Chapter Text
Ketterdam wasn't known for sunlight. Ketterdam was known for grey clouds that sometimes filled with rain and then let the rain fall through like a screen door. Yet it came as some surprise when the muted grey sides and faded brick facades found themself dampening that evening, becoming absolutely slick and sodden with rain. Canvas draped over carts soon served little purpose, tourists and natives alike accepted the undeniable truth.
Water always made it's way in.
The dark hone cobblestone led all around the Barrel, shining like the sky that hid behind the all encompassing gray horizon. Lanterns lit the path of every traveler, scurrying around like mice to their destination in expedited pace and lacking grace. Everyone was far too focused on their own little worlds that orbited them and them alone, and the odd pair or trio that created a universe all their own.
No one noticed the one among them who strode with unyielding confidence and purpose and a swagger all his own. He wielded no umbrella, just a black businessman's hat atop his taller edges. His jaw was locked and his upper lip pressed forward in a frown carved from the angles that he was comprised of.
There were those that knew him once, or so it was told. Their names were lost to time and history altogether, but they had still existed by the tales told. They knew this figure, they trusted him. They knew this expression of his well, and they called it his "Scheming face."
Whispers were raised in ever club around the Barrel, in each House on West Stave. This man, if he could be called that, was not to be crossed. Not to be trusted, and not to be mentioned. The reasons why were often exaggerated, to some varying degrees of dramatic flare. But any who could possible know the truth besides him were deep asleep in their coffins, waiting for their respective afterlives.
Still, he made his way through the crowd, his eyes not truly landing on any one person as they flitted about under thundering skies. The long, black cane he gripped through black leather gloves clicked in the offbeat of his gait. A warning bell for those who were aware. As he made his way south of East Stave, away from the Slat he still called home, those who were aware were growing fewer and far between, the knowledge being reserved for those who still hung about his home and haunt.
He hopped aboard a canalboat, leaving the cobblestone dreary Ketterdam behind for a moment. Maybe two, if he was hungry. He hadn't fed in a good three days, and as his vision zoomed out beyond the boatman who only nodded his acknowledgement to him, continuing his route as if he had expected this stranger to join him, a thudding, ever rhythmic flooded his senses. A smell wafted his way on a breeze that did not blow. Dinner sounded delicious. And smelled succulent.
His eyes closed and a smile threatened at either end of his lips. Later. This came first.
As Black Veil came into view, his smile turned sorrowful. He felt a dry patch grow in his throat and he tried to gulp it down in vein, choke back what was threatening to be let out, daring him to try and stop it.
In Ketterdam, a port city with canals and waterways and whathaveyous, a city who never truly knew a life outside of rain and clouds, water always found its way in.
For Kaz Brekker, a man who had lived for decades upon decades, nearly a century now, and had lost everyone he cared for to time, while he looked the same as he did when he first met them, water, in this one occurrence, was finding its way out as he blinked back tears.
"No mourners," He muttered under his breath.
No response came.