Chapter Text
Wylan's POV:
"Evening Jesper,”
"Evening!" The tall, dark boy who had just slipped through the tannery door tipped his hat in greeting at the old owner sitting behind his workbench.
"Dirtyhands got you running ‘round doing his dirty work again, I presume?”
Jesper flashed a knowing grin, “You know how it is, Maurits. Not that I mind ‘course.” He winked charmingly before fishing out a scrunched slip of paper from the pocket of an obnoxiously green waistcoat, and pushing it across the desk for inspection. "Package to pick up. I was told you have the stuff?"
The older man nodded approvingly, eyes running down the sheet quickly before he spoke: “S’pose we’ll be seeing you down the dens tonight then lad, or is the bastard on your back again?”
Jesper pulled a face, “Well… what Kaz doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
The old man wheezed, a dry, coarse sound from years of fume inhalation.“Good luck with that one. You know for a fact he knows everything that happens ‘round these parts.” He listed over the sheet once more, over a pair of cracked spectacles before turning towards the open proceedings of the tannery, where his gaze caught on a gormless looking Wylan.
A Wylan who had stopped stirring the barrel of dye to watch the stranger with his offensively bright attire and personality to match- sagging green boots with high pulled socks, revealed by gaudy stripes tracking up his trousers, cut off at the ankle as though they didn’t quite fit his long legs, and a lime green waistcoat emblazoned with inexpensive gold buttons on every cuff to match the myriad of rings adorning his dark hands.
Wylan who had also noticed the pearl-handled revolvers slung low at his hips and immediately assumed the boy had been sent by his father to kill him, and then felt accordingly embarrassed at his overreaction when the boy had struck up casual conversation instead of stalking over to shoot him in the chest upon arrival.
The point was, it shouldn't have looked as good on him as it did. Nor should the wide stretch of his perfectly shaped lips as he made some joke or other across the room, but Wylan, unused to such boldness amongst the dingy depths of the tannery floor, found himself unable to draw his eyes away.
When Maurits pointed in his direction, he immediately dipped his head down, wiping the sweat from his brow, his cheeks flushing. Heart thrumming loudly in his ears.
The boy, Jesper, was coming towards him, his limbs stretching easily as he walked. He felt the boy's eyes on the top of his head as he approached. "A package and a pretty boy; must be my lucky night."
Wylan's eyes widened as he looked up. Jesper leaned across from him on a workbench looking expectant.
Wylan cleared his throat nervously. "What was it you needed?"
"Just the things on here," Jesper pushed the scribbled note toward him, the words trembling and blurring in leaps and swirls in Wylan’s vision. Immediately, a bold rush of panic surged through him.
"Umm, could you read them out to me? It's quicker- the stuff’s in the other room."
The other boy shrugged, "Whatever's easiest, pretty boy." He winked again, and Wylan immediately spun on his heel to hide the flush crawling up his skin.
In the back room, Wylan sifted through rows of acids and powders, searching for bottles as Jesper read the list of ingredients out to him. And as it turned out, Jesper rather had a penchant for the sound of his own voice: "So what's a fresh face as yourself doing in a place like this then?" he asked as he read.
Wylan stopped. Panicked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you're clearly not from around here are you? How does someone like you end up in Ketterdam?"
Was it really that obvious? He shrugged, in a desperate attempt to appear unbothered, "Someone like me?"
Jesper stretched back against a row of shelves, shirt riding up around his waist. He looked him up and down, slowly. Wylan felt embarrassingly conscious of the grime coating his face and clothes. "Y’know, alive. People in Ketterdam don’t have that glint of will to live,” he laughed, “Especially not the ones working in a run-down tannery. Don’t worry though, give it a few more months and they’ll knock it right out of you. They always do." He said, entirely merrily.
Wylan, however, must have looked entirely scandalised by this because Jesper snorted: “Don’t look so horrified pretty boy. You’ll still be hot, even in twenty years when you’re balding and this place has knocked out both your lungs and your purpose for existence.”
Wylan flushed and rolled his eyes, "Oh well, as long as I’m a hot bald man." He turned back to the rows of materials in storage, fingers trailing along bottles of various chemicals. He plucked out a couple, recognised the hazard in them, before turning warily back to Jesper.
“What’s this stuff for anyway?” he asked cautiously.
“That’s confidential Dirtyhands business, sorry kid.”
Wylan frowned then, both at the title, and Jesper’s apparent taste for condescending nicknames, “Dirtyhands?”
Jesper rolled his eyes,“Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel, whatever he’s calling himself these days.” he sighed theatrically, gesturing vaguely as though he found the topic immensely boring.
“Who’s that?” Wylan asked.
“Who’s that?” Wylan did not appreciate the gawking from the other boy. “Saints, you really haven’t been here long, have you? Kaz Brekker? The biggest Barrel boss in Ketterdam? The reason this dingy place didn’t go out of business years ago?”
“Alright, I get your point, I’m the only one in this stupid city not interested in joining a gang or committing crime.” He huffed, irritated by the incredulous look being shot in his direction.
“Now, now pretty boy, there are plenty of respectable establishments in Ketterdam that are completely and perfectly legal…I just happen to be barred from all of them.”
Oh, perfect. Just what Wylan needed- to be talking to criminals.
He scowled, packing materials into a crate. It was true he had barely been anywhere but his dim little rooming and the tannery since he’d arrived in Ketterdam. The city was vast and terrifying and Jesper was right- he didn’t fit in, no matter how hard he tried. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said. “And don’t mess with that.”
Jesper dropped the bottle he’d been toying with, raising his hands in quick surrender. He was quiet for a moment, a fact which Wylan was quickly learning was not a good sign, when suddenly he seemed to light up.
Wylan tried in vain to avoid meeting his eye but the sly grin forming on Jesper’s face was difficult to avoid.
He let out a long-suffering sigh. “What?”
“Well, of course, you would need someone to introduce you to them.”
Wylan frowned. “Like a tourguide?”
“Exactly!” He paused, “...What time do you get off from this place?”
“Umm, around eight bells?” He eyed Jesper warily, “ Why are you giving me that look?”
Jesper laughed, “What look? Are you always this cynical to handsome strangers or is this special treatment reserved for me? I just had an idea is all,”
Before Wylan could point out the many reasons why not trusting strangers was in fact a smart idea, he continued,
“Anyway, If you’re free tonight, I have an excellent idea for getting you to grips with the hidden gem that is Ketterdam. Only if you want to, of course.” His eyes positively twinkled in the dull light.
Oh what the hell, if his father had hired this guy to kill him, he’d picked possibly the most charming man in all of Kerch.
He drew in a deep breath. “Okay then.”
Jesper grinned. "So it's a date."
"I- what?"
"I'll pick you up around eight bells? Give you a tour of Ketterdam's finest establishments!"
Wylan turned as pink as a fresh tulip. "Okay, It's a date." He mustered, voice cracking with effort.
Wylan continued to work through the list, trying to gather his thoughts as Jesper fiddled with a small glass vial on one of the cases. "Don't touch that," Wylan warned as he turned around, "You'll be itching for days."
Jesper pulled a face and hesitantly laid the bottle in its original position. “ Sounds fun.”
"It isn't- don't touch that either, just don't mess" Wylan gasped as he grabbed a bottle from Jesper's hand with an exasperated noise. Jesper jumped back in retreat as Wylan snatched a particularly volatile chemical vial from him,
"Message received. Don’t mess. My mistake, love, won't happen again." Wylan rolled his eyes and turned back to the shelves as Jesper continued to rattle off chemicals.
But Jesper's fingers just didn't stop moving; if he wasn't picking up bottles, he was tearing at the corner of the ingredients list or plucking at the buttons on his obnoxiously bright waistcoat. His hands were constantly running through the dark curls of his hair or were sitting painstakingly at his hips, hanging over two pearly revolvers in a way that should not have been as attractive as it was. Wylan fought furiously to work without letting his eyes stray- and failed horribly.
Eventually, he pushed the crate full of materials towards Jesper.
"Thank you kindly," Jesper tipped his hat to Wylan.
"You're welcome," he plucked nervously at the frayed fabric of his sleeve.
"Well, don't miss me too much whilst I'm gone." Jesper hauled the crate up, lifting it with ease despite the dense weight of it.
"You’re rather confident for an errand boy aren’t you?" Wylan bit back a smile, badly.
"I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that pretty boy.” Jesper snorted. “Anyway, can you blame me, with my devilish good looks and undeniable charm?"
No, Wylan could not.
"See you at eight bells pretty boy."
"See you at eight bells."