Hydaelyn Role-Players

"Fewer mistakes. Fewer wi' knowin' o' what it is I'm about on yer coin."

Funny thing, that. Funnier words. It was one big joke, with her standing there stinking like sweat, and old blood, and the worst fish guts the ocean had belched up. With her looking like trash, all grimy, scarred and scrawny.

It was a joke. She laughed at it, a cackle of noise that filled up the room.

She looked up at him then, expression lazy and satisfied. Her knees had bent ever so slightly; she was ready to push away from the wall, away from him. It was unconscious, as was the way she straightened, -- steel entering her spine. He had challenged her pride.

Most women cared about the way they smelled but he remembered she was not like most women as the odor of Limsa's worst invaded his senses. When he thought he would falter he closed his eyes, steeled his stomach and inhaled deeply to let out a fake content sigh after, "Women like you are hard to come by. They care little for appearances, are strong willed, and intoxicating on how they present themselves."

Once he felt the initial waves of the foul smells pass he opened his eyes to continue looking at her with a playful, lustful gaze as he smirked, "You laugh because you think I'm not serious but I'd sooner take you to bed than any pretty whore Grace has at her stable."

He'd try to move in close and place his hands quickly on the wall to try and trap her in as he cooed softly at her, "I'll read you that letter if you promise me a passionate kiss." The words came out as truthful as he could make them and his violet eyes would be locked on her own as his body language remained relaxed. Meanwhile, his nostrils and stomach were cursing at him for the torture.

Was it too much to hope that the lice that inhabited her bed had migrated onto him? Still, the smile reached her eyes, though maybe not for the reasons he'd have liked.

"Yer serious 'bout notchin' yer belt, aren't ye?" She went up on her tippy-toes, staring at him hard, her smile turning to a leer. "Make no mistake, churl, I bed who I want t'bed. Read t'me, an' take half th'coin in that bag back wi' ye. I ain't no doxy, barterin' kisses an' sex. Take th' coin, an' buy yerself some sweet little whore t'cool yer loins."

The leer twisted, her expression momentarily flickering to heat. Her fingers tapped along her thigh, the rhythm quick and irritated.

Had he guessed? That would be most unfortunate.

And the bemused smile was back on his lips, how far could he take it before she decided to hit him. Might as well push the envelope to test her limits. If she did take the job he was sure she'd be subjected to worse things than him trying to twist and pull all of her little tells.

"No, No, -Zhavi-. You are far from a doxy. I'll read it to you regardless and the coin means little to me so you can keep it." He studied the leer, the tension, the irritation carefully. The amount of enjoyment he was getting out of this was far too good.

"A notch in the belt is hardly what I'd call it, -Zhavi-." He decided to test her ability to handle touch, now studying her face and body more carefully as his eyes roamed throughout her features. He would bring his calloused thumb to her lower lip and try to gently run it across it till he was at the corner of her mouth. If she pulled away he'd simply stand there with smirking as if he had won.

The touch had been expected. She lifted the hand opposite his, reaching up and up to tangle it in his hair, if he let her. "If coin means so little t'ye, then ye'd best be makin' sure yer payin' me full worth."

But for her hand, she was still. She was focused on him, leaning in, body taut and tense. In that moment, the little tells that surrounded her dissipated, taken in by the intent she had on him. The leer settled, finally, into a confident smirk.

The hand tangled in his ear made his eyes go wide only slightly before realizing that this woman did not back down. Her reputation proceeds her. The choices of how to respond and how to act start playing through his mind. Even if he could take it further, he didn't know if his stomach and nose could handle much more.

The thumb that grazed her lip moved towards her chin as each digit locked around it to give it a firm squeeze, "You'll get your coin. But as much as I'd love to continue this, believe me I would, I have a letter to read to you, aye?"

He'd release his grip from her chin and try to step back some if she allowed him to.

He was saved her intent, and her warning. She looked at him, and satisfaction curled through her, so that she moved with lassitude as she dropped her hand from him and leaned back on her heels. He still had all of her attention, all of her focus. There was no time for much else in the way of emotion.

The man had advanced upon her while in one of her spaces. Her safe bunk, no less.

That was another thing she wouldn't forgive him any time soon.

"Get to it, sweetin'." Her voice was coy, with only the barest edge of the heat that coiled spitting and surly within her.

No one got to do that without her inviting it, first. Something about him -- either due to his natural barrier of sensuality, or his intuition -- seemed to take delight in pushing her to the edge. It was bothersome, but eventually it would likely end in him pulling weapons on her.

How delightful.

Zhi snickered, the sound dry and hissing. Yet, she listened, and listened closely; her memory was honed from constant use and the dedication of a young woman who took her jobs seriously, no matter how many times she managed to fuck things over. She had a good memory. She would remember what he read.

The Duskwight comment took her off guard, and her eyebrows knit together in consternation for a moment before she smoothed it over with another snicker. "Aye," she said. "Where t'deliver, an' then ye can get out."