Zhavi Streetrunner did not take Targaryen for a fool. She couldn't help but wonder why he went along with her so easily, and didn't like the various conclusions she came up with. Besides, it wasn't as if she needed to know his limits for the job.
It was time. She took them through the passageway, out onto a roughly hewn overlook. Back before the Calamity, the area had been slated for construction for a new high-end residential area. After the Calamity, it had gotten lost amidst the shuffle of damage reports, and the merchants providing the funding had backed off -- probably due to losses elsewhere. As a result, the area remained empty but for the occasional junkies, parties, and executions by various criminal types.
What she needed to tell Targaryen wasn't really worth the extra care in taking him to such a secluded place, but her mood was capricious.
Dusk had fallen, sheathing them both in half-light. Zhi turned to face him. "Ne'er ye fear," she said, giving him her ugliest smile. "I'll not be havin' ye burstin' afore we've had a chance t' . . .talk."
She leered at him, snorted, and cut to business before the empty flirtation could continue. "Ye've been one o' Lady Grace's patrons. Fer Heaven's Gate. I'm t'offer ye three things: a warnin', an offer fer protection', an' a chance at. . .mischief."
The challenge was still there in her voice, and it had brought with it friends. The dare was in the way she rested a fist on her hip, in her tilted head, in the smugness of her smirk and the knowledge in her eyes.
She was looking to catch herself a bard, she was.
It was time. She took them through the passageway, out onto a roughly hewn overlook. Back before the Calamity, the area had been slated for construction for a new high-end residential area. After the Calamity, it had gotten lost amidst the shuffle of damage reports, and the merchants providing the funding had backed off -- probably due to losses elsewhere. As a result, the area remained empty but for the occasional junkies, parties, and executions by various criminal types.
What she needed to tell Targaryen wasn't really worth the extra care in taking him to such a secluded place, but her mood was capricious.
Dusk had fallen, sheathing them both in half-light. Zhi turned to face him. "Ne'er ye fear," she said, giving him her ugliest smile. "I'll not be havin' ye burstin' afore we've had a chance t' . . .talk."
She leered at him, snorted, and cut to business before the empty flirtation could continue. "Ye've been one o' Lady Grace's patrons. Fer Heaven's Gate. I'm t'offer ye three things: a warnin', an offer fer protection', an' a chance at. . .mischief."
The challenge was still there in her voice, and it had brought with it friends. The dare was in the way she rested a fist on her hip, in her tilted head, in the smugness of her smirk and the knowledge in her eyes.
She was looking to catch herself a bard, she was.
