Zhavi

Spanish/sephardic music is food for writing, sometimes.

Ruru! AKA Flit. Rock from Black Lagoon -- normal(ish) life . . .CONGRATULATIONS, NOW YOU'RE A CRIMINAL. Coupled with just a dash of Piemur's temperament from Anne McCaffrey's Dragondrums. He's a little shit with a heart of gold, and Ruru is too. >; D

"I am here, my dearest lady!" Jacel opened his arms wide as he strode into Galine's office. Such a tacky thing. The fabrics that had been used were far too heavy. Her furniture was too austere to weather the brocades and velvets, the colors too deep for the sense of power he knew she wanted to convey. Really, he wanted to take her decorator to task. The man was a little fuss of a thing, easily overpowered, but the last time he'd attempted to put things to rights, Galine had had such a tiffle over it. Jacel put his hand to his heart and bowed as low as his bulk allowed. He was a man of exquisite tastes and robust appetites. He made it a point to never say no to himself -- why should he, when he had access to all sorts of fun debauchery? "I trust the Season sees you well?" Galine spoke after a brief pause. No doubt she was admiring his brilliant new doublet. It had set him back a few thousand gil, but it had been well worth the price. Jacel straightened, twirling his cane with a flourish. Everything he did he did with a flourish. It was part of his considerable charm. "We have almost reached its end with naught but accolades and encores showering us. But then again, success always has followed me about like a stray puppy. Ahh, and you will be pleased to hear that our shy little flower has debuted. Kilele." He spoke the name only after seeing her blank smile. "Indeed. How did she fare?" "Admirably," Jacel gushed, leaning on his cane. "You should have seen their reaction to her bashful curtsy once she had finished her scherzo. Simply marvelous." Galine nodded regally. She watched him as carefully as he watched her. Though he presumed he presented the prettier picture of the two. She was so taken with somber colors. The cuts of her clothing always followed fashion, but she never deigned to mold colors to what the current trends were. Some days he wondered if she wore clothing reminiscent of the casket on purpose -- but alas, it was not her business to attend to the nobility. That was his. "As compelling a distraction as your news always is, I have called upon you for another reason altogether." Ahh, and now something boring, no doubt. Limsa Lominsa was a fine city, even for a bard such as he who had retired from Ul'dah's grand stages years prior. If Ul'dah was an aged, complex wine, Limsa Lominsa was something light, fruity, and designed to get you smashing drunk. Jacel had his troupe -- it formed Galine's legitimate front -- and that was all he needed from the city. The cheap scheming that went on under the skirts of its wenches and through the cannons of its pirates was something he only partook of on very rare occasions. It bored him. It was business. Galine took care of business. Jacel took care of the fun. "Hmm?" He peered at her, rubbing his chubby fingers over the crystal head of his cane. "I would like you to provide an offer of entertainment to the Lord and Lady Greenwell. I believe. . .it is near that time of year again. When they lost their son to that dreadful rapscallion? I am sure you remember -- the city was in an uproar over it, and the fiend was never caught. The Lady Greenwell always has a soiree near the time -- you know how hyur women are, particularly the midlanders. I have heard it keeps her occupied." Jacel, being a midlander himself, offered her a saccharine smile. "Quite." "Offer them my best, and that I would like to present them with a . . . gesture of good faith at this event." Jacel nodded, plucking at his lower lip. "How much of my . . . talent should I put aside for this good faith?" "I would prefer that you retain the majority of your resources, for the time being. There is something else I have need for. Ahh. . ." Galine lifted a finger to her chin. Posed thus, she looked the part of a beautiful, fragile doll. "It would seem that Nymeia has delivered into my hands the perfect opportunity. I would have you look into a man named Osric Melkire, formerly known as Dirk Problemsolver." "And what part of the city must I tread for this man?" "He is not within Limsa Lominsa, Jacel." "No?" "He resides elsewhere. He is beholden to Ul'dah, and certain agencies there. He does not visit Limsa Lominsa often." She was being vague on purpose. That was not very sporting of her, in Jacel's esteemed opinion. "Shall I take a vacation in the middle of the Season, serra?" "From what I understand, he tried to offer dearest Zhavi a job." "A job, you say? How dreadful." "Indeed," Galine eyed him. "He will be back," she said, quietly. "I trust you will see to it that I am kept informed on all matters of interest to me." "My lady! I could not abide the thought of him taking a single step within your fair city without you being aware of it!" Jacel bowed. Galine smiled.

Ahahaha. Niiiice. "Please sir, may I have some more?"

Melkire reminds me a bit of Mal from Firefly. With that one dude from the Sun Sword series by Michelle West, ummmmm.... I can't remember his name. But he's cool, yo. Goes on super secret missions and shit. Constantly has his loyalties tested between friends, the woman he serves, and the king who he swore his life to. (plus he has some pretty wicked combat scenes) And he came from a poor background and got picked up by the secretive spy group who protects the king. .....I'll remember his name later. I think it started with D. Edit - DEVON. Devon aTerafin.

Like a mibbit thing? Yup! You're able to connect to irc things from mibbit. Jeez it's been forever since I used mibbit.

"You absolutely can't go wrong with the seafood," Jingi said, leaning forward. She looked back down at the menu, thinking about his prior statements. "That sounds like an exciting thing, for a child. I cannot say mine was terribly exciting. My father was a scribe, and my mother an eccentric -- officially, she was a recordskeeper, but she was always given to her fancies. Oh, how I hated her ideas of excursions. I swore I would be nothing like her, but here I am, keeping records and managing numbers." She chuckled. The sound was slightly more bearable than her giggling had been. "I suppose I enjoy it, though it feels more as if it calls to me more than something I would do for fun in my free time." She considered. "Contrarily, it eats my time. I suppose there isn't much I do for fun, after all -- just managing books." She gestured to the table, including Pyralis in her sweep. "This is the first time I've eaten with someone who isn't a colleague in years." She looked up at him, smiled. It was a sweet sort of smile.

Silence. Zhavi didn't know what to say. "N-nothin'." She wasn't looking at his face. "How long d'ye plan t'stay here?" She was looking at the exit.

Son. Of. A. Bitch. "Th' one. . .I argued wi'. . .in th'tavern. After ye left." She wasn't going to take that smoke, even if it killed her. She wasn't giving up without a fight.

Having your face shoved against a wall was a helluva way to start the morning. "Fyrilsolkn," she muttered, one cheek flat against it. The name came out mushed. "Always good t'. . .nnn. . .see ye." His hands were traveling up and down her body. He didn't respond. He came up with nothing. As if she'd be so stupid as to hide weapons when she was visiting Galine. She'd brought her dagger, had laid it into Fyril's partner's hand. Abartoum. Also a bucket of moonshine. The two men weren't related, but they were well matched. Tanned, ruggedly handsome, they kept their silences and moved before Galine could even open her mouth to order them around. They'd been with her for at least a decade, maybe more. They dressed the same, looked the same -- they had to be related, for all everyone denied it. Fyril stepped back, and Zhi pushed herself off the wall, brushing herself off. She glared up at him, but he was moving towards the door. Or maybe that was Abar. Shit. "Zhavi," the other one -- Abar? -- said. Stupid lookalikes. She looked at him, tugging her clothing to rights. "Do not put the serra in a foul mood." She looked away first. The door was open, the other introducing her to the lalafell ensconced in the grand room beyond. Pompous room. Decorated in plum and midnight blue, with little pops of scarlet meant to draw the eye in towards the person who occupied it. Galine. Only Galine -- she liked her theatrics. Upstage her and there would be a problem. Mess something up and there would be blood. Just not in her office. Or on any of her things. No, it would be done somewhere rough and quiet, where things could be cleaned up tidily. Galine liked tidy. She was very particular. Anyone who dealt with her knew that first hand. And Zhi, walking into the room with a short stride meant to make the most use out of her slim hips, knew Galine first hand. She still couldn't look the lalafell in the eyes. "Still walking around as if you have been rolling in the midden, pet?" Should've bathed. As Zhi was finding her tongue, Galine continued to speak. "You always had to be so stubborn, no matter the cost to yourself." "Serra," Zhi said, dipping her head down low before the grandiose desk that dominated the room. "What is this? Are you bending to pick something off from the floor or are you showing respect? For the life of me, pet, I cannot tell." Zhi winced. That damn familiarity. I ain't yer pet, ye feckin' windbag. But she straightened, offered the bow that fed Galine's ego. Naught more than a mummer's game. "Serra," she said again, straightening. "I'm moving th'goods like ye asked." "Still with that wretched slang." Galine tsked. It was hard to breathe. "They'll be comin' soon," Zhi continued, forcing the words out past her teeth. "I ain't done ye wrong." "But what amuses me most of all is how . . . open you are with your temper." The urge to piss pressed at Zhavi's bladder. She couldn't move. She just stared at Galine's be-ringed hands as they passed over papers. Were those papers about her? She stayed silent. "You ought to be more careful of where you conduct your. . .business. Or should I say 'spats'?" No, no, no, no, no. "Everything's been arranged real neat. . ." Zhi forced the words out. Her voice was small, weak. "I have been thinking how it has been some time since I have invited someone to tea. Tell me, have you heard of Osric Melkire? Ahh. . ." Zhavi closed her eyes. "That is the young man you had your disagreement with in the Wench, is it not? How delightful." "I -- " "You, my little pet, are late. I do not accept tardiness. You should be well aware of that. How curious, then, that you would try to make excuses for your failure to be punctual. Curious indeed." Zhi's hands had started to tremble. She pushed them against her thighs. Galine's fingers were tiptoeing across her papers, sifting through them. "Serra -- " "I believe you owe me another, teensy favor, pet." Galine waited until Zhavi looked up from the desk, up to Galine's beautiful serpentine green eyes, before she made her demands known. It felt like bells had passed when Zhi exited the small building in the upscale part of town. She stank of fear-sweat, and failure. She would have to contract help. Something. She had to think. She had to move. She couldn't disappoint Galine again.

It showed. Zhi'd her own demons, but she'd never faced them alone. Never contemplated them. Never ever tried to look them in the face. "Then ye know 'bout Melkire." She didn't even need to say it. She should have changed the focus, should have searched for something that would make him squirm. Should have tested, probed, anything. But if she did -- he might stop talking. He might sit there, quiet, for once shielded against any action she might take. He might leave her alone with her thoughts. Zhavi never wanted to be alone. Ever.

Zhavi hated silence. She couldn't stand it. Always had to fill it up with something -- humor, mockery, sarcasm. . .rage. Didn't matter, so long as something was making noise, even if it was her laying down a thick patter. The room was silent. Silent but for their breaths, for the ever-so-slight crisp of his burning cigarette. She suspected he wanted to wait her out, to fry her until she couldn't help but squirm. He wanted to flay her open and watch her to see what happened. She hated it. She knew he knew she hated it. So she stayed silent for a long while. She held it in, felt it curdle in her gut, her head, until it came up her throat and into her mouth. It tasted like bile. Every time she swallowed without speaking, it was like blood down her throat: thick, slimy, salty. Then there was the sweat. It dribbled out from her armpits, beaded on her forehead, prickled all over her skin. She hated him so godsdamned much, Nald'thal shred his side of the scales. Even when she knew she was losing, she held out. Even when she knew she was going to open up her blimming tongue and gabble, she held it. Every second won was a victory. Every. Last. One. "How long ye been tailin' me?" Slow as molasses dribbled over sugarcakes, those words. Sour as lemons. She bit her lip and hung her head even lower. She hated herself.

"Done." She held his stare until he turned. The metal of the steel felt warm in her hand -- reminder of his body heat. She pocketed it. No smoking for her, tonight. She really should quit. There were any number of things she could use his help on, but considering the delicate balance set between them, there was more to it than simple need. Put him on the wrong task, and he'd have an easy time screwing her. It would be so easy to put her foot in his face. "Got goods comin' in. Need ye t'play backup. We'll be movin' 'em somewhere not everyone wants 'em t'go. Get in. Place 'em. Get out. No contact." She really wanted a smoke. Alcohol. Something. She needed him to take the offer; it meant she'd be able to keep her eye on him. . .because right now, she didn't trust him out of her sight.

"I will," Zhi said. She weighed her options. She was watching him, even with her head hanging low. She was watching his expression. "I'll take yer men, if ye've some t'spare." Would saying no piss him off? She wanted to kick him, hit him, tumble him to the ground and stand over him with her usual sneer. Her nails were digging in to the backs of her hands. "Ye need help trailin' them what need shuttin' up?" Casually offered. And then, because it was so typical. . ."need a light?" She didn't want to know what he'd done with the last one she'd offered him.

Know when to fold. Zhi was folding. He'd outplayed her. She'd put her cards down, and now he was collecting. She'd get her own back. Maybe it would be a few days from now, maybe a few weeks -- hells, maybe longer, but it wouldn't be today. He had better weapons, better muscles, better. . . he didn't have better night vision. Something to keep in mind. It was dark inside the storage. No windows, all exits shut. She didn't light a lamp, wouldn't unless he asked. Folded? Yes. But that didn't mean she couldn't stack her advantages for the next game. She took a seat on a half-barrel, feet skimming over the ground, and rested her elbows on her thighs. Her hands were clasped, fingers digging in until she forced them to relax. "Yer lead. I'll follow. What's th'plan?"

Now, now. Pecs are fine too.

"I know me a ragpicker," Zhi said, quiet, right behind him as he entered. He looked bigger in the establishment -- way too big. She withheld snickering as he tried to move through the restaurant without making ripples. He failed. She drifted clear and easy behind him: a leaf in his wake. One that no one even doubtless saw, except as some detritus following along behind him. People shifted, moved out of the way, grumbled, and a few glared after Styrm as he made his way to the bar. But these weren't the confrontational sort, and most simply dealt with him passing through with something that could've passed for grace. They weren't curious, most of them. They wanted their food, and their drink, before they had to get back to work. No real layabouts, there. Zhi, on the other hand, did react to Styrm sitting on the floor. "Really?" She asked with a snort and half a laugh. "That bad?" She glanced around him to where he'd pushed the stool, and back to him before sitting on the indicated stool. Suddenly, the idea of drinks seemed like a much better idea. It was sweltering inside; the heat from the fire in the kitchen and the heat outside had combined to form some sort of humid monstrosity. Zhi could feel the sweat prickling at neck and armpits, back and chest. Ugh. Gross feeling, one mitigated by drink. One of the staff meandered over, clearly in no great rush to greet and recieve orders. She was a buxom lass, young, and pretty in the way of the youthful and worry free. She had one of those smiles that suggested she shared some amusement with you, and combined with her perky tits, Zhi suspected she did quite well for herself in the restaurant. Highlander lass, by the look of her. "Get ye?" She asked, hoisting a large and empty tray onto the counter.

Worst case scenario: write a parody. Fun, and lessens quite a bit of the pressure.

Another time, another day, Zhavi would have fired something back at his complaint regarding her name. Right then? She didn't quite dare. Not about something so trivial. She followed him, for once, stepping up alongside him like it was her place. Like he hadn't just shot at her. Not like she hadn't done crazier things; flipping on someone, for example, required you to be just peachy with the idea of working for someone who may have been trying to kill you. Today? He was fracturing, and that put her ill at ease. "Aye," she said, swallowing her comments about his comments. Her knees felt watery. Her head was near empty but for the rushing flow of blood. What a rush. She stepped past him, taking the lead. Most days she liked being in the lead, but there was a spot between her shoulders that crawled. She was taken with the notion of him shooting her in that spot, just aim and bam, no more Zhi. How much would that hurt? She didn't look back on purpose. He could climb, she'd seen him climb, so the first good handhold she saw she took, hoisting herself up hand over hand, foot over foot. They hit the top, and she started running. She kept them low, as out of sight from the street as she could muster. Once they were a pier across onto another spire, she lead him into an old stone building -- one used for storage. One not kept very well secured. It was damp, musty, stank of mildew and rat droppings. It was quiet, cool, and totally empty. "Workers come in once a day, late night." It was one of Skarp's dropoffs, one that Zhi delivered to fairly frequently. She knew their schedules backwards and forwards; they'd come in on the guard's blindspot.

I shall follow him around for you, booing and hissing, posthaste. #teamveradforever

You can always do a three-way switch, too. Person A takes person B, person B takes person C, person C takes person A. Not quite the same as the original idea, but still fun! Plus that way even if you get evens and you still want to join in, you'll be able to.

*twirls moustache*

I'm hoping for this, actually. I think I've got a pretty good handle on most of the folks I know, so I hope one of the guys from Limsa shows up and gets involved. I want to see how I do with only the most precursory knowledge of someone. ..........oh, to hell with it. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. (if anything goes wrong, blame Ruru for telling me to. <3 )

It's been known as a shoutbox in BB for at least a decade. Showing your age, Zhi.... You're supposed to wait to reply to me until after I go in for the stealth edit. ;_; (I edit so many things. So many...) How about you get an IRC thing going in the meantime? That way you can make sure it's even worth the effort based off of actual use it gets, and then we all get our chatting urges scratched until the switch is made and stuff? Pretty pleeeease.

So, I'm terrible, awful, wretched with names. Sylvaintel wins heaps of kudos for responding to my demand about whether or not he was ready for rp, and then rolling with it. Without knowing who the hell I was and why I was suddenly asking him to rp. Man didn't blink -- he went with it, and he was smooth as butter. Meanwhile, Sylvain wins heaps of kudos for putting up with my stupidity. (I am so sorry ><) I swear I am not always this bad. Thatcher nets Matchmaker of the Year kudos award, for picking up Shining Feather at the bar and then sending her Zhi's way. Stay forever, kthx. Andralyn is the sort of character who Shay uses seamlessly to pick people up, switch topics, while at the same time ever broadening her connections. Sometimes these things can feel forced -- it never does with this character. Well played, madam. Well played. Shining Feather & RC -- for playing middlemen, for switching it up, for knowing smirks and business acumen. It felt legit, loose, and a bit sleazy. Just as I imagine business in Limsa should be. First time for me I've gotten walkup rp that had to do with Zhi's job, and it was freaking fantastic. <3 Augustine Frost and Threed -- you just rolled up to the bar and started rping. Their characters played so well against each other, it was highly amusing to watch them banter. From Augustine's barely-restrained patience to Threed's barely-restrained worry, it came across beautifully and let Zhi do some showing off in front of her new . . . business partners. Definitely two characters whose mannerisms made me want to learn more about them. Great job. Melkire LOSES KUDOS POINTS FOR STEALING RAZ FROM ME (I kid, I kid <3) (but seriously I'm taking him back before this is over). Raz is freaking golden. Smooth ass rper. Doesn't miss a beat. Great quasi-antagonist-character-thing for Zhi -- I am so glad you joined up on the RPC and planned shit out with me, man. I'm very much looking forward to future shenanigans. Need a streetrunner and don't want to hire Zhi? (why wouldn't you you're a terrible person ;_; ) Hire Raz (Cenric) instead. You won't regret it!