Viper
I: Sirius
Sirius huffed, sprawling out face-down in the grass of his and James’ usual meeting spot dramatically.
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” James asked as he settled down on a nearby bolder.
Sirius lifted his head up to give James an amused look. “Knickers in a twist? Where did you learn that saying?”
A flush bloomed on James’s face. "Been spending too much time with the Prewett twins. Moony has been, too. Gid and Fab have him swearing like a true sailor. He drives Mum nuts."
Sirius sat up. "Ah, Moony, the mysterious Durast who helps me cause so much trouble. When do I get to meet him?"
James shifted on his feet. "I don't know, mate. Moony's...cautious around other Grisha, for whatever reason. And he isn't the best with conversation. Maybe one day."
Sirius nodded and flopped back on the ground with an exagerdated groan.
"What happened?" James asked again.
"You know how I have to take a language course now I'm twelve to 'expand my duties' or something- I don't know, I wasn't really listening. Anyway. There's this right git in my class - Fjerdan, if you're wondering. He's an Alkemi and has the greasiest hair I've ever seen, I swear this guy has never even seen a bath. His name is Severus Snape, he even sounds like a- what was that word you kept saying the otherday? Asshole? Yes! - like a right asshole. And he keeps trying to one up me- I mean, I don't always have to be top of the class but he's doing it purposely and he's so bloody smug about it!"
"Oh no!" James cried dramatically, placing a hand to his chest. "Who dares be better than Sirius Black at Fjerdan!"
"Exactly!" Sirius exclaimed, feeding off of James' theatrics. "What can I do to get back at him?"
James sighed. "You have an achidemic rival, mate. Just study hard."
Sirius wrinkled his nose. "Sirius Black does not study, Prongs."
The nickname 'Prongs' had been so graciously bestowed upon James after an incident in Fjerda last year. Apparently, James had found a wild stag and tried to pet it but instead got headbutted in the chest. After Sirius nearly died from laughter, he had given James the nickname so he, too, fit in his trio of strange-nickname-friends. Since then, James has been determinded to give Sirius a nickname of his own but has yet to do so.
"Mate, you can't seriously target this Snape fellow for a prank if all he did was get a precentage more than you on a Fjerdan exam or some shit."
Sirius rolled his shoulders and crossed his arms, staring out to where Ameilia Bones and her Etherealki friends were showing off for Edgar.
"Or...was it more than that?" James asked quietly, slipping next to Sirius in the grass.
"He knows about you."
"He does?"
Sirius nodded. "An observant little shit, he is."
James hesitated. "Why do you seem mad about that? Surely it isn't against any Grisha rules to have otkazat'sya friends outside of the Little Palace?"
"Does the General have rules? No. My parents? Oh, yes. They have some stupid belief that Grisha are above otkazat'sya and everything should be treated accordingly. And Snivellus, the little bastard, threatened to tell them about you."
"And what would happen then?"
"I'd be in deep trouble, ten lashes worth at least. And you...I'm worried they'd track you down and make sure I'd never see you again."
"Like...threaten me?"
Sirius gave him a look.
"Oh. You mean kill me."
Sirius nodded.
James blew out a breath. "Alright. What ideas do you have fluttering around that brain of yours?"
Sirius broke out into a grin so wide it hurt. He could always rely James Potter.
Sirius sat in his usual seat in the Fjerdan language classroom, practically buzzing with excitement. He didn't even try to hide his grin as he waited not-so-paitently for Snape to walk through the door.
Edgar glanced over, concern etched into his face. "Why are you so excited? You hate this class."
Next to him, Ameilia nodded. "Why do you even take Fjerdan 101 anyway? I thought you said you'd rather learn Kerch."
"I would," Sirius said firmly, smile dimming slightly. "My parents made me take this course."
"You could always take both Kerch and Fjerdan, you know."
"Nah. Too much work. I'll just get Reg to teach me."
Edgar raised an eyebrow. "You're brother can speak Kerch?"
Sirius shook his head. "He's a swot. He'll take as many classes as they'll allow and Ketterdam as always facinated him."
"Will they let your brother take extra classes? I heard Baby Black's rumoured to be a squib."
"Don't call him that," Sirius snapped, sending a harsh glare her way. Ameilia shrunk back and Edgar slapped his arm. "I was at his testing. He knocked me out cold without so much as a flick of his wrist. He's just...having some issues."
Before either Bones twin could respond, the door opened and Snape sauntered through.
Sirius sat up, the adreneline back and flowing stronger than ever. A couple of other Heartrenders glanced over at him curiously.
Edgar gave him a hard, disaproving look. "What did you do?"
Snape weaved through the rows of desks and students until he made it to the front right corner of the classroom. Sirius' grin grew as Snape sat down and the professor at the front of the room - which was Slughorn, oddly enough. Sirius would've never guessed he spoke Fjerdan - began the class. Sirius glanced back a few rows from his seat and made eye contact with a Durast that Snape had been bothering since their first years at the Little Palace. He nodded to the Durast and she raised her fingers, making a little flicking motion.
The ceiling of every room in the Little Palace, except for the Great Hall, was the same; endless rows of silver panneling. No one would even know the difference if one of those pannels - say, the one above Snape - was turned into a trapdoor. Last night, when the corridors were free of people and the classroom was empty, Sirius snuck James and his Durast(though he had been cloaked and didn't speak a word to him) into the classroom. Moony had worked quickly and efficently, creating hindges and a bolt. Sirius had filled the trapdoor with what James called water balloons.
The bolt twisted and the trapdoor swung open. A good fifteen water balloons fell from the ceiling and rained down on Snape. They splattered all around him, soaking his greasy hair, his kefta, his books, his boots and every open piece of skin.
The expression on Snape’s face was priceless. His eyes were widened in surprise, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, mouth turned down into a scowl of displeasure and brows furrowed in outrage. Sirius burst into laughter, body shaking with the force of each wheeze, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and his stomach aching. The other Durast, who hadn’t known the depths of his plan, was giggling uncontrollably behind her hand. Edgar stared at Snape, mouth agape in horror and his sister, along with most of the other students, was laughing.
“Saints!” Professor Slughorn cried. “How did that happen?”
Snape turned slowly in his chair to face Sirius, who immediately fell into a new fit of laughter. When he had some control over himself again, he smirked to the best of his ability and curled his fingers to his palm in a wave.
“YOU!” He shrieked pointing an accusatory finger at Sirius. “You- you- I can’t believe-“ he stuttered over his words and Sirius laughed again. With an aggressive angry shout, he stormed out of the room, his shoes squelching against the marble tile.
“Mr. Black,” Slughorn said. “Did you or did you not pull that prank on Mr. Snape?”
“Indeed I did.” Sirius said, grinning.
Slughorn looked baffled as he rubbed his forehead. “Never in all my years teaching at the Little Palace have I had to do this but you, Mr. Black, shall be serving a detention.”
When Slughorn said he was receiving detention, Sirius assumed that he’d be writing lines. Something like I must not play pranks on classmates or I must not torment other students or I must not create a trapdoor in the ceiling to soak Severus Snape in water. What he had not expected, however, was being brought to the General.
General McGonagall sighed, taking off her glasses and setting them on her desk. She rubbed at her face before placing her spectacles back on her nose and folded her hands. Sirius sat in a seat on the other side of her desk, posture laid back and a bored but smug expression plastered on his face. But he was very glad his General was an Inferni and not a Heartrender, unable to hear is racing heart and feel the sweat gathering in his palms.
“Mr. Black,” she said, her authoritative voice carrying through the small room. “Do you know how many other students have been sent to my office for such childish reasons?”
Sirius scratched the back of his neck. “Three?”
“None! Not once have I ever needed to deal with a situation like this. You are a soldier, Mr. Black, not some student in any ordinary public school. You are expected to be mature and handle situations with logic, not pouring water on unsuspecting classmates!”
McGonagall took a deep breath and turned to the only other person in the room: a man with long, matted brown hair and rotting teeth. A cat with piercing yellow eyes weaved between his legs, sometimes pausing to hiss at Sirius. “This is Argus Filch. He’s been serving these grounds since he was your age. He shall be overseeing your detention tonight, which is cleaning the training rooms of Professor Mad-Eye’s eighteen-year-old class.”
Sirius wrinkled his nose. Lovely.
McGonagall smirked. “You may leave now, Mr. Black.”
What neither of them knew was that this would be the first of many times they would meet and have this very conversation.
II: Dorcas
Dorcas knew that things weren’t easy. Life in the Barrel, even on the higher end of the scales, would never be so forgiving. You had to fight, claw and bite your way through life, lest you end up just another pigeon for someone to pluck. You had to be careful who you trust, who you love, because betrayals never come from enemies. You had to be cautious about who you anger, should you wish to live past twenty.
Dorcas knew all of this. That’s why she didn’t have any friends. Hell, she doubted anyone in the Barrel had friends. All you had were contracts, allies and investments. But there was one person Dorcas loved with her whole heart, one person she trusted with her life, one person she would follow no matter where they went; her mother.
Elizabeth Meadowes had the perfect level of Barrel status. She was known, she was feared, but she didn't have a reputation so widely known there was a line of Barrel Boss Wannabes outside her gambling hall, the Viper's Den, waiting for her to slip.
She was beautiful, you'd have to be an idiot not to notice it. Dark Zemeni skin, black eyes that glittered like onyx, deep brown hair in tight, long braids, silver charms with snakes and crows weaved throughout. On her hips sat two Zemeni-made revolvers, pearl handles gleaming.
When Dorcas slipped into the Viper's Den one surprisingly dry evening in early April, she instantly spotted her mother leaning on the railing opposite the bar, observing the game of cards and the Makker's Wheel. Despite everything happening within the club - the tons of people crowding around tables, waiting for an opening or spending their kruge, the browns, yellows, purples, and reds of people's garments, the greens, whites and blacks of the Viper's Den decore, the flash of kruge, the tick, tick, tick of the Makker's Wheel, the foul smell of Kaelish wiskey, the flurry of employee's fluttering around, the rusting sign of an ebony crow that represented the club's old name, the Crow Club, the clinking of glasses - she found her mother anyway. Eliz and her emerald corset, her dark cloak and her silver chains, seemed to stand out and Dorcas scampered over instantly.
Eliz smiled, wide and bright, as Dorcas raced up the steps to the bar and slotted herself in her side.
"Hello, little snake." She said softly, fingers tangling in the ends of Dorcas' braids.
"Hi, Mama."
"I have something for you," she said, pulling away and grabbing onto her daughter's fingers, leading her towards the staircase that led to their small little home. "C'mon."
Dorcas followed her eagerly. Their home was the most comforting place Dorcas has ever been in(though that was a low bar). Every surface was used, covered in crystals, jewels, weaponry, candles and trinkets Eliz and Dorcas have collected and made over the years. The floors were covered in many fluffy, plush rugs. You could sit, lay or stand anywhere and there's no way your body could start to ache. Two desks were shoved into either side of one room, one covered in neat stacks of paperwork and contracts and the other littered with drawings and art utencils. A large map of all the countries was plastered on the wall, as well as a detailed map of Ketterdam and the Barrel. A singular bed sat in the squished bedroom that they shared.
Eliz gestured for Dorcas to sit on the rugs. It was than that she noticed her mother's usual revolvers had been traded for a newer set. They were almost the exact same make and model, the same metal barrels, the same pearl handles. But instead of everything being a perfect smoothness, an intricate pattern of roses, vines, snakes and crows had been encraved and painted into the handles.
Dorcas tilted her head. "Your guns are different."
Eliz grabbed something from a nearby drawer and held them behind her back as she turned. She grinned. "Always so observant, my little viper."
She settled down in front of Dorcas, placing whatever she was hiding on the floor behind her. Dorcas tried to lean and peak around her but Eliz clicked her tongue with a chuckle. "Just a moment, viper." She pulled something out of her cloak pocket and handed it to her daughter.
Dorcas looked down at the small, rectangular, red and white striped box in her hands, Bertie Bott's name displayed in green. Dorcas' mouth dropped as she shook the box and the beans rattled inside. Her head shot up and met her mother's eyes. Eliz was smiling.
"You didn't!" Dorcas exclaimed. "How did you get them? I thought none of the sweet shops carried them."
"They don't. But I found a carton of 'em on a Ravkan ship. Managed to swipe a couple of other things, too. Happy Birthday, viper."
Dorcas launched herself at her mother, wrapping her in a bear hug. She was grinning so wide her cheeks began to hurt. Eliz laughed, expertly twisting them around so Dorcas couldn't get a peak at whatever Eliz was hiding.
When Dorcas pulled away, Eliz's face became serious. "I have one more thing for you, little snake. Close your eyes and hold out your hands," Dorcas did as she was told. She heard shuffling and then a weight in her palms, along with the cool feel of metal. "Alright. Open them."
Dorcas' eyes popped open and she looked down. If Dorcas was shocked by the beans, the sight of her mother's old revolvers and two types of holsters in her hands was mind shattering. Her mouth opened and closed a couple times, fumbling for her words. Her mother had rarely ever let them go, treasuring them but now she was giving them to Dorcas? "Why?"
"They're a family heirloom, viper," her mother said softly. "These revolvers have been passed down through our family for hundreds of years. They're Durast touched, so they'll never wear. They are handed off to sons and daughters on their twelfth birthday. Enjoy, little snake."
Tears welled in Dorcas' eyes. She knew how to shoot, of course, but she's never had a weapon of her own. She probably looked ridiculous right now but she didn't care. Her mother had just given her her most prized posession. Dorcas vowed to keep them in perfect condition. She'd look after them with as much care as her mother had, treasure them just as much. "Thank you, Mama."
Eliz wrapped Dorcas in another tight hug before glancing at her pocketwatch. "I've got a meeting in ten minutes, viper. This has to be delivered to Ludo Bagman, owner of that small diner, the Wimbourne Wasp, near the Grey Lady," Eliz pressed a letter stamped with her green seal into Dorcas's palm. "Casper should be waiting outside. Could you do that for me?"
Dorcas nodded and kissed her mother's cheek. "Of course, Mama."
She stood and examined the holsters better. Her mother had gifter her both waist and should holsters. Dorcas quickly strapped on the waist holsters, slipped her revolvers inside and turned to her mother one last time. "Bye, Mama. I love you."
"I love you, too, viper!" Eliz called as Dorcas slipped out the door.
When she exited the club, the large burly man that was Casper was waiting for her, just like her Mama had said. Eliz trusted her, of course, but she didn't trust the Barrel. Casper, a boy in his early thirties, would trail behind her, just out of her eye sight, ready to step in and pounce when trouble first arises. Dorcas nodded in greating, a gesture Casper returned, before slipping down the street.
The Wimbourne Wasp was a little diner, most famous for it's waffles, tucked between all the brothels on the East Stave, a place where tourists could grab a bite before moving on to the next establishment. It took a few hours, with the sheer amount of people stumbling through the Staves on an average night in Ketterdam, to get to the Wimbourne Wasp, sneak through the employee's only entrance, break into Bagman's quarters to deliver the note, and make the journy all the way back to the Viper's Den.
Dorcas paused as she neared the club. Something was wrong. When she left, the club was bursting with people, noise and profit. Now, as she approached, there wasn't a soul to be seen. The stones were stamped down with hundreds of frantic footsteps.
Slowly, Dorcas drew her guns and stepped into the club, an equally confused Casper only a few steps behind her.
The tables where turned over, probably when the gamblers ran in a panic. Chips and cards were on every surface, glass was scattered across the room from many smashed cups. All the bottles along the bar, usually full of liquids in many colours, were gone. There wasn't a single kruge to be seen.
Dorcas' eyes caught on a flash of silver. She frowned, returned one revolver to its holster and grabbed the object. In her hands sat a mask, a small little ghost painted on the side. She turned it over, examining it from all sides. She'd never seen anything like it. She looked back at Casper and held up the mask. "Recognize it?"
Casper frowned and shook his head.
Dorcas set the mask down and climbed the steps to her home. "Mama?" She called as she pushed in the door.
Dorcas' heart fell to her stomach at the sight before her, one that would haunt her for the rest of her days.
There was Eliz, on the floor, in a pool of her own blood. Her cloak, arms and corset were chard yet everything else on her body and in the room were free of any flame damage. Inferni. Her legs were bent at an odd angle and her hands were clutched firmly around her waist. Blood coated her lips, like a Heartrender had wrenched at her insides. A gunshot sat in the center of her forehead, blood dripping down and onto her nose. The rugs were stained in a way Dorcas knew would never come out, a permanent reminder of what had happened.
"MAMA!" Dorcas screamed, dropping her gun and sprinting to her mother's side. Casper picked it up and checked the small apartment for the prepetrators. Dorcas couldn't care less. She fell to her knees and reached for Eliz's hand. Her skin was cool to the touch, like porceline. Dorcas placed a small kiss to her knuckles, her tears dripping down her mother's lifeless fingers.
Eliz was Dorcas' everything. She was her rock, she kept Dorcas stable, strong and safe when she was drowning in sorrows and troubles. She was her light when life turned dark, guiding her through whatever obsticals she was fighting, destroying whatever was blocking the sun. She was always there whenever Dorcas needed her. She was the one person Dorcas would follow anywhere.
But now, she left in the time Dorcas needed her most, to a place she couldn't follow.
Dorcas let out a scream, loud enough to shatter glass, broken enough to put the shards to shame. It peirced, it burned, it drew blood. It was angry, furious, blazing. Who dared to take her mother from her?
Dorcas noticed something on her mother's hip. Dorcas sobbed harder, reaching for her mother's gun. She moved her other hand and now an extra set of revolvers sat in her palms.
An idea shined in her mind and Dorcas turned to Casper, who was watching the display solemnly. She stuttered and coughed and sniffed a few times before she could choke out a proper sentance. "Over there, by my desk, are shoulder holsters. Could you get them for me?"
Casper walked over to where the black leather holsters were draped over the chair. He returned to her side and handed them to her.
Dorcas stapped on the holsters and slipped her mother's revolvers into place. She'd wear them with pride and rememberance and love. Elizabeth Meadowes would be with her always.
Dorcas reached over and closed her mother's eyes. She took Eliz's hands in hers and shut her eyes, whispering a small prayer. She had never been religous, but she had no other way to respect her death.
Something clasped tight in Eliz's grip brushed against the tips of Dorcas' fingers and she turned over her mother's hand and worked it free. It was a tight ball of paper and Dorcas unraveled it and smoothed it out on her thigh. It was blank apart from a symbol she didn't recognize sketched in black ink. It was a snake with the head of a skull. No Barrel gang had this as their mark.
Someone else had broken into her home and murdered her mother, someone who didn't belong in Ketterdam, someone who had decided to pick a fight they could never win. One of the main rules to Barrel survival is don't anger the wrong person. Whoever the owner of this symbol was, they better hope Dorcas doesn't find out who they are. Or they may just fail to see twenty.