what's the easiest way to steal a man's wallet?

a gun to the back.

there are letters on your bedside table, sharpshooter.
won't you read them?
at least touch one, for saints' sake.

August 24, ████

Da,I made it to Ketterdam. How's the best Da ever known to mankind? I know you miss your favorite son (YES, I know I'm your only son, but the thought still counts!), but I hope you haven't been crying too hard.School is kicking me in the shins, and the weather's terrible, but I've made enough friends to think the city bearable. It's pretty busy, and I'm grateful for all the work. Saints knows I would rather throw myself off a bridge than do nothing for more than thirty minutes.How's the farm? How's the extra work? I hope by now you've realized I should definitely have been paid for having to shovel so much shit, Da. A man can only take so much of Bessie and her beloved, stinky grass before he starts wanting to move to a brand new city.Kidding. Of course.I miss you, Da. I hope you're not still sad about me leaving. It's not your fault I left. We both know Ketterdam is better for me, Da. Plus, me going to college at fifteen is now something you super-duper have to brag about. Maybe then Aunt Zion would shut her mouth about her prodigal son; I'm much better than he is, anyway, and everyone and their aunties know it.I'll be back in no time; university will be an absolute breeze. ;) Try not to cry rivers; we've had enough rain last month to last us years!Love you, Da. I'll write again soon.All my love,
Jesper ✯

your first letter to your da. you wrote this one over and over, just trying to get all the loops right. in the end, you sent him the one with the little doodle of you reading a book, remember?you should read another one, gunslinger. maybe then you'll remember just how much you wasted.

September 1, ████

Da,
How are you? I hope you're fine. University is so-so. It's a little boring, what with every day being the same as the last, but I'm hanging on. My friends are pretty good with focus, so I usually have them to count on for notes. Don't worry about losing the scholarship, Da. I've got it covered. ;)
But, I made a mistake. Spent my money wrong, which-- I know we never had a lot to begin with, and I know I'm probably asking for a lot, but I got conned by some shady guy, and I don't think I can last a month with just water.I'll do better, Da. I promise. Your future lawyer's almost at the finish line.I love you, Da, and I miss you and your food and our animals more than you could possibly know. Tell Bessie I miss her moo-ing, too.I'll write again in a few weeks. Til then, don't miss me too much, Da. I'm just an ocean away.Lots of love from the city that never sleeps,
Jesper <3

YOU LIED.

you weren't conned at all. you found your way into gambling halls. several of them, all day, every day, because there was no other place where you felt more alive.the spin of the makker's wheel, the sound of dice clanging against one another, the shouts of both those who are sober and drunk: isn't it funny how danger feels more comfortable than safety, to you?did you play another hand, fahey? or did you actually start making good on your promises to your father?

you can't fool yourself, fahey. i'll ask again:
did you prefer danger, or safety?

STOP LYING, FAHEY.

you chose danger. you chose the barrel life, to slum with criminals. you failed your classes, of course. you never attended, so how could you pass? you're smart, yes, but not even you could get away with never showing up to where you were supposed to be. you dropped out.

you never told your father. poor colm fahey, fooled by his own son. the thought of every cent being offered willingly to gambling halls and shitty hotel rooms with cardboard-like sheets never once crossed his mind. he had a vision for you, remember? you'd take accountancy, then law. you had plenty of time, after all. what was a few extra years to someone who got into university at fifteen? it's a pity you threw it all away, isn't it?

do you remember what happened next, sharpshooter?(spoilers ahead)

YOU LOST IT ALL.

you told yourself that this life was better than whatever accountancy and law had to offer. you know it isn't the truth. not when you land yourself in a pile of shit even you can't shovel yourself out of. not when the only way you manage to pay your debts is by handing out favors: shooting when you're told to, going where you're led towards.the barrel whispers your name. JESPER FAHEY, they say in the streets, when you pass by them with your practiced smile and your easy stance, holsters on your thighs and restlessness in your bones, IS EASY. he's easy to talk to, easy to find, easy to convince into doing just about anything. an easy fucking lay, too, isn't he?and so what if the barrel whispered? at least they whispered with reverence, with some semblance of fear. there's blood on your hands, little rabbit, but it's all well and fine. you're fed. you're clothed. you're thriving.until you aren't.a moment of weakness was all it took for two barrel rats to beat you senseless. in your defence, you hadn't eaten in three days, and you've been kicked out of your hotel room last night. was it really your fault that your guard was down?of course it was your fault.
you traded safety for thrill, so
BARE WITH THE CONSEQUENCES.
of all the people to come to your rescue, it was dirtyhands. you weren't sure if it was the hunger or the lack of sleep, but he seemed ethereal. YOUR VERY OWN GUARDIAN ANGEL, and it was (according to barrel gossip) a man with no conscience and who had claws for hands. he offered you a dry place to live in and three meals per day, plus the job of working for the crow club. money, food, and shelter? you'd be a fool to not accept his offer.in return, you gave him whatever he asked. SHOOT HIM IN THE HEAD THRICE, he'd say, and you'd shoot without hesitation. SADDLE UP TO HER AND FIND OUT WHAT SHE'S HIDING, he'd tell you, and you'd be in some rich merch's bed by midnight, gathering praises while she was awake and secrets when she was asleep.there was no task too big for you, except maybe GET YOURSELF OUT OF YOUR OWN HANDCUFFS. you thought you'd hidden it well. paraffin on your arms, disinterest in grisha and ravka; how could anyone have known?BUT KAZ BREKKER, KNEW, OF COURSE. the impossible shots you made were too frequent to be considered miracles, and how could you have fixed his cane with nothing on your person? you are zowa, blessed, your mother had once whispered, but you sure didn't feel blessed. not when she died because of the power that you and her shared, not when your father told you to tuck your gift away and never turn coins into keys or turn anything into the shape or color you wanted it to be, and especially not when you've earned the title of one of the barrel's most dangerous criminals instead of certified public accountant-lawyer.THE WORLD CAN BE CRUEL TO YOUR KIND, your da once told you. you never told your da that you were, perhaps, just as cruel as the world was, now. with a sharp mouth, a blinding closet, and a deadly aim, the only things sacred to you now were the dregs and the spin of the makker's wheel.ADAWESI. you fight, little rabbit. always by dirtyhands and wraith's sides, right hand man to ketterdam's two deadliest people, loyal to a fault. all they had to do was give you instructions, and you would follow them to the ends of the earth (if you weren't distracted, of course. your restlessness gets in the way more than your pride does).YOU WEREN'T BORN WITH EVERY ADVANTAGE, AND YOU'VE LONG LEARNED TO TAKE YOUR CHANCES.