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Ul'dah belonged to Tani. Would always belong to Tani. Not because it was the city of her birth, because it wasn't. Not even because it was the city of her childhood, because it certainly had been. No, it was because everything had happened in Ul'dah, had stripped her down to her bones, and ingrained its sand and wind into her flesh.
She was still one of its denizens as she stood, heavy-lidded eyes daring much as she settled them on the other, the stranger, at once familiar and new. Just like every other stranger who had crossed Tani's path, and touched the blood that ran hot beneath her skin. She didn't know if the minstrel was part of Ul'dah, and really didn't care, because as she held out her hand with her fingers crooking languidly in a universal sign to follow, she intended to draw that honey-tongued flower down beneath the sands, to the bonedust that clogged her gutters and her perfumes that ground everything into so much flesh and heat.
That mood.
Silent now, choking silent. Tani drew her guest past the bronze and gold stone walls, over the cobbled walk. Out, away from the center of the city, past the throngs and rosy lantern lights. They drew attention as they walked, and Tani knew what it must seem; the elezen was dressed in some kind of finery, in the sort of outfit Ul'dah was famous for, flashing skin in waves of motion and heat, a mirage of invitation all too quick to prove fatal. So many looked, open questions on their faces: Tani, by contrast, was dressed in rough-spun, loose fitting shirt, and cheap shorts. Her sandals were worn, and dusty. There were only so many reasons why someone like her would be leading someone like the minstrel about, and passing fancies reflected back at her in the faces of those who noticed them. Seen and forgotten, like so many things in Ul'dah.
She breathed it in. Spice and perfume, blood and dirt. Strident catcalls, answering songs; the endless back and forth between predators of every gender, looking for money and pleasure, back and forth: a game. Ul'dah's game. So many games to be had. Tani slid past most of them, pausing for brief snatches of the life around them, gauging her companion's reaction at each: the coordinated, easy movement of dancers in torchlight; the drumming rhythm of a street performer making do with the things others had thrown away; a game of dice, in the dust -- its players a scruffy lot of dark-eyed miners slinging back booze and hard words; children chasing a dog, sticks, and whoops, and hollers lingering behind them long after they were out of sight, until their voices faded into the city.Â
Tani didn't know why she was touring the woman around, as if presenting some shiny bauble to fickle friends, though which was which, she didn't care and wouldn't name. She walked because she wanted to, because the most overt haunts were not her favorites, because maybe she wanted to feel the pulse of the city with new fingers at its throat. Whatever the case, a quarter-bell had passed before she stopped in front of a dimly lit archway, unmarked but for the crude sign that was carved into the arch: a mallet. Behind a loosely hung cloth and some hanging beads was a small, smoky den.
There was music -- raspy strings -- under the scattered chatter, with just enough light to catch the curling smoke. No one really paid them heed as they entered, but for the bartender, wiping down a glass in that way some bartenders had: stodgy, but well-rehearsed.
The bar was Tani's destination, and she sat without introduction, simply turning partway to look behind her: observing, waiting, daring.
She was still one of its denizens as she stood, heavy-lidded eyes daring much as she settled them on the other, the stranger, at once familiar and new. Just like every other stranger who had crossed Tani's path, and touched the blood that ran hot beneath her skin. She didn't know if the minstrel was part of Ul'dah, and really didn't care, because as she held out her hand with her fingers crooking languidly in a universal sign to follow, she intended to draw that honey-tongued flower down beneath the sands, to the bonedust that clogged her gutters and her perfumes that ground everything into so much flesh and heat.
That mood.
Silent now, choking silent. Tani drew her guest past the bronze and gold stone walls, over the cobbled walk. Out, away from the center of the city, past the throngs and rosy lantern lights. They drew attention as they walked, and Tani knew what it must seem; the elezen was dressed in some kind of finery, in the sort of outfit Ul'dah was famous for, flashing skin in waves of motion and heat, a mirage of invitation all too quick to prove fatal. So many looked, open questions on their faces: Tani, by contrast, was dressed in rough-spun, loose fitting shirt, and cheap shorts. Her sandals were worn, and dusty. There were only so many reasons why someone like her would be leading someone like the minstrel about, and passing fancies reflected back at her in the faces of those who noticed them. Seen and forgotten, like so many things in Ul'dah.
She breathed it in. Spice and perfume, blood and dirt. Strident catcalls, answering songs; the endless back and forth between predators of every gender, looking for money and pleasure, back and forth: a game. Ul'dah's game. So many games to be had. Tani slid past most of them, pausing for brief snatches of the life around them, gauging her companion's reaction at each: the coordinated, easy movement of dancers in torchlight; the drumming rhythm of a street performer making do with the things others had thrown away; a game of dice, in the dust -- its players a scruffy lot of dark-eyed miners slinging back booze and hard words; children chasing a dog, sticks, and whoops, and hollers lingering behind them long after they were out of sight, until their voices faded into the city.Â
Tani didn't know why she was touring the woman around, as if presenting some shiny bauble to fickle friends, though which was which, she didn't care and wouldn't name. She walked because she wanted to, because the most overt haunts were not her favorites, because maybe she wanted to feel the pulse of the city with new fingers at its throat. Whatever the case, a quarter-bell had passed before she stopped in front of a dimly lit archway, unmarked but for the crude sign that was carved into the arch: a mallet. Behind a loosely hung cloth and some hanging beads was a small, smoky den.
There was music -- raspy strings -- under the scattered chatter, with just enough light to catch the curling smoke. No one really paid them heed as they entered, but for the bartender, wiping down a glass in that way some bartenders had: stodgy, but well-rehearsed.
The bar was Tani's destination, and she sat without introduction, simply turning partway to look behind her: observing, waiting, daring.
Precise. ⚜ Vivacious. ⚜ Wicked.