The world was tilted. Zhavi blinked often, trying to clear her head, or the world, or all of it; she knew she had to cut a certain sort of figure, and knew that she wouldn't ever really be able to make it. Especially not when she looked like she'd caught the bad end of an angry chocobo, and then been run over by a wagon, besides. The cocktail of pleasant things she'd taken was helping keep her upright, but it was doing a number on her balance. She shook her head. Spat. Dry mouth.
Nothing a good drink wouldn't solve. She probably should stop, but it was too rutting hard to do anything but keep moving forward at the moment.
She stood in an alley behind a shop. Stood, instead of perched, because she'd tried to climb and nearly thrown up from the effort, and there weren't nothing like vomit on your breath to sour a deal and twist things around until you were lying flat down with a blade 'twixt your shoulders. No, she'd no intention of dying. Not intentionally. She frowned at the circling thoughts, trying to decide whether or not she was just a titch more jacked up then she'd intended. Intentions? The word didn't seem to want to leave.
She stared at the same puddle of something rank she'd been staring at for the last quarter-bell, trying to breathe right and stand right and think right, because everything was too damn hard. She was too damn tired, propped up on things she likely shouldn't have taken together.
The world tilted a little more.
She was leaning against the wall when the lalafel woman showed up.
They watched each other for a spell, seconds oozing past.
"Rudder?" Zhi asked, finally, because she was right nauseous and starting to lose her calm, besides. Stupid name. Right stupid name, for a stupid scrag.
The woman nodded.
"Half now, not a gil less, an' I'll give ye th' place."
"You're not going to take me there yourself?"
Zhi narrowed her eyes. "Want it 'r nay?"
"I've want of proof."
"An' I'll jes bring ye a page, is't?"
The woman hesitated. Shifted. "No. Describe a page to me."
Zhi's turn to hesitate. She swore. Hadn't occurred to her. Why? Was she that far off? She hadn't even cracked the damn thing. Thrice cursed, the whole job. "Deal's off," she snapped, backing off.
"Take me to it," the woman said.
"An' let ye stick me through me bleedin' guts once ye've yer piece? I'm thinkin' no."
"The smoke-seller and his get don't take no for an answer," she said, with the distinctive click of a firearm being readied. Hammer. Was that what it was called? She'd never paid attention. Dead was dead; the mechanics of how didn't matter so much. Not to her.
Gods above, where had the lalafel hidden the blasted thing? Nald'thal and his bleedin' scales, but she'd stared down too many barrels too often. For a moment, the memories mixed into the present, making her queasy.
"Shit," Zhi said.
Nothing a good drink wouldn't solve. She probably should stop, but it was too rutting hard to do anything but keep moving forward at the moment.
She stood in an alley behind a shop. Stood, instead of perched, because she'd tried to climb and nearly thrown up from the effort, and there weren't nothing like vomit on your breath to sour a deal and twist things around until you were lying flat down with a blade 'twixt your shoulders. No, she'd no intention of dying. Not intentionally. She frowned at the circling thoughts, trying to decide whether or not she was just a titch more jacked up then she'd intended. Intentions? The word didn't seem to want to leave.
She stared at the same puddle of something rank she'd been staring at for the last quarter-bell, trying to breathe right and stand right and think right, because everything was too damn hard. She was too damn tired, propped up on things she likely shouldn't have taken together.
The world tilted a little more.
She was leaning against the wall when the lalafel woman showed up.
They watched each other for a spell, seconds oozing past.
"Rudder?" Zhi asked, finally, because she was right nauseous and starting to lose her calm, besides. Stupid name. Right stupid name, for a stupid scrag.
The woman nodded.
"Half now, not a gil less, an' I'll give ye th' place."
"You're not going to take me there yourself?"
Zhi narrowed her eyes. "Want it 'r nay?"
"I've want of proof."
"An' I'll jes bring ye a page, is't?"
The woman hesitated. Shifted. "No. Describe a page to me."
Zhi's turn to hesitate. She swore. Hadn't occurred to her. Why? Was she that far off? She hadn't even cracked the damn thing. Thrice cursed, the whole job. "Deal's off," she snapped, backing off.
"Take me to it," the woman said.
"An' let ye stick me through me bleedin' guts once ye've yer piece? I'm thinkin' no."
"The smoke-seller and his get don't take no for an answer," she said, with the distinctive click of a firearm being readied. Hammer. Was that what it was called? She'd never paid attention. Dead was dead; the mechanics of how didn't matter so much. Not to her.
Gods above, where had the lalafel hidden the blasted thing? Nald'thal and his bleedin' scales, but she'd stared down too many barrels too often. For a moment, the memories mixed into the present, making her queasy.
"Shit," Zhi said.
