Kaz grew up on the streets of the Barrel. He isn't a so called king, no mercher blood, and nothing to him but anger, spite, and violence. And brilliance. It's something he's been facing here as the others assure him he doesn't have to be the Bastard of the Barrel and his hands don't have to remain dirty.

He's just not sure that's him.

After all they've been through, he needs this. He needs to feel in control. And he is, more than many might know. He's taken more beatings than many having taken baths, and he gives as good as he gets between tenacity, years of fights, and a beautifully weighted Durast designed cane.

From the movement of others, he's aware he's not the only one in the fights, carefully watching those around him though before putting his focus on anyone else there around him. Through those shifting though, he catches sight of a familiar face, a brow quirking at that but not taking the time to focus on her yet. Not as one gloved fist connects solidly with another's jaw and he turns on one heel and clocks another upside the head with the gilded crow cane.

"Now now. Are you trying to steal my good time," he challenges, his words thick from the hits he's taken and yet there's a lightness to those words at the same time.