THE RED RIGHT HAND ─ kaz brekker

𝘪. 𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘭

i.    rumor mill

ketterdam, kerch

──THE CITY OF KETTERDAM WAS A BRUTAL AND UNFORGIVING ONE, AND ONLY THE CRUEL AND THE RUTHLESS SURVIVED. Bloodshed and blackmail were the only ways to the top of the metaphorical food chain. The lofty ladder that one climbed to sit atop the supposed throne of the Barrel was drenched in the blood and the cries of the ones who mistook their luck for intelligence and their supposed fortune for cunningness. Astrid Diriks learned this early. Astrid Diriks learned this in the same cruel way every wicked survivor of the Saints forsaken city did-- death. 

But unlike the other miserable individuals she'd seen rise and fall over the years, she learned. She listened to every word said, she took to heart every wrong that had been committed in direct correlation to her, and she kindled the anger burning and simmering within her as a result. Though, that wasn't particularly difficult. Astrid had a rather quick, fiery temper, and a certain knack for death and destruction. It made her valuable, and it made her an asset. A very deadly, cruel asset with a striking sense of humor. At least, that's what a certain Zemeni sharpshooter told her years ago. Astrid Diriks was valuable to the people that she valued in return, and that's all that mattered, in the end. 

A rather interesting form of job security, but job security nonetheless. 

With a weighty, exhausted sigh, Astrid dropped down from her perch and landed soundlessly onto the cobbled alleyway below, adjusting her dark face covering as she did so. Thunder rolled overhead  and, though hidden by the inky, black sky above, the clouds hovering above the city billowed on in response. Astrid pulled her hood over her head and stepped out onto the Stave. 

The gambling parlors were still bustling with tourists, despite the horrendous weather that blew in earlier. There was hardly anything that could keep greed-hungry tourists and locals from betting their cash, in hopes for a heavier pocket at the end of the night. Most would leave with far less than they ventured in with, yet would still transition to the next closest gambling parlor in hopes a change of scenery might turn their luck around.

Astrid slipped seamlessly through the bustling crowds and their shoddy umbrellas and slipped into the Crow Club's main gambling floor. She noted, duly in the back of her mind, Jesper's absence at the front doors as she scanned the tables from the entrance. She found him quickly, seated at a table near the center of the main room. Another man at the table called for drinks from a passing waitress and tossed a dark pouch heavy with coin to the dealer as Astrid dipped into the thick throng of customers and gamblers. The dealer flipped a coin toward Jesper at his request. 

"The Lucky Nine casino up the block has had trouble with counterfeit coin lately," Jesper told the man, pinching the silver coin between his fingers, appraising. "Heavy, but brittle."

"Oh, come on, now," the man replied. "I've been here for hours. My money is good, no?"

"Zemeni coin can take a bullet," he continued. "But the knock-off..."

In one fluid motion, Jesper tossed the coin up into the air above the table and let loose an expertly aimed bullet. It soared clean through the coin and up into the ceiling above. The men seated at the table flinched back and covered their heads, while others at the surrounding tables turned to observe the commotion. Astrid approached the table as the shot echoed around the parlor and extended a hand. The coin, still smoking, landed soundlessly in her palm.