Son of Wind, Son of Fire

3: Jax

Jax strolled down the street with the easy stride of a man who felt completely at ease with his surroundings. He was cocky and arrogant, but he at least had the sense to be wary as he walked through the Barrel, though his demeanor may not have shown it.

Part of his confidence rested at his hips, two sleek revolvers, both of Zemeni make, rested there. He had acquired them from an abandoned room at the Slat, the one and only time he had snuck inside.

In the absence of the Wraith, word was whispered around Ketterdam of a new spider, one who worked for no one but himself, stealing and selling items from all the gangs. He was called the Shadow, the Unseen.

Honestly, he didn't care what he was called, as long as he had his money, and his life.

Ketterdam was so much different than the small Zemeni farm he had grown up on. Everything here was constantly moving, constantly changing, always up-to-date with the times, very much unlike Zemeni, where time had seemed to stand still but for the passing of days.

It wasn't that he had been unhappy: he had had loving parents, a caring older sister, an adorable younger brother. He had just been bored. So when the chance had come, he had saved up his money and bought a one-way ticket to Kerch's capital, to a new way of life, a new home.

He had found the gangs on the streets unappealing, no matter how many tried to get him to join their ranks. He took orders from no one, gave shares of his earnings to no man. He was his own person, and he would live as such, not in debt or under the command of any of the bosses around her.

Besides, he could handle himself. He had weapons, had knowledge, had determination. He had everything you needed out here in the streets, where a wrong turn or a misplaced step could spell disaster.

But he was the Shadow, always overlooked, able to follow in men's footsteps without them ever knowing.

Like he was doing to a group of young tourists right now.

They had maps open, pointing and arguing as they walked, coats and trousers finely tailored, obviously having worn their best clothes.

Jax didn't understand why they did that. The tourists never realized they were just putting more of a target on their backs by dressing in such finery, by practically shouting to those that called the Barrel home, 'Come steal my wallet!'

Jax was all too happy to answer their call.

He walked closer to the group, watching them but not, making sure no one member felt his stare for too long. Once he was closer enough, he feigned tripping, something he was an expert at doing, collapsing forward into the nearest tourist, a man who cried out in astonishment, before he turned, holding Jax's arm." Watch yourself, boy!', he exclaimed." You're going to injure yourself."

Jax straightened, brushing off his coat." Sorry, sir.", he said." It's these clumsy feet of mine.", he said, giving one a bit of a shake for emphasis. The man chuckled.

"'S'all right, boy. Just watch where you're goin' next time."

Jax nodded." I will, sir.", he said, and turned and walked off, and easily slipping into an alley and scaled the wall, using the window ledges to get to the roof, and peered over the side, just as the man went to reach for his wallet, and started frantically searching his pockets. He could hear the man's loud call of 'Son of a bitch!', floating up to him, and he slid down the roof, out of sight, grinning widely, inspecting the wallet better. It was quality leather, and stuffed full of kruge.

Just what he had been hoping.

He stood up, and walked along the roof line easily, the rubber soles of his boots mimicking the sole of a human foot, making it easy for him to walk along even the slickest of material. He was sure-footed, and to this day had never taken any terrible falls. Though he knew one day that luck would run out. It always did. No matter who you were, your luck ran out in one way or another, whether you wanted it to or not.

He easily swung himself down to a window ledge on the third building down from the one he had scaled, dropping into an abandoned room, as the building was deserted. In it was an old bed frame and mattress, the sheets on it yellowed with age. A trunk laid open on the opposite side of the room, clothes filling up most of it, a few personal belongings inside it.

Jax sighed, flopping down onto the bed, and pulled the kruge out of the wallet still in his hand, and started to count through it.

1,000 kruge.

He whistled lowly. The tourist had obviously just transferred his money. Jax had hit the jackpot. He grinned, running the edge of the stack against his fingers. He loved these times: when he had made a good haul, when for a bit he could pretend that he was a business man, that this was merely his days earnings.

He sighed softly after a bit. That wasn't the truth, and never would be. Jax was a crook, a criminal, and always would be. He would die on the streets, and probably be carted off, unnamed, to the Reaper's Barge, no one ever knowing his name. His parents would never know what happened to him.

He had left home with nothing but a few changes of clothes and his inheritance, which really hadn't been much. By the time he had bought new clothes, his boots, and saved enough for food for about a week, he had been broke.

So he had used his skills to his use.

But he was distracted by his thoughts by the sound of something crashing to the floor two floors down.

He leaped up, revolvers already in hand, loaded and ready. He walked silently towards the door, making sure not to let the floorboards creak so they didn't give away that he was there.

Either the noise was someone after him, someone who had just decided to walk in with no knowledge of the person living two floors up, or it wasn't a human at all.

He hoped it was the latter.

But as he descended the stairs quietly, he felt a crack to the base of his head, and only one thought shot through his head.

You are an idiot, Jax Risari.