betty "the barber" babinski
Seems like she's always running into someone who owes her for that thing that time.
betty knows people. it seems like she’s always running into someone who owes her for that thing that time.
growing up in the orphanage, there are mostly two paths you can take. there are those that can sneak – let’s call them… say… alive, and there are those who can’t – let’s call them, for the sake of argument, dead. that’s pretty much it.
you can sneak or you’re dead.
however, there are a few – a very, very few – who take a third path. oh, they can sneak, of course. they’re alive, aren’t they? but they can also do other things.
these are the sneaks that learn quickly. move cautiously. think things through carefully. they’re a little more diplomatic. they don’t make the deals, but they’re always the ones everyone goes to when the deals fall apart. they’re the ones that you see the gang leaders talking to late at night before something big happens. they’re the little consigliore.
and most of all, their hands are the steadiest. always steady hands.
listen, if you wanted to raise a street surgeon, where would you send them? you can’t exactly send them to apprentice with a real surgeon, so you send them the nearest place you can – the best place to learn anatomy and physiology south of market street.
betty the butcher started her apprenticeship at the age of nine. by eleven, she had stitched back together half of the right people in the city. by thirteen, people were faking injuries just to get alone with her in the back room of mcsorley’s fine meats to ask her advice. it was said, then, among the right people, that you paid betty once on any serious move. either before, or after.
look, you grow up in the orphanage, you know the gods either don’t exist or don’t care. if you have half a brain, the priests’ gambits look pretty familiar to you. but the butchers? they’re something different, because they’re the closest thing you’ll ever find in the flesh to the art of sneaking.
the difference between life and death.