hoax | kaz brekker

one. chosen family

(malakai is partially non-verbal, so when dialogue is in italics it means that she or another character is using sign language.)

"rosé flowing with your chosen family"
the 1 by taylor swift

Here in Ketterdam, the shadows have eyes and teeth.

Sitting atop a building, the Phantom surveys the bustling streets of The Barrel, her legs swinging off the edge of the balcony she found herself on that night. A light mist of rain descended upon the city. Breathing out a sigh, she watched her breath spiral through the cold air, twisting and forming faces of anguish against the dark sky. Pulling the dark cloak closer to her body she wondered if this was all she would ever be. Another shadow confined to the corners of this godforsaken city. Another child without a mother or a father.

A ghost for which no one mourns.

Her eyes wandering back to the loud bustling crowd, her attention perks up at a consistent tapping sound against cobblestone. Squinting against the lights and mist, Phantom spots him weaving through the people. Almost simultaneously, he briefly glances over his shoulder, immediately finding her eyes, high above the streets. He breathes out a sigh through his nose, before continuing down the cobbled street, expertly weaving around the prying eyes and invasive arms of others.

Quickly standing from her spot, already missing the warmth the concrete provided, the Phantom brushed down her cloak and pulled up the hood, before stepping out onto the roof. Her eyes like a hawk, she followed the sound of the cane, silently shifting from rooftop to rooftop like a cat. Slinking through the darkness, where no one would see her.

The Phantom was almost a myth to the people of Ketterdam. Rarely seeing her face, the lucky ones seeing it in their last moments with a blade against their throat.

She stops as he enters a building just across the way from where she stood, squatting down on the ledge, she flicks her eyes up and down the street. Above the entry way of the building, a rusty metal sign hangs in the shape of the bird of vengeance. The Crow Club. Dregs territory. Dirtyhands' headquarters. Swiftly dropping down to the street, the Phantom waltzes into the bar, the doorman nowhere to be found. Pushing the door open she is immediately hit with the strong smell of alcohol and cigar smoke. The Crow Club is dimly lit by old chandeliers hanging from the ceilings and oil lamps. People are huddled around large circular tables, dealing cards, passing money and shouting obscenities at one another. Weaving through the club, she goes unnoticed by the preoccupied customers, before a voice calls out to her.