Jager

Jager wailed on her for as long as he could. With each feeble grasp, he swung wider and higher, hoping she wouldn't win the pillow back. It was inevitable, but she would, and when he felt her tugging it didn't take much for him to relinquish his own grip. "Get. Out. Get. Out. Why can't you let me have just this one thing tonight!" He takes three steps away from her and puts his hips up against the window's ledge and sighs. Shoulders drop, ears fall forward, and his entire demeanor-- like him --sinks. He slides down so that he's sitting on his rear end, both legs are bent at the knees and left spread while the back of each wrist presses down on them. "Why tonight," he mutters to himself, hardly caring if she heard or not. "Listen, Z. I did my part, you need to step up soon and cover your half of this plan." He scratches his head again. Furiously.

The stood now with his back to the sea and his glare on Zhavi. His arms were crossed and his eyes narrowed. The drunken, stumbling, horny captain that she'd seen enter the room was long gone. A blue-balled, buzz-killed, libido robbed sailor remained. He'd not even answer her, he'd just stare. If looks could kill, she'd be splattered across the entire room in the blink of an eye. "Pick up your shit, you're leaving tonight." He grits his teeth and waits for another cocky remark. He silently begs for it. He yearns for the second she says anything that isn't 'ouch' or 'hiss' from moving the wrong way. She wouldn't even get that chance, honestly. He had reached for the pillow underneath her head and snatched it out from under her. It looked like some fancy waiter setting the table for an exquisite party, only this wasn't exquisite, or fancy. This was just Jager pissed at the cockblock making demands in his bed. He scratches his head, too. Seconds later, she is smashed with that same pillow. Again and again and again. Pillow fights were fun, cute and sometimes sexy... until a man steps in. "Get. The. Ruttin'. Hell. Out!" Half of it is frustration, half of it is held back, she was in bad enough shape as it was. He didn't care about that- he just cared about the job getting finished, and if he broke her completely, he could kiss this one goodbye.

*Smack!* Suddenly, he wasn't grinnin' so big anymore. Then again, suddenly the whore wasn't being held up, either. *Thunk* He'd dropped her almost the instant she had slapped him, more so out of shock than spite. But if he had the chance to do it all over again, he'd have thrown her out the damn window, instead. "Jager! She was far too busy trying to fix her cleavage rather than pick herself up off the wooden floor. He quickly steps in front of Leila and tries to give her a helping hand, but that too is smack away. "Don't touch me you ruttin' pig! What is she doing in here?" Acquaintances? "You're seriously aren't.. Oh. Oh my." Red in the face, lavish anger shifts into pitiful disgust with a touch of humility. Jager had abandoned her on the floor and made for the table with an almost empty bag of smokes when she tried to yell at him. Already with one hand up in the air, she'd shove it back against her face and push it away, it was as rude and disrespectful as he could be to anyone right now. "Z, beat it." Like that would happen. "Need the room." "Hah, to what? Go'en jack it yourself? You can go ruttin' stick yourself, you dog." Without much to it, she picked herself up off the floor, gave his business partner the dirtiest look, then stormed out past him. Jager didn't really seem to care if she was leaving. But then she just had to flip a coin at the poor whore. The fact that it plinked right off her forehead made this all the more unbelievable. Seriously, did that coin just.. "You little.." Up on her feet and baring both fist and fang, the whore was getting ready to rush poor defenseless Zhavi. Or at least, she was going to try. A loud yelp and a series of girlish shrieks was all that followed next. "Leave." That's all he told her as he drug her by her hair, so casually that it made him look all the more disgusting as a person. If this was how comfortably he could treat a woman, there was no telling just how little morals mattered to him. She kicked and clawed and cried her eyes out, and when she was given a rough shove out into the hallway, he'd just slam the door in her face. She kicked and screamed and pounded at the door like a child with a tantrum, but none of it did anything to change the captain's mind. All he seemed interested in doing was rolling a fresh cigarette before leaning up against the window, bottle in hand. "Told you to leave last night. Thanks."

There was drunken laughter staggering along the hallway leading to his room, the same room that Zhavi was staying in. She was more than capable of picking up and removing herself for the day, but he had suspected she would mooch for as long as possible. He had no one to blame but himself. Whatever, he'd be dealing with her in a second, whether he realized or not. If Zhavi were still in the room, she'd hear Jager stumbling as he walked, no doubt drunk again but this time with someone else. A woman, and judging by her squeaky voice and the way she practically cackled when she laughed, it had to be none other than Leila. He knew what she wanted; she knew what he wanted. The two did business on a whole new level, it made transitions with the banged up mi'quote in his room look like a joke. He fumbled with the key, he took another swig and eventually kicked the door open with the whore dangling from his neck while he held her in his arms. He might not have been as plastered as she was, but he was drunk enough to forget about Zahvi laying in his bed completely. "You still here?" He wore his 'oh shit' face, but hid it behind a drunken, shit-eating grin. He could feel Leila's grip tighten around his neck, and not in the good way, either.

There were too many things he could have said- there were too many things he wanted to say. In the end, he went with saying nothing, and slammed the door behind him. Somewhere in between her last mocking comment, he'd grab the bag of tobacco and stuffed it into his pocket along with both hands. Eyes were rolled, naturally, and when he reached the door, he simply let himself out. Yeah, sure- he was all out of pity, but she was all out of smokes, too. Damn shame. He'd check back in on her in a few hours, maybe. That was all dependent on just how long he'd be with Leila Johnson. The damn wench was gettin' spoiled, but so too was he.

Whatdid he want? Hell, what had he expected? Like the awkward quality time spent with a much hated in-law, he was forced to endure her ripe stench and awkward aftermath of beating her down. “So, how arethe kids? How is work? Did you talk to the home owners association about that dog pooping on your lawn again?” Yeah, it sounded alittle like that. 'Ever think of calling your own shots? How long you been doing this? Why do you stink?' Sure.It was something like that. Something. “Afterthis, you can get your own.” Both tobacco and booze were set on the table beside her bed, and his ass planted right beside them. He'd use it as a chair while putting his back once more to the woman so he could stare out into the dark horizon once more. He hadn't seen the lights on his ship for some time now. Days, almost a week. “Headingout after this, by the way.”

He'djust roll his eyes and tossed the bottle that had been set for her on the table, over to where she lay in the bed. “Should have aimed for that jaw, I'm thinkin'.” He glances back long enough to see where exactly the bottle lands. Hopefully on her ridiculously large head. He'd end the night right then if that could happen. “Iain't snivilin', either. Just makin' sure you're able to complete your side of the job.” He slams the door behind him, not even bothering to stick around and listen for another snarky comment. She got under his skin when she tried for the last word. Somewhere along the way, he'd swing outside to enjoy a fresh smoke of his own from a fresh new bag before heading back up. A part of him just wanted to keep it to himself. The other part just wanted to pelt it at her face and be done with her for the night. Hesure knew how to pick em'.

“Fuckoff, if you're seriously going to question my coin against my word.” That line worked wonders in irritating him, so much that he'd even roll his eyes as he returned to the window. She was downing his bottle; he'd take hers instead. “Besides, you smell ruttin' awful. Why?” It was a legit question, too. Why did she always smell like low tide. The fleas, the lice, the hygiene.. or lack of it. She was a street runner, he got it. He was a street runner, too- but he didn't smell or look anywhere as bad as she did. Shehad work, yet she lived in a hole- at least from what he'd seen. She had quick hands, yet she always wore ragged scraps that even a bum would be insulted to be seen in. And lastly, he was her contrast, the white to her black and she'd hadn't tried to dig on him since they met. “I'lltoss the room before the sun rises, by the way. I'm going down for another bottle.. want one?” There was that awkward pause as he glanced back with a forced glare. “I think this one will compensate for the ribs, yeah?” Asshole.

He'dhold it out no further than what he'd extended already. It was mostly because he wasn't looking, but if he had he'd have rolled his eyes and mocked her for needing to be babied this time around. Not that he could blame her, but he could take even more jabs; these to her ego. But his attention was scanning the coast, dark yellow eyes watched the row of lanterns sift in and out of darkness. That was his ship, Fortune's Dagger, drifting in and out of existence as it eluded any of Limsa's naval forces. “Iruttin' mean it, if you leave your fleas in my bed, I'm going to bruise those ribs again.” Joking, but his tone didn't express it. To anyone else, it would have came off as a dead serious threat. But to these two, it was casual banter. “A shame you don't bathe like a regular person. I'd offer you the bed on nights I weren't here.” He kept nothing valuable in here but his smokes and his drink. Give or take on the whores. Thistime he'd glance over his shoulder at her and he'd lean away from the window. The air was cold, wet.. salty; inside his room, stale, warm.. smelled like low tide. That was all thanks to her. “Here-” Bottle presented, “If you're interested in some extra work of my own, I could always take you aboard the ship. I run some grunt errands, but..” shrug, “Pay is Pay.”

He took a drag of the cigarette before blowing it out the window towards the evening sky. As he spoke, smoke rose from his lips and poured out his nostrils, "Heh.. forever. It always feels like that, doesn't it?" There was no sarcasm in his words, nor was there any attitude. "I've been snatching purses since as far back as I could remember, prolly the moment I exited me mother's womb." He took a mighty swill of whiskey and leaned in to hand her his bottle. He wasn't kind enough to get her own and uncork it for her; he was lazy, too- this was quicker. "How long you been with this employer? It's been too long for me with mine." But that was Rourk for you, he always had a way of owning someone for great periods of time. No debt was ever paid off with him, no matter how close he seemed to make it. "Ever think of sometimes just pickin' up and disappearing. Take what you know an try to run the show yourself?" He laughs and looks away from her then back to the ocean. "Ownin' a ship can put big ideas in your head, ya know that?" He was more or less rambling on at this point, slightly drunk. Where did his cigarette go- oh, hanging from his lips, right.

He crossed his arms and studied her for a few seconds, mostly that eye, before shaking his head with an amused snicker. Bottle in hand, he'd head for the only window in the room facing the city's port. "You're a trip." Simple as that. Sipping from his bottle, he'd sway lazily towards the latch that kept it locked and swung it open. It was a straight drop down to the waters below, a clean drop from what he'd studied; he'd not trust it, however. The idea was always there in the back of his head, should a situation dire enough warrant the the jump. "How long you been doing this, anyways?" He dug around for a stale cigarette of his own. It wouldn't be until he lit it, that he'd wrinkle his nose and glance back at her. These were stale.

He looked jaded in a strange way, almost annoyed. He knew it was a favor, but in the end it felt like part two to this god awful plan. He stared at her long and hard from the reflection in the mirror for a good minute before shrugging, "Fine." He stood a few inches above her, and given the placement it was strange to chis close to her. She stunk. She was dirty, and he felt an itch along his scalp. Lice Paranoia. Everything itches now. Always. "Are there anymore favors floating about? Might as well get them all out while I'm drinking." Drink.

"Toss her room? The hell are you talking about?" He stood up with a grunt, one he shouldn't been aloud to make given her state of being and walked towards her. He'd stand behind so that she could see him in the mirror. "Explain?"

He was using the chair to tip back in order to help him tip his bottle back. Air was traded for whiskey. He'd lean forward with a slow tip and when all four legs hit he'd roll into it and twist to eye her, "You serious? What do you even need right now? Besides a bed of ice.." Lame joke was lame. "If you need me to beat up any of your friends, too, I'm done for the night." He watched her curiously at the mirror though, seeing only half her face- the worst side, while she dabbed at the fresh blood. It was going to hurt so bad in the morning. He'd be impressed if she could get out of bed.

Hemet her eye to eye here, figuratively and quite literally. He realized the ground he tread on was dangerous enough, and given the result of his actions once today, he'd not bother fighting with her again. “Fine.” He'd take the rag, ball it up and toss it to her. And by tossing it to her, he honestly just threw it in her face, mostly gentle. “Clean yourself, there's a mirror on the wall.” That was that, if anything it made it a little more easier to brush off, her attitude and all. He spun the chair back around and pushed it back into the table before snatching one of the bottles from the crate. “Other one is yours, stale smokes, too.” He didn't care if they were stale or not, they were smoke-able. “Anyways,stay here if you need. I'll most likely find another bed for the night.” He wrinkles his nose at her, sniffing the air. “It's yours.” And with that he'd plop down on the edge of the table before ripping the work out with his teeth. Bottoms up.

“WellI guess Joz just happened to have bumpedinto a kind stranger, before meeting an even kindertarget.” He shrugged and ignored her protest. It was one thing to beat someone else' face in, be it man or woman, but another to do so without reason. There was no retaliation, there was no aggression, it was an unarmed target he was ordered to obliterate; obliterate he did, too. In a sick way, it almost felt a little too militaristic for him. He wasn't ordered to think, he was ordered to execute command. That's how Rourk put it, at least. “I'llroll some fresh ones in a bit, I think you more than earned a fresh bag of leaf, yeah?” It was hard for him to show sincerity, it wasn’t in his character. But he felt guilt, and he felt it washing away at his conscious like the tide wearing down the rock to a dangerous cliff. She was a business partner, not a friend; she was an acquaintance.. not a friend. Friendsdidn't beat each other down in one sided fights. But they sure did pick each other up out of that bloody pile, when it was all said and done. Thiswas ridiculous. “Youhave any idea where you're going to find this guy?” She might have told him. He might have ignored her.

Jagerwasn't gone long. A few minutes, just enough to build up a small box of supplies: rags, suture kit, a small jar of cream looking paste, few things in boxes and two bottles clinking together with each step he took. He heard his name just outside the door and he paused awkwardly in behind it. Knock, “Hey.” Why? “You alive?” He was joking, but had to look to make sure. “I swear if I find a single flea in that bed..” Said jokingly, also, but clearly not a joke. He dropped the box on the table and spun a chair around so he could sit beside the bed. “Sit up, you're bleeding everywhere-” Rag one was taken and her head was held dominantly. It was cupped just under her jaw and strong fingers held her demandingly instead of comfortingly. It was hard to actually look her in the eyes- well, eye; one was swelling shut. “This has to be your worst idea yet. You know that?” Of course she knew.

Jagerhadn't really noticed the time of night, nor the lack of traffic on the streets. He'd been so pressed to get her off them, he failed to realize there really wasn't any rush. At least, in terms of getting caught. But honestly, who exactly was he afraid of being caught by? This was the man who had stabbed a Yellow Jacket right in the spine without hesitation. This was the man who opened fire on a barge and sank it in the dark of the night. And to some, he was even the man who had been so bold as to bring a new game to a tavern full of drunken thugs. So just what exactly was he in a rush to avoid? His conscious? Pathetic. “Iwouldn't trust one of your whores if'n I'd gone dry for a week.” Heh. Even with a bloody smirk, she had time for snark-sarcasm. “And of course I don't have fleas.. Best keep yours to yourself, too. I'll smash them next.” The humor was grim between these two. It wasn't long, despite what Zahvi might think, before they were walking along the bridge towards the inn. He'd continue to take a majority of her weight from her, if only because she hardly had any to begin with. Still, when they made it inside he was quick about dismissing any raised brows and helped shuffle her up the stairs. “I'llkeep you here until your knight in shining armor fills his role, aye? Wait here, I'll be back.”

Hefelt her grab at his coat but thought nothing about it. He was mostly concerned with getting her off the street, and getting her that smoke. The cigarette was pressed to her bloody lips and a match pulled from a box. “Here-” He'd wipe her mouth with the back of his sleeve before shaking his head. “Let's go, off the streets.” With how he moved, he didn't seem to concerned with her well being, but the drive was there. “I'll even buy you the first round..” but there was no smirk, “but we've got to go.”

Itwasn't until she was a smear on the ground that his aggression stopped like a freight train that had torn a vehicle in two. He was panting, hunched over, his hair a mess and his breath ragged. He'd wipe a thin film of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand before standing up. This was a horrible idea indeed, what's worse was he went along with it, too. “Hey..” He'd fetch a hand rolled cigarette from a pocket near his chest, but wouldn't quite hand it to her yet. Something that moment had changed, and he'd not realize it until later. “C'mon,let's get you out of here-” One arm goes under her pit and the other hoists her up off the ground. He carries her like a wounded soldier, but if she's able to walk, let alone stand, he'll aim her in the direction of the inn. “You better pray he has a soft spot for women in distress.” His gut wrenched with the guilt of having just done this, but at the same time, the business aspect of his selfish mind told him to just shrug it off.

Jagerwas going to need to drink this one off, which was ironic. You'd think the woman getting her face smashed in would need the drink more than he. But for a man going against morals.. he was too deep to back out now. Obligation led his actions and guilt reminded him of exactly what he was doing. “You want me to kick you? You want me to kick-” and he drive the curve of his upper foot against her ribs, “-kick you!” Kick, Kick, Kick... stagger, stomp- Kick, Kick. His hair was thrown a bout, his clothes rustled and even his breath left ragged. Like an kid that owed him lunch money, Jager put the beat down on Zahvi without hesitation. Itwasn't log until he would stagger back a few steps to tally up the damage. “Get up. Talk to me, Z.” He was left with an uncomfortable feeling deep in his gut, one he'd register as weakness. Though, it was that weakness others would consider as.. worry, or concern and maybe even guilt. No, he couldn't feel guilt; this was business. She was a partner, not a friend. She asked for this, he delivered. “Getthe fuck up, Z.” He was yanking her by the scruff of her neck, his voice rough.

Onetwo three.. Left-Right-Up. He'd combo her once more, this time from left to right, right and back. He'd send her head backwards, and this time with a split lip.. at least, a punch that direct was sure to leave one. He'd grow silent, unusually so as he threw that rapid series of punches. He could see it in her eyes, he could see the glossed daze that left her unsteady. He'd never done something quite like this before; he'd put a few rambunctious women in their place (men included) but never did he rough one up without a fight back. He'd be lying if he said it didn't bother him. “Standup straight,” One, two.. one two three. Round three was quick, solid and brutal enough to leave anyone with lights out. Zahvi wasn't just anyone, and the fact she was still standing, (at least he hoped) was impressive none the less. His knuckles were starting to swell and two were split open; thing about a fight was, no matter if you came out victorious or not, everyone went home a loser in some sense. Two split knuckles and a morning of sore muscles await this sore brawler. He couldn't even imagine her night to come. “Z...Hey, talk to me.” Try as he may, the concern in his voice was evident; it was perhaps the first show of weakness (or maybe for once, concern) he'd shown her since meeting.

Jagerstood there watching her with the most complex of looks. A part of him felt ashamed, to beat up on a woman without the intent to fight back. A part of him felt trust.. in knowing she'd come to him for a task like this; that or she was just down right foolish. And even a part of him felt remorse, knowing damn well he'd regret this later on in the eve. Job or not, he had morals.. if even in low standards, they were morals none the less. “I'dnot wear that stupid grin of yours, aint nothing to be grinnin' about.” He said this as he took a few steps in with his fist balled at his right. “Hopefully he'll patch you up before you take that book, aye?” And with that he'd not say anything else. One, two.. three steps in and a violent snap punch was thrown from the left.. his left that is. If it connected, it would blast her jaw in the opposite direction while gritting his teeth to follow up with his left. One to the jaw one to the cheek. Bam. Bam. Whether or not they connected, and even if they did, connected hard- he'd step back. Withan almost drunken swagger, he'd stumble backwards while rubbing his fist. “How much more'n you need of this?”

He'dburst into wolfish laughter as he watched her roll right off the ledge. He'd want another bottle when this was over with- and perhaps another doxy to ease the tension for the night. Man sure did love his whores; no shame in it, too. He'd walk towards the edge and casually hopped down till he was in the dirt beside her. He'd start first by pacing, slowly to the left- pause, then the right. “Idoubt those things are worth anythin' anyways.” He was winding up his shoulder, loosening his muscles. “Besides, I have something else in mind. How you feelin' with that last of the bottle?” If she had a buzz, he'd not feel as guilty; guilt, yeah.. it was there. Not for the beating she was needin', but for the job in specific. Magic users, he too harbored a specific kind of hatred for their practice. “If'n you're good, then lift your fists.” He'd end his pace and turned it into a few steps backwards. He'd ball his fist and lift them up to his face, “Beatin' up a woman whose not fightin' back rubs me the wrong way. Watched me ol' mom crawl away left something behind.” Hehopped back and forth and threw a few shadow jabs, “What'cha say, Z? I can think of a few times when you've wanted to throw one at my gullet.” For example... all the time.

“Youknow.. A nice leather corset, maybe flash a little leg.. or even just shower for once-” he grinned, “I can think of other ways to get invited inside.” Swig. “But if you need me to hit you, I can do that.” He pulls both legs from over the cliff and hands her the bottle. “It's going to hurt me more than it'll hurt you, but you are a friend in need..” The sarcasm was laid on thick. Thing with Jager was, he had no problem hitting a woman. Throwing the first punch however, varied upon circumstance. “Drinkup. You're going to need it.”