Zhavi

Yeah. I'm a pretty calm person in most things (my mother once told me it was unhealthy how calm I am in arguments, heh) -- I don't tend to rage in video games, and even when I do get angry it comes and goes pretty quickly. Assholes on the road are the one thing that make me get unreasonably, vindictively wrathful. No matter how much I try to be understanding, once you start being unsafe YOU HAVE ALL THE RAGE. Though too, there's the opposite to that -- when the roads aren't icy, and Super Leet Manly Truck is going 30-40mph on a 55mph road. The roads aren't icy! GO! GO! GO! GO! aghgghhhgahghghghg. Or when someone going 40-50 gets in the passing lane and doesn't pass or slow down next to the person going 40-50 in the slow lane. IT'S JUST A LITTLE BIT OF COMMON COURTESY, C'MON.

People who cannot wait for me to turn, and instead have to jerk their lifted, dual wheel, kitted out pavement princess truck around me so they can continue speeding down the road, oftentimes endangering oncoming traffic (you choose to risk yourself, ain't none of my business, but seriously -- endangering other people is a jackass move). I mean, okay, when the road isn't on a turn and you can see that it's empty, that's fine. But seriously, I have seen way too many near collisions. FIVE SECONDS OF BRAKING, THAT'S IT.

Zhi tucked her chin and called out: "hear that? No more reason fer yer skulkin', old man. I've questions t'ask." Silence greeted her words, then a low chuckle. The Keeper who came out from the shadow of the alley was of advanced age -- unusual to see in this part of the city. He pushed a cart before him, and it was almost unnatural how quiet the thing was. It was packed with crates of various bric-a-brac and bundles of fabric that looked grey and featureless in the dim light. He had a lantern with him, hung over the edge of the cart, which he lit with a few flicks of the flint and steel he carried with him. He was stooped, and walked with such deliberate care and stiffness it could almost be assured his joints were swollen. "Holding court at me stall, are you?" His voice was low and rumbling, with that characteristic rasp some men gained with age. "Waitin'." There was no bite to the retort, only tiredness. Zhi looked from the miqo'te to the lalafell, and back. "This's Flit, an' this's Keto'to." He nodded as he began to unload his cart onto the various crates, arranging things to some internal compass.

He was saved her intent, and her warning. She looked at him, and satisfaction curled through her, so that she moved with lassitude as she dropped her hand from him and leaned back on her heels. He still had all of her attention, all of her focus. There was no time for much else in the way of emotion. The man had advanced upon her while in one of her spaces. Her safe bunk, no less. That was another thing she wouldn't forgive him any time soon. "Get to it, sweetin'." Her voice was coy, with only the barest edge of the heat that coiled spitting and surly within her. No one got to do that without her inviting it, first. Something about him -- either due to his natural barrier of sensuality, or his intuition -- seemed to take delight in pushing her to the edge. It was bothersome, but eventually it would likely end in him pulling weapons on her. How delightful.

The touch had been expected. She lifted the hand opposite his, reaching up and up to tangle it in his hair, if he let her. "If coin means so little t'ye, then ye'd best be makin' sure yer payin' me full worth." But for her hand, she was still. She was focused on him, leaning in, body taut and tense. In that moment, the little tells that surrounded her dissipated, taken in by the intent she had on him. The leer settled, finally, into a confident smirk.

Was it too much to hope that the lice that inhabited her bed had migrated onto him? Still, the smile reached her eyes, though maybe not for the reasons he'd have liked. "Yer serious 'bout notchin' yer belt, aren't ye?" She went up on her tippy-toes, staring at him hard, her smile turning to a leer. "Make no mistake, churl, I bed who I want t'bed. Read t'me, an' take half th'coin in that bag back wi' ye. I ain't no doxy, barterin' kisses an' sex. Take th' coin, an' buy yerself some sweet little whore t'cool yer loins." The leer twisted, her expression momentarily flickering to heat. Her fingers tapped along her thigh, the rhythm quick and irritated. Had he guessed? That would be most unfortunate.

"Fewer mistakes. Fewer wi' knowin' o' what it is I'm about on yer coin." Funny thing, that. Funnier words. It was one big joke, with her standing there stinking like sweat, and old blood, and the worst fish guts the ocean had belched up. With her looking like trash, all grimy, scarred and scrawny. It was a joke. She laughed at it, a cackle of noise that filled up the room. She looked up at him then, expression lazy and satisfied. Her knees had bent ever so slightly; she was ready to push away from the wall, away from him. It was unconscious, as was the way she straightened, -- steel entering her spine. He had challenged her pride.

She didn't believe him, but she smiled at him as if he'd offered her the very best compliment. It creeped her out that he knew her name. He'd been talking. He was ever so good at that. She leaned against a wall, looking down at him. "Stay awhile, lovely. Read it t'me, an' I'll burn it now." There was more confidence in the line of her body now, likely thanks to the job. There was more danger in the unknown, to her, than there was in the chance of some group or other who would have her killed should they find her snooping. That sort of risk, she was used to and comfortable with. But her personal space? That was an affront she wouldn't forgive him any time soon. That reality was hidden in the depths of her smile, in the way it altered the shape of her face and didn't quite reach her eyes. There were choices, and she'd made hers long ago.

Being able to have her aware of just about everything happening in Limsa Lominsa, with enough contacts to move anything anywhere and enough influence to be able to set assassins on someone's tail. It wouldn't be one moment, exactly, but a sliding line of them; each small action building up to that one potent sentence: "Oh, o'course I can see that done fer ye. . . . but what do I get out o' it, dovey?" Knowing that the other character knew that being in debt to her for a "favor" would be a Very Bad Idea. Ooooh, the fun! Why ya gotta be such a noob, zhavi? GOSH. as for actual moment of badassery? ummm... I guess when zhi finally stole the book from Lolo. #YOLO (zhi beating up hutarin would be a close second, but seiko kinda ..... took that moment away from zhi ;_; )

She resisted the urge to grind her teeth. In such a small space, with such a narrow exit, it was pointless to count. She could struggle, he'd still kill her. Zhavi Streetrunner was no fighter, for all she could stick a blade in someone's back as easy as anyone else. "Who else have ye asked, an' tol' ye no?" No insinuation this time. But there was thoughtfulness in her as she watched his face.

Solitaire jumped. He almost backed right up out of his chair. He had his answer. This was a man unused to dealing. This was a man who didn't know what, by all the seas, he was doing. The unease crawling up his back shaded into something different. "She goes by Kink, mostly. Has some other names -- but Kink's what she's known by. She's a streetrunner. Y'know. Takes jobs, gets infermation, gets things that others can't get. Sloppy though, y'ask me. She's independent, has a few regulars from what I heard, but mostly gets jobs through Yayabuko. Ain't much she won't do, long as it pays right an' don't get th'wrong sort o'folk pissed at her." He eyed the roe and said, very carefully, "I want me money afore I give ye her haunts."

Zhi raised an eyebrow, eyes flickering away from the alley for a heartbeat to look down at him before she resumed her vigil. "I ain't got no need fer men what break at th'first sign o' heat. Gettin' wound like a bitch wi' a litter ain't never solved naught, Flit. Ye weren't followed an' I ain't 'bout t'sit here bitin' at me nails wi' ye. Now settle yer ass down, understand?"

It wasn't like him. Oh, the words were him, easily enough. His lies were outrageous, and obvious, and often used as a distraction; that he was admitting to it was something new between them. However, it served as a secondary distraction, pulling her attention away from what he was doing. What was he doing? It was a game. It was always a game with him. She just couldn't quite tell why. Why he'd sought her out in her own, secret, personal space. Why he'd striven to put her off her feet from the start, to make her feel the part of a doxy in her own home, to tip her to the side and then become supplicant, and needy. Had he truly been needy, would he have approached her inside her room, when he knew it would only make her angry? Her eyes narrowed fractionally. She lifted her chin, unmoving, weight slowly shifting from foot to foot. "Who've ye been talkin' to, honey-pot, what tweaked yer whiskers an' tol' ye no?"

The only character you have full control over is your own. The second you start feeling negative emotions over the actions of other characters, take a step back. => if they're doing something you feel is breaking your immersion or fun, talk to them. => if they're doing something that is making you uncomfortable, talk to them. => if you cannot resolve the issues, gently disentangle yourself from the rp. The second you start repeatedly and frequently trying to convince someone to do something with their character that they have told you they don't want to do, take a step back. You are way too invested, and need to separate your emotions from the rp. => Try your damndest not to hold other peoples' choices with their characters against them. Even if you feel they are breaking [insert unspoken social rule or bit of rp etiquette or setting rule here], the only character you have full control over is your own. Direct the rp where you need to, but do not assume you'll be able to fully control it. Sometimes even the best laid plans get sidetracked. It isn't personal. Be polite. Everyone is human. Even you. Try not to get so caught up in what you want that you forget that you're writing with other creative people who have their own wants and feelings. RP is social. RP is not dictated. RP is collaborative. Players are not their characters. . . .however, characters might have a specific purpose for specific intentions on the player's part. Always be aware of this. Always take care. Protect yourself where you need to, but try not to let it affect the rp unless something crosses one of your personal boundaries (in which case . . .politely disentangle yourself from the rp). Be aware of your own feelings. If the rp is making you depressed or anxious, that's IC/OOC crossover too, just of a different kind. Take a break if you need to; remember that rp is supposed to be fun.

She didn't like it. Zhi stilled, stood there for a moment with her back to him. She couldn't control her expression right then, and her tail moved for her. Back and forth, back and forth: just the tip. She didn't like the way the bag of coin sounded. Head turning, she looked back at him, a congenial, sassy little smile pulling her lips to one side. She didn't like the way his voice sounded. Putting all of her weight on her left foot, she slowly spun around to face him, giving him a slow up-and-down appraisal. She didn't like the way he looked. Yet, for all of that, the tension was bleeding from her as she stood there, arms folded, showing him her confidence while her uncertainty bled to her extremities. The way her fingers moved, the way she placed her feet, the way her ears twitched: microscopic tells, all. Tells all the same. "Ye have me attention."

"'Ye'll be gettin' it,' says th'sailor t'the whore." Solitaire winked. "I ain't workin' fer naught, an' if ye think t'break me bones fer payment, I'll see that no runner'll give ye what yer wantin'. None o' us work fer free." Solitaire was still smiling. His heart was in his throat, too, but he was getting pissed. He was too respected in lowtown for this gadder to come around slinging his weight like he was some bruiser. Who was the man, anyways?

I don't know if I should congratulate or offer pity pats. Either way, what a fine few people that have been selected!

"Ye that pathetic?" Her voice was amused, in a cold, cruel way. She still didn't look at him.

While there may have been a few that rejected this character for their outward appearance, I'm actually going to say that it was more likely that a character such as this simply isn't pleasant to be around in the slightest. A lot of roleplayers are a. female and/or b. fall somewhere in the LGBT spectrum and thus get enough of this regressive crap in real life to not want it in their game. Not saying everything has to always be sunshine and rainbows, but some things hit too close for home at times. Given the community, one that I had been in and around for ten years, I'm gonna say it wasn't that. The way that community is, there is a certain pressure to have a beautiful, strong character. There is a subtext that your character needs to be both powerful and attractive, and conventionally strong in that 'beautiful control' sort of way, where problems that arise are due to romantic drama and fights over territory. Plus, too, I like to think that I am sensitive enough to be able to write it in a way where it is not overtly offensive -- and while obviously not everyone does want to rp with characters that push certain boundaries, the type and style of clique that that particular community perpetuates is the sort that prefers familiarity (beautiful characters who are elegant, powerful, and romantically available) over anything strange or outside of the box. It's the type of community where peoples' characters get together, and then there are ooc hissy fits when the male character does something the female character doesn't like. That sort of thing. So I hear you, and yeah, her personality could have been some of it, but that was definitely not all of it.

First, you're gonna need people to rp with. You can go about this in three ways: 1) Go to places where rpers tend to linger and hop into rp (either just start rping, or send a quick 'mind if I join?' pm to someone you see rping). A great place for this is Ul'dah -- it's easy to find people rping there, though the other cities also see their fair share of rp. 2) Talk to people oocly to set up rp ahead of time. This is my preferred method, though everyone is different. You can either talk to people here in pms, or try messaging people in game to set something up. Generally speaking, I just let people know I'm interested in their character and writing and would love to rp with them. People in this community tend to be kind and pretty willing to try out rp with a stranger so long as you're polite. If you are arranging rp ahead of time, make sure you understand the differences in time zones! Alternatively, you can always do forum rp here. 3) Join a FC or LS and utilize those connections to get into rp. Do note that, as with anything, ymmv. Some people have terrible results with option 3, while others absolutelyfuckinglove the connections and rp they've gotten with their LS or FC. Some people get super stressed at the thought of reaching out to someone else ala option 2, while others like me thrive on it. Some people get frustrated with the rp they find using option 1, while others swear by it. The lesson to take from that is to keep trying, be patient, and try to remember that rp is a social activity, and on some level you're gonna have to put yourself out there. Be kind to yourself, and patient with yourself most of all. <3

The end of her tail jerked to the side as if it had been touched. It stilled. Tendons on the back of her right hand, her dominant hand, popped out as she stopped the hand from closing into a fist. Barely. The left corner of her mouth deepened, and a dimple appeared as she moved yet closer to him, bent over him, one hand reaching out towards him. . .and then behind him. She plucked free a pouch of something from a shallow recession in the wall, and tucked it away into the loose shirt she wore. No odd shapes under her thin clothing, and she stood as tall and balanced as if she was in top shape. Or, at least, as much in good shape as she ever got. There were circles under her eyes, and fatigue shadowed her as it always did. "Ye've never been fun enough fer me, fancy?" She turned away from him, presented him with her back. Fuck off, it said, between the lines where her pride nestled all sharp and prickly as ever. "Always too much o' yer lyin'." Not that she had anything against lying. She turned to go. "I've things t'do." Proof of that right there. It was dawn, outside. Time for all good Keepers to be abed. But then again, Zhi'd never really been much of a good Keeper.

"Yeah." Her tone was non-committal, her expression verging on pleasant. She folded her arms and kept staring down the alley, waiting.

Zhavi's right ear -- closest to Flit -- turned his way. But she was looking the other way, into the shadowed depths of the alley. She scuffed the toe of her shoe against a broken, rotting piece of wood. "Who'd buy it?" Her tone was scornful. "He should be here soon. He's a ragpicker, Keto'to is, an' he only sets up at night. Proper Keeper, even in a city like this." Her scorn was for the daytrippers, and the stranglehold they had over regular business hours. "He sells an' trades, an' it ain't all th'sorts o'things what pass 'twixt hands, fancy?"

I once had a character who was from a culture with very strict gender roles. Due to a choice she'd made, she'd become something of an outcast, and was stripped of her gender (I had a word for it, in a cultural sense it pretty much just meant that making babies with her was a huge no no), so she left to go wandering. But she kept those ideas, and had very rigid thoughts about what women should do (namely staying home and defending home and children and raising the children), and what men should do, and when sex should happen and when it shouldn't. Finding people who wanted to rp with her was a very difficult task. She was short, ugly, stubborn, and prideful (any conversation with her would include the word 'honor' more than once), and it was interesting how some people who tended to stick to beautiful, elegant, sexy characters and interactions would not only avoid her, but me, as well, on an ooc level. But then, too, there was a guy on that site I rped with who had a similar experience -- the sort of rp culture was that most female characters were encouraged to be capable in some manner, but they should also be damsels in distress during rp conflicts. He decided to make a capable female character who did not find herself in the damsel in distress role, and similarly to me found himself quickly thrust to the outskirts of rp and quasi-shunned on an ooc level. As he didn't directly state he was a man, people assumed him to also be a witty, blunt, and opinionated woman -- and from what he told me the reactions were almost universally negative, from male and female rpers alike. Crazy, innit?

And they are terrifying. Welcome to Balmung! Stay safe out there!