Chapter Text
Mori didn't expect such a result from his visit to Ketterdam, but he wasn't complaining.
He honestly had been dreading coming to this city, the grime of the streets, the smell of smoke and dirty canals, gutters and Alley's practically being etched into the cities air, nothing like his beloved city of Yokohama. But alas, work is work.
He was here on behalf of the current Boss of the Port Mafia to find a Grisha, this continent's own group of people with powers not different from ability users, The main difference was that they had classifications for their powers. they didn't have the unpredictability of the abiltiy users of Japan.
The boss's health was deteriorating day by day, to the point he was completely bedridden. And so, Mori is here in Ketterdam to sought out a healer.
Officially he was here to make sure the Grisha didnt harm the boss under the guise of healing him, but privately he was here to make sure any Healer they ended up finding wouldn't live long enough to heal not even a paper cut.
He was walking through the west stave, headed to the Emerald Palace, the gambling house owned by the man he was going to see, Pekka Rollins. "King of the Barrel" and the leader of the Dime Lions, the most prominent gang in the Barrel. As much as he disliked going to a low-level gang for help, the Port didn't have a Ability Business Permit, So they certainly couldn't go to Merchant Council for help lest they be questioned.
Finally, he stopped infront of his destination. The Emerald Palace was lavish Six-story gambling house painted in green, decorated with artificial trees and gold. He could hear the commotion and cheers of gamblers despite still being early in the day, and saw the staff promoting and encouraging passerby's to stop by and come inside.
He held back a sigh at the thought of the meeting. Well. Best to get this over with.
He moved to walk in but a tall, burly man infront of the enterance held up a hand and stopped him from going inside, clearly sensing that he wasnt here to gamble. "And you are?" He asked in Kerch, his green eyes twinkling in suspicion.
"Mori Ougai. Here on the behalf of the leader of the Port Mafia." Mori replied cooly. He had made quick work of learning Kerch before coming, knowing it would be needed. The man's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded and let him in, trusting his buddies protecting Rollins to take care of him if he deemed to be a threat.
He stepped inside, taking in his surroundings, noting potential exits just incase. The gambling den was Loud for the fact that it was still day. People were yelling in frustration or cheering their peers on. He saw a fight breaking in the corner aswell.
The inside was as extravagant ans extra as the outside, and, in his humble opinion, tacky with the large amounts of green. The Port's towers were much more classy and elegant with their sleek exterior and black furniture and decorations in the interior.
This time, a boy, around the age 17, walked up to him. He wasn't buff or seemingly strong, but he clearly looked smug, like he believed he could take anyone in a fight. His buddy must've told him to take him to Rollins. He lead him to staircase, and they climbed all 5 flights of stairs to top floor stopping infront a double door, which was gaurded by 3 more thugs. The boy opened the door for him.
Inside sat the man he assumed to be Pekka Rollins. He had a long beard and slicked back brown hair and brown eyes, and donned a blue vest coat and tie with a pin attached to it. "Mr Mori, I assume?" He questioned with a professional smile, hands crossed infront of him as he sat as his desk.
Mori bit back a smirk. The man was trying to appear composed, but he was clearly nervous, his smile was strained. It's not everyday the boss of one of the biggest international mafia requests an audience with you. He probably he hopes it's not something that ends in his death.
"That would be me." He replied, putting on a smile himself, though he made sure to keep it unsettling. Can't let this Barrel boss get too comfortable, can we? He took a seat infront of Rollin's desk, crossing his legs.
"Now I'd hate to skip the pleasantries, but I must confess I'd prefer to get to the point. What business?" Pekka asked, clearly wanting to get this over with.
They continued the meeting as usual. He explained to Rollin's that the Port needed a healer, though he didn't tell him what for. Telling someone the boss was sick was practically begging to be attacked, and even though he wanted him gone, risking the mafia was not worth it. Rollins professed that he didn't have any Grisha indentured, though he'd be willing to look for some if they wanted him to, Not without a hefty price though, of course.
After the meeting concluded and he was dismissed, he stepped out of the office, declining the boys offer to be escorted out, rolling his eyes as the boy attempted to discreetly tail him anyway.
He gave himself a moment to stretch and let out a groan, planning to take long nap after he returned to his hotel room. The meeting had gone on far longer then he'd anticipated. Nonetheless, his business was done, and he shall return to yokohama about 3 days. 3 days too long If you ask him, but what can you do.
He started to descend down the stairs, but the gamblers chatter caught his attention.
"Did you hear? Dirtyhands was arrested again." One of them slurred.
"The 14 year old boy? Didn't he break out in less then a week and then proceeded to murder that young girl? What was her name... Saskia?" Asked another.
" I heard he wears gloves because he's a demon with claw hands, and covers himself with bandages to hide terrible scars." Stated the girl holding a deck of cards.
"Wasnt the reason he got arrested because he executed a successful heist on that east stave bank near the Ritz hotel? apparently not even breaking a leg stopped him from trying to run and fight the stadwatch." Scoffed another guy.
Mori hummed in contemplation as he walked by them, conversation fading, and out into the streets, Barely even noticing the stench of the city anymore. Idea's and the beginnings of a plan began forming in his head, nap forgotten.
If what those gamblers said was true, then this boy had a lot of potential and wit. Too much to be left unchecked. He would need to be honed into something better.
By the time he had checked into his hotel and to his room, he had made a decision.
He ought to pay dirtyhands a visit.