A Woman In White
Broken Nose spat out the grassweed he had been chewing, his spittle leaving a sticky brown stain on the cobblestones of Ul'dah's main thoroughfare. He gave the blotch on the ground a disdainful glare, rubbing his boots over it to hide the mark. It only served to smear it over more stones, eliciting an additional mutter from the Roegadyn Brass Blade.
Broken Nose scanned the street right and left, crossing his massive arms in front of him. The red chainmail armor rustled as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the hot Thalanan sun more oppressive than usual this afternoon. Also, he had not come across any potentially suspicious activities yet this day - none that might have elicited a bribe, at any rate - and that had made him grumpy. And bored. Â
With a grunt, Broken Nose turned and began to make his way back down the street of Ul'dah, passing by Ruby Road exchange, the same route that made up his daily watch along Ul'dah's most traveled street. Back when he had first received this assignment, Broken Nose cursed the Twelve for the seemingly mundane and lowly task. The lowly born Roegadyn had joined the Brass Blades with ambitions of rising quickly in the ranks of the jeweled city's law enforcers, and was dismayed at being given such a seemingly benign duty.Â
He soon discovered it was the best thing that could have happened to him. It was walking the streets that gave him the best opportunity to use his job to obtain things. The streets of Ul'dah were never a quiet place; there was always something to be noticed, some dealings behind the corner, and of course whores and gambling on Pearl Street, all of which he could use to gain some extra gil or favor, should he be inclined to look the other way. In the five years of service thus far, Broken Nose had also come to realize that he preferred to do as little work as possible. And properly enforcing the law and keeping the streets safe while climbing the ladder of ambition, well... that could get exhausting. This suited him. His favorite beat was watching the entry way to Ruby Road Exchange, for it was always busy. And there were always plenty of distractions to be had.
His eyes strayed toward the dancers that were always the center attraction on Ruby Road Exchange, drawing a crowd around them, both women and men. Some stared at them with a drunken glazed look, others were on their feet hollering, pumping their fists in the air, as though to exhort them to greater degrees of disrobing or feigned sensuality. As if the dancers ever really noticed. Broken Nose had come to recognize the vapid gaze in the dancers' eyes: they too were there to do a job, and the audience seemed just as happy to leer at them whether or not they were even synchronized. They didn't care, and neither did he. He still could appreciate their frames and forms, their tanned flesh clothed in a manner that seemed to reveal more than complete nakedness ever could. The sight of it certainly passed the time when there was nothing else to do.Â
But today might be different. Today, Broken Nose had spotted the woman again. Â
She was slight of frame and subtle in gesture, with a fall of silver hair that never seemed out of place, always neatly combed and held back from her moon face. Dressed in some white linen robe, Broken Nose had guessed that she was not one for long treks on the dusty desert road, especially by the look of the robe's fine and primly pressed fabric. He had taken note of her weeks before, hungry for some extra gil and looking to manufacture a crime. She was the first person he had come across, seated on a bench, carefully writing onto the thick tome she had placed in her lap with slow, exacting strokes. From her dainty and studious appearance, he assumed her an easy mark.
He was proven wrong, and quickly. Broken Nose was not the most worldly of men, but he was at least keen to recognizing if a person would be susceptible to intimidation, and she was not one of them.  When he approached her, his massive frame looming over the small hyur woman, he found no emotion behind her spectacles when she finally deigned to look back up at him. He could barely discern her eyes as the glasses mirrored the sunlight above.  Even as he cited her for something - he could not remember now what bogus charge he was insinuating - her face remained calm and inscrutable. Her voice held a cool, monotonous tone when she responded to him, each word clearly enunciated so that he would not mistake her words. She recited the names of his superior and his superior's superior in such a way that, to this day, gave him twitches at the memory. To call her "cold" would be a disservice to the word; he believed no ice could ever chill him half so much. Her final suggestion was that he would be best served in moving along and letting her continue her business. He did so without delay.
Broken Nose's fear of reprimand quelled any anger he might have had. The woman was obviously connected to those in the know, and while he had often exercised his own authoritative muscle in this city, he still knew he was but a grunt - the smallest, most insignificant cog within the larger political wheel that turned the gears of the gargantuan jeweled clock that was Ul'dah. She could ruin him with a word, that much was clear. Broken Nose decided his wisest course of action would be to avoid the silver-haired hyur like the plague.
And yet...
He had always wondered what the woman's business was.  He had seen her twice more since, each time with the tome in hand, always writing something into that thick, omnipresent book. If it wasn't for that one exchange they shared, he would never think to look twice her way. She seemed so dull. So harmless. To this day, he still did not know what her actual business was.
So it perked his curiosity on this hot and irksome day when he spotted the silver-haired hyur woman again, seated at her bench, tome in lap, because now her gaze was not fixed on her book as it had always been. Her pale hand and the quill had come to pause in their shared task. This time she was looking straight across the Ruby Road Exchange. Broken Nose could not help but follow her gaze, scanning the street as well, curious to see what would draw the woman's attention.Â
It was another hyur woman. This one was crowned with red hair, and dressed in blue grey armor. He knew of her, although he knew not her name, for she was often seen in the company of a particular Sultansworn. Broken Nose usually made a point to avoid crossing paths with Sultansworns, as they always thought themselves above most others, and were, to a man, some of the most elite swords in Thanalan. Broken Nose always spat after he passed on one the streets, ridding himself of the taste of the bile that rose in his mouth when forced into their presence. (Though always after they had passed. He wasn't stupid.)
He did not think the same of the red haired woman, however; whenever she passed him on his patrol, she would give him a polite nod in passing, as if to acknowledge his patrol and give at least some modicum of respect for his duties. He caught himself once puffing out his chest, walking a little straighter and taller in the wake of her recognition, though thought himself just a bit silly only moments after. Broken Nose reminded himself that she would be an easy mark as well, if she was not under the protective guidance of the almighty Sultansworn.Â
The roegadyn watched the red-haired woman a moment longer, his eyes following her steps as she made her way to the moogle that delivered mail in the far end of the street. He knew her well enough to know she always seemed to visit the moogle in the early part of each month with a letter in hand. Such routines on Ruby Road Exchange never escaped his notice; Broken Nose prided himself in that. Â He absently thought to maybe find out about the contents in that letter. Perhaps it would be of use to him in the future. And anything - or anyone - who caught the notice of the cold woman with the book.
The roegadyn then remembered why he was scanning the street in the first place. He glanced back to the bench, only to find the silver haired hyur woman gone.
