Hydaelyn Role-Players

The upper decks in Limsa Lominsa wasn't the sort of place that tended to welcome people like Zhavi Streetrunner. That went double for its fancy-pants restaurant, the Bismarck. It was fair enough to say that she'd never eaten there, and certainly hadn't ever met someone to talk business there. Yet her contact, Clove, had insisted that it had to be at the Bismarck, that no other place Zhi tended to use would be good enough.

"She still pissed at ye fer that?" Zhi had asked.

Clove had glowered at her. Quite scathing, that glower. Zhi had snickered to herself, and dropped the line of inquiry. Clove was a whore. Not only was he a whore, he was one of Limsa Lominsa's marked, a man who belonged to one of the city's premiere rings that could boast both quality of goods and legality of operation. Not every prostitution ring (or House, as some of them liked to call themselves, propping themselves up on some sort of stately glamor) could stake a claim to legality; only so many writs of trade were drawn up every year for the operation of brothels. And that was why Zhi had been stuffed into borrowed clothing and doused with a flea treatment: Thatcher's ring was having some trouble. Zhi didn't know the details, hadn't been able to sniff them all out, but the rumors she'd heard had been confirmed when Clove had sought her. There was bad blood between Thatcher and one of her rivals, and it had spilled over into action.

Trouble was brewing. Zhi's favorite. She could already feel the weight of gil in her palms, and the promise of dangerous, illegal activities. She could help Thatcher, she was sure of it. All that remained were the details to be ironed out and pinned down.

Clove escorted her to the restaurant, had them seated, and fussed at her like a fishwife the whole time. It was patently obvious that he was still smarting from being found out on his last venture with Zhi (even if his part had been played as a smokescreen for Zhi, he'd done it without telling Thatcher), and that he felt she owed him for whatever issue it'd caused between him and his master. She barely listened to his prattling, choosing instead to scope out the restaurant. It was fancy, and snooty, and so pretentious she couldn't help but feel nervous. Her back was to the rail, but even so she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was being watched. She didn't like having a meeting in such an open environment, but Clove had insisted. He was still sucking up to Thatcher; the whole thing was being done on his dime. He was good at what he did, after all.

Zhi settled in and watched for Thatcher, tuning Clove out as best she could.

The smile started it, it always did. She pulled her hand from the strangers, exchanging a card with the highlander in the process. Andralyn eyed the familiar emblem embossed onto the thick paper and flipped her card smirking at the name scrawled over it.
 
“I’ll see him tonight, then?”  
 
If this woman had a tail, I’d mistake her for a slobbering pup.. A dog in heat…
 
The smile on Andralyn’s lips grew into grin as she nodded, “I’ll arrange it. Tonight, room 212.” She motioned across the tavern toward the rooms as if this frequent client needed reminding.
 
The woman beamed before quickly sobering and shuffling quietly on her way, gaze stuck to the ground certain her secret safe once more. Andralyn scanned the bar again, looking for another knowing smirk. One. One date.  The need to sigh was suppressed as she lifted the mug to her lips, swallowing the irritation with a chaser of bitter ale.
 
Dear Clove… You pretty, popular thing…
 
Andralyn’s thoughts trailed behind her as she made her way from the Wench and through the upper decks. Time for the meeting had been made, but she wasn't certain why. She had more important things to deal with than appeasing the guilty conscience of one of her employees. She’d nearly forgotten what he’d done to irritate her in the first place, but would never turn down the advantage of holding something over someone’s head, that kind of business was golden in this city.
 
She turned the corner into the Bismark, a shoulder clashing into hers and stepped back, exasperation on her face. “Excuse you, I’m walk—“
 
The young woman continued to walk, offering Andralyn an over the shoulder kiss as she swept the hair from the back of her neck, a small playing card tattoo flashing before she moved further into the crowd.  
 
Andralyn’s head shook and she rolled her eyes, “Another, great…”
 
She checked her pockets, satisfied that their contents remained in place and straightened her clothes before continuing inside to follow the gesture from the hostess toward the table housing her next appointment.
 
Andralyn plastered a smile back on her lips, and approached the table, “I do hope you haven’t been waiting for long.”

Clove immediately stood and bowed to his master; it wasn't an obsequious gesture, but a simple and slight inclination of his upper body. Suckup. "We haven't, of course," he said, his voice far more musical and pleasant than when he'd been lecturing Zhi. It was to be expected, but she was irritated nonetheless.

Zhi hadn't seen Thatcher in person before. She'd a general description of the woman composed of numerous rumors and the terse snippets of neutral information Clove sometimes let slip, but as ever the reality had its differences. She cataloged Thatcher's face, build, manner and dress, her eyes lingering on the woman's hair. A striking color made more so by her eyes, one often noted and not, in Zhi's opinion, over-exaggerated by the rumors.

"Madame Thatcher, may I present Zhavi Streetrunner. She is one who deals in moving small quantities of goods as well as information acquisition and trade within the city," Clove said as he took his seat, gesturing to Zhi.

Zhi didn't stand. She folded her arms and nodded to Thatcher, cheerfully ignoring the cutting glance Clove sent her way. For all he was pretty, it didn't do him a whole lot of good when he was mad. It took effort for the world's beautiful to look dangerous, in Zhi's opinion. Clove had certainly never mastered the art.

"Charmed," she said, sitting forward. Her ears were upright and pointed towards Thatcher, showing interest in the mysterious woman. "I been hearin' talk o' trouble twixt th'marked houses. Clove here thinks y'could make use o'information afore things get sour."

Zhi's smile was broad and confident in its implication that she could be the one to provide said information and prevent any number of potential calamities.

She watched the practiced bow and returned it with a small nod. Kiss-ass…
 
Andralyn waited while she was introduced, watching Zhavi watch her. She wondered how many rumors she was ticking off her list as her gaze moved from her boots to her burgundy tresses.
 
A hand swooped under her as she pressed the short skirt to her legs before sitting, angling the chair at the table to allow her lengthy legs ample room to cross at the knee. Her hands folded in her lap as she studied this new face. Streetrunner…Zhavi.. She shuffled through a row of names and faces trying to find a place for the stranger. It certainly wasn't uncommon for Andralyn to not know those that stuck to the underbelly of Limsa, it’d been many years since she had to focus her efforts there, but some names always managed to stand out. She lived the example.
 
“Zhavi, a pleasure to meet you,” her hands remained folded offering her a curt nod. Zhavi.. Oh yes.The trouble maker… She looked back to Clove, his..their little scheme coming back to the front of her mind. Her smile bloomed into a grin as she turned her attention to him, her mouth opening to speak. And then the miqo’te spoke.
 
Her ears twitched at the accent,  A step above gutterspeak…
 
Her posture remained nonchalant but affable and she worked to ensure the heavy draw didn’t return to her own cadence.  “Mm. There’s always some nuisance nipping at the heels of the successful and hollering about the impending doom of their opposition.” A shoulder lifted as she moved her gaze from Clove to Zhavi again.
 

“It’s hard to know how useful your information would be without knowing it,” she lifted a hand, calling over a waiter, “What have you heard?”

"Nothin' much, yet," Zhi allowed, glancing between Clove and Thatcher. Had he not prepped her?

Clove licked his lips, and Zhi repressed a sigh. No, of course he hadn't. He might be able to play any number of parts when it came to seduction, and he might be a dab hand at acting in front of men and women he counted as future conquests, but it was obvious enough that he was reduced to a bundle of nerves in front of his master. This woman held his life in her hands, no matter the warmth that always entered his voice when he spoke of her. He'd let her down, and he was more than conscious of that fact -- he was living the guilt of it. Loyalty, people called it. Zhi counted it as stupidity.

She returned her attention back to Thatcher. "I've heard a fair range, from yer writ bein' stolen all th'way t'ye bein' bought out, an' that yer behind the gil in the city, lately. Now, I ain't one t'dabble in the affairs o'the Houses, but I rather likes yer man here, an' he seemed full o'jitters. So I says to meself, 'Zhi, I'd lay down hard coin that Thatcher could use a pair o'eyes an' ears what know the back-an'-forth o'the streets.' 'Cause the way I hears it, ye got some scrag at yer back what wouldn't mind stickin' ye. An' me?" Zhi put her fingertips on the edge of the table and leaned over them. "Ye want t'know how many spots yon scrag has on his arse, I'll find out."

She leaned back, countenance lightening. "An' unlike yer man here, I don't get caught." Mostly.

((Sorry if the formatting goes weird here. Posting from my phonen I'll edit it later.))

Zhavi was amusing and Andralyn appreciated anyone that could keep her amused. The cadence of her voice tickled Andralyn and she fought the urge to laugh as she spoke.

Sober up, Thatcher. Your’re on the clock.

 “Unlike yer man here, I don’t get caught.” Her grinned widened as Zhavi sat back in her chair.

Amused yet hardly impressed.

 “No… I suppose you don’t,” she mused looking back to Clove for a long moment, “You just get the middle man hung up in your wake of schemes. Tends to lead to messy, loose ends..."

Still Clove had some sort of attachment to this woman and Clove had never given Andralyn reason to doubt his motives. While she could boast her praises of all of her employees, he was one of her best and most loyal men. Knowing he was looking out for her as much as she was for him was endearing.

She waved off the comment before it could be dissected, “It’s true that I’ve been absent from the city for sometime and in my absence some new knave may have sprung up from the gutters eager to set sail for affluence on behalf of my misfortune.”

Business had been bad. Almost embarrassingly bad. A lifetime in the business of procuring and she’d never had a problem holding her head high or making the competition turn tail for a smaller town. Now though, the competition was getting brave. Brazen even.  Threatening notes left marked for her, employees intimidated in the streets, clients being stolen away with undercutting and false accusations… while this wasn't a new game, it was a far dirtier game and she hadn’t gotten dirty in quite some time. This time it was personal.

Clove’s little stint as a cover for his friend had come at a time when they were already under an immense amount of scrutiny and only added to the rumors that she and her house could not be trusted.

 She lifted a shoulder again, “Mine is hardly a business where competitors are hard to come by, but I suppose it never hurts to get an ear to the ground in more than one spot." Especially in this city...*

The waitress arrived at the table, and Andralyn acknowledged her with a friendly smile. 

 “Wine please, rolenberry. Something.. sweet.” 

And in this city no one did a thing out of the kindness of their hearts. "What do you get out of this arrangement? "

"Good 'elp is hard t'find, these days."

Zhi eyed the waitress and ignored her. Clove ordered some mint drink; the name wasn't something Zhi'd heard before, but she was sure it was something overpriced and weak.

Zhi draped one arm over the back of her chair, giving Thatcher her full attention in a level stare. "I sell me services wi' a flat fee o'fifty gil t'start, bein' yer new on me rolls. Normal rates're two hunnerd an' fifty a moonspan, wi'set targets at th'start o' each contracted moonspan. I don't meet th'targets, I don't get paid. Ye can contract me fer more'n a moonspan at once, but I'll be wantin' half up front, th'rest paid as normal. If I'm riskin' holes in me hide, rates go up another hunnerd gil. 'Mcheaper'n most streetrunners, an' more reliable. Y'got doubts, talk t'Skarp o' Merry Wench, she'll tell ye.

"Bein' yer Clove's master, I'll give ye half off th'first moonspan fer normal rates -- danger pay'll still apply. I give one test run fer new folk: one piece o' information afore a week's passed -- no prank requests, mind, I ain't wastin' time fer scrags -- if yer harborin' doubts."

Zhi scanned the restaurant out of habit, looking for any potential eavesdroppers, and returned her attention back to Thatcher. "What say ye? Ain't gonna find a better deal, an yer man knows me fer trustworthy on a job." She nodded to Clove, a smug smile curving her lips.

Andralyn watched her for a long time before moving her gaze to Clove and back.
 
The numbers racked up as she counted, not that they mattered, her coffers still went deep despite her difficulties. Still, parting with any money is unacceptable. Did she really need the services of this Streetrunner? Especially one with references as trustworthy as Skarp... that skag.
 
She drummed her fingers on the table.
 
"I'm not one to outsource my work, Miss Zhavi." She almost laughed at the hypocrisy of her own statement. Being a Dame was the definition of outsourcing work. "But I do find myself in a bit of a bind… I'm taking up a few contracts that will have my attention drawn toward Ul'dah for the next two weeks." The drinks arrived and she took a moment to savor the beverage.
 
"While I do have my own consorts mingling with the guttersmut biting at my heels, it may prove useful to get a fresh set of eyes and ears around the city. Something to help me broaden the picture that has been slowly pulling itself together for me." 
 
Her demeanor changed as she sat forward.This was no longer a business woman doing business, this was the Dame of one Limsa’s prominent houses protecting her livelihood.
 
"I enjoy a game as well as the next. I enjoy laughing at my loses from time to time or even being humbled a bit here and there.” She mused for a bit, “Perhaps that’s what this is. A humbling from on high, the Gods laughing at my suffering for the fortune they've bestowed upon me.”
She waved a hand, dismissing the thought, “But that’s neither here nor there.” The tone of her voice sobered, its melodic, carefree cadence flipped on its heels as spoke, her eyes darkening to insist she be minded. 
“What I don’t like is when those games start to cut into my pocket. If you’re one to play games like that, I will ruin you. You play in my favor or you don’t play at all.”
 
The threat coming from her pretty mouth seemed more a promise. She looked to Clove for a long time as if to pressure him to push her away from this deal.
 
“They wear a tattoo of a playing card. Find me the name of their master…and the name of his. They've come up too fast to have built their own standing.”
 
She lifted the appointment card tucked in her palm to Clove in two fingers, “Her pay is coming from your wages.”

So, Thatcher had earned her reputation as a woman you didn't mess with. It made sense, Zhi supposed, that Clove had clung to her as tight as any louse. Though Thatcher's statement about where Zhi's pay was coming from surprised her enough for her eyebrows to wing upwards, Clove had merely bowed over the table in mute acceptance. Gods above, would he really just take it like that?

"Yes, Mistress Thatcher," he murmured.

He would. Appalling and gratifying to see a pretty man brought low with just a few words. She coughed, hiding the rising bubble of laughter with solemnity, and looked back at Thatcher.

"Whoremasters're th'most exactin', an' they'll chase ye further'n a taxman should ye cheat 'em. That's what's said." Zhi dipped her head low in respect, though she didn't bow as Clove was wont to. When she lifted her head, she looked Thatcher in the eyes. "Yer warnin's been heard, and heeded. How often ye be wantin' a report? So long as I'm not needin' t'play parts, I can fill ye in daily, or not until the job's done. Makes no difference t'me. In any case, ye'll hear from me if there's any problems along th'way."

"Whoremasters're th'most exactin', an' they'll chase ye further'n a taxman should ye cheat 'em. That's what's said." 

Her grin blossomed again and she sat back, her friendly disposition returning as she chuckled. "As I said, I'll be largely out of the city for the next two weeks. A personal matter. You find what information you can and we can meet here again in two weeks time. I'll arrange through Clove." She turned to the man, her brow lifting as if to gain his permission first.

"If you find something threatening to the immediate safety of any of my employees, contact me at once. Clove has our pearl. If you can nullify the issue before I call in my people, I can guarantee three times your hazard and trouble pay."

She nodded before finishing her wine and standing, "Zhavi, I pray business favors both of us. Clove, it was wonderful to see you, love." She moved to him, wrapping him in a hug and placing a kiss on each of his cheeks with a smile. Her hand moved to her belt and she lifted a coinpurse from its tether, placing it into Clove's hand. "Enjoy your evening." Her motion and voice were sincere.

She gave a slight wink to the man as she walked away leaving him with enough coin to entertain a handful of sailors with a weekend of shore leave.

Andralyn. She had called her Andralyn. Even after years of prodding to drop the ‘Grace’ title, Sedalyne hadn’t called her Andralyn. Something was wrong. “I n-need you.” The slightly accented voice was soft, almost weak. Something was very wrong.

She sat, staring at Mialyre, her eyes wide as she moved a hand back to her pearl.

“Sedalyne? What is it? What’s wrong?”

Mialyre’s gaze locked with Andralyn’s as they waited for the familiar voice to elaborate.

“Lady Grace, “ Andralyn’s brows pulled together as the male’s voice. Winters? “I happened to be in Costa del Sol while waiting for an assignment from you. Good thing, too. Seems another hit had been placed, this time on Sedalyne. I got the worm tied up here, squirming and crying. Sedalyne’s been cut, but she seems otherwise fine. I would like to know what you’d like me to do with the man. I can slit his throat here and now, or turn him over to ‘proper’ authorities.”

Her heart stopped and she jumped to her feet, “Kill him. I’m on my way!”

Vesper. That’s a two day trip! Hells consume me! She scrambled for a moment before Mialyre grabbed her arm, pulling a crystal from around her neck and offering a calming glance, “Calm down.”

Andralyn nodded, taking a deep breath to compose before moving a hand to her ear, “Clove! Get your streetrunner! We need to have a meeting!”

 

 

 

Her foot shook under the table, the night before running through her head again. Her foot shook harder, her knee bumping against the underside of the table occasionally as it rested on her other. She looked tired. Her typically tamed mane of hair was pulled back into a loose, messy gathering at the base of her neck, day old makeup smeared around her eyes; this was not Lady Sophia Grace. This was a woman that was in unfamiliar territory, that was second guessing every decision she had made.

“Until further notice, consider your appointments postponed,” she had informed over their pearl. “I will speak with each of your clients and I assure you that compensation will still be earned.”

The look Mialyre had given her made her turn away as they set outside the tent, letting Sedalyne gather herself and her things. “Are you certain, Andy? You were so worried about keeping up appear—“

She shook her head, “Of course I’m not, Mialyre!” She sighed heavily, her fingers pulling through her hair and resting atop her head, her eyes desperate as she looked back at her longtime friend, “Of course I’m not! I don’t know what else to do. It’s never been like this! The houses have never come at me like this! Ever since the Aegis I.. I’m losing it, you know I am. I cannot put them in harm’s way. I can’t. I won’t.”

She activated the pearl again, her voice pleading, “I beg of you, each of you, do not put yourself in harm’s way. Stay off the street, do not take jobs.. at the very least only use our most trusted clients. I am still trying to hire protection. I will let you know more as soon as I do.”

 

Her arms folded across her stomach, resting in her lap as she set back in the chair and pulled herself from the repeating evening. Her gaze moved over the scarcely populated tavern. The Wench, like much of the city didn’t operate this early, but early was when it had to be. She needed information now; time would only allow more rats to crawl from the woodwork and she was tired of being reactive.

She eyed the man that sat across the pub, chatting up the only server behind the counter with a roguish grin. Winters. She shook her head, looking back toward one of the entrances. The man was a mercenary and the sum she had parted with to keep her head and the heads of her company from his list was steep, but so far it had proven a worthy investment. Sedalyne was safe thanks to him.

She moved her gaze to another entrance. The ship was in capable hands in Mialyre’s absence. Osric had volunteered to look after the companions in Ul’dah, alleviating that worry at least for now and Mialyre was with Sedalyne, Once more, she waited.

For now everything was calm, but years at sea had taught her that was usually a bad omen.

 

 
(I can't format this on my phone so I'll have to go back and edit it later.)

They wanted her dead.

Not so unusual, by itself. Death was as much a commodity as anything else traded within Limsa Lominsa's rising spires. What was unusual was that it had risen on a flood of misunderstandings. The Skites thought she'd cheated them, Yayabuko thought she'd wanted to exact payback, and several independent runners thought she was playing fast and loose. You didn't do that in Limsa Lominsa. Not unless you had strongarms to back up your play. Guess who had nothing?

Zhavi wanted Osric Melkire dead.

No one would touch him. Not for anything less than an exorbitant amount of gil, and she didn't have that. It wasn't personal. Okay, it was a little personal -- ruttin' churl had gotten her into the whole mess -- but what was done was done. He was a liability to her, whether or not she could use the information earned. It made her uneasy.

Thatcher's job was a problem. It was a lifeline. It was difficult. It was interesting.

The game was deadly. Repulsive, fascinating, gut-churning -- all the usual symptoms. All the usual excuses.

Clove had gotten hold of Brindle, who'd gotten hold of Chirp, who'd located Zhi in her temporary house while she played dress-up as Joz.

"Shiiiiiite," Chirp said. She was leaning next to the open window. She was trying to look sympathetic, and failing miserably.

Zhi ignored Chirp's barely smothered grin. She was too busy thinking. "An' yer sure it's two rivals? I'd only gotten hold o'th'one."

"Your problem. Ain't mine, guv. Keep tellin' ya t'branch outside Limsa. 'Sall connected, see?"

There'd been hits put out around La Noscea. Whoremasters putting out hits? That wasn't right. Zhi knew that writs were hard to obtain, but when had it ever become a matter of killing? No, something else was going on.

"I got need fer another runner," Zhi said.
"Go ask Yayabuko -- oh wait!" Chirp giggled, tapping her lower lip with a finger. "'Sgonna cost ya."

"Yeah. What else is new?"

______________

There had been a time when Zhi had crouched to be at Brindle's height. He'd been a scrawny runt of a kid, all knees and elbows, but since she'd taken him up he'd eaten regularly. He'd grown. Soon enough he'd want to become his own runner. Soon enough he'd be doing his own deals. Soon enough he'd betray her for a better take. But not yet. She could rely on him for one more big job. Just one more job. Nald'thal. . .

She stood across from him in an alcove, hood up to keep the rain off. Her tail was wrapped around her hips under her coat: she was just another forgettable rat in the rain.

It'd been a rough week for Brindle. She could see it in his face, the way he stood, the way his hands hung at his side. He'd survived. The scales had balanced, and he had survived.

But that didn't mean he would stay alive.

"'Sgonna get worse," he said.
"I know."
"Ye should drop it. Feckin' crazy! Ye know it's a ruttin' mess, it ain't right an' there's --" he looked sideways, shut his mouth, and leaned closer. His voice went nightwatch quiet. "There's talk th'barons're movin'. Zhio. Th' barons."

"What's that got t'do wi'me contract?"

The glare Brindle shot her was really something. "Y'think that bounty on yer client came from thin air? Huh?"

Zhi waved his concern away. "That's done."

"Yeah? It stinks. It ruttin' stinks. She's hirin' mercs, Zhio! What ruttin' whoremaster needs mercs? Strongarms? Sure. Mercs? Nuh uh."

Zhi grunted. "What was th'name of that supplier? Fer Heaven's Gate."
"Zhi!"
She waited.
Brindle caved under her cool stare. "Maioh."

She looked up, thinking. "Mm, yeah, go diggin' on her. An' th' other ring -- th'big one wi' the writ? Silken Slipper was it? Hire one o'their whores and play like ye want t'turn tricks yerself. See what else ye can fish up."

He had his stubborn expression on. "Yer gonna get killed."

Zhi laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair. He ducked away, flushing with the heat of his anger. Ahhh, there was the kid she knew. "They'll have t'get in line, laddo. Now go fetch me some information. Ain't keepin' y'paid to stand 'round glarin' at me."

He flashed her another look, lips set in a thin line, and walked away with his hands shoved into his pockets.

___________

Zhavi was dripping by the time she made it to the Wench. The rain had started fast and hard, and they were lucky the pub was so relatively empty. That could change. That could quickly change.

The rumor mill had exploded in the past week in regards to Thatcher. Her Ladyship Grace was falling fast, and when that happened trouble could only follow. Especially considering her enemies had already begun to resort to bloodshed; the scavengers would be quick to sniff out rewards on the heels of her perceived weakness.

Zhi walked up to Thatcher's table and tossed down a headscarf and a cloak. "Put up yer hair, an' put that on. We're movin'."

Without waiting for a reply, Zhi started walking for one of the exits.

They were playing a dangerous game.

The very best kind.

About damned time...
 
Andralyn's hand went to the objects as if they were her own, shrugging on the cloak and wrapping up her hair, taking care to ensure each burgundy fly away was tucked safely away.
 
She got up and walked after the miqo'te casually, adjusting the cloak around her as she cursed the rain under her breath.
 
A wave of impending doom where ever that one walks... 
 
Her stride granted her little trouble catching the wake of Zhavi's path and she fought the urge to stop her dead in her tracks and demand answers immediately. Instead she remained quiet. 
 
Skulking around her home like some stranger scavenging to survive was an unfamiliar feeling. This town was hers; completely at home in the upper decks with the big spenders and barons, a welcome addition to any tavern or merchant’s stall and she was able to walk among the gutters with little trouble from the locals. A little coin and a smile could have gotten her just about anywhere. And now, the reputation that took years to build seemed to be crumbling around her so quickly that she couldn't pull the trail together to point in any semblance of a direction.
 
She didn't like it. Her head never felt so heavy as she walked, doing her best to keep her gaze forward and not search the shadows for the next rat to lunge for her or to ensure that Jonathan was indeed keeping a careful eye on her path from a safe distance behind.
 
A new game.
New rules.
Get it together,Thatcher.

Johnathan turned his head as he noticed Andralyn leaving. He watched as she donned the clothing that was dropped before her, then allowed her to walk off a small distance.

He turned back, smiled to the tender and slid some coin their way before pushing himself from his seat. As he neared the exit to the Wench, he pulled his own hood over his head, keeping his distance from Andralyn and her appointment, but still keeping a wary eye on them both.

As he followed, he offered idle chit-chat and greetings to passersby, blending into the crowd as best he could... an ever vigilant eye on his ward.

Zhavi kept pace with those who were forced by circumstance or design out into the rain. She darted from cover to cover, milling about under overhangs and awnings until room cleared to move to the next one. They were just a few more faceless passersby having to deal with the shite weather like anyone else. No one important. No one worth noticing. Zhi was old hat at being forgettable; her face was boring, the sort that a fellow could look at and not see as his eyes passed over faces and cityscape alike. Mayhaps it was no wonder she'd slid into the life she had. Another girl might have despaired at being plain, at being something the glittering upper class would consider ugly, but it was a boon to Zhi.

Thatcher was another rutting story altogether. She hadn't been born with a forgettable face. She hadn't been born with the sort of physical appearance that lent itself to cockiness and meekness at various turns; she was noticeable. She was remarkable.

She was acting right stupid.

Zhi stopped them in a deep alcove in a side street that had fallen to disrepair. It was cut into the side of one of the spires, two buildings deep and not somewhere people typically went. The businesses were failing miserably, and only the cats and rats had anything positive to think of it. It was just slightly above the lower decks, and looked as if the whole chunk of buildings might just slide quietly into the sea. That's how miserable it looked.

"Right," she said, eyeing Thatcher. "Ye hired me on fer information, so I'm gonna split me tongue and spit it to ye. Ye ain't a runner, an' ye ain't some beggar. Ye're a lass wi'eyes on ye. Ruttin' act like it. I've got words comin' in from all angles about how ye're actin', and they ain't nice. Ye want t'mope about lookin' drunk an' like a slattern, ye cover up yer ruttin' hair an' put some effort towards keepin' yer face unknown. Ye go out anywhere in th'open, ye put on yer iron mask an' ye show th'world ye ain't one t'be messed with. I don't blimmin' care whether'r not ye got hits out on yer crew -- when ye go out, yer th'boss. Th'boss don't feckin' care 'bout th'dogs under her heel. She spits on 'em. She shows 'em wi'her smile and her stones that she's gonna pay 'em back a hunnerd times fer what they do to her own. No matter what's goin' on. Ye unnerstand? I can't do me ruttin' job if yer goin' 'round helpin' yer enemies."

She took a breath. "Th'tail's one o'yers, right?"