Hydaelyn Role-Players

Shhh, let it happen.

((continued from in game rp because timezones suck))

"They was fished up some few bells ago. On a pinnace, they is. It's made o' wood."

Despite the rough handling Zhi'd endured but a minute previous, her manic smile was still in place. She'd lost none of her cockiness, none of the wicked intensity with which she watched him. Like as not she'd have a good sized knot on the back of her head the following morning, not that anyone would be able to tell from looking at her.

She watched him as he flitted through the shabby stalls, shadowed by the gloom. There weren't enough lamps in the Cleft. Never was. She was light on her feet as she followed him: a pixy vibrating with energy -- albeit one that stank of old booze and freshly rolled smokes.

"Care ye don't step on yer own stones, sweetin'."

He paid her very little attention as he made his first purchase. A large bottle of unmarked alcohol. The fact he didn't even bother to taste or sniff it might have been a clue to just what it was going to be used for. What came next surly made no sense: a decent length of rope, several sheets of blank parchment, a tarnished spyglass, two lanterns and some black gunpowder. All were tossed carelessly into a large burlap sack, compliments of his average purchase, and with that he was on his way.
 
"It have any fire of its own, or is it flying naked as well?" He was vague should anyone be listening in. Even if those in the alcove were just as shady, information was information, everyone saw something for the right price. And given just how tangled this woman's body-dump was, he'd take no chances. "Lastly, can you find me a perch high above this boat?" He was stepping once more out into the sun, shielding his eyes.

Zhi was drifting. Eyes unfocused, she gradually narrowed in on Jager when he spoke to her, shifting from foot to foot as if she intended to dash off at any second. "Fire? Nah, but ye can bet there'll be spellcasters on hand." The offhanded warning from earlier had made its return: her opinion on his methods both clear and free of spite. His irritation was but a lark to her, and she took no pains to hide it.

"Ye need a perch, I'll find ye a perch." Not a yes, not a no. Zhavi Streetrunner: vague reassurances at their best.

Jager pinched the bridge of his nose. "And what about fire -power-? Cannons, harpoons, gunnery- anything?" If it were just a barge, it it was doubtful; however it was armed with mages.. so, it opened that gate to question. He'd shoulder his burlap sack of goods and reached inside for a single sheet of parchment. The quill he'd purchased was stuck in his hair, but not for long. Squatting on the ground, he'd wet its tip and find a wall solid enough to start scribbling notes. 

"You don't have much faith, do ya?" He'd smirk as he shook his head. No no no, this was all wrong. Jager crumples the parchment into a useless ball and holds it in his palm as he moves once more. It was his turn now, to lead them and he'd do so by taking them toward the docks. Somewhere along the way, his patience had slipped and his irritation with Zhavi's cockiness had gotten the better of him. A lowly street begger had come to him for nothing more than a single coin, to which he replied with a handful of balled paper thrown right at the poor lad's face. "Don't spend it all in once place." He makes eye contact with the rat, sneering before moving along. 

"Find me that perch. I want to see what I'm working with."

"Would ye like t'scout it, sweetin'?" Innocent had made a return. She wore it poorly, as usual. "O'course I have faith in ye, why wouldn't I? Yer jes so good wi'the city."

She brushed past him, the energy burning within her giving her reason to take a bridge too quickly. She almost ran into someone's retainer, hopped up onto the railing, then the post, and then she was scaling the side of a building up. She peered down from the edge of its roof, her grin a terrifying sight for anyone who'd ever dealt with mischievous five-year-olds before. With a flick of her crooked tail, she was out of sight. Jager would either catch up and make it to the perch he'd so nicely requested, or he wouldn't.

What did she care?

She was flying.

Anything you can climb, I can climb better~
No you can't.
Yes I can! . . . Something like that.

Jager was hot on her tail. Any hotter and he'd catch a nasty whiff of the thing. It was bad enough he could almost taste he rotten scent.. it was almost sour; that of someone who hasn't bathed in days. Close to what he was about to start smelling like. From rail to post, post to wall, he was crouched low and nestled in her small spot above the road, scanning about for their intended target. 

It wasn't long before the barge was in sight and the two were finally given a minute to rest and relax. He'd crouch along the precipice looking down with the sack at his side. "Perfect. We don't need to do anything for now. I see all that I need. We wait." He'd go about unloading the contents of the bag, reaching first for the spyglass. He'd peer through it once, give the harbor a quick scan then snicker. "They didn't have glass; I had to improvise." He says this as he begins to take it apart, pocketing both lenses. 

"It'll be there by night fall, yes?"

"Mebbe. Probably." Her voice was sing-song. She was curled up under the scant shade offered by an outcropping of rock above them. Typical Keeper, ready to curse Azeyma at the drop of a hat. Stupid sun, anyways.

"Why?" She dragged out the word, eyes flickering over to him with lazy interest.

"Too bright." He'd set the broken spyglass, or what was left of it to the side before reaching for the bottle. He'd rip the cork out with his teeth and take a mighty swig shortly after. The the lanterns were set up in front of him, each was tied by the handle and left alone. "For now, we wait. Thirsty?" This was as much of a white flag as he was going to wave with her. An offer to sample his mediocre whiskey and a few hours to sit. 

"Just how bright does that mage fire get, anyways?"

"Can't say I've used it afore," she said through her teeth as she grinned at him. She might as well have been a painted dummy for all the lack of nuances in that expression of hers. "But I heard it burns blue."

Rather than answer the prior question, she held out her hand with an imperial flourish. She was still jittery, still fidgeting, still burning up with energy.

And all that energy would go to waste. That was, unless she did something to entertain herself for the next couple of hours. He was silent, and any question or comment she bothered to offer was answered with a shrug, or one-word answer at best. From time to time, he found amusement in playing with the lenses, angling the sunlight through them to make a thin beam in which he could direct. Like cat with a laser, he'd run his pointer over the ship again and again as if he were seconds from making sound effects to go with his little game. 

But eventually the skies turned orange as the sun began to set. Here he'd sit up and take the lenses he'd been holding on to, only to break the largest of the two into three pieces. He was aiming for two, but glass had a fickle way of cracking the way it wanted- much like his employer sitting just off to his side. "You ready? Or am I flying this one solo?" He wore the cockiest of grins when he spoke to her, but never once did he bother to make eye contact. Eye contact was a show of respect, given to those who had earned it. He'd sooner stare at a pile of fresh chocobo shit, than hold her gaze in his own. 

He primes the two lanterns and makes sure the rope is tied securely around each handle. 

"About half an hour. Need it to be dark."

Entertainment came in all shapes and sizes. But her comments and snarky little quips were met without resistance, and resistance was the name of the game. And that was an awful waste, because there were so many other things she could be doing, ideas running through her head that only had very little to do with the things she really should be doing. But, then, what were jobs to her right then? As pesky as the sun, they were.

Speaking of which, by the time it'd started to settle down, so had Zhi. Little by little, the exhaustion crept back over her, taking away the hyperactivity and dulling her into some semblance of normalcy. Normalcy that, for at least several hours more, would be punctuated by brief clips of manic energy. Oh well. Nothing was perfect.

"Ohhh? Ye can't do't on yer own, then? Paint me topsail t'deck." Hours of boredom had drained her ability to even put up a token effort at sounding anything more than sarcastic. Yet, it also primed her to be cooperative. Mostly. "What'll ye need me t'do?"

That grin of his never faltered, even in the face of mocking sarcasm. He'd hand her one of the ropes by the neck, just shy of the lantern's handle. "It's not your typical oil inside, for both our sake, try not to drop it?" He'd treat her like a child if she wanted to act like one. Even if she weren't, he'd probably still talk to her all the same. To earn respect from the other here would take a miracle, a cask of ale, three prostitutes (one dead), and a pile of gold to sleep on; not necessarily in that order.

With the skies black and the stars shining bright, he could finally set this plan into motion. It was going to cost him his hand, but he'd lay it on the table if it meant getting one step closer to his goal. Her lantern was lit, he'd forcibly grab her by the shoulders and position her to stand near the rocks edge so it could dangle over the side. "It's simple.. swing it from side to side. It's going to be a long fall." 

Like the cheshire cat, his grin was tugging from ear to ear as he moved. He was lighting his lantern next, ready to join at her left. "Thirty seconds. Count."

Zhi took the rope, ignored the jibe, and stumbled into place at the edge of the rocks. "Uhhhh. . ." adrenaline was starting to pump through her system. She looked down, at the lantern, at Loque. "What're we doin', then?" My, my, was that a hint of uncertainty in her voice?

He not only heard, but felt the caution in her tone. He felt it in the way she stiffened up at the edge, holding the lantern as she did. He took pride in this. "Don't move- wait for my command. It's easy enough, but if we mistime this, we're royally f- Why aren't you counting? Twenty two, twenty one, twenty, nineteen.. Count!" 

He'd start to limber up while counting along in his head, standing just off to her left. He held the lantern in front of him firmly, eyes closed. He was preparing for what came next. That stupid grin had been wiped off his face and a look of intense focus was shown now. "Eleven.. ten.. nine.. eight.." He'd count along with her for the remaining seconds before he executed his part in this game.

Son of a -- he was enjoying this, the churl. And there she was, flatfooted, waiting for him to make his move because he wouldn't rutting tell her what was going on.

She started to panic. Not a lot, but enough. "Loque -- " she said, right before he hit 'one'.