Jager

She'd not have long to whisper her message, for Jager was already flexing his fingers against the stone she was currently pressed against. A couple braids had come undone during the climb, and right now they whipped and stuck against a sweaty forehead. He seemed annoyed because of it, or was it Zhavi? Perhaps the lookout halting their climb? Hell, maybe he was battle with indigestion, who honestly knew anymore? The wall was smooth and there was little to no room for any spots to dig his toes in, let alone his fingers. His own were rough and calloused, worn from years of hard labor and pulling on ropes. It was amazing he still had any feeling in them anymore. Before long, he'd leave her behind, whether or not she could follow. Getting atop the spire was next to impossible, but somehow he'd managed to find the strength- and ledge- to climb to make this assassination a legitimate hope. Could he remove him? Sure, there were plenty of ways to take someone out of the picture, but to do so quietly, and in such a piss poor spot.. He was workin' some magic here. The further he shimmied along the ledge, the futher he'd leave Zhavi's line of sight. Eventually he'd hang several feet above the miquo'te with nothing but his weight and gravity's inevitable pull. The wind up here was strong, he swayed recklessly in it.

Jager spoke only when he needed to and luckily, that wasn't necessary. Not for right now, at least. Following her through the city was a simple enough chore. It was easy to drown her out in the casual bustle of the city, docks and its inhabitants. For all he knew, she was just taking him on a little tour for a useless job. Goods needed to be moved? Switched? Stolen? He paid runners and crew alike to carry out this type of work. Did this mean he was lazy? You bet your sweet ass it meant he was lazy. Did this mean he'd lost his touch? Well, go ahead and ask him if he's lost his touch and see where exactly he places said touch. Flat. Skin-to-Skin. Blam! Right upside the back of your head. He'd do it, too. You better believe it! "Baron or not, he's just another unlucky sod gettin' stiffed at the end o' the day." Shrug. "We there yet?"

"You might be swimmin' the whole way, you keep this shit up." It was a nasty slap, but the grin tacked on suggested it was just casual banter between the two. For anyone outside of this caustic relationship between business partner and rival, they'd have thought these two were nuts; they were but, on a different, less friendly level. "Anyways, this'll be quick. You like quick, yeah?" Snicker. He'd not even lead her onto the ship, he'd just ditch her at the docks long enough to swing up into his cabin, give some orders and finally, waltz on out like he were on to the next check mark on the list of chores. About the only thing different was a small satchel strapped around his waist hanging from the middle of his lower back. "This one o' yer gals job? Whatever her name was."

He'd stop at the edge of anintersection, shoulders squared off. “We're.. swimming?” Blink. Blink. What in the hell was she playing at this time?“So there's no reason to even go toward the ship?” He'd shake his head before resuming his not-so-casual pace through the streets. It wasn't that he'd gotten to know each one with intricate detail, it was the landmarks that helped him get around. If the Aftcastle's spire was in the north, then he was closer to the docks on the east side; alternatively, if he was facing the sea, Limsa's entrance (or exit to some) was simply in the opposite direction. Navigating a ship and navigating some land weren't really all that different. “Change o' plans. You lead.” He'd open his arms and dip out of the way, “'sides, Ladies first.”

"I might pay grunts like yeh t'do all my runnin', but it'll always be in my blood." Jab? You want to throw some jabs? "Might as well tuck in fer a clean set of cloth myself. As I said, let's swing by the ship, grab a few things. How far this play anyways?" He led her through the streets, once unfamiliar, now the back alley trace he'd taken almost every day just to get back to his room. How long had it been now, two months, going on three? Where did the time go?

"Yeh didn't seem all that disappointed." He'd snort before snapping the cigarette in half. Oops. Didn't see the light there, Zhavi. He played it off as if this were the actual story. "'Sides, judgin' by the way you never came back, I'd assume all was well." These two were clearly not on the same page. "Quick in, quick out." Dastardly wink, "Sounds fine with me. I'd suggest we swing by the ship, first. Have a couple o' things that'll make this easier." He'd take one last glance at her before walking ahead of her. It wasn't that he found any part of her aesthetically pleasing or attractive, it was just that he'd never seen her like this before. Clean, and approachable. Drunken runners or not. "C'mon, can tell me details on the way."'

His grip would linger for quite some time, and even when it lessened, it did so as if it were a dying man clinging to life; her life, at least. Inch by inch, his fingertips would drag down her neck, past her collarbone and eventually fall away from her body, but not before leaving a mark. Ruttin' scrag, she'd won this one and there was no dispute. Another place, another time, he'd get her back. "Grin fer as long as yeh can; next time I'll blacken those row o' teeth, too." He'd sneer as he push off the wall and swung around to her side. "Sight for sore eyes, aren't yeh? What'cher huntin'? A hot date?" He chuckles to himself before digging around inside his shirt. He'd withdraw a hand rolled smoke before patting his body down for the light. If she had it, he'd just destroy the cigarette tight then and there. To be duped AND needed for something so vital as a light? Yeah. Not happening.

Unlike her, this was actually a normalthing to do. Bathe. He may have grew up on the streets, and crawled through every gutter imaginable, but at the end of the day even if it were just a puddle of stagnate water, he'd still find the time to wipe the dirt from his face. That and he had a ship of his own, one with a tub in it, too! It was an expensive luxury, that was for sure. Despite having his own ship and private cabin, he rarely spent his time on the ship. The less time spent on his only treasure, the less likely it was to be targeted; by anyone and everyone. So he'd visit his room at the inn often, if he needed things like sleep, food or even privacy. And when not in the tavern, he was exploring the city with a few new agenda's to attend to. People to meet, faces to remember, some to kiss- others to break. Whores, rivals, merchants, little by little he'd stretch his roots. So to be taken by surprise like such, most would claim their heads were in the clouds, or they were taken by deep thought. Such a wasteful, and generic one might add, excuse. To put it simply, Zhavi was a ruttin' shadow among souls. She moved quick and she moved efficiently; too efficiently. She'd land beside him and take claim of his shirt, but not before he'd take claim of her throat. Held possessively, rather out of instinct or reaction, he'd glare with daggers of ire while his fight or flight instinct was held off by her familiarity. With the pistol left back on the ship, he'd not fill her with lead tonight. Looking down at the runner, he'd grind his teeth in the most disgusted of scowls; touche, ye ruttin' scab. It wasn't often he was caught with his back to the wall. He'd beat her kidneys in later for it.

"I'll be on the ship for a while. The men have seen ye before, they'll let you aboard." And with that, he'd follow her out which ever exit she took, and simply split in the opposite direction. Neither wanted to be around the other. There wasn't much else to do but split.

"I ain't meant t'be fun." He'd snort, clear his throat and hack a ball of phlegm across the room. He too, should really quit smoking; but he'd have to buy a bunch more boots and a ton more ammo if he quit. Fact. "You act as if you're a real chipper bunch'o fun yerself." He feels for his chest, fingers brush his gun. Oh. It wasn't a flask. "But if'n that's the case, then I guess I'm heading out now." And with that, he'd press his back against the barrel so he could stand back up. Too bad he nearly toppled the thing over as he did so. "Think I need to drown myself in a keg. Before I quit bein' fun."

Jager's expression was lost in the dark, it was a simple arch of the eyebrows- the look on his face curious. What was this? "Nothing?" He'd tsk in the dark; that was heard whether she cared to or not. "I'll leave when I need to. What's the matter? Can only open up when there are stairs around?" Whether she stayed or left, he'd remain just as cocky and dark as the night would let him.

He twisted around to look her dead in the eye, even if he couldn't see it. Her face was somewhere in that general area- he could see her outline just fine. His face read, are you ruttin' serious? "You argue with a lot.." Grin. "I remember though." He nestled that smoke right between his lips and took in one long drag. It released like a chimney. "What about him?" It was a him, right?

Solitude was his enemy; could they honestly share something, for once? Like a piece of radiation inside a lead box, he could keep his demon contained for longer, but not indefinite. These two were a lot alike in some ways, compete opposites in others. "The name rings a bell.. Refresh?" He'd take one long drag before holding it up to her pinched between his fingers. Habit. If he wanted, he could burn her crotch right about now. His piss was on fire, why shouldn't hers be? Probably already was.

Jager was a rock. It was as if he lacked emotion, instinct, rage.. guilt, fear? Torment. Sanity. Help. He'd sit there, for ten minutes,or ten hours; give him the substance to survive, he'd do it for ten weeks. This was a man that had been forced to confinement on solitary levels, he'd long ago chipped off a piece of his own sanity in return for keeping the rest. This was a man who could sink a ship with all those in it, if only to make a sick joke out of a woman claiming to throw the weight of her sickly body around him. This was the man to slice open the spine of a yellow jack without hesitation or remorse; this was a man who had just got done stomping the brain matter of a kid out in pure aggitation for a job poorly done. And Zhavi had the audacity to stick herself in a dark room alone with him? From a distance, he'd have had a strange attraction to something as ludicrous as her, that was, if she weren't such a royal pain in his ass. “Since I left you last at the inn.” Words tore from his lips like the hard edge of a piece of construction paper. Crisp, thin; cut. Rourk had a sick way of getting into one's head; punishment was always done on a psychological level, often times using physical elements or not. It didn't matter; if heaven and hell were real, this man was the Devil. For six weeks, he had been thrown into a dingy and left afloat the vast ocean. Six weeks in the sun could fry a few circuits beyond repair. The wires were always simple to hide behind new casing. Zhavi was out of her league if she thought she could go toe to toe with this man here. A fight, this city, her savvy street guile.. sure; here. No.

If she wanted to put her boot against his face, he'd have to remind her just where- and whose -face his boot had just been on. Still, there was a reason he planted himself up against that barrel, and it was to incite that feeling perfectly. Reaction was an entirely different key, however. With a casual shrug, he'd cross his arms before looking up to blow his smoke her way; not on purpose, ironically. "Fine." That was all. Fine.