Dirty Hands (Kaz Brekker One Shots)

A Dangerous Man

You could tell just by the rough and worn-out edges of the chair you were sitting on backwards that it had seen better days. You weren't, however, stupid enough to mention it —⁠not when Kaz was near to hear it, at least. Although mostly in private, he took great pride in his possessions; so expressing what you thought about his furniture choices didn't seem like the wisest move... unless you were looking for another lecture on the value of ancient relics, that is.

Resting your chin on your arm, you eyed him curiously instead. He had taken his gloves off and was meticulously washing his hands in the white basin on top of his dresser with a gentleness that did not match in the slightest the brutality he was capable of. Furthermore, he looked at peace, which was certainly an even bigger oddity.

"How do you even plan to convince him?" you finally wondered out loud, breaking the tranquillity that had filled the room up until then. And, before he had the chance to glance at you with a perfect raised eyebrow, you added, "If you can't buy him."

He still gave you that look anyway.

You were pretty aware that there were few things Kaz Brekker couldn't do —finding out how to make someone dance to his tune wasn't one of them. Especially if he could use his wide array of dirty tricks. In fact, you were sure that by then he had to have at least a couple of alternative plans piling up in the back of his mind, one of them probably involving him bashing the golden crow on his cane against a certain man's head.

"Everyone has a price, you just need to find the right currency," he pointed out as he submerged his hands in the water to clean the soap off of them.

You straightened up in your seat with pursed lips. Sadly, a lot of people in that city would sell their firstborn for the right amount without even blinking, but a part of you still wanted to believe that there ought to be good out there. Someone who had principles and stood by them no matter what.

"I don't know if I necessarily agree with that," you replied.

Kaz shook the water off of his fingers and took a hold of the small hand towel he had previously abandoned next to the porcelain bowl. "Then you'd be wrong," he simply stated, "and naive."

You rolled your eyes almost dramatically. Long gone were the days when comments like that one bothered you in the slightest: That Kaz considered your optimism a manufacturing defect wasn't something foreign to you; in fact it was something you usually used against him merely because it bothered him. That wasn't the point this time, however, and that's why you pressed further into the conversation.

"What's your price, then?" you asked, tilting your head to the side as you watched him put his gloves back on.

A very subtle and almost invisible smirk took over his lips, but he still took a couple of seconds to respond, almost as if considering something else entirely first. "How much money do you have?"