making friends with crows

Ketterdam

For the first part of my trip to get here, it smelled like fish. Always fish, all the time. The smell faded as the days blended into each other and I grew comfortable on the sea. Now, stepping onto the dock I feel dizzy and my legs, accustomed to the rocking of the waves betray my body. Leaving the docks and the boat that carried me across the True Sea I walk towards the city. The wad of kruge safely tucked between my breasts will pay for a few days lodging and food, but I'll need to find a job soon.

   The city hasn't changed much since I was here last. Before the war I lived with my parents Belendt, helping them to treat illness and injuries brought about by long days working in fields. When we started losing customers to larger hospitals we sold our land and used the money to book passage on a cargo ship to Ravka. We set up a "shop" (it was little more than a tent) in Novokribirsk to help the soldiers.

    I turn a corner and the smell hits me like a wall, knocking me out of my thoughts. Thank the Saints too, because I need to be at me best here. My hand discreetly moves to pat my pocket, tapping the second roll of purple paper.   I stall slightly before continuing on, walking through the crowd of people wearing the masks of the Komedie Brute.

   "Mother, Father, pay the rent!" I call to a passing Mister Crimson. He throws back the customary response and tosses a handful of gold --not real gold-- coins in the air. I catch one of the falling coins and stick it one of the hidden pouches in the lining of my jacket. A keepsake, to remember my first, and definitely not last, trip to the West Stave.

    Pleasure houses line the street, with people calling out to the passerby, in hopes of getting a little bit richer. Tourists and citizens alike, disguised as the Scarab Queen or the Gray Imp talk with the working girls and boys and some go on to do more than talk. The House of the White Rose stands tall amongst the rest, a successful establishment of the West Stave. The sweetly smelling rosebushes out front and the stone roses curling up the walls all provide the same illusion of prosperity. The workers are all perfumed and have matching tattoos on their arms. I take a deep breath and immediately regret it. The sweetness of the roses couples with the smell of bodies... yeah that breath was a bad choice.

I pull the marble handled door and step into the first part of my new life.

authors note

crap guys are you actually reading this??
if so thank you so much it means a lot!! this fic should be for the most part canonically accurate, with adjustments made to fit my character into the story of course.  this universe means a ton to me so yeah. hate will be deleted and thank u for reading!!

updates every saturday :)