Clove leaned back and stretched, tipping his chair back onto its rear two legs. He reached and bumped the back of a miqo'te sitting at the bar. Immediately she turned, her ears swiveling to the side as she saw who it was who'd touched her. She nodded, and slipped off the stool -- narrowly avoiding getting elbowed in the face by the eager drinker to the right. She pulled a face, and came around to the side of the table facing the rest of the bar. There wasn't a chair, so she stood.
She was a skinny thing, nearly flat and boasting the curves of a twelve-year-old. It was a sign of malnutrition, that; here was a girl who'd lived hand to mouth for a long time. It showed in the rough quality of her hair, in the numerous small scars and scabs that spoke of accidents rather than fights, in the distinct kink in the last fourth of her tail. She bore the hunted, hard expression of those who'd never had a home besides the street, wrapped up tight in a smirk that bordered on a sneer. Her clothing was obviously well-used, but clean enough for all its mended tears and the occasional stain. She could have passed for a boy, had she put a smidgeon of effort into it.
"This is Dax. Dax, say hello to Master Mujuuk."
Zhi mimed a poorly executed curtsy, the sarcasm evident in her expression. "Fair winds t'ye, Master Mujuuk." She managed to butcher the pronunciation of his name, though whether or not it was her street accent or on purpose was anyone's guess.
Judging by Clove's frown, he'd guessed 'on purpose.' He sighed. "What she lacks in manners she makes up for in discretion. She runs occasional odd jobs on the side, so no one would think twice should she be seen meeting with you. Just another street runner. She's tied to me," his voice hardened, "so there will be no mishaps." His eyes moved towards Zhi, and they exchanged a brief glance.
She looked away first. Her smirk faltered, and she crossed her arms. Clove looked back to Mujuuk, his smile picking up the slack.
This was so not Clove's bag that Zhi half expected the man to enact some form of petty revenge for the favor -- a dig here or there. After this, they would be even. It was fair enough; he was risking his life and livelihood should things go sour enough for Mujuuk to sell him out.
She was a skinny thing, nearly flat and boasting the curves of a twelve-year-old. It was a sign of malnutrition, that; here was a girl who'd lived hand to mouth for a long time. It showed in the rough quality of her hair, in the numerous small scars and scabs that spoke of accidents rather than fights, in the distinct kink in the last fourth of her tail. She bore the hunted, hard expression of those who'd never had a home besides the street, wrapped up tight in a smirk that bordered on a sneer. Her clothing was obviously well-used, but clean enough for all its mended tears and the occasional stain. She could have passed for a boy, had she put a smidgeon of effort into it.
"This is Dax. Dax, say hello to Master Mujuuk."
Zhi mimed a poorly executed curtsy, the sarcasm evident in her expression. "Fair winds t'ye, Master Mujuuk." She managed to butcher the pronunciation of his name, though whether or not it was her street accent or on purpose was anyone's guess.
Judging by Clove's frown, he'd guessed 'on purpose.' He sighed. "What she lacks in manners she makes up for in discretion. She runs occasional odd jobs on the side, so no one would think twice should she be seen meeting with you. Just another street runner. She's tied to me," his voice hardened, "so there will be no mishaps." His eyes moved towards Zhi, and they exchanged a brief glance.
She looked away first. Her smirk faltered, and she crossed her arms. Clove looked back to Mujuuk, his smile picking up the slack.
This was so not Clove's bag that Zhi half expected the man to enact some form of petty revenge for the favor -- a dig here or there. After this, they would be even. It was fair enough; he was risking his life and livelihood should things go sour enough for Mujuuk to sell him out.
