(( Posting this now so I don't forget, but please use it when it's time. Feel free to do a bit of back and forth between Zhavi and Pyralis if you'd like. ))
The ferry from Aleport had been a successful venture. Two new clients procured for the weeks ahead and the promise of a return customer. Andralyn's lips curled as she closed the cloak around her and lifted the hood onto her head. Most every customer was a return customer. Her thoughts danced as she followed the instructions given to her, eyeing the perpetual state of disarray that haunted the lack-of-construction zones.
A bard.. A customer. Hyur...
Her hand steadied against the wall, finger tips dragging across the dusty brick as she made her way carefully along the darkened path. Slow and methodical with each step. She turned, staring back into the darkness momentarily before continuing on.
Why do I need him? What is Zhavi scheming...
She turned a corner and the faint glow emitting from another near by alley caught her eye. Her step quickened, her confidence in her steps heightened with the dim but welcomed light, but she was still by no means in a hurry. Instead she seemed to dance among the rubble, a hand pulling the cloak in at the waist to keep the bottom from swaying this way and that at her legs. She stooped to bring the lantern into her hand as she passed it, pausing at the alley's mouth for a moment to listen and once again take a glance behind before ducking into the tunnel.
Faint words caught on the breeze as she approached the end of the pathway, the familiar shapeless form of Zhavi growing clearly as she exited and made her way forward. Â The man was tall. Certainly taller than Andralyn and almost comically next to the miqo'te. The lantern swayed two and fro before her as she approached, hood and cloak hanging unflatteringly around her.
Though years of honing her talents at skillful drunkenness had proven more than useful hustling a game of cards or keeping the upper hand in a match of wits, the effects of the quick sobering tended to make her giddy and she was aware that the stupid smile curling her lips was giving way to childishness.
She stopped about five fulms away from the others before moving her hand to her ear and whispering something.
And then she giggled.
It's eerie how similar childishness can be construed as creepy.Â
That grin. That chuckle.
((I had to... *goes to her corner* ))
She watched them for a long moment before setting the lantern at her feet, pulling back her hood, and sighing as she shook her hair from its pinned up crown atop her head and let it spill over her shoulders.
She smiled, an infectiously sweet smile, a smile that surely had hundreds of implications and even more motives and aimed it at the man, taking a moment to take in the familiarity of his face and form as she closed the distance between them, removing her cloak in the venture.
"I do hope I didn't keep anyone waiting too long," she folded the cloak over her arm and smoothed a hand over the back of her skirt before working to re-lace the front of her pink blouse. Tasteful enough for the Bismark yet suggestive enough that she always caught the eye, wanting or disdainfully, of a passerby, "the ferryman was a bit chatty."
The ferry from Aleport had been a successful venture. Two new clients procured for the weeks ahead and the promise of a return customer. Andralyn's lips curled as she closed the cloak around her and lifted the hood onto her head. Most every customer was a return customer. Her thoughts danced as she followed the instructions given to her, eyeing the perpetual state of disarray that haunted the lack-of-construction zones.
A bard.. A customer. Hyur...
Her hand steadied against the wall, finger tips dragging across the dusty brick as she made her way carefully along the darkened path. Slow and methodical with each step. She turned, staring back into the darkness momentarily before continuing on.
Why do I need him? What is Zhavi scheming...
She turned a corner and the faint glow emitting from another near by alley caught her eye. Her step quickened, her confidence in her steps heightened with the dim but welcomed light, but she was still by no means in a hurry. Instead she seemed to dance among the rubble, a hand pulling the cloak in at the waist to keep the bottom from swaying this way and that at her legs. She stooped to bring the lantern into her hand as she passed it, pausing at the alley's mouth for a moment to listen and once again take a glance behind before ducking into the tunnel.
Faint words caught on the breeze as she approached the end of the pathway, the familiar shapeless form of Zhavi growing clearly as she exited and made her way forward. Â The man was tall. Certainly taller than Andralyn and almost comically next to the miqo'te. The lantern swayed two and fro before her as she approached, hood and cloak hanging unflatteringly around her.
Though years of honing her talents at skillful drunkenness had proven more than useful hustling a game of cards or keeping the upper hand in a match of wits, the effects of the quick sobering tended to make her giddy and she was aware that the stupid smile curling her lips was giving way to childishness.
She stopped about five fulms away from the others before moving her hand to her ear and whispering something.
And then she giggled.
It's eerie how similar childishness can be construed as creepy.Â
That grin. That chuckle.
((I had to... *goes to her corner* ))
She watched them for a long moment before setting the lantern at her feet, pulling back her hood, and sighing as she shook her hair from its pinned up crown atop her head and let it spill over her shoulders.
She smiled, an infectiously sweet smile, a smile that surely had hundreds of implications and even more motives and aimed it at the man, taking a moment to take in the familiarity of his face and form as she closed the distance between them, removing her cloak in the venture.
"I do hope I didn't keep anyone waiting too long," she folded the cloak over her arm and smoothed a hand over the back of her skirt before working to re-lace the front of her pink blouse. Tasteful enough for the Bismark yet suggestive enough that she always caught the eye, wanting or disdainfully, of a passerby, "the ferryman was a bit chatty."
