Zhavi

I love your art. Your lines are so pretty and your colors are just ... you make it look easy. edit - question -- do you do the black and white to color technique or do you paint in colors?

Eidinahtynwyn, called Oath Judge after her father, watched the little man before her with some care. She didn't like lalafell as a rule, felt that their natural stature made them more likely to try to prove something. Perpetual little man's syndrome, rolled up tight in a itty bitty package that held more power then it rightly should. It could be, had been, disaster. She didn't like this one. He was likely young (or else old and definitely stupid), full of himself, and thinking he was some hot-shot tough shit. Belligerent attitudes and rudeness had ceased to impress her under any circumstance when she'd passed into her third decade. Now, it was just another added layer of irritation and a waste of her time. "Are you lookin' for employment with the Heavy Handers?" She didn't think she wanted him, if he was. Last thing she needed was more runts who didn't understand their place.

(Still have not figured out how to make these quote blocks smaller. @_@) That is a shame. Maybe I'll try my hand at uniting some of the Yellowjacket roleplayers one of these days. (you gotta manually remove the different responses you no longer want and take out the appropriate number of quote=name bits at the top) Ooh, if you need any help, let me know. I would love the extra conflict PC yellowjackets would provide.

Styrmsthal was not supposed to be visiting Joz. It was something she'd be able to use, in the days to come, but it was a dangerous game. She was glad she'd gotten the lad to keep watch over the flat for her, gladder still he was clever enough to find her to let her know. Too bad he sucked at dice, but not everyone could be perfect. She hurried back to her flat, pacing herself so she wouldn't be out of breath. When she came in the window, she arranged her reaction to show surprise, fear, and then recognition -- it wasn't great, but she hoped it would be passable. "Chocobo!" She blurted as she hopped through, grinning. "Didn't 'spect t'see ye! How's yer sails?"

Zhavi Streetrunner did not take Targaryen for a fool. She couldn't help but wonder why he went along with her so easily, and didn't like the various conclusions she came up with. Besides, it wasn't as if she needed to know his limits for the job. It was time. She took them through the passageway, out onto a roughly hewn overlook. Back before the Calamity, the area had been slated for construction for a new high-end residential area. After the Calamity, it had gotten lost amidst the shuffle of damage reports, and the merchants providing the funding had backed off -- probably due to losses elsewhere. As a result, the area remained empty but for the occasional junkies, parties, and executions by various criminal types. What she needed to tell Targaryen wasn't really worth the extra care in taking him to such a secluded place, but her mood was capricious. Dusk had fallen, sheathing them both in half-light. Zhi turned to face him. "Ne'er ye fear," she said, giving him her ugliest smile. "I'll not be havin' ye burstin' afore we've had a chance t' . . .talk." She leered at him, snorted, and cut to business before the empty flirtation could continue. "Ye've been one o' Lady Grace's patrons. Fer Heaven's Gate. I'm t'offer ye three things: a warnin', an offer fer protection', an' a chance at. . .mischief." The challenge was still there in her voice, and it had brought with it friends. The dare was in the way she rested a fist on her hip, in her tilted head, in the smugness of her smirk and the knowledge in her eyes. She was looking to catch herself a bard, she was.

Usynswys Eidinahtynwyn was not a woman who'd had an easy life. Though the most recent decade had seen her rise high enough to forgo the rude approaches, such as the little lalafell was presently exercising, she still remembered them. They did not do much to affect her now, though there had been times in her wild youth when she had let her temper get the best of her. There was a reason why she'd made it to where she was. "Are you my contact?" She turned to look directly at the little man, taking in his stance and his weapon with a practiced eye. There was subtext in her words made up of 'or are you stupid?' that didn't carry through into her expression. It was bland, almost thoughtful, as she watched him approach her. Starting a fight was not the typical way she expected a potential recruit to act towards the recruiter, but maybe he was stupid. Or maybe she was just getting old. Zhavi, meanwhile, was cringing over her alcohol. She was praying to Nald'thal to tip the scales in her favor, though she'd never admit to it.

Zhi didn't go back to the little temp-flat in the Reach. She went to one of her numerous hidey-holes instead -- after much doubling back and taking circuitous routes to ensure she wasn't being followed -- and shucked Joz's clothing in favor of tighter garments that suited climbing. Zhi was going to be doing a lot of climbing, that night. First though, she made a stop in at the room Galleon had rented for her. Brindle wasn't in (which was good; she wasn't paying him to sit on his ass, assuming he was actually doing work), so she sat and waited for him. She ate most of the food he'd stored in the room as the bells passed, and was playing dice when he arrived. He showed no surprise to see her sitting there, which was good. "Ye'll need t'leave here in six -- ah, nah, four suns. Four suns from now, go t'ground." He sat into the chair opposite her own, slinging a sack down under the table. He smelled like blood. Faint. Two days old. at least. "Got news on Galleon," he said. Her head came up, ears pricked forward. That was unexpected. "What, that he's plannin' on killin' me?" Brindle was distracted away from his news. He met her eyes. "Fer true?" "Gut feelin'." He rolled his eyes and looked away. "I think he's got ties t'the Edge." "How?" "He ain't in town but someone wi' his description meets up wi' one o' th' Edge's smugglin' vessels every moon'r so, goes an' meets wi' a marked member. Y'know, actin' like a boss. Don't know if he's in it, but th'way I heard it, there's a link." "From who?" Brindle went quiet for a long moment. Zhi glared at him. "Skinner," he said, finally. Then, "An' ol' One-Eye." "Shit," Zhi muttered. "Yeah." "Shit." Brindle's mouth twisted. He was staring at her, anxiously awaiting the answers to the posed difficulty. That was going to hurt him later, she knew. He was going to have to learn the hard way that he'd have to start figuring out what to do on his own. Not until after this job. "Go t'ground in four suns. Don't try t'find me. Go dark. An' check about afore y'hit any o'yer regulars. After that ye can keep up wi' yer gig as a doxy --" "I ain't a doxy." She smiled, humorless. "Hit th'green hole in a fortnight. If I'm still kickin', it'll be standard. If not. . ." He shrugged, one-shouldered and sullen. She stood. Her dice were pocketed in a single clean motion. "If I ain't, go t'Thatcher. Do what ye can t'finish th'job. Clove'll know th'score. He'll see y'take over th'contract. Take over wi' Jager, too. He'll bitch, but he'll settle. Got anythin' else fer me?" Brindle ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He was staring at some spot along the bed. "Should I give it t'ye, or. . ." She frowned, "Tell me." He did. Once they'd talked it over, discussed what he was to do in the next four days, she moved to the door. "Fair winds, kid," she said. "Gods save ye," he muttered, long after she was gone.

*squee* >w< I'd love to do that! ... When Fabebe eventually gets to leave Ul'dah. I don't suppose you happen to know of any Yellowjacket FCs or anything, do you? Sadly I have not seen or heard of any characters playing as yellowjackets, but I also don't have tabs on everyone playing in Limsa. It's a possibility there's a few scattered here and there, but there's definitely not a solid presence as with the sultansworn in Ul'dah, more's the pity.

The contact entered Her Highness without fanfare. She was tall and broad. She moved with the round-shouldered gait of muscle used frequently for intimidation. It figured, Zhi thought, that it would be that type that they sent. Zhi didn't recognize the woman, but she couldn't help but wonder whether or not Flit would be able to handle the roe. The woman sat at the table behind Zhi, taking the chair closest to the miqo'te. Zhi was regularly assessed as being a lesser threat. No matter. She was best at playing exactly that. Zhi didn't see the way the woman wrinkled up her nose when a wench dared to approach her, but she did hear the way the Heavy Hander strongarm scoffed openly when the girl asked her if she'd like a drink. "I don't drink piss," the roe said, her words ponderous and filled with the weight of meaning. With the single sentence the woman had made it clear to the wench that she didn't want idle chatter or any other service that might be offered. She said only what she meant, nothing less and nothing more. Zhi was really not sure whether or not Flit could handle himself. Maybe he'd impress her. Haha. Maybe she'd be proven wrong. She ordered another drink.

"Not t'yerself," she muttered. "I like me teeth, right as they are." Her stomach had been nigh on empty, so the alcohol was warming her up something good, but not enough for what she wanted him to do to her. No amount of drunkenness, she figured, would cure the pain of a beating -- though it might wipe the memory from future recollections. 'Course it wasn't the remembering that was the problem, it was the experiencing. "'Sfine, 'sfine," she continued, eyeing him. "Ain't yer mam. Don't think o' me as a woman then. Jes' don't drag this out, guv." Despite the lightness of her tone, her ears were back and her tail lashed side to side behind her. Nothing was more pathetic than starting a fight you didn't intend to finish -- except starting one with the intent to lose when you weren't on a job. One hand on her hip, the other lifted with a 'come on' gesture, Zhi stared at him with her chin lifted and a cocky grin splitting her lips. "Surely ye've done worse." She had. Wasn't nothing to lose sleep over.

Zhi's stare went flat. "Yeah. I'd be so great at dressin' an' actin' like a doxy. Wouldn't be like Joz t'do that. He wouldn't've taken "Joz" on as a 'prentice if she was." The back and forth complaining and criticisms had become familiar. Comfortable. "Yer all tears, I know," she quipped back at him, plucking the bottle from his hands. She didn't need a second invitation to nearly drain the thing with her first long drink. She came off it with a gasp, and finished it up. "Aieee," she said, breathless and raspy. "That's th'stuff. A'right, groundside fer this mess, I ain't wantin' ye t' flip me off th'edge. 'Oopsie, sorry Z!' -- like that." She did a piss-poor job mimicking his voice, drawing it up to a dopey tenor. She went over the side of the roof with a boneless sort of roll, caught herself and climbed down. She'd fallen before, but hadn't ever done serious injury to herself. That'd probably change, one day. But it wouldn't be this one. Her feet hit dirt and she stood up, stretching. She held out the bottle to Jager. "Don't take out none o' me teeth, y'scrag." Her grin flashed fangs. "Let's see what ye got."

Her glance was annoyed. "Cuz it ain't Kink what's needin' th'protectin'. It's Joz. He don't know I'm Kink, don't know nothin' 'bout what I do. Normally I'd just slip in an' steal it but. . ." she slid her tongue across the front of her teeth, "he's an arcanist. Wi' the Gate. He's got power, I seen it, an' I ain't gonna mess wi' it. So I need in wi'out trippin' potential whatever he's got set. Meanin' he's got t'invite me in." She wasn't looking forward to getting hit, but she couldn't very well fake bruises. It'd take her off the streets for a few days; she'd be very distinctive with them. They'd need to fade a pinch before she could resume her normal activity. It was a roll of the dice.

"Aie, I'll send ye a doxy once we're through." Zhi rolled her eyes. "D'lyhhia. She's t'scope Jaded. Y'remember that? Or did th'doxies an' th'booze scrap yer mind? Ain't th'point, nohow. I'm ready t'swipe th'book from Lalataru. But thing is, I need somethin' t'make him want t'take me t'his room. I need in. He's th'sort what likes t'protect. So I'll give 'im somethin' t'protect. So I need ye t'hit me. At least one in th'nose. Easier t'cry." She pulled her shirt away from her chest, fanning it to increase the airflow.

I've been listening to a lot of K. Flay lately to get into Zhi's headspace. Been listening to this one on repeat today.

"Oh aye, I always deliver." Whether or not it was what was expected. . . Zhi kept backing up, not willing to put her back to the bard for the time being. She didn't like him there, fun and games aside. He was not one to play at predictability, and while he also wasn't the sort to slay without cause (that she'd been able to find out, at least), there was a first time for everything. Sure, he didn't look ready to kill, but that meant shit to those who tread the darker paths. She got a good eyeful of him. She didn't know how good his night-sight was, knew that he was reckoning half-chance she was a keeper (higher than half, since only a fool of the gods miqo'te would seek out a dangerous man in the dark if she wasn't keeper enough to see). He chose to follow her into the dark anyways. How fun. She turned away to slide through a narrow pass, in time to put her back to him as a sliver of light cut down into the alley, revealing the whole of her back for an instant before she passed into darker shadows. She was dressed plainly in roughspun pants and a simple shirt that belled around her body and pooled at her hips where it was collected with a rope belt. It kept her form androgynous, though she'd made no pains to make her voice boyish. Behind the building was a small passway cut into the rock. The shadows were not so dark there, as she paused, though the interior of the passage was pitch black. She felt like teasing him. "Follow?" She extended a hand into the darkness, coy challenge in her voice.

"Makin' yerself look good an' gettin' hired." The doxy slid inside with the man, and Zhi looked down and sideways at Flit. "I'm tryin' t'get at Thatcher's enemies sideways, fancy? Now, I'd do it meself, but I've got another angle t'work. So this, I need a good strongarm fer. That's what yer playin'. A good strongarm. An' I'm needin' ye t' ... learn some things fer me. After ye get hired." She looked back towards the ramp, and started towards it. "Only honest men come at ye from th'front all th'time, flitter-mouse. Smart men use whatever angle suits 'em best. Remember that. An' don't draw attention t'me. Less ye step in it, far as anyone's concerned ye don't even need t'know me." Then she was walking up the ramp, into the ship, down the stairs, into the belly. It was still early in the day. It wasn't full, but there was still three tables full, and a few men and women scattered about solo. Zhi's doxy acquaintance was draped over the pirate as he sat at an ongoing card game. Conversation was muted and slow; like as not several of the patrons were nursing hangovers, or getting themselves started on a day or weeklong spree of drunkenness. They weren't rowdy, not yet. That suited Zhi just fine. She picked a spot along the bar, near to the table she knew Yayabuko would pick for the meeting. She faced away from the room, hated not having nobody at her back, but kept her sense open. She had good hearing.

Oh, oh goodness! If your character becomes a yellowjacket I MUST RP WITH YOU. I've been playing criminals in Limsa, and one thing I'd love to see is some law-enforcers who mess up Zhi's plans and get in her way and stuff. Lots of stuff. But, um, yeah! Welcome to the RPC! Hopefully I'll run into you sometime.

Zhi giggled. Her voice was raspy. "There's ears about, an' I ain't gettin' paid t'tickle 'em wi'gossip. I've a treat fer ye if ye'll follow." A teasing note had entered her voice. Surely no one would begrudge her a spot of fun. It was a gamble, what he would do: would he allow himself to be drawn into the alley? How paranoid was he? How confident in his skills? She backed up further into the alley, becoming just another dark shape amidst the shadows. He'd already caused her some trouble. She wanted his measure.

Godspit, he sounded so young. She grunted, turned and said, "Follow," as she started to walk away. She kept their feet groundside as they walked through the city, not trusting him to be a good climber and not willing to waste time confirming her assumption. He was a wildcard. She didn't like those. Not at all. Zhi needed Flit. He didn't need to know that. She needed him to play a part. She needed him to not feck it up beyond recovery. She was rolling the dice. Again. She took him down to Fisherman's Bottom, explaining the rules of Her Highness as they walked. Don't stare, keep your coin close, neutral ground, don't start fights you can't finish, and most of all: keep your mouth shut on politics, be they city politics of gang politics. Play dumb if any sensitive questions got asked. Always defer to the employer. It was all common knowledge, and common sense, but as far as she was concerned he had neither. They arrived at Her Highness half a bell early. It was a boat docked up tight between the rock that housed the fishing guild and the spire behind it. Money was doubtless exchanged to keep it unseen, whether or not the jacks regularly kept eyes on it; Zhi figured running such a place on the water like that wasn't strictly legal, but its proprietor made it well known that he paid his taxes like any other law-abiding merchant. The bar itself was down in the belly of the small ship. It was narrow, dingy, smoky and smelled of too many bodies and alcohol. It was unheard of to see it empty, less it was closing. Neutral ground like it where the 'neutral' part was so ruthlessly enforced was popular. Zhi lingered on the outskirts, avoiding the plank that lead up to the ship. "Questions?" Her voice was low. She wasn't looking at Flit, was smirking at some dolled up doxy under the arm of a drunken pirate. She nodded to the lass, who blew a kiss back to her with a, "Resin! See me in a sun, I got gossip what'll make yer ears red!" Zhi winked back, her return smirk a promise all its own. The lass giggled: Zhi never dallied with doxies. It was empty. Most of her promises were.

The urge to spit in his face was strong, but she didn't need more of his cauterwauling. She needed him to focus. She stood instead, rolled her eyes, and gave him her doubt. He wanted approval. She could use that. "Vivikuso's been cheated. He's watchful, aye? Doubtful. He knows his worth. He'll push, but he ain't lookin' t'piss nobody off. He's lookin' fer money, not a fight. "Sellswords're sellin' blood, kid. Their own blood, an' th' blood o'whoever they're told t'aim their weapons at. Gotta be cold t'do that. Gotta be good t'survive. Keep yer eyes open. Walk like yer ready t'knock off th'first scrag what looks at ye funny. Stand like yer th'most dangerous scut in th'room." She shrugged one-shouldered. "What that looks like's up t'yerself, but one thing y'got t'look is fearless. If things ain't fair, ye'll tough it out. If ye whine, it ain't done serious. Place we're goin' is filled wi' folk what would slit yer throat fer bein' annoyin'. Don't piss nobody off, but don't take nobody's piss, neither. Fancy?" She'd eaten the other eyeball, and had the head up to her mouth. She was gnawing on it.

"Stop. . .sayin' 'thank ye'." Unnecessary rutting words. "Yer lookin' t'get hired by a gang, not go out t'tea." She didn't want to hear it. She turned a little without standing to keep him in sight, pushing the rest of the fish into her mouth. She finished it up, popped out an eyeball from the head she'd bought, and chewed on it. She snorted. "Y'ain't 'reformed.' Yer jes playin' at it now, but if ye can keep from snivelin' ye can make a show at it. Ye ruin me take wi' yer -- " she made a vague gesture at him, " -- an' I'll gut ye meself. I'm keepin' ye kickin' fer Thatcher's sake, but that ain't gonna hold if ye step in it. Fancy?" She stood. They were still way too early, but . . . things had changed. She didn't trust him to behave, now. "Y'ever been 'round sellswords?"

It was dusk outside, and the shadows were long and thick. Zhi was standing half-swallowed in them; her upper body covered while her knees and below were lit up by the fading sun. The kink in her tail was visible as she watched a drunkard stagger from -- strike that, it was Targaryen. She flicked the edge of her tail back and forth to make sure she had his attention. Should she be direct or indirect? Which would hold his attention? Bards were notorious for having short attention spans, but him, well, it wasn't so simple. "Yer someone what knows th'doxy rings in th'city. Ye've used 'em. There's one what don't like who ye've taken t'yer bed." She took a step back. Only her feet remained in the light. Her shoes were worn, a faint patina of dark green visible under the dirt. They were the shoes of someone who wasn't used to handling a whole lot of coin.

Limsa Lominsa's skyline always offered the best views in the city. It also offered the best winds. Drenched in sweat and panting with exertion, those winds were exactly what Zhi was looking for as she rested on a rooftop under Menphina's delicious light. No pursuit in sight and the freedom to wander wherever she wanted under the cover of night: she was pleased. The darkness was where she thrived. Always. The strange deal she'd worked out with the miqo'te next to her had turned into something personal for her. It was a chance to pit herself against someone who was, as some might reckon, better than her. It was a chance to prove herself. So it was with some mix of jealousy, anger and admiration that she dealt with him, that she doled out pieces of information as slowly as she could. Take as much as she could and give as little as she could: that was how she operated. That was how everyone operated, long as they weren't lackwits. She'd explained her job with Lalataru to him, how she'd been hired to steal some book, how it required her to play the role of an innocent little thief named Joz, how she was verging on sure that her employer, Galleon, intended to kill her once she was done. She used the telling of the job to teach him more about the role arcanists played in the city's legal system, about how their guild doubled as Mealvaan's Gate. But of course, with her, there was another reason to bring it up. "I need ye t'hit me," she told him. She wasn't looking at him, she was admiring the way the moon's light bled over the water below. "I need ye t'make it look like I got roughed."

Zhi snickered. It was a cold sound, and the look that she gave him was openly scornful as she tucked the gil away. She picked a bone out of the mess in her mouth, flicked it aside and swallowed. She pushed off the wall, faced him square, and crouched. At that height, they were more or less eye to eye. She reached out a hand, placing it against the wall next to his head, blocking his face from sight of thoroughfare to her right and his left. "Ye want t'have a fit? Have it in yer room. Have it wi' a whore. Have it 'round Thatcher. Don't go weepin' an' wailin' wi'me. Ain't me business if ye want t'carry on like a spoiled brat what lost his favorite toy, but ye ain't gonna do it 'round me. Fancy?" Her smile was slim, and all edge. Her voice was quiet. "Now, ye want t'spend more gil on me after this take? We'll deal. But I don't deal wi' brats what can't control their little temper-tantrums. So wipe up yer ruttin' face, an' act like a sellsword, an' not some kid what got hold o' da's blade. We've work t'do."

Agreed! For most rps (Askier's first event rp being one of the exceptions -- he knew from the get go that his character could not blow up Ul'dah, and therefore his character needed to lose) I always prefer to think in terms of chance for success. Sometimes it's low, sometimes it's high, sometimes it could go either way. But almost always, there is a chance -- which gives the rp some leeway for unpredictability. :3 Some of my most fun rps were where I and my rp cohorts were pitting our characters against each other and going all out in our efforts to make our individual characters come out on top. My favorite one ended very poorly for my character -- but did it ever give her drive and a reason to come back for revenge! My second favorite wound up making my character unplayable -- technically her side "won", but the things that happened along the way wrecked her to the point that she probably would have gone off to die (I had her disappear, that was the sole rp where I just didn't have it in me to rp out exactly what happened to her). Point being what Roen said. Both are awesome. Both lead to great character development.