Was he dense? Maybe the problem was that he was too sharp. It was entirely possible he'd seen through her act -- either way, he'd not responded the way she'd hoped, and now she was stuck playing a part that blushed and stammered like some twit of a girl. Disgusting.
"A-aye," she responded, following him out.
They parted ways.
It was hard, even for Zhi, to pretend that she didn't feel the relief come pouring out of her gut. Alive. She was alive. She tried to cloak it in irritation that things hadn't gone her way, but even that hadn't worked. Nald'thal was tipping his scales, she was sure, but she couldn't figure out which way. Gods knew that meant bad things for her, always had in the past. It was enough of a deterrent that -- after having made sure she wasn't being followed -- she considered dumping the job entirely as she went into the dilapidated inn she was temporarily staying at to change her clothes. Yeah, so she was angry at the lalafel. She'd been taken for a ride, had underestimated the little runt, had been trapped and made to look the part of a fool. Logic dictated that she should take a step back and evaluate the situation to make sure she wasn't making a piss-poor mistake.
Her hands were shaking as she pressed them flat to the sole, shitty table in the cramped room. "Come on," she whispered.
She didn't want to take a step back. Even though she knew that screwing up with the wrong sort of people meant death, she didn't want to let it go. The fear, the uncertainty, the rush of adrenaline -- they were as good as some highs, good as getting piss drunk with dice in her hands and coin on the table. She slammed the table with both hands, and caught up the bottle of swill she'd bought the day before. Three gulps later she was out the door, hat on her head and back to the threadbare clothing that was her trademark. She had some time to kill before she went back to teach the little runt not to mess with her. Nald'thal be damned, she would tip the blimming scales herself, rot on him if he thought to screw with her.
Thirty minutes later she had her regular informant, Brindle, up by the ear. "It's ruttin' past afternoon, y'churl, what y'doin' sleepin'? I don't keep ye in coin t'be sleepin'."
"Ow, ow ow! Lemme go, lemmego, ya slattern!"
Zhi let him go. She grinned. "What, that all ye got?"
He glared back. Mute defiance, his latest brattish scheme to get under her skin. How cute.
She chuckled. "New job fer ya, if yer not too cockered fer't." His expression shifted: slight, but enough. She kept talking. "I need ya ta run some questions 'bout Lolotaru Lalataru. Wi'care. Don't go bawlin' it out t'the topmast else I'll have yer tongue fer true this time."
"I don't never go bawlin' like a scrag." Sullen, but not unwilling.
Zhi ruffled his hair, and he leaned back from her as if she'd just shown signs of some plague. Her grin widened. "I need some base rumors on 'im, his reputation."
"Didn't that get sorted?"
"I need it fresh."
"Yeah?" Brindle's voice had a distinct sneer in it; he knew well enough what it meant to go back to ground on someone.
She kicked him before he could start making insinuations about her lack of skills, and they parted with a few choice insults as they always did. The remaining time she spent dicing at one of her favorite haunts, plying her fellow players (most known to her) with cheap alcohol and careful questions. Gaming for her was always done with a purpose, and always carried with it expectations for something. Sometimes coin, sometimes information, sometimes illicit substances. Never for no reason, never strictly for fun.
Once the time got closer she went back and changed into the same clothes Lalataru had seen her in earlier, adjusted her bearing to suit some dumb scrag with naive hopes, and went to the indicated bridge a whole hour before the eleventh bell was supposed to ring. Seemed about right, with how desperate she played earlier. She looked out over the water, and settled in to waiting.
"A-aye," she responded, following him out.
They parted ways.
It was hard, even for Zhi, to pretend that she didn't feel the relief come pouring out of her gut. Alive. She was alive. She tried to cloak it in irritation that things hadn't gone her way, but even that hadn't worked. Nald'thal was tipping his scales, she was sure, but she couldn't figure out which way. Gods knew that meant bad things for her, always had in the past. It was enough of a deterrent that -- after having made sure she wasn't being followed -- she considered dumping the job entirely as she went into the dilapidated inn she was temporarily staying at to change her clothes. Yeah, so she was angry at the lalafel. She'd been taken for a ride, had underestimated the little runt, had been trapped and made to look the part of a fool. Logic dictated that she should take a step back and evaluate the situation to make sure she wasn't making a piss-poor mistake.
Her hands were shaking as she pressed them flat to the sole, shitty table in the cramped room. "Come on," she whispered.
She didn't want to take a step back. Even though she knew that screwing up with the wrong sort of people meant death, she didn't want to let it go. The fear, the uncertainty, the rush of adrenaline -- they were as good as some highs, good as getting piss drunk with dice in her hands and coin on the table. She slammed the table with both hands, and caught up the bottle of swill she'd bought the day before. Three gulps later she was out the door, hat on her head and back to the threadbare clothing that was her trademark. She had some time to kill before she went back to teach the little runt not to mess with her. Nald'thal be damned, she would tip the blimming scales herself, rot on him if he thought to screw with her.
Thirty minutes later she had her regular informant, Brindle, up by the ear. "It's ruttin' past afternoon, y'churl, what y'doin' sleepin'? I don't keep ye in coin t'be sleepin'."
"Ow, ow ow! Lemme go, lemmego, ya slattern!"
Zhi let him go. She grinned. "What, that all ye got?"
He glared back. Mute defiance, his latest brattish scheme to get under her skin. How cute.
She chuckled. "New job fer ya, if yer not too cockered fer't." His expression shifted: slight, but enough. She kept talking. "I need ya ta run some questions 'bout Lolotaru Lalataru. Wi'care. Don't go bawlin' it out t'the topmast else I'll have yer tongue fer true this time."
"I don't never go bawlin' like a scrag." Sullen, but not unwilling.
Zhi ruffled his hair, and he leaned back from her as if she'd just shown signs of some plague. Her grin widened. "I need some base rumors on 'im, his reputation."
"Didn't that get sorted?"
"I need it fresh."
"Yeah?" Brindle's voice had a distinct sneer in it; he knew well enough what it meant to go back to ground on someone.
She kicked him before he could start making insinuations about her lack of skills, and they parted with a few choice insults as they always did. The remaining time she spent dicing at one of her favorite haunts, plying her fellow players (most known to her) with cheap alcohol and careful questions. Gaming for her was always done with a purpose, and always carried with it expectations for something. Sometimes coin, sometimes information, sometimes illicit substances. Never for no reason, never strictly for fun.
Once the time got closer she went back and changed into the same clothes Lalataru had seen her in earlier, adjusted her bearing to suit some dumb scrag with naive hopes, and went to the indicated bridge a whole hour before the eleventh bell was supposed to ring. Seemed about right, with how desperate she played earlier. She looked out over the water, and settled in to waiting.
