greedbent

[greedbent]

*randomly materializes out of a murder of crows with a slurpee in my hand* hey guys what’s up?

[greedbent]

Kaz Brekker and Jesper Fahey

SHADOW AND BONE | 01x01 A Searing Burst of Light

[greedbent]

Much like the first time, the envelope waiting on Kaz’s desk would have been innocent…if the flower attached to the outside didn’t give it away. This time it’s an azalea affixed to the letter with a silk ribbon. Vibrant pink fades towards the tip of each petal into a lighter shade, one that unknowingly mirrors the color dusting a certain florist’s cheeks as she wrote the accompanying message: 

Kaz, It is finally my absolute favorite time of year! Although, not that you would know it from looking outside most days. Wintertime is beautiful in its own way, of course, but I cannot help but feel melancholy when the cold lingers like this. I admit that this letter is sent with slightly selfish intent, for I can think of no better way to cheer myself up than to write to you. How have you been? I regret that it has been some time now since we last saw each other. Perhaps that is another reason I have felt wistful as of late. I do hope you have been taking care of yourself.  The flowers have been equally unhappy about the continued cold weather, but I am grateful that I was still able to coax some azaleas to bloom. As one of the first flowers to flourish at the onset of spring, they symbolize life, rebirth, and renewal. I plan to use them to decorate the outside of the shop to hopefully help usher in the springtime spirit—even if there is still snow on the ground! I apologize for not sending you another flower that is more to your taste. Still, I thought your rose may want some company, and besides, it is my humble opinion that everyone should have a bit of springtime color to brighten their day.  Speaking of the season, there is going to be a festival next week to celebrate! I have been asked to create some arrangements for the occasion, so I will have to do a bit of work, but if you would not mind as much, perhaps we could attend together? I have missed spending time with you. Wishing you all the best, ~ Spring

@howthesleeplesswander || in which kaz has a whole-ass breakdown bc a cute girl keeps sending him letters. more at 10

He liked to think he handled the gesture with more grace this time. (At first.)

There was no freezing in the doorway. No staring with the wide frightened eyes of a man facing the barrel of a gun instead of a Saints-forsaken flower on his desk. No oscillating. No hesitation. Barely even a second’s pause when his eyes caught a splash of color in what was otherwise dark and muted. He assessed the situation in a blink, no trouble. But despite all of that well-managed composure, one thing not only remained from the time before, but had somehow become stronger—no different than a swig of brandy’s effect on an empty stomach.

Like some lovesick podge, his heart performed acrobatics that’d put even Inej to shame: jumps and twirls that he’d long forgotten it knew . . . as if the damned thing had been chained down for all these years and was finally free again. From a single look. That was all it needed. And he wrestled with the excitement a man like him was never supposed to have over a girl giving him her time of day. He should’ve been embarrassed. Exasperated, even. Anything to remind himself to stay in check—

Instead, Kaz Brekker found himself smiling vaguely as he closed the door behind him and deposited his hat and coat in their proper places. He couldn’t bring himself to be anything but pleased. And, even if it was just for those pitiful minutes alone in his office, he’d not exercise how utterly crooked and wrong this should’ve felt.

He’d been thinking of her. (When was he not?) She’d been thinking of him.

Saints, it was reckless, the way every nerve in his body reacted to that alone. . . . Forget anything within the letter itself.

—but of course he had to read it.

Much like the first time, he consumed those words like they were a prayer and he was devout (which was amusing, as was the thought that if he were to submit to that hogwash, Spring would be the subject). He read over each line slowly, a calm cadence in his otherwise chaotic mind, then did so again. And again. As if he of all people would miss a damn thing among it all. . . . Or maybe he was just greedy for every last drop of ink.

Some part of him couldn’t quite believe it. That someone like him could bring someone like her the cheer of which she spoke . . . and so freely, too—like she had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. (Though her note on selfishness was something he filed away for later: She had to know there wasn’t a selfish bone in her body, nor any trickle of malice in her veins.) It could be confirmed then, if it wasn’t already, that he’d never get used to her . . . Her. Just her. From the way she spoke of those passions of hers—and included him as if he had any taste in flowers at all—to the fast and forward expression of her desires, as well.

He found it admirable. He found it fresh. He found it novel and more beautiful than he could ever express in words . . . not like she with these letters that he’d branded on his heart. She made him want to try. She made him hopeful that there could be more, no matter how much he’d never be the man she deserves— No, ridiculous; he could become that man. He could try.

He would try.

After another reread of that same flawless script, his attention eventually skirted over to that glaringly pink flower. It should’ve taunted him more than the last, standing out like a pinprick of blinding light in the dark, but Kaz wasn’t remotely offended. When he reached for it and a gloved finger traced the edges of one petal, inexplicably, he minutely flinched. Silly, the thoughts that waltzed through his mind. Foolish. As uncharacteristic as the leaps in his chest, the heightened rhythm that hadn’t yet steadied since he walked through the door.

But, Saints, he really was just a man, wasn’t he?

And so, after careful consideration (of how halfwitted this all was), Kaz slowly removed his glove. With that bare hand, he claimed the thin stem of the flower, letting the silky texture of pink petals glide over his thumb while he contemplated Spring’s own fingers doing the same. His throat tightened for a beat. His next exhale fluttered out weaker than the last. The muscles in his hand flexed, twitched, and then Kaz shook his head, set the flower down, and abruptly got to his feet.

He yanked that glove back over his hand. It as much felt suffocating as it did relieving, as was his choking back that swell of warmth that climbed his neck. Kaz headed straight back to the door, retreated from his office in one swift move without a single glance over his shoulder again—to that opened letter or innocent flower lying there beside it.

Truly, he hadn’t yet decided his destination. Only that, first, he needed a drink.

[greedbent]

some food for the 5 six of crows fans on here since i just got clip studio paint and also this flopped absolute balls on instagram

[greedbent]

Kaz had already misjudged one thing: So Rody wasn’t blindly running away, seeking escape from a life he loathed; he was running toward something. Anything. A purpose. A “reason,” he’d confessed in as telling of a phrase as any. And as he went on to elaborate as much as he was willing, Kaz swore a ghost he thought he’d finally dealt with curled its fingers over his shoulder.

The expression on Rody’s face felt familiar, after all. Uncomfortably so. Behind a permanently haunted look in his eyes was a righteous anger, a deep-seated hurt bleeding out as desperation. When his voice cut off before finishing a particular sentence, new assumptions could be made with ease: he’d lost something. No, he’d lost someone. And if the manic tremor in his voice was indicative of anything, the circumstances around that loss were flooded in unfairness. With it, then, came the loss of direction. The loss of a will to go on—

But that was always where this kind of grief started, wasn’t it?

Now, the man was searching for something new: a reason to push forward, and perhaps a reason to not tarnish the memory of the person he held dear. (Because it would tarnish it, right . . . ? If Rody chose to give up.)

Oh, Kaz had been there. That ghost tightened its grip for a meager beat. Was he still there—? He felt an icy chill down his spine, rolled his shoulders in efforts to subdue it.

“I can’t promise to be your new ‘reason,’” he said eventually, breaking away from the conversation to approach a hutch off to the side of the room. Kaz pulled out two glasses, poured a generous helping of brandy into each. His excuse was that Rody clearly needed it when deep down, he knew he’d acquired two glasses for reasons of his own. The fact that he took a swig before even making it back to Rody had to be revealing— Kaz chose not to dwell on it.

Holding the drink out to his guest, he made direct, deliberate eye contact while he swirled the contents temptingly, and Kaz didn’t utter another word until Rody claimed it. “But I can guarantee you’ll be kept busy. I’ll find a use for you, as far as purpose goes—if that means anything.” He paused, pressing his weight back against the edge of his desk while he again looked him over. “Seems like you’re the type who can take a hit or two,” he appraised, voice drifting off into a contemplative hum as he went for another drink. “Good. You’re going to need that. No one here is going to scrape you off the ground and give you a band-aid. One more thing—”

His hand reached behind him to set down his glass, and Kaz searched the other man’s face. “This past of yours that you can’t ‘get over’ . . . I need to know that it’s not going to become a problem for the rest of us later down the line. That’s your business. Keep it that way.”

Hard to say whether it was the words themselves or just...basically everything about this guy, lets be honest—but one little snap was enough to shut Rody up. His jaw closed with an audible clack. He could only blink dumbly as the other rose from his desk and swept in close. Instinctively, Rody's posture straightened. Not that he thought propriety mattered to a gang leader, but it was hard not to be tense when this guy started circling him like a bird of prey.

An even more dumbfounded look met the casual statement of Rody's name. "U-uh—yeah, that's right. How'd you, uhh..." But the guy kept talking before he could ask his...admittedly dumb question. Guess he shouldn't be surprised that some big-shot criminal already knew who he was. Hopefully that didn't mean he was on a hit-list somewhere.

Also surprising to no one: Rody had no idea what joining a gang actually entailed. Maybe that was why he did keep his mouth shut and listen to the spiel. Say he was accepted—then what? He didn't know what that meant or what he'd be doing, but whatever kind of "hard and ruthless" work it turned out to be...it had to be better than pretending like everything hadn't changed.

Is that what you want?

That might have been a simple question for some people. People who hadn't seen what he'd seen, who hadn't done what he'd done. People who didn't know how fucked up this world was and therefore wanted the simplest things out of it.

He'd been one of them, before. Success, comfort, acceptance, love...it all seemed so out of reach now.

Slowly, Rody shook his head. "I—...I just want...a reason, I guess." In the aftermath, that question was the hardest to wrestle with: now that he'd killed the one responsible, what right did he have to keep living when Manon's life had been so cruelly ended? What was the point when she had taken his heart with her, leaving him to drift through each day and haunt his own life like a ghost?

"I don't have anything to go back to," Rody admitted, quiet but heavy with the pain of that truth. "I-I can't just...'get over it'—" and he spat those words like they were foul on his tongue, his expression twisting with revulsion, "—I can't ever forget. But I couldn't do the 'daily life' thing anymore, either, not without—" Her name lodged in his throat, abruptly choking him off. Rody stared hard at one of the buttons on the other man's outfit as he struggled to swallow around the frigid lump. "I just...I didn't know what else to do. I need...something—something that matters."

[greedbent]

I love putting them in dumb little outfits

[greedbent]

"You were angry. Angry wears off. I needed you righteous."

Of all the insane lines spoken by Kaz, I think that one has to be in the top 5 hardest hitting ones. Anger does wear off, but righteousness, the will to do what's right and stick to your values and principles and the knowledge and belief that you are right and justified? Unparalleled.

[greedbent]

Of all the people residing in a city of false promises of a concept that didn’t even exist, one particular falsehood remained a frustrating mystery even to Kaz Brekker. And he was sitting here beside him. Drinking. Conversing. Plotting. Kaz had set foot on Mondstadt’s streets numerous times now, gathered intel, dug up secrets, traced the faint thrumming of a pulse until he located it and drove his thumb deeper, and somehow, despite all of that . . . the Cavalry Captain was no less elusive than a whisper in a buffeting wind.

He wasn’t the guard who patrolled evenings of every other day, coaxed by the lure of a quick drink on his passing the Angel’s Share. He wasn’t the woman leaving calla lilies in supposedly unassuming locations as a sign to her secret lover of where he might find her for a late-night rendezvous. As far as Kaz was concerned, the only information he had on Kaeya was that he was hiding something . . .

That is to say, he had nothing at all. Suspicion. The knowledge of there clearly being some jagged pieces out of place. But nothing to show for it.

And, Archons, nothing crawled beneath his skin quite as much as not knowing.

It was a rare opportunity, this: to be in the mysterious captain’s presence and have his undivided attention. A smart man would take advantage. (What “advantage” meant would depend on the man.) He could turn this encounter to his favor, change the game as he always did, discover just the right pressure point he might need to force his company to squirm and beg like any other person under the weight of their shameful secrets— Because, beyond the shadow of a doubt, even the most shameless always had something they’d go to the most obscene lengths to hide. But even so . . . 

That sharp eye swiveled down to Kaz’s hands noticeably, crystal clear in its inquisitiveness in contrast to the lighter air carrying his words. Kaeya was taking a scalpel to him as much as Kaz was in return: a pair of seemingly vastly different men whose inner workings couldn’t be farther from the case. They were gently pressing that sharpened tip to each other, wondering who would be the first to break skin. The captain, all evidence to the contrary, was no fool. 

Somehow bolstered by his cheekily inviting a feline closer, just then.

“She’d survive,” Kaz contested bluntly, gaze lingering on Patches as she pressed herself closer to the hand scratching at her ears. “Those hungry for attention aren’t usually picky about the type they receive.” He paused to drink, then cast Kaeya a wry look. “But you’d know all about that. And besides”—one shoulder arched in a shrug—“what’s the point in giving someone what they want right away? Moderation, though a novelty in places like this, is significant. That part you may know less about, I understand.”

Kaeya had often wondered the same thing. He'd drank himself into a stupor on countless nights wondering, over and over: who was worse? Yes, he lied and deceived with every breath, but how despicable was the liar when it was everyone else who believed him?

He didn't have the answer. But that was what made Kaz so intriguing: they shared such similarities, yet they had a reputation of the exact opposite sort. Anyone who heard a single rumor of the infamous Dirtyhands knew he was cold, calculating, always had the upper hand. And yet, Kaeya did all the same things, right under everyone's noses, and was adored by the masses.

Which is worse? Your way, or mine? Either way, he couldn't help but be curious about someone on the polar end of the same spectrum.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Mister Brekker." Kaeya put on a confounded face, as if appalled at the mere thought of sullying his hands. "Everyone knows that everything I do is for the safety and prosperity of Mondstadt. Although..." His grin returned in an instant, curving wider as he gave an exaggerated wink. "You would certainly know all about having dirty hands, wouldn't you? I suppose we all have secrets that we keep hidden from the world—be it with an eyepatch...or maybe all those stifling, black clothes."

He made no effort to hide it when his gaze trickled down to Kaz's drumming fingers. Even for a man who clearly dressed himself to blend with shadows and avoid attention, the gloves were an interesting choice. Kaeya had already entertained a few possibilities: to aid in not leaving any evidence, perhaps; or to avoid dirtying his hands in the literal sense if he harbored any secret squeamishness for the blood he spilled. All fairly plausible, yet he had his doubts.

In the end, it was Kaz who successfully drew a laugh out of his drinking partner. "Oh, really? I didn't take you for a cat person. And here you've barely gotten any of their attention since you came in!"

Tilting his head to look past the other man, instead Kaeya met the gaze of a tan-furred feline leisurely reclining at the end of the bar counter. Her ears perked at his cooing sounds, until finally she was coaxed into wandering closer by his wiggling fingers and tapping on the bar.

"This is Patches; she's a real sweetheart." Kaeya scratched the white spots dappling the top of the cat's head and behind her ears. "If you're such a cat lover, she's the perfect new friend for you. Just give her a bit of affection and she'll happily keep you company no matter how long you stay here drinking." Mirth danced in the sidelong glance he shot Kaz's way. "Well, for most people. Maybe not for you, though; I don't think she'll be very pleased about the gloves in the way."

[greedbent]

A little fanart of our favorite crazy eyes gang leader :3

[greedbent]

(This might have been done before but I just saw these text posts with Nancy and Steve from ST and I just had to make this)

[greedbent]

Slender, spidery fingers worked with practised ease and precision, Jae having first learned how to hand-roll smokes when Masa and his friends were too hungover to do it themselves, their scarred fingers jittery from withdrawal. He leaned forward and licked a wet stripe down the edge of a square of black and gold paper after gently distributing and shaped a perfectly even, thick cylinder- sealing it closed and pinching off any stray tobacco at the edges. The new agent stuck the cigarette he’d just fashioned between the curves of his own lips, then picked another up off the table to offer it to his superior in silent question.

Instead of bringing the wavering flame of a lit match to his mouth, he rested his hands against the table and pushed off the footrest of his chair- leaning forward and into the only source of fire now dancing between them. Only half of his cigarette was burning once the flame extinguished, so he pressed in more and tilted his head differently until the unlit side kissed the burning cherry. The glowing embers from Brekker’s cigarette ate away at the paper as he inhaled, Jae-hyo lifting a hand to steady his own. The quiet hiss of the lit tobacco broke through the silence and Yoon drew his hand away, lips parting as a small cloud of smoke trailed from his mouth before being drawn back in.

@gcldfanged || sounds of intEReST B)

The din of the Crow Club was distant, muffled through the closed door, but nevertheless a constant background symphony to the hours Kaz spent holed up in his office, as trained to tuning it out as he was to catching the slightest change that would alert him to a disturbance requiring his attention— And yet, for some inexplicable reason this time, that commotion felt all the more drowned, sinking into the depths beyond reach as all of his senses climbed to something else. Someone else.

While Kaz read over a stack of letters atop his desk, Jae’s meticulous movements joined him with every word: a tapping here, a shuffle there. His eyes never left the paper. They didn’t need to. And even when he eventually stood to consult the files in a nearby cabinet, it wasn’t until he heard a very distinctive shift that he cast a glance back.

A cigarette waited for him. Expectantly. Respectfully, he wanted to add, recognizing in a split second that such an offer came before Jae had even indulged in the vice himself. So, it was a gesture, really, one that seemingly came as easy and nonchalant as ever. And maybe that was the reason Kaz took him up on it.

He’d just cast those papers aside, claimed the offering, and reached for a light when Jae abruptly moved. Not like the clockwork, trained motions of before, but a new pursuit. As it pressed him against the table’s edge, Kaz had only a fleeting moment to consider two things: He was coming in closer (why?), and was that “why” a reason for Kaz to back up?

Kaz almost wanted to strangle himself for the thought. You podge; you don’t retreat like some startled cat.

So he didn’t.

Even when their faces came to a startling proximity. Even when an equally alarming audacity puppeteered Jae’s next actions, how he cocked his head, tracked the faint movement of Kaz’s cigarette to properly light his own. Even when something stirred inside him, some rising wave that boiled him from the inside, competed with a burn in his lungs. No, he didn’t retreat. He just watched. Waited. Calculated. And as a plume of smoke slipped through Jae’s lips, Kaz eventually exhaled, ignored the two streams mingling between them to maintain firm eye contact.

He took his own cigarette from his mouth, held it there between gloved fingers, thumb riding idly along the length of it. With his other hand, Kaz lifted his cane off the ground, feigned a sudden and particular interest in the crow’s head as he rolled it a few times and watched it spin. “Remind me.” Slowly, without any semblance of feeling pressed, he brought the bird’s beak down to the table, positioned perfectly to snag Jae’s sleeve where his hand still rested. “When’s your birthday?”

Kaz reached over to prop his cigarette on an ashtray. He then snatched the same out of his company’s lips. “I’m going to get you the shittiest lighter I can find.” Though those words came equipped with an icy edge, an impassioned growl still lingered in their wake. “And I’ll even teach you how to use it.”

[greedbent]

Daily reminder that Kaz is actually just a teenage boy playing at being this really edgy gang leader when in reality he has the humour of a 13 year old

[greedbent]

kaz remains the youngest gang leader in the barrel, and this as much means he's formidable as he is an insolent and disrespectful upstart to the kingpins who are decades his senior

he stands for the underdogs, in a way, taking in strays that no other gang will—because if he started from nothing, then he can just as easily bring out the potential in anyone he comes across

on another note, though, it's easy to forget how young he is with the way he acts, the way he was forced to grow up before he should have

bc yeah, outwardly, he looks like he's got his shit together, like he's endlessly scheming, endlessly ten steps ahead of everyone around him, etc. but homie no if he's got nothing else, he absolutely has an incredible poker face

99% of the time, yes, he's fumbling along this road of vengeance yes, he's hiding behind literal layers bc he can't show weakness—certainly not now that he's come this far yes, he absolutely disrespects his seniors bc he hates what they stand for and what he's had to become to have any leverage over them

kaz is legitimately just overflowing with hurt and rage and just an entire hurricane of emotions he never learned how to process; he really is still a broken child beneath the legend he's built around himself. but damn if he isn't good at pretending otherwise ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

[greedbent]

the universe didn't let me get into a/rcan/e bc it knew how down bad with an obsession i'd be with si//lco and thus how much suffering would occur both to myself and the people around me

but, see

the universe was not strong enough

[greedbent]

The Devil and his Wraith

(Also if you want a piece like this, Commissions are OPEN heh)

[greedbent]

Kaz and Inej

[greedbent]

She expected more out of him. And that was wrong for a multitude of reasons, though mainly two came to mind: 1) He couldn’t give her that. Or “shouldn’t” might have been more apt. And it wasn’t the first time he’d taken a few steps down a road like this only to conclude that road wasn’t meant for him, no different than a comfy, law-abiding lifestyle fit Dirtyhands; 2) Spring would only expect more if she wanted more, and of all the insanity Kaz had faced since he’d first walked these dangerous, dense streets, that had to be the most unbelievable. He wondered what was the denser in this case: the streets, Spring for desiring his approval, or himself for even exercising any one of these ideas.

But he wasn’t some sorry drunkard staggering about the lively night in a stupor. . . . Kaz looked for signs in everything, remained vigilant in a place where the great majority weren’t. And so, when he caught that trace of disappointment in Spring’s tone, a festering doubt muddying the edges of what was usually so bright and cheerful, he didn’t just shrug it off and move on. (Even if part of him figured he really ought to.)

He snatched it. He copied it down in permanent ink: erratic scribbles of a man willing to drive himself insane because of one look. One word. One change in one woman. And was the irony of how stupidly simple this was—how so many men found themselves on their knees for that one woman—lost on him? Of course not. Kaz just chose to ignore it.

Really, he’d told her what someone in her shoes would want to hear (while still being entirely honest about it): Your client will appreciate your work. That was the goal. That was the whole purpose for her being here tonight, interrupted only by Kaz stepping in to lead the blind through these treacherous streets where he had, once upon a time, been just as blind himself. Logically speaking, that should’ve delighted her. That should have been enough.

But. She’d wanted more.

And only when Kaz amended his statement to express appreciation did Spring’s smile return—

It shouldn’t have. His opinion shouldn’t matter to her. Just like his opinion mattering to her shouldn’t matter to him. But it did. In both instances. And Kaz felt like he was left staring again at a closed, but oh-so-familiar door. Staring. Watching. Waiting. As if that door would just swing open all on its own, as if he didn’t need to turn the handle and walk through the damned thing himself to actually progress.

He was never keen on using the front door, however.

“Flowers are flowers regardless of where they happen to be displayed,” Kaz noted when Spring joined him again. His attention swiveled past her, carefully eyeing a few shadowed corners for any sign of movement. (The only podge willing to jump him of all people would either be an idiot or a new face, but Kaz wasn’t discounting the possibility—particularly when he had Spring with him.) “Don’t doubt your skills simply because the establishment’s not your usual . . . speed.”

Speaking of which—and regrettably—the House of the White Rose came into view at another turn, its ivory facade like a blot of white ink on a gray canvas. Kaz felt his shoulders drop, posture momentarily slackening before he cast Spring another glance. Her newfound excitement coaxed a twitch to the corner of his lips. “See? Now keep that energy.” It suits you better than that earlier doubt, at least. “And show Felix that he’s going to need to scrape up a lot of kruge for your services. He has no excuse when his coffers are full.”

His pace slowed again as they neared the entrance, and he oscillated outside the parlor while weighing his choices. “I’ll wait out here.” The promise came out faster than he meant it to, forcing him to hesitate and control himself—for pity’s sake—before saying more. “Assuming you plan on going home when this is done . . . ?”

It wasn't that Spring didn't notice when Kaz drifted near enough for their arms to brush.

Oh, no; she most certainly did notice.

It was that she didn't mind the proximity in the slightest. Even as shyness drew her eyes downward, spending a few moments watching their synchronized steps, Spring felt it was entirely pleasant. Comfortable. Actually, now that she thought about it...was this the first time they had ever been this close? Goodness...perhaps that was why she had to sternly tell herself to calm down when her heart skipped a beat.

By the time she lifted her gaze again, she was none the wiser to the attentiveness of her companion's. Instead, she was caught off guard by the playful gleam she found there. One that she couldn't help but think was quite charming. Spring stifled a giggle into the back of her hand. "No, certainly not," she affirmed. Then she grinned and spoke as easily as if she'd been asked the color of the sky, "But I would much rather give it to someone I trust. It would be the least I could do."

When they rounded the corner, the phantom presence of a hand at her back made her straighten her posture unthinkingly—somehow hyper-aware of Kaz's hand hovering there despite the lack of contact (or, perhaps because of that lack). Still, she let herself be led without hesitation. At least the street lamp provided a swift distraction for them both before her cheeks could get any darker.

Without fail, she always felt anxious whenever someone saw her artwork for the first time. Normally it would have helped that these sample paintings were exactly that: business samples that were meant for a client—not something personal. And yet those fluttering nerves in the pit of her stomach surged stronger than usual. As Kaz poured over the small stack, she studied him just as closely, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Strangely, his opinion mattered to her far more than that of the person for whom the samples were intended.

She was on the verge of fidgeting when Kaz abruptly folded them up and passed them back to her. The words offered along with them were only somewhat of a relief. "You truly think so?" Doubt colored her tone, and she looked a bit glum as she tucked the papers away and trotted after him—at least, until his final sentiment. For a moment Spring simply blinked at Kaz's profile. Then, slowly, like the sun peeking through clouds, a smile returned to her features.

"Thank you," she said earnestly. "I have never designed arrangements for...this sort of establishment before. It was a bit challenging for me, so I appreciate your advice." Knowing about Felix's extravagant tastes would allow her to make better recommendations, as well. Oh, now she felt truly bolstered for this meeting! That confidence manifested in an excited clap of her hands. "I have a good feeling about this!"