J u r d a P a r e m. The new commodity, the new word to be whispered in the dark salons in Ketterdam, something to fear, to be obsessed about, something to put Grisha`s heads back on the hunter`s lists. Sure, they were always a rather golden star, enslaved, used, abused, but at least in Kerch people said - we are not THAT bad, come on, look at the Fjerdans, they kill you. And the Grisha would look up, their hands tight, their eyes filled with hate and rage - yes, now they want us to be grateful? And then they would look away.
But how was Kaz different? Didn`t he claim that PROFIT was everything? Wasn`t it HIM who would sell his soul just to get a bag of golds? I`d laugh into the Devil`s face, he would smile and perhaps,he would and perhaps there would be some regret and a bit of superstition in those harsh words. He could imagine Inej hearing him saying that, she`d call her Saints to protect him, she`d ask for forgiveness, for him and he would pretend he didn`t know, he didn`t see. He thought he was broken so why was she…trying to put him together?
Now, that there were more pressing issues {as if getting Inej back was not a pressing issue, but he would rather concentrate on more things at once} as getting Yul-Bayur`s son. His spies, his ears and eyes were telling him that he was in town, in disguise. The poor fella had to enjoy every breath he took. He was a bounty, there was no prize that could not be paid and not by Kerch merchlings but far worse, by any nation. Kaz Brekker, however, knew HIS city well and he knew that if anyone was there to hide, they`d need either food or friends or job and a Shu boy? There`d have to be a Fabrikator to change his face to hide in the crowd of black haired, pale Kerch or he could go to the Fourth Harbour and hope for the best. So it took Kaz some good twenty minutes of drinking jasmine tea in the East Stave`s tea shop to realise that maybe under proper pressure, the boy in the purple apron would talk better on the fresh air.
‘I think we should go outside’ he whispered to the young male {younger by one year but definitely more agile} and he tried to make it clear so much that the boy understood that …. he knew.
Zuko was not a person with much trust inside of him, even before he discovered the purpose for his father’s creation.
His father was a chemist. The chemist, the one everyone wanted dead after what he had called a miscalculation. The one who brought Jurda Parem into the world in an attempt to snuff the fire inside of his own son, the one who didn’t care how many times he said he could control himself with more practice. Trial after trial, the drug didn’t work, until it did - with unintended consequences. Zuko thought mistakes like that didn’t just happen, and when his father died trying to transport and control his own creation, he didn’t miss the man he had become. He did, however, miss when the bounty was on his head and not his own. He had to lay low; not an easy feat in Kerch.
The interior of the teashop wasn’t nice by any means, but it was clean and the owner let him work without asking many questions. Not that Zuko would answer truthfully, or at all, if asked. Although he needed the money, mostly he just needed to keep his hands busy. He was about to finish the table he’d been assigned to clear, when a whispered suggestion made him wish he was carrying something with a greater intimidation factor than the decorative teacup. Show no fear.
He narrowed his eye, evaluating the stranger, who didn’t look much older than himself. But he knew better than to underestimate anyone, at least now. Beside that, if he did follow him outside, he gave himself a better chance of running. He agreed with a curt nod, setting the teacup back onto the table and leaving it for another underpaid part-timer.
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