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whoviandoodler · 4 years

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Kanej (part 3)

Oop whoop, I finished another part. Hope you like it x

PART 1 | PART 2

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“Excuse me?” Kaz said, barely containing rage simmering below the cool facade he always kept on. He wanted to hit the grim man in front of him badly and wipe the look off of his face that said ‘None of this is my fault, it must be someone else’s’. His gloved hand squeezed the crow head on top of his cane like he desired nothing more than to shatter it to dust.

“His wife saw me, all right? I couldn’t get the information on when the exchange was happening.”

“Not only did you not manage to get the information.” Kaz uttered quietly, almost pleasantly. “But you also alerted him that someone was looking into what his dealings, so now he will insure precautions, if he doesn’t put a stop to his business entirely.”

“He is greedy, he won’t be able to stop so close to achieving his goal.”

There was no point explaining to Roeder that in a man like the one they were hunting cowardice and paranoia took preference even over money. If he sniffed so much as a whiff of trouble, he would temporarily back away from the game, and Roeder’s mistake smelled as strongly as aged whiskey.

And while the respectable Ravkan merch tanned his respectable face in the Southern Colonies, his money will still make ways to the pockets of a certain Derry Pollet. Kaz had put too much of his energy and time into putting a plan to take Mr. Holland down in an unsuspicious manner to let the golden opportunity go down in flames.

“Go and find out what the Fjerdan ambassadors are up to, and try to be more discreet this time.”

He waited for Roeder to disappear, closing the doors behind him, before he raised his hand to massage his temple. The Dregs couldn’t and wouldn’t be tied to this, but yet another error made him as close as he would get to skittish. He was tired, irritable, and was getting so desperate after another week with no news that he was pathetically close to sending out word that he was looking for her.

That would by all means be impossible, stupid and impulsive, of course. If anyone learnt that the feared and respected captain of the Wraith still had the connection to Kaz Brekker she had when she worked with him, it would cause trouble. Some knew she was the same Wraith who had made the Barrel her home, and baring witness to her skills and hearing the hushed, barely spoken rumours she was a part of breaking into the Ice Court only urged them to silence. For now, that is. If and when they thought they could get something out of knowing of the arrangement, a lot of them would gladly sweep caution under the rug and go for it.

So he swallowed the darkening ball of despair in his throat yet again and went out to do the job himself. He already had the plan of the house in his head, the ins and outs, the locks on the doors, which members spent time in which rooms at which point of day.

Holland wasn’t home tonight. Like every Wednesday from ten o’clock to nearly two the following morning, he was stuck in a gambling den with his rich friends, choking on tobacco smoke and putting hands on whichever girl the place put to work at the moment. His wife was sitting in her parlor, gossiping with her sister and neighbors’ wives about her husband, when he was going to be gone, if it seemed like he was to get them even more money, and so foolishly and unknowingly revealed his deals.

If she saw Roeder like he said she had, her first reaction, according to Kaz’s intuition, would be to run to her guests and let them fuss about her. It would be hours before she thought to call her husband, if she did that at all. Her friends would gush about how they too had seen a burglar, or how an acquaintance of theirs had, and how they wished that the city would be rid of those criminal rats. And while they did that, one of them was going to break into their house, do what thieves did best and disappear without leaving a trace.

It was almost pathetically easy to gain access to Holland’s office. The task that took him the longest was leaving the room in the same mess he had found it in. Papers were scattered all over the desk, along with mugs, some still filled with what smelled to Kaz like a dangerous mix of herbal tea and rum. There were even clothes in the corner, a heap of red cloth that was wet with what could be canal water.

He let those pieces of information sizzle in his brain, and he was about to leave with the papers he had come for when he spotted a half opened envelope on the edge of the desk. Something about it pulled at him even from afar and he had no reason at all to resist the temptation.

After he had made sure that no one was approaching the room, he made his way over.

He took the curiousity in his hand, noting the ripples of water in a corner, and let its contents spill into his hand. Then the world swayed sideways and took his heart with it, starting the buzzing in his ears. On his glove sat a neat pile of shiny black hair, a few inches long. Hair was an odd thing to mail to someone, but what choked him up was the piece of cloth that tied it together. The pattern of it was intricate, blue waves with small crows that held cheery purple flowers in their beaks, and unique to the shawl he had gifted Inej two years ago for her twentieth birthday.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Everything around him was a blur of colours, a reality painted wrong. He only became aware he was shaking when he nearly dropped the bundle of hair. A switch turned on inside him, the same one that had when he was a child gripping his brother’s corpse to get away, to stay alive, and he put it back the way it was. He practically had to tear his arm away from it, from that piece of her no one had a right to own, but he managed to get to the window, lock it behind him and make his way to the ground.

He still had enough sense to keep to the shadows and avoid the street lamps that would reveal him to passerbys and inquisitive inhabitants of the district, but he stumbled on a bridge near the Slat and almost fell into the dark water. Thoughts easily slipped by his shaken defenses and brought on old memories, terrifying him to the core. He had to grip the unsteady railing to get back the feeling of ownership over his own body.

He imagined Inej’s voice so words she had said at one moment or another spilled over each other, leaving them all devoid of meaning. It didn’t matter, however, as the sole tone of it calmed his wildly beating heart and trembling hands. Kaz, she would say comfortingly. Just his name, just a reminder he was here and now and alive and something more than a drowning child whose name there was no one left to remember.

Come on, come on, he urged himself as he stood back up and turned to the Slat.

He rushed into his office expecting the room to be empty and ready for him to sit down and think, only to find Jesper pacing in the limited space with his long strides, hands behind his back, usually bright face creased with worry and gloom. His eyes widened with short-termed relief when Kaz barged in.

“Oh, thank Ghezen, I thought you would stay out there forever. There’s a huge problem.” He hesitated just a second, as if he was debating if telling Kaz what he had waited there over an hour to inform him of was a good idea. “It’s about Inej.”

Dark hands clenched his gut, dripping with malice and fury. Kaz was glad for it, for that familiar and often blinding, but always distracting accomplice that made him want to burn the world around him. That raw rage that now made him push Jesper against the wall by his collar was something that woke discomfort in him on a normal occasion, an anomaly that made him miss important details that he couldn’t afford to miss, a phantom that threatened to drive sense and whatever scraps of humanity he had left from him.

“Where is she?”

Jepser gripped Kaz’s wrist, trying to push him back, but he didn’t reach for his guns. “Calm down, Kaz. Choking me to death isn’t going to help anything.” He wheezed out, hoping he won’t have to take a swing at his friend.

As if it finally dawned on him, Kaz let him go and took a step back. “What do you know?”

“Loe and Oliander are at the mansion. Oliander is out of it and half dead. Loe is beaten up pretty bad, but she’s conscious and talking. She said... she said they caught trace of some guy they were chasing, and made a pass at him, but he surprised them and almost killed them all and destroyed the ship. Inej covered everyone’s back until they could get away. She was captured.”

Jesper’s shoulders sank even further. His hands came to rest on his guns, as if seeking comfort from the cold, valuable metal.

“When?” Kaz asked with all the calm he could gather. To think he would need to be cool, calm and collected, and to plan he would need to think.

“I don’t know, I didn’t stay long enough to find out. I came here as soon as she said they got Inej.”

“We’re going, now.”

They walked out at an unnervingly slow pace. Jesper said nothing until they were out of the rowdy and loud building, though he almost skipped instead of striding, like most of his nervousness concentrated in his feet.

“Wylan called the doctor, one of those discreet, hush-hush medics that don’t gossip to anyone about their patients. He’s keeping an eye on both of them and trying to help them as much as he can. You know he took an interest in medicine as of late, so I have to read to him for hours about the most boring of things, but as usual he’s catching on pretty quickly.”

Kaz ignored Jesper’s rambling and instead made way to the Van Eck mansion. The scenery quickly changed from the ruin, despair and impropriety of the Barrel to fancy houses that hid all those same, core, human sins behind pretty walls and expensive clothes. That was Ketterdam for you, so small that all of that was packed next to each other, like a piece of work made by an ironic artist. Cheap and extra practically on top of one another, both worlds pretending the other is a mile away rather than an inch.

He got through the unlocked front door and headed for the living room. There on the couch half-lied, half-sat Loe Ji Kien, Inej’s first mate. Her brown hair was a tangled, soaked mess, pulled back carelessly to reveal her bloodshot light brown eyes. An ugly bruise made home on one side of her strong, square chin, but the fading mix of sour colours was nothing compared to the pattern of healing wounds and blemishes on her revealed arms, stomach and calves.

Kaz felt sorry for her state. He had known her for a while now, though they only met a dozen or so times over the years she worked with Inej. She was born and raised in Shu Han, in some faraway village that probably counted no more than a few hundred residents, and when her parents died she found a job on one of the ships, dressing as a boy, until she earned enough trust and trusted enough to give her identity to a captain who accepted her and helped her make a name for herself.

Or so she told him.

There was more to that story, Kaz didn’t doubt, but there was always more to everyone’s tales.

Still, what she looked like now couldn’t matter as much as the pressing questions in his throat. He wished selfishly that it was Inej there. He would rather have her injured and at arm’s reach, than somewhere across the damned ocean that had taken her.

“Ji Kien.” He called out.

Her head whipped around and she sat up fully despite the protests of her red-haired host seated on the arm of the sofa. “Brekker.” Her raspy voice replied.

Kaz dragged one of the parlor chairs and sat right in front of her, so their eyes were level with each other. He laid his cane over his knees, wishing in some far corner of his mind he could stretch his leg and rest it after all the heatless strain he had put it under the past few weeks.

“Who has her?” he asked, though something inside him already told him he knew the answer.

“Pollet.”

The dark pit in his stomach opened up and swallowed him whole. He had this feeling for months, this sense of inexplicable dread that would wash over him at oddest of moments, like something was terribly off. Inej had told him that fear meant something was coming, and now he understood that perfectly.

He dug his fingers into the wall of that pit, dragged himself up by his nails until he could gulp air again. He oiled his brain up and leaned back, squashing whichever emotions might’ve seeped through his indifferent mask, still not taking his eyes away from Loe’s.

“Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

#kanej #kanej fanfiction #kanej fanfic #six of crows #the crooked kingdom #soc #tck #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #leigh bardugo

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im-in-love-with-my-disco-deaky · 4 years

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So this is a crappy story I’m writing for our parents, Roger and Sarina (even though I can’t write for shit). And this is the first part, so they haven’t met yet.

Chapter One - Arrival

South Africa, November 2003.

Roger's P.O.V:

As soon as the aeroplane door opened I was swarmed in warm heat. On our planeride, we could see that most of Africa was a vast and barren landscape, covered with dry and dead plants. Cape Town was much more built up. It certainly wasn't London, but it was magnificent nonetheless.

The tall poodle I call Brian stepped out after me. His curly hair just poofed up at the humidity of the place and I just couldn't help but laugh. That earned me a slap and a death glare. Whoops. Ah well.

I peeled my jacket off as the heat began to take its effect on me. I glanced around, taking in the view of the landscape as well as our arena. It was, thankfully, a clear day today, although that meant we had the sun directly beaming down on us. Bri and I stared across the city of Cape Town, looking at the multitude of buildings and the moving, shining specs that we could only assume were cars.

I followed Brian with long strides as we went to our first destination of the day and, arguably, the most important of them. We were going to meet Nelson Mandela, the organiser of the concert. Was I nervous? Hell yeah, but so was Bri. He hasn't said it, but I know. I sighed softly we walked through the large doors leading us towards Nelson. I could really feel the nerves settling in now.

I held my breath as we walked in, hands in my pockets to hide my shaking. Then I blinked and bam. I was stood in front of Nelson Mandela alongside one of my greatest friends.

He broke out in a wide smile, "Ah, Brian, Roger. Pleasure to meet you."

Brian was the one to speak, "please, the pleasure's all ours." I could hear the nerves in Brian's voice.

We continued to talk for a good 45 minutes, talking about anything and everything. The concert, the schedule, practice times, our flight, we even spoke about Freddie for a while. Brought back some memories, still hits hard, even after all this time. Finally, it was time to go to the hotel. Apparently, it's some high-end place with a great view of the city. Brian and I, thankfully, had separate rooms, otherwise we'd be at each others throats.

Brian and I strolled outside to the awaiting limo, I was first to get in and watched as Bri folded upon himself to squish in.

Of course he noticed my holding back laughter, "oh fuck off, Rog. Just because you're short."

"Least I'm not a fucking giraffe." I mumbled back as the limo pulled away.

"Oh shush." The poodle rolled his eyes, adjusting.

I couldn't help but scoff. "Bitch. You're so damn tall, the only person who's seen the top of your head is God."

"At least I don't look at kneecaps all damn day long."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Oh fucking neh neh."

So. These are how our conversations normally go. All in good humour, of course.

We spent the rest of the ride in silence. I was daydreaming and Brian was taking in the African views. I missed my kids, I've got to admit. Lola, Rufus and Tigerlily were staying with my ex-girlfriend, Debbie. Already, I was planning on phoning tonight to check up on then, it has been a few days since I saw them last. I also decided to phone Dominique to check on Rory and Felix.

A wave of cool air surrounded me as I rolled down the tinted window and looked out. Cars zoomed past us and buildings shielded us partially from the sun. My hands were folded in my lap, still, for once, and my sunglasses were positioned on top of my head. Brian was either resting his eyes or dead in the seat beside me, head back, eyes closed. I was only able to confirm he wasn't dead when we pulled up to the hotel, as the tall man lifted his head.

The limo door opened and I got out with ease, looking up at the large building. Of course, we had to wait for Brian to regain feeling in his legs and unfold like a fucking lawn chair before getting out. Tall people problems. Can't relate. We were lead towards wide glass doors, stopping to sign a few autographs before walking through. We stopped in the grand lobby, surrounded by antique paintings and huge, swinging chandeliers. It wasn't busy, to our delight, so there was a somewhat peaceful atmosphere. Brian and I looked around whilst we got signed in, glancing between the view outside and the signs that were written in a language we didn't understand. Well, I didn't, the brainbox next to me might.

Finally, we were signed in and handed our room keys, before being led to the elevator. We stepped in and watched as our bodyguard, Andy, pressed the button, hearing the soft ding before the doors slid shut. Then I got a thought.

"Y'know whats weird?" I turned to Brian.

His tone was sarcastic, "You writing a song about fucking your car?"

"No, dumbass. And don't say shit about I'm In Love With My Car its a masterpiece."

"Yeah, sure it is." Brian rolled his eyes. "So what's weird then?"

"Elevator music." I spoke, deep in thought.

The older man furrowed his eyebrows. "Elevator music, Rog?"

I nodded. "Well, yeah. I mean, we all have a rough idea about what it sounds like and whatnot, but how many people can actually say they've been in an elevator that plays music?"

Brian stared me down. "I sure as hell haven't. Must be a Hollywood thing."

"Hmm, probably."

The elevator slowed to a stop and we stepped out. We were on the highest floor, so had some of the best views of Cape Town, which we had yet to explore. But I as tired and jet-lagged, so for now all I can see in the future is a phone call and a nice bed.

Andy led us to our rooms and we said our goodbyes before walking in. The room was big, a champagne bottle in the corner, a large double bed against the wall, suppling a great view of the city for when you woke (if you're facing the right way, that is). Above it hung a large mirror, boxed in with a couple paintings. On either side of the bed stood a wooden nightstand, a light screwed into the wall above each one. Opposite the bed there was a large TV, remote underneath, and a pamphlet beside it. Off to the side hung a small mirror and a hairdryer, inside a open, narrow, wooden storage unit. It was stocked with towels and extra pillows, with a white silk robe hanging neatly next to it. On the opposing wall, there was a door leading into the bathroom. I dropped my bag down by the door and slid my shoes off, before walking over to it, swinging the door open and stepping in. Immediately, I as met with a large bathtub, big enough for two people, lined with jets for a nice massage after a long day. There was a shower head on the wall in case you didn't fancy a bath, with various soaps, shampoos and conditioners lining the wall alongside it. The toilet sat under another mirror set back in the wall, more towels and spare essentials spread across the ledge it created. I walked back out and shut the door, eyes locked on the view outside. I strolled over and opened the sliding doors before stepping in into the African air.

The balcony was reasonably big, two deck chairs and a table against, but not on, the windows. The railings hung various hanging baskets of bloomed flowers, bright and lively. I stepped across the terracotta tiles and leaned against the stone rails, taking in the sight before me. There were smaller, but tall, buildings dotted around the town below the hill on which the hotel stood. Next to our hotel was a restaurant, expensive-looking and high-end, which is where I could only assume we were going to be eating in every night. Across the street there was a petrol station and a small shop, I could see our limo parked outside by one of the pumps, its driver somewhere in the store. I was also able to see the arena in which we were performing in a weeks' time off to my left side.

What really caught my eye was a large mansion not too far away, sat upon another hill. It was massive, bigger than my own home. Three stories tall, with balconies coming out of basically every room. From what I could tell with my shit eyesight, there was at least four cars outside and what looked like stables going behind the mansion. A car pulled up to the iron gates eventually, and I watched as they opened and the car slid through. It slowed to a stop and two people got out, I was too far away to pick out details, before strolling inside.

After a while of listening to the low hum of cars and the singing of birds, I stepped back inside. After plopping on the edge of the bed, I pulled out my phone and dialled the number of my ex wife. We spoke for a while and I spoke with the kids before I hung up, dialling my ex-girlfriends number as I laid back, eyes closed. I spent a good 45 minutes on the phone before hanging up, a nap being next on my list. Unpacking can wait. After adjusting to a more comfortable position, I allowed my eyes slid shut once more and I could of swore my soul left my body as I fell asleep.

"Roger, get the fuck up!"

I groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. It was dusk, and the city looked almost magical with the setting sun, painting the town and my room orange. The mansion I saw earlier was almost illuminated by the orange and yellows. I stood up and stretched before sliding my shoes on and opening the door.

"What?"

The guitarist had changed into something more suitable for the weather, lanky arms crossed over his chest. Andy was lurking behind him. "We've got reservations at the restaurant next door."

I sighed and walked out, door key in pocket, making sure I locked the door before. We were once again led to the music-less elevators and stepped in. To make up for the lack of music, I began to hum. However, it was cut short by Brian whining and Andy only laughed.

We got out of the elevator and ventured outside, stopping, once again, to sign a few autographs before walking over to the restaurant. Our reservation was quickly confirmed and we were led to our table at the back, away from the crowds. We sat down and I took the opportunity to look around the room. The cream walls were covered in more expensive artwork and fancy lighting. The floor was a dark coloured carpet but the atmosphere was warm and happy. At the front of the store stood a couple of statues, perfectly lined up to seem like they are pointing at the fountain outside. The tables were a dark wood, covered with a silk tablecloth that folded over our knees. I picked up once of the dark red menus and opened it, skimming the laminated sheets. We chose our meals and ordered, and sat in a comfortable silence whilst we waited.

"God, I can't wait to sleep." The taller for us complained as we stood in the cool metal box.

I hummed, "yeah, nor can I. Bet you can't wait either, Andy."

The bodyguard laughed, "yeah, I need some sleep."

We all chucked and step out of the box, going off to our individual room with a simple 'goodnight'.

After a quick shower and changing into something comfy, I laid down in the bed and looked out the window. I couldn't be arsed to close the curtains, the view was so much better. The skyscrapers were lit up and the windows in houses were turned on. The mansion on the hill was lit up in some soft lighting and the moon was beginning to surface in the sky. I sighed and closes my eyes after setting my alarm, hoping tomorrows sightseeing goes well. Finally, I let the warm embrace of sleep surround me.

#sarina potgieter #roger taylor x sarina taylor #sarina taylor #roger taylor queen #roger taylor

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