Zhavi

Oh yeah, I def use it for emotions when she's strongly feeling something -- but more than that. You know, like using it to point, or tap someone, or using it like people use their hands when they're really engrossed in a topic of discussion. Using it to carry something light when the character's hands are full, that sort of thing. Typically for me, unless it's an emotional thing, it just hangs there dead, unmentioned, unless she's trying to hide the kink in it. Though I still don't use it often enough for emotions, really.

Yup, that's what I follow. In order to avoid metagaming, I use Zhi's bad habits (notably the smoking and snorting things >>) to lessen impact during rp -- unless I'm rping with someone I know doesn't mind. Being that they're cat people, I just quietly try not to think about the biology aspect. Except for the smell and strong legs (partially why I made her so adept at climbing) that the game mentions (and, since keepers are supposed to be nocturnal, I let her have great night vision), I rp Zhi as if she's just another person, with nothing else that screams 'cat'. It's one of those weird grey areas that will very probably never be resolved. My reaction to those tends to be to rp around them if I can at all help it. (unless we're talking setting, in which case I will forever mourn how incomplete Limsa feels and MAKE IT WORK, DAMMIT) I have often thought about the tail and how someone born with a tail would use it. I will shamefully admit I forget to rp it as an extension of Zhi's body pretty often -- but I imagine if I had another extremity I would be using it when I talked and moved around; it wouldn't just hang about doing nothing. Now if only I wasn't so forgetful...

Tasa reminded me of one of my favorite Lindybeige videos: Great thread, keep up the good work!

Zhi tossed the steel-and-flint up, and caught it coming down. She rolled her eyes. "No fancy tricks off yer crew, this round. Ye remember how t'run wi'out 'em?" Another tact. Yup, that was how she rolled. If one angle didn't work, try another. She'd start walking beside him, stretching her arms out behind her. The sneer she had pasted onto her face was, in most ways, hideous; it was recognizably her, as much as the kink in her tail. "Need t'lay down some . . .things. In th'right spot. T'be found in th'mornin' by certain . . . they don't matter. What does matter is that we'll be passin' through places where there'll be guards. More'n that, we'll be strollin' 'round th'personal rooms o' one o' Limsa's finest. He runs his own personal fleet o'drug runners an' mules. He wouldn't look too kindly on a couple o' scrags jes invitin' themselves in. Fancy?" She looked up at him, full blown mischief replacing the ugly looks she'd been throwing his way. One way to get Zhavi off your back? Hand her a challenge. Bitches love challenges.

The grin suffered a dip in luminosity. "I like me teeth," she said, echo to another meeting another lifetime ago. "Already had th'hot date." That was her ever-so-sweet rejoinder -- not that he'd believe her. Unaware of his nefarious schemes, she produced her battered steel and flint. Even going sober on the smokes for a record-breaking three days, she kept it on her. It was a talisman of some sort, in all likelihood. Zhavi might act tough, but she'd her share of touchstones and superstitions. She just never shared them. Ever. "In an' out. Gang territory. Need help on th'lookout, an' th'breakin. Needs t'be smooth. Can't get caught." It was the sort of trick a certain lalafell would have been her first choice at. The certain lalafell was dead. Whoops. "Ye wi' me, or are ye gonna disappoint me? Like last time?" What last time she was referring to, well, that was open for debate. Judging by the way her smile had gone nasty, she was trying to work her way back under his skin. Call it insecurity for the last time he'd, oh, scared the shit out of her. She was probably trying to reassure herself. Yeah. That was it.

Maybe it was only because of that familiarity that Zhi's grin stayed in place. But it was a close one; she didn't like being grabbed by the throat. Not that anyone did. Unless it was -- but that was a whole other game, and not one she'd in mind. She was playing dangerous anyways by dropping in on him so suddenly, but she'd always played the odds like she had a death wish. Who knew, maybe she did. For now, there was some small smug victory in her smile, aggression in her stance and body language. "Fair winds, sweetin'." She let go of his shirt, reached up to pat his cheek. Was she gloating? Oh yeah, she was gloating. There was a certain personal taunt in the way she stared up at him. "We're huntin' t'night. Little huntin' delivery birds." She dropped her hand to the round message canister secured at her hip, kept stable by a second belt on her thigh. She was, for the first time in a long time, dressed like a runner who meant business, as opposed to her typical lackadaisical grunginess. She still wanted a smoke like no one's business, though. Still planned to reward herself with one, once all was done.

Zhi laughed. If it was just a little too wild and enthusiastic for what the small joke was worth, well, it could be put down to stress. But what could she do? Her job required her to bandy words with a funny man who, on any other occasion, could have been someone she used as a steady drinking or gambling partner. Her job also required her to haul ass to get other things done. She couldn't have both. She still tried. "I'll drink t'that," she said, nodding as the lass reappeared with two steaming bowls. It was impressive that they were steaming, considering the heat in the restaurant. Zhi wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, almost groaning in anticipation as the wench delivered the bowls and went back behind the bar to pull them their drinks. She seemed to have latched onto Styrm as being willing to part with a few extra coins for an extra show; whether or not that was her intent, she leaned over as she set down the drinks. Her cleavage would be on Styrm's eye level. Zhi lifted her mug to the wench, who asked "Anythin' else?" in a sultry purr. Aimed towards Styrm, of course.

The lass gave a little dip, her smile deepening enough to reveal dimples, and then she was off and away into the depths of the kitchen. Zhi watched her go. "Her tits're pretty broad." She didn't mean to say it, really. It just sort of slipped out. "So's her ass." Okay, maybe that one was on purpose. Just a little bit.

"We," Zhi said, sharing her grin between Styrm and the wench. "Little bit o'heat never scared me." She earned herself a brief glance, and a flicker of uncertainty. But then the wench was back to simpering towards Styrm. "An' anythin' t'keep yer mouth. . .wet?" Zhi was patting her hand on the bar in lieu of the laughter that wanted to spill out. The wench's chest -- that which was visible -- was perspiring. It glistened in the light spilling in from the doorway. It was only through a massive amount of effort that Zhi kept her ribald suggestions to herself, though she gave Styrm a very pained look.

The wench chuckled; it wasn't a dainty laugh. It suited the Reach, and Three Tales. Hells, if honesty was involved, you could also say it would have suited Three Tails, for various reasons that almost certainly had to do with the saucy way she cocked her hips and winked at Styrm. Zhi was smirking. She didn't reply to Styrm, though she'd waggle her eyebrows at him if he looked her way. "What's good?" Zhi asked the wench, drumming her fingers on the bar. Zhavi did not look like she had money to satisfy any appetite. She was eyed and dismissed -- Styrm would receive the lion's share of service coddling. Didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the show. The wench had tucked her free hand across her body and around her waist, her upper arm pressing against the side of her bosom and causing her décolletage to become much more impressive. "Bouillabaisse is on t'night, if ye can take th'heat." She was all but batting her eyelashes at Styrm. Zhi covered her snicker with a ghastly sort of snort. She cleared her throat. Pasted on an innocent smile.

It was dangerous to go alone. Moreso than usual. But Zhavi didn't have anyone old or wise to hand her something to take along with her. What she had was her wits and a few layers of bruises to remind her that stupidity had a price. The moon was almost full. It had been raining, lately. The streets were glistening in the scant light that came from the sky. Clouds covered most of it, though the moon had found a hole through which to peek. Zhi avoided the puddles, hands in her pockets, and avoided the guttersnipes hanging out in doorways. They made suggestions to her as she passed. She'd grin, and shrug, and keep walking. Just another night, right? Just another walk through the darkness, fear on her tail. She'd fecked up her own take. She'd allowed herself to be watched. She hadn't noticed. That got runners killed. She skipped over a thin trickle of brackish water on its way over the edge of the spire she was on, and smoothed her hands through her hair. Too much was on the line for her to feck another take. The city was always hungry for death. She'd come close. Close enough to do something about it. For the first time in two years, five moons, and twenty suns, Zhavi Streetrunner had bathed. It hadn't been one of her typical sluice-and-scoots. It wasn't even the lavender soap escapades that had marked her meetings with the Cap'n. She had scrubbed, for nigh on an hour, and rinsed several times in a proper bath. She'd bought and used dust for her lice. She'd been clean for the first time in a long time. Then, carefully, she'd scented herself. Not with any feminine -- or even masculine -- perfume, but with the smell of the city. Her own body odor had been scoured away. All that was left was the city. She'd dressed in muted colors, a blend of pale and dark. All of her clothing was tight to her body. The city belonged to her, and no one was going to take that away from her. Not Galine. Not Raz. Not Melkire. Not Xydane. Not Jager. No one. She slipped past another group of late night rapscallions, and ghosted up a wall. It was time to play fetch for Galine, time to finish up her gods-damned favor. She wasn't going alone. Jager was found, and Zhavi carefully tailed him until he was in a workable position. Until he was in the right spot for her to surprise him. Turnabout was fair play, after all. She dropped next to him, near silent, and if he wasn't fast enough she'd grab herself a fistful of his shirt and shove him up against the wall she'd dropped down from. Hard.

You people are too freakin' faaast. Don't worry Roen, I'm with you. The slowest wins the race! Or something. (once I get caught up on posts I will be doing the stalky stalky thing) Seriously though, some brilliant writing in here. Great job for organizing, Oscare.

I am very sorry to hear that, but a big welcome to Balmung all the same! Hit me up if you ever want to be engaged in criminal stuff in Limsa.

Ehhh, don't think the OP is kept updated anymore (first poster last logged in June), but I thought I would drop a line in here just in case newbies still browse through the thread. BECAUSE I LIKE HELPING, YAY. Server: Balmung Primary Linkshell: Limsa Lominsa Event Planning Characters: Zhavi Streetrunner Style of Roleplay: Heavy immersion, involved plots, strong character development, intrigue, criminal scum doing criminal things Strongest Skills: Brainstorming, coming up with fun romps to go on, one-on-one rps, helping people find rp.

It was rare for Jacel to do anything on his own. The days where he hotfooted it about on someone else's errands were long behind him; when he personally went somewhere, it generally meant one of two things: one, that he was bored and saw the chance for some sort of profit or entertainment; and two, that someone had royally stepped in it. Lale knew that Jacel expected someone to royally step in it. His directions had been clear, and veiled in his very typical cheerful gushing that did nothing to hide the very real threat underneath. Jacel was not what Lale considered to be a bad man. Given to tantrums? Yes. Given to harsh discipline? Yes. But not bad. All the same, everyone who served under him always got the sense of a string on the verge of snapping. Jacel was scary in a way that could not be defined -- there was no evidence that he should be considered a dangerous man, yet it was there all the same. No one ever disappointed him twice. Not if they could help it. There were always the rumors. Lale, contrarily, was not scary. Not in the least. It was why he was one of Jacel's favorite errand boys. Tall, gangly, pale -- he was the sort of elezen who stood out for all the wrong reasons. People, most people, noticed him, and dismissed him all in one smooth motion, usually with some variant of pity. Lale was not handsome. He was awkward. His nose was far too big for his face, his mouth too wide. He had a tendency to squint, which made him look the part of some or other beastkin. His one saving feature was his hands. They were a pianist's hands -- fingers slender and well shaped. The only time he could be considered charismatic was when he was playing. It was why he made an excellent choice for watching people. There was always a slightly befuddled air about him, as if he was almost, but not quite, lost. He was the sort people avoided going out of their way to help, because he looked as if once you gave him help he would cling endlessly -- and in a busy city like Limsa, no local wanted some gadabout clinging onto them while mewling for help. But he could blend when he needed to, could dress and change his mannerisms to belong. He was Jacel's chameleon. Resourceful. Quick-thinking. Well-trained. Jacel always liked his people well-trained. Some days Lale thought he considered them his pets. No matter. They'd their assignments. Jacel didn't always act immediately, but he was thorough. People had been sent to the entry points into the city. A few wandered. Lale was following Raz. Had been keeping tabs on Raz ever since that day in the Wench when certain individuals had arranged jobs. Zhavi was a person of interest to Galine for very specific reasons. Raz was a person of interest for entirely different reasons. It was coincidental that Raz had run into Zhi first -- but it was also a boon. Galine tended to have business with Abiga. Lale knew information about Raz was valuable. It was easy to be seen in Limsa Lominsa, but it wasn't easy to lose sight of someone in certain parts of the city; the necessity of bridges ensured that, at some point, people would be seen. He lost sight of Raz, kept ambling forward. He would find the other man again, would follow him down to whatever stinking warren he ended at. It was Lale's job not to screw up. Generally speaking, Lale almost never screwed up.

It was decided. Zhavi was going to gut Flit the first chance she got. Meanwhile, as Hitchins shifted her gaze to her, Zhi crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders. She did her best to look deflated, harmless, and chagrined. "Was a joke," she muttered, before the woman had a chance to offer challenge. Zhi wouldn't be able to back up her position as 'bodyguard' if violence was offered. "He ain't able t'take jokes. Ain't gonna cause trouble fer me boss." She held up her hands. "Sorry." She gave her best insincere grin to the woman. Hitchins was not well pleased. "You. Outside. Stay out o' th'Hander's yard from now on, or I'll see you off th'docks with my favorite pointy stick." She was, very pointedly, looking at Zhi. Well, shit. On the tail end of those words, she looked to the Cap'n. "You. What d'you want?" Zhi took a step backwards, not entirely sure what a bodyguard would do in such a situation. She left whether or not she should obey Hitchins and go outside up to the Cap'n's discretion. "Boss?"

Given Zhi's proclivities, this wasn't the best team ever. She'd more confidence in hirelings she hadn't worked with before, and while there was a certain reliability in Flit and Miza, this was about as much of an ass grab as she'd ever made. She looked between them. She held up a hand. "Can it. Here on out, ye listen t'me. Ye listen for me." The hardest stare she had to offer was -- ding ding ding! -- given to Axel. Not that it was much of a surprise. She could understand rebelling against authority, but when it came to jobs, certain rules had to be given precedence. "Flit, yer on patrol. Jes be like normal. But ye'll need t'give warning if patrol shifts'r somethin' changes. Miza, yer on close watch. Ye'll be outside th'buildin' we're liftin' from. Ye'll catch anythin' Flit doesn't. Stay as out o' sight as ye can. If yer seen, alarm'll be raised -- 'less ye silence 'em first. Either yer out o' sight, or they're down." She gave Miza a long look. "Axel, yer wi' me. We're lookin' fer certain papers marked wi' a Sciavonesca seal, an' another mark. I'll know what it looks like. We know which room, but we'll have t'do some diggin'. In an' out, fast as we can." They were so going to fail. "If ye understand don't go gawpin' at me like landed fish. Move."

((rewritten from in game rp)) Zhavi Streetrunner had made a mistake. She had known it to be a mistake when he'd approached her. Something was off in his posture, his bearing. It had taken her too many seconds to recognize it, and when she had he had cornered her. She knew what Xydane looked like when he was hunting. But he had never hunted her. She knew why. Without asking, she knew. She'd been found out. She was not innocent. Had never been innocent, not since she could remember. He had found that out. The specifics didn't matter. He had found out. He didn't speak until he'd backed her up, until she turned to run, until he'd taken her down more than once. Until he had her by the throat. "You... dare to take me as a fool?! You have no idea who the hell I am, do you?" He was angry. Maybe he was right to be angry. She did think him a fool. A volatile, naive fool. A dangerous fool. But she'd never been particularly good at not burning her fingers on the flames. She had no allies. No escape. No chance. She stared at him, wrapping her hands around the one that held her throat. "I do. . .what gotta. . .t'survive!" It hurt to talk. "Survive. . .hmph." Xydane let her go, and backhanded her. It always felt like a longer trip to the ground then it actually was. She hit the ground hard, collapsed there for a second regaining her breath. Then she started to push herself up onto her hands and knees. She had to escape. She had to get out of there. She started to crawl away. She was too slow. Xydane grabbed her by the collar and threw her back down. "You. . .disgust me. Your kind . . . disgusts me. Tell me, runner. . .what do you see when you look at me?" A crazed man. A fool. A dangerous enemy. Air whistled as she gasped, as she caught herself, skidded. Skin tore. Splinters dug in. She could work through the pain. Always had. She knew better than to look, knew better than to talk. Knew better -- knew nothing. "Job. A chance." She started to get up again. She could swim. She could swim away -- she just had to get away from him. Wasn't gonna happen. His foot landed behind her right knee, pinning her to the deck. He grabbed her by the neck, forced her head around. Forced her to look at him. "Do you know who I am? Do you know why I do what I am forced to do?" Her eyes were filled with fear, with hate, with a thousand conflicting emotions. The urge to rebel, to fight, had been burned away so many years ago. She knew when she was beaten. She knew when she was alone. She knew when she had to give in. To beg. It always twisted, deep down, in the places she would swear she didn't have. "No. I-I don't. Please," she spoke from between teeth clenched tight. "Please. Don't kill me." Her eyes burned, but she wouldn't cry. Not for some guttersnipe like him. "Answer my question, filth." "I said I don't know!" "Oh, you know the answer all to well. You're the one who used me, remember? You know exactly what I am." She swallowed, her fingers digging into the wood. Her head was reeling. She didn't know what to do. What was the right answer? What was the wrong? What was the one that would keep her alive? "Yer a. . .a killer." She knew there was a blade by her throat. When he had put it there, she couldn't say. She knew he was going to kill her. "I am a necessary evil," he said. His voice was cold. Dead. There was a whisper of noise as he withdrew the smaller blade and started to unsheathe his sword. She went still. Her mouth was unbearably dry. She was shaking. "Don't kill me," she whispered. He moved behind her. She didn't look. She tried to jerk away from his grip. She scrabbled at the ground, a small bleating noise escaping her. "Wait! Wait!" Her face was almost to the planking, her eyes squeezed shut. "I can help ye -- somethin' -- anythin' -- jes don't . . .don't!" "Necessary. . .evil." His voice was like silk. He brought the blade down. It slammed into the wood inches from her face. She jumped, squealed. "Do you feel fear, Kink?" Zhi went still again. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. "Yes." Her voice was naught but a breath of sound. "Fear is a strong weapon. Much more powerful than the best forged steel. You shall deliver your fear. You shall send it like a message. 'The Unrelenting' has shown you fear. Tell others of it. Spread it like a forest fire. 'The Unrelenting' is necessary evil. All who sin shall soon be descended by a bird of prey." She trembled. "Spread the word to both guards and criminals. Spread my name." She hated. "Double-cross me again... and your fear shall be the death of you. Now... crawl back to the dark hole whence you came from, Miqo'te." She would never bend to any one person ever again. No matter that she begged. No matter that she was beaten. No matter that she all but pressed her face to the boots of the person who'd almost killed her. No matter that, when it came down to it, she was always craven. She would not break. Xydane removed his foot from the back of her knee, wrenched his sword free from the wood. Just like that, he walked away into the city. It swallowed him up, just like it swallowed everyone. Zhavi stayed down for awhile, head bent, fists clenched. But she got up, eventually, as she always did. She always rebounded. She turned to look at the city that had taken him in. Her eyes were hard. Nothing was absolute, and nothing was forever. She gathered her humiliation, her fear, her hatred, her rage, and she squashed it down deep where no one would ever see it. There was work to be done.

Hi there, and welcome to the RPC! If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. People around here are pretty friendly, and generally always enthusiastic to help someone in need. May your rp be fruitful!

Hahaha, no shunning for WoW from me. Nothing wrong with finding a game and community you like -- I had some great times in WoW before it was finally time for me to move on. Here are Gilgamesh Linkshells; the Gilgamesh folks tend to not be as active on the RPC as the Balmung folks, so I would recommend paging through and finding people to talk to in game (or pm Zoetrooper, I've seen him posting in stuff and so know he's active (or she >>) ). I've heard that it pays to be active in talking to people to find the rp on Gilgamesh; it's less open-world than Balmung is. Still, persistence and proactive effort is key to getting involved in any community, so I wish you the best! Happy writing, and welcome to the RPC. (also pirates are win)

Pffff, don't pretend you aren't polite, Warren. Hi there! Warren gave you a whole host of links and things, and you seem to have already found Europa, so I'll leave it at that and give you a hearty welcome! Continue to reach out as you already have and you'll find a host of rp opportunities awaiting you. People here are pretty damn friendly, so sometimes all it takes is a few nudges and a pm or two. Welcome to the RPC, and may your stay be full of delicious and happy writing!

Their murmurs had woken her. “Reitz, not now,” her mam whispered. “C’mon. . .” he said, and Zhavi’s eyelids flickered. “Not while she’s here.” “Just be quiet. It’ll be fine.” “Reitz!” Zhi uncurled from where she’d slumped to the floor, her stomach cramping in hunger. She looked up, over to the bed, and saw their shapes under their blankets. She hated them both. She wouldn’t never forgive either of them, unless. . .unless her mam got rid of him. Yes, if her mam kicked him off and shooed him to the door, then everything could . . . Her mam was giggling. Zhi watched, a stony witness, as feminine protests and masculine reassurances drifted over from the moving blankets. She watched until she knew her mam was not going to get rid of the man, until she knew that her mam had betrayed her, and then she rolled over so she faced the wall. She flattened her ears and put her hands to them, but nothing was going to block out the noises. There would be no going back to sleep. Instead, she contemplated ways to make her mam sorry. Running away was at the top of the list. Mam wouldn't be giggling then, not when Zhi never came home. Zhi pictured in her mind the face her mam would make when she went out looking for her, when morning came and there was no Zhavi to boss around. Or would she be glad? With him around, would her mam have no more need for her? Would she laugh with him, and celebrate Zhi’s absence? Zhi was still. Maybe there was still time. Maybe he had just paid really, really well, and after this they could escape. Maybe her mam just needed Zhavi to be very, very good, and if everything went well they would never have to scrounge for money again. Zhi could be quiet. Zhi could be still. Zhi could be patient. She waited. Eventually, the sound of their voices changed. The movement changed. Zhi loosened her fingers from over her ears, stretching them to ease the cramping. It had felt like an eternity. But now things would be better. She waited a little longer, just to be sure, then she started moving. She propped herself up. She looked towards the center of the room, and saw him bending over their basin and yesterday’s leftover water. Water that Zhi had hauled. Protest was on the edge of her tongue as she pushed herself to her feet, but then — “Zhio.” Her mam’s voice. Love, acceptance, happiness. A balm. “What’s he doin’ here?” She couldn’t accept it. She was angry. Her mam had to choose, and it had to be now. Her mam was tall for a miqo’te woman. Tall, but with the same willowy build as any other. She was well-proportioned. Beautiful. Even standing there with her nightdress all wrinkled and askew, Zhi thought her mam was the most beautiful woman in the world. Zhi didn’t much look like her. She looked like her da, her mam had said, but never anything more than that. No matter how many times Zhi had asked. He didn’t look remotely good enough for her mam. No man did. No woman, either. All her mam needed was Zhi, and all Zhi needed was her mam. “Zhavi.” There was reproach in Mam’s voice. “That ain’t no way t’talk. Reitz,” and why had her voice gone all mushy and soft? “Would you be willing t’fetch us a morning meal?” “O’ course I would.” He swooped in on her mam, and kissed her. He kissed her. Zhi glared at him. When he noticed, he winked at her before leaving. Winked. At her. She transferred the glare to her mam. “Why ain’t ye kicked him out? He don’t belong here. He slept in me spot!” “’Scuse me? An’ who are you t’say who do and don’t belong here, young missy? You listen here —” “No!” Her mam’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a brat, missy. This is real good fer us. Now, you ain’t got no understanding of adult matters, but this is how — don’t you dare roll your eyes at me. Hey. Look at me.” Zhi folded her arms and scowled at the floor. In three steps — heard rather than seen — her mam had crossed the room to her and had gripped her chin in an iron vice. She pulled Zhi’s face up, and crouched before her. “You look at me.” “Ye smell nasty. Like him.” Zhi cringed away from the slap, but she didn't lift a hand to rub at her stinging cheek. She kept her arms tightly folded, even when her mam gave her a good shake. “I’m his woman now. Out o’ all the women he could’ve picked, he picked me. This’s a real good thing. Do you understand me, missy? This is good, an’ you ain’t gonna feck it by being a snotty little brat. Understand me?” “I don’t want him here. I don’t like him.” “I ain’t asking you t’like him. But you will treat him with respect.” “An’ who’s he then, t’be so special?” “He’s me cock bawd. He has money, an’ he’s real powerful. An’ if he likes me enough, we’ll be able t’get out o’ here.” “I don’t wanna move.” Her mam gave her another shake. “You’ll get used t’it soon enough. Don’t be a stupid brat. I’ll give you a walloping like you ain’t never had before if you so much as make him frown, gods help me.” Zhi’s response was as angry a glare as she could muster. “I hate ye.” For a moment, Zhi thought her mam was about to hit her again. Her mouth had tightened, ears back and eyes narrowed: even in anger, her mam was beautiful. Zhi thought so, and the thought hurt because her mam wasn’t her own anymore. Now she belonged to someone else, and she didn’t give two shits about Zhi. Yeah, that was real clear. It made Zhi furious. The anger that had been in her last night, the stuff that she didn’t know what to do with, rose up in her stomach until it clogged her throat and made her dizzy. She wanted to scream, but all she could do was stuff her fists under her armpits and glare, her eyes too narrowed and watery to really see much. But she knew her mam was still beautiful. She still hated her. Maybe her mam had felt the same way, about her, all this time. Maybe this was just a convenient way to get rid of Zhi. Maybe. “You listen to me,” Mam said, and her tone had gone all soft and hard. “I don’t care what you think, and I don’t care what you feel. You’ll do as I tell you, and you’ll behave proper. This is good fer us. Look at me. I know you don’t like it. Tough shit. Life ain’t about pleasing you all the time. This is what’s best. You’ll pick a new place t’sleep — this corner, if you want — and you’ll be nice t’Reitz. You’ll keep quiet and out o’ his way. Understand me?” Zhi mumbled something under her breath. Her mam’s eyes narrowed. “What’d you say?” Zhi glared, and stuck out her tongue. “What. Did. You. Say?” “Yer a stupid whore!” Zhi broke free and ran for the door, her mam hollering after her. She didn’t eat with them, that day. Or the next several days. She hardly came home at all, only stopping by to sleep, to see if he’d left, to occasionally swipe the food her mam left out for her. She didn’t speak to them. The few times she ran into Reitz, he’d smile at her. It seemed to Zhi that his smile was one of triumph, of cruelty, and some slick oiliness that she had no real words for. It made her cringe away from him. Even wanting to defy her mam, she didn’t speak out against him or try to annoy him. There was something in her that broke every time he stared at her, or gestured her away to the corner. It turned her craven, made her slink about like she weren’t nothing. But her mam was true to her words. In a few weeks, they left the crummy little room they’d lived in ever since Zhi could remember. Though no one said as much, it was Reitz’s personal home that they moved into. She knew because she could smell him overlaying everything, over the smell of other men and women, sex and drugs. Even so, even despite how much she hated him, it was like a palace to her. Four rooms. One was just for eating, one was for his work, one was his room, and one was for her and her mam. Though her mam didn’t sleep with her. Everything was screwed up. The night no longer belonged to her. Proper people, Reitz had told her the first day they stayed in his home, sleep during the night and are awake during the day. It didn’t matter how Zhi tried to tell him that the sun hurt her eyes and scalded her skin, that she was sleepy when it was daylight out, and that she was not tired at all during the night. He told her that if they were living with him, she’d have to follow the rules and keep out of his way, out of his sight. He wasn’t going to have her laying about during the day when he had business to do. Business, like he didn’t trade in whores. Whatever. She earned bruises when she tried to defy him. Her mam always took his side. She was alone. The old house, with its leaks and its cold, its sole room and its bugs — the hunger that sometimes clawed at her belly for days when her mam didn’t make enough — she missed it. She missed it like she hadn’t missed anything before in her life, like she was sure she would never miss again. Because at least then she’d her mam. At least then her mam had been hers, and in the morning she would crawl into their sleeping mats with her, and her mam would hug her and stroke her hair. When they woke in the afternoon her mam would brush it, and tell Zhi dirty stories about the men and women she met plying her trade. Maybe they were hungry, maybe Zhi had to haul water every day, and maybe their baths were always cold, but . . . he hadn’t been around. They hadn’t needed anyone but each other. Zhi didn’t count gil any more. She never saw any, not unless she stole it. Defeat settled in on her. A moon had passed the day she came back to the place she lived and smelled alcohol. That wasn’t so new, because Reitz liked to drink, same as most folk what lived in lowtown. What was new was the smell of blood. For a moment, Zhi stood in the doorway, one hand on the handle and the other on the doorframe. Her mouth was hanging open. Air was gulped in long, shrill breaths, through her nose and mouth. She was scenting. She could smell Reitz’s blood. Worse than that, she could smell — “Mam!” All of her anger was forgotten. The door was left banging against the wall in her wake as she darted through the house, following the smell to his office. It didn’t take her long. For all it had four rooms, the house was not large. Even so, the door was shut, and locked. Zhi threw herself against it, nails scratching at the wood. She was screeching the same word over, and over, and over. Someone was snarling at her to shut up, but when she didn’t there were steps. Three steps. Then there was a noise on the other side. The door flew open. Zhi was thrown back a few steps. She almost fell. She could see inside. Glass, blood, overturned chair, loose papers, and a table met her stare. Legs stuck out from behind the table. Still. They were very still. The feet were bare, and the toenails had been lacquered. But she couldn’t see any more, not with the legs standing in the doorway. She looked up, and up, and saw Reitz’s face, smelled him. His eyes were blank, empty. His mouth was a dark smear. Angry. He was angry. There was a bottle clutched in his hand, but the bottom was gone; it had been broken off. Alcohol and blood. Shrieking, she dove forward between his legs. She stepped on glass. She didn’t even feel it. She slipped on blood. She didn’t even notice. All that mattered were those two legs, the stillness, and the blood that filled up her nose and told her that her mam was hurt. She could hear him bellowing behind her, could all but feel him behind her — but she had reached the body. The body. She touched it. There was so much blood. She was screaming. “Zhio?” He had her. He had grabbed the back of her neck. Past him, past the body, past the glass and debris, there was someone in the doorway. Someone with a bandaged hand. Someone who looked like her mam. A miqo’te woman was on the ground. She was dead. Not her mam. Not her mam. She crashed against the wall, his hand letting her go so she bounced and fell. A new voice had joined in the screaming. The only one that mattered. It didn’t mean anything that Zhi’s vision was going blurry, that she was dazed and that her face had fallen into the glass and blood. Mam was alive. Mam was okay. The boot that hit her in the shoulder did matter. But it mattered in a different way, a more primal way, one that got her hands under her and her legs kicking so she was propelled away from the second kick, the one that caught her in the hip and sent her sprawling again. She was looking back, watching for the next blow, and she saw her mam reaching for Reitz, saw the way her eyes had gone wide, the way her mouth stretched as she yelled, pleaded, begged. But he was drunk. Angry drunk. A woman was dead. When he looked at Zhi, it was like everything inside of her turned into water. She quivered under that stare. Even when he’d thrown off her mam, even when he came towards her, there was nothing in her but fear. All of her hate, all of her fury, all of her idle daydreams to hurt him the way he did her mam, the way he left bruises and harsh words behind him — it all vanished. All that was left was the cringing, craven fear that pushed her to run away from him, to keep running forever. He was on her. Her eyes closed. Everything was confusion. Everything was pain. Everything was fear. Her eyes opened. The doorway loomed in front of her. She reached for it. Her eyes closed. Now her mam would see that he wasn’t any good. After this, if they survived, they would leave. Things would change. They would go back to how they used to be. Opened. Her mam was pulling at him, teeth bared and voice shrill. She saw his fist. It had a ring on it, on his middle finger. Closed. Her nose was on fire. Opened. He had her mam by the hair. Closed. It was the last thing she saw. Nothing changed.

I WILL THROW YOU FOR A LOOP. Severn from Michelle Sagara's (Michelle West's pseudonym and a totally different writing style) Chronicles of Elantra. He lost a few very important people to him early on in life, and it echoes every move he makes. He's a very deadly man, but he always tries to do what's right, in his own way, even if it means treading some morally questionable ground. He is fierce when protecting those who are important to him, scary when someone pisses him off, and loyal to a fault to those who have earned his friendship. He is patient, can have a cutting sense of humor, and always makes the best of a bad situation. Plus he can be given to quiet death glares.

Zhi tumbled off the barrel, landed on her feet. She moved past him. "A'right. Ye have need of me, ye come an' find me." Because she had no intention of staying in his presence any longer than she needed to. Not while he was in that mood.

And now he thought himself funny, did he? "'Cause yer so --" Her ire was cut off as she remembered the gun, the bullet, the boy, his boot. She raked a hand through her hair, pulling her legs up so she could better control the urge to kick him. Her hair was all in her face. Her lips were empty without a bottle, a smoke, something to keep them occupied. "Yer not as fun when ye ain't been drinkin'. Scales, sometimes ye ain't even fun then."