Grishaverse Oneshots

Under New Management

The mist that covers the streets of the barrel feels good against my skin as I walk farther into Dreg territory. With a few well-timed, inconspicuous glances over my shoulder, I make sure I'm not followed as I head past the Crow Club towards the Slat. 

My cloak hugs my frame and protects me from the light rain falling from the sky. Oh, how I missed Ketterdams ashen streets. I was not made to grow up on a farm. I was made for these very streets. 

My knives are a comforting weight in their sheathes as I approach the crooked building. The last time I showed up after being away for so long some newer members attacked me. I just hope I don't have to cut someone's eye out this time. 

I reach out and pull open the door to the Slat. Voices inside quiet to a whisper as they question the strange new figure that has come into their home. I pull my hood down and look around at the many faces that stare. There are plenty I don't recognize. Some of them reach for their weapons. 

To my left, I see a tall Zemini boy, a few years younger than I, slowly pulling out a pearl-handled revolver. Without bothering to glance his way, I have a small knife in my hand. I swiftly throw the knife with a quick flick of my wrist and the blade embeds in the wall next to his head. 

The boy near jumps out of his skin, "Saints!" 

"Attack me and you will not win. I have done this dance since I was born. I belong here just as much as the rest of you." I pull up my sleeve to reveal the same crow and cup tattoo that decorates all of their forearms. 

The tattoo is enough to calm most of the gang members. I walk over to the wall where my knife still sticks out from the wood. The Zemini boy stares at me with wide eyes as I pull the blade from the wood. I tuck the knife away.

The boy smiles and extends his hand. "Name's Jesper love. 'Fraid I haven't seen you around here before." 

"Y/n." I take his hand and shake it. "Can't say I've seen you before either but I've been gone for a couple of years so..." I shrug. I drop my hand to my side. "I'm sure you're great company to keep but I've got to see the boss." 

Jesper nods, "Of course, right this way." He leads me through the still silent crowd. I feel many eyes on me but I continue looking straight ahead. Jesper leads me to Haskell's office. He grins at me over his shoulder before knocking swiftly on the door. He opens it and peeks his head in. "Boss, there's a lady here to see you." 

An unfamiliar voice responds but I can't make out what was said. Jesper steps aside and pushes the door open for me. I give him a nod before stepping into the office. It's exactly how I remembered it. Except there are some small differences that catch my eye. Mainly the seventeen-year-old sitting in the seat that once belonged to Per Haskell.

"What business?" The young man asks with his rock salt rasp. 

"You're a little young to be running a gang," I observe, ignoring his question as I walk around the room. 

"Expecting someone older?" The boy asks.

"Not quite." I approach the map of Ketterdam hanging on the wall and trace the harbor with my finger, "I was expecting someone else entirely." I turn and face the boy. "What's your name?" 

The boy raises an eyebrow clearly not expecting that question. "Brekker." He says after a small pause. 

"Ah, that's got a nice ring to it. Get the name off one of them busted machines down by the harbor did you?" I ask. The boy, Brekker, doesn't answer. I shrug, "I could care less to be honest. I'm y/n and I've gotta say you've built up quite the impressive team out there. Last time I was here it was a bunch of old men sitting on their asses expecting Kruge to fall into their laps like a gift from the saints." 

"Why are you here? What business?" Brekker asks. 

I laugh through my nose and smile, "Straight to business I see. Well to put it plainly years ago Per Haskell kicked me to the curb. I've come back to ask him a question but seeing as you are now sitting in his chair I can only assume this old gang is under new management and thriving because of it." I walk towards the desk. "and to put it frankly, you are not Haskell, you don't have the answer I seek. So I have a different question for you Mr. Brekker." My smile drops and I lean on the desk, my hands on the rough wood surface. 

"Where is my father?"