled at them briefly, then let it drop.

“You may have noticed we have a little problem,” he began.

He continued to walk as he spoke and the crowd parted for him whichever way he went. He moved towards the stairs, slowly.

“And after some… questioning of involved parties I’ve learned who was responsible for the damage to the Crow Club,”

A half-truth; Kaz had known before he started asking the questions, but he hadn’t known for certain when he first got to the club. He reached the stairs and moved up two steps before turning back again, so he could view the room properly.

“Our attacker did not intend to destroy the building, it was a ploy to leave me a message and draw attention away from his real plan, but it is still going to take a lot of work to reopen the Crow Club. In the meantime, I’m going to be splitting our efforts between getting more pigeons through the doors of the Silver Six,” he paused, letting a smile slowly creep across his face, “and catching the bastard who dared to wrong us,”

Several people cheered, and then several more joined in.

Kaz grinned.

“Any questions?”

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