Loud suited Zhavi. So did Azeyma's daily retreat back to whatever hell had spawned her.
She was making her rounds. Checking up on rumors, jobs, clients, employers. . .enemies: this was what occupied the majority of her time when she wasn't actively running on someone's business. Every day she did her rounds differently, or not at all; stagnation was the key to death. Pattern was the fastest way to earn a tail. Disguise, subtlety, change: these were the hallmarks upon which Zhi plied her trade.
It was why she'd returned to genderless, shapeless clothing. A loose vest made of something that looked like canvas -- and dyed a muddy green -- fell from shoulders to hips in a nearly straight line, caught only by a sagging belt. Every so often Zhi would tug at it while she walked, inching it back up her slim hips. Her pants were undyed, worn, and also baggy. Numerous faded stains and patches covered them. Her shoes had been repaired so often it was dubious as to just how much of the material was original, but they held together.
All in all, she was just this side of looking too poor to be in the Wench at all; she could have been a fisherman's brat or some other poor merchant's get looking for distraction in the adult's world. She did appear young in those clothes, but someone really looking at her would see the canny way she scoped out the crowd, would note the way she navigated the room. She was older than she looked, years of malnutrition aside.
Having not seen anyone she was trying to avoid (that the list had become long enough for it to become a regular thing was commentary enough on the way things had been sliding for her, lately) she picked her way through to the bar and to the harried barman behind it. It took creative application of elbows, and nimble dodging, but eventually she managed to create enough of a space to actually see the bar, rather than a collection of backs and asses.
Tenfingers, having seen her, gave her a nod before she could open her mouth to order. She always ordered the same thing: whatever was alcoholic and cheapest on the menu. Unless someone else was buying, of course.
The mob at the bar moved and closed, and she found herself back on the outside. There was an old, crippled sailor on one of the stools: he gave her a knowing smile with more slyness in it than teeth. She shook her head before he could pull anything tempting out of his pockets, and edged away.
Tenfingers was nothing if not efficient, and it wasn't long before one of the serving girls came from around the bar with a cry of "Kink! Oy, Kink!"
Zhavi found her and plucked the drink out of her hand. She pulled the girl close. "I know ye've longed t'scream out me name, lass, but t'night I was thinkin' somethin' more private."
The girl wrenched away, shaking her head. Before a rejoinder could be applied, Zhi said, "jes call me Resin fer awhile, a'right? Tell th'other servers fer me?"
Zhi pressed a few gil more than the drink was worth into the girl's hand.
With a roll of her eyes and a flounce, the girl disappeared back into the crowd. Touchy. Zhi sipped at her drink, eying the crowd for any signs that someone had noticed the name, and her, by extension. Lately, it was just a smidge healthier for her to do the approaching rather than vice-versa. Knives in guts just weren't her thing. Unless she was the one holding the knife, of course.
She was making her rounds. Checking up on rumors, jobs, clients, employers. . .enemies: this was what occupied the majority of her time when she wasn't actively running on someone's business. Every day she did her rounds differently, or not at all; stagnation was the key to death. Pattern was the fastest way to earn a tail. Disguise, subtlety, change: these were the hallmarks upon which Zhi plied her trade.
It was why she'd returned to genderless, shapeless clothing. A loose vest made of something that looked like canvas -- and dyed a muddy green -- fell from shoulders to hips in a nearly straight line, caught only by a sagging belt. Every so often Zhi would tug at it while she walked, inching it back up her slim hips. Her pants were undyed, worn, and also baggy. Numerous faded stains and patches covered them. Her shoes had been repaired so often it was dubious as to just how much of the material was original, but they held together.
All in all, she was just this side of looking too poor to be in the Wench at all; she could have been a fisherman's brat or some other poor merchant's get looking for distraction in the adult's world. She did appear young in those clothes, but someone really looking at her would see the canny way she scoped out the crowd, would note the way she navigated the room. She was older than she looked, years of malnutrition aside.
Having not seen anyone she was trying to avoid (that the list had become long enough for it to become a regular thing was commentary enough on the way things had been sliding for her, lately) she picked her way through to the bar and to the harried barman behind it. It took creative application of elbows, and nimble dodging, but eventually she managed to create enough of a space to actually see the bar, rather than a collection of backs and asses.
Tenfingers, having seen her, gave her a nod before she could open her mouth to order. She always ordered the same thing: whatever was alcoholic and cheapest on the menu. Unless someone else was buying, of course.
The mob at the bar moved and closed, and she found herself back on the outside. There was an old, crippled sailor on one of the stools: he gave her a knowing smile with more slyness in it than teeth. She shook her head before he could pull anything tempting out of his pockets, and edged away.
Tenfingers was nothing if not efficient, and it wasn't long before one of the serving girls came from around the bar with a cry of "Kink! Oy, Kink!"
Zhavi found her and plucked the drink out of her hand. She pulled the girl close. "I know ye've longed t'scream out me name, lass, but t'night I was thinkin' somethin' more private."
The girl wrenched away, shaking her head. Before a rejoinder could be applied, Zhi said, "jes call me Resin fer awhile, a'right? Tell th'other servers fer me?"
Zhi pressed a few gil more than the drink was worth into the girl's hand.
With a roll of her eyes and a flounce, the girl disappeared back into the crowd. Touchy. Zhi sipped at her drink, eying the crowd for any signs that someone had noticed the name, and her, by extension. Lately, it was just a smidge healthier for her to do the approaching rather than vice-versa. Knives in guts just weren't her thing. Unless she was the one holding the knife, of course.
