She had him.
For now.
Zhi put her hands to the stone and shucked her shoes, then started up the stone wall rather than ducking back through the tunnel. Halfway up, she found the platform she was looking for (another remnant of construction) and disappeared from sight.
Then she was running, using street, wall and rooftop where necessary. She avoided hotspots and jack patrols. By then, the sun was mostly sunk on the horizon. Shadows were multiplying. The moon was out, if faint, waiting to take control of the sky away from Azeyma's grasping claws. Good riddance.
Her breathing was heavy when she dropped down in front of Keto'to of the Gutter. He'd taken to calling himself Guttersnipe for a long while, though Zhi never used it. He was old, older than any other miqo'te man she'd ever seen, and that (along with other things) had earned him her respect. Of all the ragpickers and fences in the city, he was one of the select few who operated solely at night. He was the only person Zhi knew who hated the sun more than she did. They'd formed some sort of bond over insulting Azeyma, though it was as tenuous a connection as any of her other relationships.
"Zhio," he said, not at all surprised at her sudden appearance.
For such an old man, his senses were razor sharp.
"On a job," she said, baring her teeth at him.
He grunted. "Ain't open yet."
"I'll pay double. I'm in a hurry, an' I ain't got th' patience t'deal with th'Swine."
He sighed, long and loud, one hand retreating to his lower back to press against it. He stooped a little, reproach in his eyes. She rolled hers. "Elezen male, taller'n me by 'round a fulm. Shoulders, waist, hips, feet. Aye, an' a hat."
She held her hands approximate distances apart for each measurement. Keto'to watched her, sighed again, and started picking through the clothing.
So they dealt, back and forth, but when she left with a worn satchel at her hip only five or so minutes had passed. He could be stodgy, but he rarely turned away the promise of extra coin. Few of them streetside did.
She returned to Targaryen in a little more than half a bell's time. There was an air of wariness about her, no matter the bright smile she showed to him. It was hard to swallow down the snarky comment she wanted to say to him, but she did. "Still wi' me, hey?"
It was dark by then. She wondered if he could see her. She held out the satchel to him. "Here. Change."
Inside were worn, though serviceable, shirt and pants, sandals with a hole in one, and a rather nice cap. The shirt would be too big, the pants just a hair too short on his legs, but the sandals would fit, as would the cap.
Zhi stared at him expectantly.
For now.
Zhi put her hands to the stone and shucked her shoes, then started up the stone wall rather than ducking back through the tunnel. Halfway up, she found the platform she was looking for (another remnant of construction) and disappeared from sight.
Then she was running, using street, wall and rooftop where necessary. She avoided hotspots and jack patrols. By then, the sun was mostly sunk on the horizon. Shadows were multiplying. The moon was out, if faint, waiting to take control of the sky away from Azeyma's grasping claws. Good riddance.
Her breathing was heavy when she dropped down in front of Keto'to of the Gutter. He'd taken to calling himself Guttersnipe for a long while, though Zhi never used it. He was old, older than any other miqo'te man she'd ever seen, and that (along with other things) had earned him her respect. Of all the ragpickers and fences in the city, he was one of the select few who operated solely at night. He was the only person Zhi knew who hated the sun more than she did. They'd formed some sort of bond over insulting Azeyma, though it was as tenuous a connection as any of her other relationships.
"Zhio," he said, not at all surprised at her sudden appearance.
For such an old man, his senses were razor sharp.
"On a job," she said, baring her teeth at him.
He grunted. "Ain't open yet."
"I'll pay double. I'm in a hurry, an' I ain't got th' patience t'deal with th'Swine."
He sighed, long and loud, one hand retreating to his lower back to press against it. He stooped a little, reproach in his eyes. She rolled hers. "Elezen male, taller'n me by 'round a fulm. Shoulders, waist, hips, feet. Aye, an' a hat."
She held her hands approximate distances apart for each measurement. Keto'to watched her, sighed again, and started picking through the clothing.
So they dealt, back and forth, but when she left with a worn satchel at her hip only five or so minutes had passed. He could be stodgy, but he rarely turned away the promise of extra coin. Few of them streetside did.
She returned to Targaryen in a little more than half a bell's time. There was an air of wariness about her, no matter the bright smile she showed to him. It was hard to swallow down the snarky comment she wanted to say to him, but she did. "Still wi' me, hey?"
It was dark by then. She wondered if he could see her. She held out the satchel to him. "Here. Change."
Inside were worn, though serviceable, shirt and pants, sandals with a hole in one, and a rather nice cap. The shirt would be too big, the pants just a hair too short on his legs, but the sandals would fit, as would the cap.
Zhi stared at him expectantly.
