@sixofcrowsnet creation event: The Staying and the Leaving

[creation 1]

There were a few reasons people came to Ketterdam, and money, escape, and opportunity were most of them.

Pekka Rollins reflected this as he stood under a leaky awning in the Barrel, water dripping onto his balding head. It wasn’t terribly noticable, but he’d have to get some dye later to conceal it. Not that dye would be hard to find; you could sell anything in the Barrel. One of the reasons so many people came: with the aid of Ghezen’s hand, you could sell anything here.

It, surely, was one of the reasons Big Bolliger had come to Ketterdam. The brute would confess as much after a drink or two: he wanted to be a salesperson when his ship had first arrived. A salesperson? Even now, Pekka chuckled at it. Big Bolliger had been meant to work for him. 

After all, Kaz Brekker always needed more mercenaries, and Pekka Rollins had always needed more spies.

Kaz Brekker. At the thought of the prodigy, Pekka’s thin lip curled. He’d be getting what came to him soon, he and that Wraith that ghosted the city with her every step. He already had contacts telling him there was an assassin who could beat that silly, stupid girl.

No. Not stupid. There was brains behind their operation, and that was the whole reason the Dime Lions were falling behind. Once, when the Dregs were on the rise, Pekka had thought to kill Per Haskell, the doddering old fool, and cut off the Dregs’ supply source. 

He had then realized that it wasn’t Per Haskell at all, but a beady-eyed boy with an undercut. 

With a click of his tongue, he began to stroll the cobblestone streets. Big Bolliger clearly wasn’t coming today. How unfortunate. He’d skipped out on breakfast with his son for nothing.

Money, opportunity, and escape. He could provide two, but no one ever escaped from Pekka Rollins.
—————————————————————————————–

There was one reason Marya Hendricks was at an asylum, and Jan Van Eck was it. But there were many after that; his boredom, her love for Wylan, and the list went on.

Jan had yanked her hand onto the ship and forced her on the island himself. He had given no toxic goodbye kiss, no love: just a blank gesture. He had slammed the door and it was a song she played every night, over and over, until she stopped crying along to it and became the blank slate he wanted her to be.

She hated him. She hated him with a force that could have drowned, a force that could have destroyed. She hated him until she didn’t know how to hate anymore.

There were no reasons to stay, but she couldn’t remember any of them.

—————————————————————————————–

There was one reason Alys had married Jan Van Eck, and money was it.

She had stood by the altar, its wood simple to save coin, and felt meaningless vows pass from her lips to get cash flowing into her coffers. Yes, she had been excited; it was her wedding day, after all, and she was about to become very, very rich. Plus, she had the most beautiful gown, all lace and ribbons and fanciful things, which was rather like her. She had also been allowed to hear her beloved voice teacher sing at the wedding, and oh, how exquisite his voice was!

But the thing that mattered in the morning was that she had more money in her bank account and a voice teacher with eyes like stars.
—————————————————————————————–
There were two reasons Alys had left Jan Van Eck, and they came in the form of love and destruction.

She had stood with Adem, hands held in his, and felt love sing through her soul like a perfect harmony of complexity and simplicity. Yes, she had been very afraid; it was against her husband, after all, a man made of steel and blood like that Kaz Brekker was made of dirty deeds and crow feathers, and no one had ever made her feel so fragile an strong all at once. But she had the most beautiful person holding her and completing her, and it did not matter, it did not matter. Oh, how exquisite love could truly be!

But the thing that mattered the most was that she had money from her marriage stashed under her pillow so she and Adem could sneak away into the dawn as her husband faced his darkest hour.
—————————————————————————————–
Marya Hendricks didn’t need a reason to leave the asylum; she already had too many. But if she had to pick one, it would have been her son, Wylan, and everything that came with that.

Wylan had taken her hand and led her off the island. He had pressed her lips against her forehead and begged for her to get better. He had played the flute until she was ready to sing along, leaving his lips chapped but his eyes bright. 

She loved her son. She loved who he loved, a boy who could coax laughter out of kruje, who was quickly becoming her second son. 

There were too many reasons Marya had to stay with them, and love was all of them.
—————————————————————————————–
There were three reasons Pekka Rollins was leaving Ketterdam, and they were money, escape, and opportunity.

Pekka Rollins reflected this as he stood on a dock, rain drizzling on to his and his son’s heads. The cold wasn’t terribly noticeable, but his son was shivering. One of the reasons he should have thought to leave to begin with: this wasn’t an environment he wanted for his redheaded boy, not with its thugs and thieves and gray weather. With the aid of a mercenary’s hand, anyone could die here, and with the aid of the weather, anyone could mask it.

It, surely, was one of the reasons he had come to Ketterdam in the first place. He had wanted to be an assassin when his ship had arrived. An assassin? Even now, Pekka shivered at it. He had never been meant to dirty his hands in such a way…and still, he had gotten caught. Still, death had dug her knife into his chest and told him he had to leave.

After all, Kaz Brekker always needed less enemies, and Pekka Rollins had never wanted to leave more.

Kaz Brekker. At the thought of the prodigy, Pekka’s thin lip curled. One day, Kaz would be getting what came to him, but it couldn’t be from him. Death had made her choice, and he had been made a marked man.

There was brains behind their operation, even now, and that was the whole reason Pekka Rollins was leaving the Dime Lions. Once, he had thought to kill Kaz Brekker and be done with it. Once, he had been less of a doddering old fool in severe need of hair dye.

He realized the ship was here. A big, wooden barge. Maybe his son would get the chance to sleep, if it rocked him like a lullaby.

With a click of his tongue, he gripped his son’s hand and waited for the gangplank. 

Money, opportunity, and escape. He was looking for two and constantly, constantly, doing another.