Zhavi

Zhi flinched, the line she was currently drawing veering abruptly sideways. "Err. . .yes?"

Come to meeeee, come to meeeee -- I'll send you a pm with some ideas I'd talked to another couple players with. While I'm not rping in game until May (usually when I'm in game now I'm farming while reading articles for class or taking notes for class), I've been doing a decent bit of forum rp, and brainstorming when the opportunities have presented themselves. I put Zhi in the position of someone on the lower rung of things specifically for the purpose of helping make people with characters who do exist on the upper end feel a bit fuller. I usually play the role of spot filler, utilizing npcs and helping build framework to either graft myself into ongoing rp or help build in an area where things aren't as established. I've decided to stick to Limsa (the character doesn't ever leave the city and its surrounding area, heh), though, so there's that. But, you know, I think there's a few sides to the criminal rp. There's the lifestyle (out of choice or necessity), profit (criminal activities are lucrative, and that feels good. Why does any rich criminal keep going even when they don't need to?), and control. Too, sometimes it's just a matter of being good at something, and either not being as good with something else or not knowing any other way. But yeah, I can't promise twenty pcs running around or anything like that, but I can offer up intrigue and power plays that won't immediately require those pcs. There are others running about in Ul'dah, so that'd be something worth checking out too (there are some omgamazing criminal-esque characters in Ul'dah, I don't have their wikis offhand, but I remember reading several of them and thinking they were really awesome). Imma send you that pm now.

That smile. It was aimed at her, full of understanding and goodwill. Something twisted inside Zhavi as she looked over at Lalataru, and she eased back into Joz's timid nature. Idiot. She looked back down at the pages, spread like the ocean before her. Opaque, dangerous. Too dangerous. A long time? A long time, and she didn't even have a guarantee that she would be able to use the power. Her, a gutterborn, using the arcanists' power to rule over the gangs? Yer such a ruttin' idiot, Zhio. Hope belonged to Joz and other halfwitted scrags like her. Zhi knew better. She'd learned that lesson a long time ago, and she was much too wise in the ways of the city to go back on it now. Leave off her job? Zhi never quit on a job, not unless she was offered better gil. Would Lalataru's compassion feed her? Would his kindness last past his own needs? No. Of course it wouldn't. He'd already proven he wasn't stupid, and she would just be underestimating him if she paid him the disrespect of thinking him some toothless old scut. All she had to do was get him to drop his guard long enough for her to grab his book, and then hide long enough to escape his wrath. Her grip tightened on the grease pencil she held, and she nodded. "I'll keep goin', then," she muttered, and bent back to her task. Gaining Lalataru's trust meant listening to him, and being diligent. So she would keep trying, until she ran out of paper, or time, or he chased her home for the day. She would ignore her body's complaints, and she would finish the rotten job and find out the secrets her employer didn't want her to know. She'd do everything she always did. She'd be ruthless, and practical. Just like always. But she still couldn't quite smother the little flicker in her gut that wanted more.

Zhi jerked the notebook away from Lalataru without meaning to, and forced a nervous smile at him. "Ain't used t'this," she muttered, ducking her head at him in mute apology. She couldn't deny her hunger. Dangerous way to feel around a mark, couldn't deny that either. She opened the notebook to a new page, and resolutely bent to the task that he'd set her without quite understanding how she was supposed to let her whims guide the lines. It was so stupid. Zhi had grown up scratching in the dirt same as any other gutterborn, with trash for toys and invention a necessity to stave off boredom. Rules had evolved in and between the city's laws, all unspoken and all enforced with brutality and cruelty. You didn't go there, you didn't mess with him, you watched your mouth around her. They'd grown into her, melded into her bones and grown roots beneath her. All those little unspoken understandings, methods of survival. But, if you'd asked Zhi whether or not she was a follower of laws and rules, she'd have thumbed up her nose, because they weren't rules, not to her. They just were what they were. So why was it so rutting difficult when given freedom of direction for her to do it? The lines were lines, forming shapes that she could twist to whatever she chose. But warping them, they just turned to scribbles -- not the mysterious symbols Lalataru had produced. There was no breeze, no light touch down her spine. Nothing but her wasted effort. At first she thought she was just doing it wrong, that if she tried harder . . . but no. Here, Joz's failure was Zhi's failure. It wasn't a competition against anyone but herself, and that made the sting of it all the worse, this thought that she couldn't do something so simple as doodle out a few different lines. Page upon page filled and was set aside, until finally she sat back on her heels and set her palms to her thighs. Her hair hung about her face; she didn't look up from the blank page before her. Her back hurt. Her neck hurt. Her hand cramped. She swallowed something ugly down, and when she spoke her voice was faint. "How. . .long does't . . .take. . .usually?"

"Good 'elp is hard t'find, these days." Zhi eyed the waitress and ignored her. Clove ordered some mint drink; the name wasn't something Zhi'd heard before, but she was sure it was something overpriced and weak. Zhi draped one arm over the back of her chair, giving Thatcher her full attention in a level stare. "I sell me services wi' a flat fee o'fifty gil t'start, bein' yer new on me rolls. Normal rates're two hunnerd an' fifty a moonspan, wi'set targets at th'start o' each contracted moonspan. I don't meet th'targets, I don't get paid. Ye can contract me fer more'n a moonspan at once, but I'll be wantin' half up front, th'rest paid as normal. If I'm riskin' holes in me hide, rates go up another hunnerd gil. 'Mcheaper'n most streetrunners, an' more reliable. Y'got doubts, talk t'Skarp o' Merry Wench, she'll tell ye. "Bein' yer Clove's master, I'll give ye half off th'first moonspan fer normal rates -- danger pay'll still apply. I give one test run fer new folk: one piece o' information afore a week's passed -- no prank requests, mind, I ain't wastin' time fer scrags -- if yer harborin' doubts." Zhi scanned the restaurant out of habit, looking for any potential eavesdroppers, and returned her attention back to Thatcher. "What say ye? Ain't gonna find a better deal, an yer man knows me fer trustworthy on a job." She nodded to Clove, a smug smile curving her lips.

Most of Zhi's weight was on her elbows as she folded her arms, her grin fading. Someone was heckling her from behind, taking hold of her left shoulder and shaking her. Her tail lashed side to side twice before she curled it around her thigh. "Y'knew this blaggart? Why didn'tcha say summat! Tch, youngsters these days." The hand moved to her head, ruffling her hair. The shaking stirred up the alcohol in her stomach, and she belched in the direction of that insufferable smile before ducking out from under the hand. She scowled over her shoulder at its owner, voice going high and whiny. "Aie, Faller, save th'gropin' fer yer wife." She froze, words barely past her lips, as realization hit her. The scrag knew her? She faced him again, taking him in slow -- from the bandana to the boots he'd propped up on the table. No. She didn't know him. "Y'ain't got naught t'grope, lass! Th'sot what tries t'grope ye'd be mistakin' ye fer a lad, mark me words!" Zhi ignored Faller as he and his crew laughed, and narrowed her eyes at the man across the table. Why would he -- oh, of course. She'd planned on taking it easy that night, see what new rumors she could take, but. . . As she thought over whether or not to take it, she picked half-heartedly at a scab on her arm, working through her buzz to determine whether or not the take would be worth it. In the end, greed won out. Work was work. "Yayabuko send ye? If that's how y'introduce yerself, I'll be takin' an extra fee fer me lost gil. Hey, scram," she turned and made shooing motions towards Faller and the few who remained around the table. "Go drink yer booze, I gots dealin' t'do." Faller's first mate dragged him off, though not before getting one last cuff in on Zhi's ears -- she was something like a mascot for Faller's crew, along with a few of the other regulars; she'd been coming to Scuttlebutt since she was a snot-nosed brat, and many of them seemed blind to the fact that she wasn't a snot nosed brat any longer. Still, she tolerated it. Tongues got loose around snot-nosed brats, and she had no qualms with taking advantage of their easygoing affection. With better things to do then listen to Zhi try out her patter on some new customer, the rest also started to turn away, leaving her and the stranger alone in a sea of gambling and vice.

The first bolt made Zhi flinch. It was fascinating, but when combined with Lalataru's dry lecture, not much to get excited about. The second? Zhi yelped, jumped back, and hissed all at once as the something hit the wall with a great noise. The fur on her tail stood on end, and it stuck up nearly straight behind her, trapped between her body and the wall as she crowded back against it. It was a threat. It was a warning. It was Lalataru showing her what he was capable of, and what he'd do to her if she pissed him off. In that moment, as she stared at the smoking wall, the mask slipped off. Under it was Zhi, scared beyond measure and irrevocably drawn to the job she'd taken. Lalataru had laid out a challenge. She wasn't craven. Heartbeat echoing in her ears, she got her expression under control. This time, when she stuttered it wasn't an act. "S-so how do I d-do that? Wi'the -- the aether." She'd heard of aether before, of course, but it had always been an alien concept to her, something other people did. People with power. It'd been beyond her. The wheels in her mind started to turn. What if -- what if she learned how to do that? What if she became Lalataru's apprentice for true? She could be a big name in Limsa Lominsa, control her own turf and show Galine -- no! Agha, she could show Agha what was what. She pushed off the wall, pupils dilated, and went to her knees before Lalataru. The line between Zhi and Joz smeared as she held her hands up, ears sideways in submission. "How do I do that?" she repeated, fear replaced by eagerness. "Teach me."

Ooooh smart. I'll have to remember that time for when other people have issues getting on a server! Glad you didn't have a problem.

Answering phones, man. That's tough (or, at least it is for me, haha). Welcome to the RPC! People here are quite friendly, so I have no doubt you'll be able to get involved without a problem. The biggest issue lately seems to be that Balmung and Gilgamesh are not accepting new characters more often than not, but don't give up and keep trying!

That's just it though -- they do get to say what attacks land and do damage or get evaded if that's how they've set up the rp. That's the price you pay whenever you choose to rp on a site or game: if the owners/administration has decided that they want to set up rules on how you can and cannot rp, you have to follow their rules. Even if it seems stupid to you, if that's how they've set it up then that's how they've set it up. Whenever I come across a site with rules that seem super restrictive or don't cater to how I rp, I choose to not rp there. It's the only thing you can do; there is no law stating that rp has to be done such and such way. It sucks that your FC is rping in a way that you don't like, but, well, you said it yourself that they're not generally a rp FC. They've decided that this is the best way to go about it, so all you can do is just watch the magic happen. Maybe it'll fail, maybe it won't.

I have seen some truly bizarre rules and methods over the years (my favorite being when a certain site had slots for gay characters, and once those slots were filled you could no longer create gay characters). People who are admin of any place has the right to make whatever rules they want to. If you bring up your opinion on it and disagree and they insist that they don't want to change it, then your option is to either go along with it or not go along with it. At the end of the day, there are maaany ways to rp, and sometimes you won't like how a certain group has theirs set up. Nothing wrong with having a different opinion. That said, I wouldn't be participating in that sort of thing, no. Definitely not my cup of tea. When it comes to combat, I want to be able to figure things out with the person I'm rping with, not have it decided for me by some third party. I was on a mud for awhile where "official" pvp involved three rounds of attacks/defense (called duels), where 3 volunteer judges would be picked. After the rounds were up the judges would vote on who won. Sometimes these duels would be to the death, or have some other sort of penalty (if there was a war on, each person would be representative of their side, you get the picture). So, I mean, it's not unheard of or anything for pvp to get decided by other people or even via a dice method, just a matter of what people enjoy.

I should be productive OH LOOK MY TABLET IS LONELY. I got the fantasia potion, and had already decided I wanted to change how she looks. Less blueberry, for sure. That blue color belonged to Willy Wonka. And the draenei. I don't know what's happening but it's slightly terrifying. isn't done but I wanted to have a color thing of what she looks like in game now!

"Nothin' much, yet," Zhi allowed, glancing between Clove and Thatcher. Had he not prepped her? Clove licked his lips, and Zhi repressed a sigh. No, of course he hadn't. He might be able to play any number of parts when it came to seduction, and he might be a dab hand at acting in front of men and women he counted as future conquests, but it was obvious enough that he was reduced to a bundle of nerves in front of his master. This woman held his life in her hands, no matter the warmth that always entered his voice when he spoke of her. He'd let her down, and he was more than conscious of that fact -- he was living the guilt of it. Loyalty, people called it. Zhi counted it as stupidity. She returned her attention back to Thatcher. "I've heard a fair range, from yer writ bein' stolen all th'way t'ye bein' bought out, an' that yer behind the gil in the city, lately. Now, I ain't one t'dabble in the affairs o'the Houses, but I rather likes yer man here, an' he seemed full o'jitters. So I says to meself, 'Zhi, I'd lay down hard coin that Thatcher could use a pair o'eyes an' ears what know the back-an'-forth o'the streets.' 'Cause the way I hears it, ye got some scrag at yer back what wouldn't mind stickin' ye. An' me?" Zhi put her fingertips on the edge of the table and leaned over them. "Ye want t'know how many spots yon scrag has on his arse, I'll find out." She leaned back, countenance lightening. "An' unlike yer man here, I don't get caught." Mostly.

Zhi followed Lalataru, meek as you please. Her re-entrance into the Gate brought with it sweaty palms and an instant jump in pulse; she'd expected the need to go back in, but couldn't claim immunity to the strange moments that had passed between herself and the lalafel when they'd been alone. Oh, sure, she'd people who'd wanted to kill her before, but the set she floated between were typically more straightforward with their threats and intentions. Lalataru was strangely opaque to her, as if there was something else lurking behind the scholarly facade -- something that would eat her for a snack and not think twice of it. It was as frightening as it was thrilling, and she ought to have conspired to avoid being alone with him until she'd had more interactions with him. And there it was again, the ought to that spoke of common sense. As she neared the bottom of the stairs, the silence and memories got to her tongue before she could pinch it down between her teeth. "What was I sposed t'have felt, Master Lolotaru? An' whaddya mean, I asked too little?" Curiosity, and all that.

Zhi's mouth twisted to the side, feigning physical pain for her loss as those around them shouted their approval. A few hands reached out to slap her shoulders and upper back, mixing encouragement and sympathy together with their tumble of insults for her loss. She let them buffet her, ears going sideways and back. They ignored her, and she ignored them as she stared across the table. Free drink was always mollifying, and she let its promise lull her as the two wenches on duty set about ferrying drinks to the numerous customers. Once she'd gulped the rest of the cheap swill she'd bought during a previous hand, she sat up and leaned forward, elbows on the table. "This y'first trip t'the city?" Some of the crowd surrounding them had started to drift away without immediate promise of another game forthcoming, and drinks to boot. Some of those that remained reacted with snorts or suppressed (as much as drunks can suppress laughter) at her near-insult. Gadabouts weren't normally welcomed at Scuttlebutt, were usually looked down on and viewed with suspicion if they won too frequently -- but it was typically obvious when such tourists wandered in. It was a risk to make the assumption of this man, when he seemed to have made himself so cozy and comfortable, not a hair out of place. Maybe it was that attitude of his what set her fur on end and made the risk seem a right joy to take. She showed her teeth in another smile, this one a sight more sleazy than the last.

Clove immediately stood and bowed to his master; it wasn't an obsequious gesture, but a simple and slight inclination of his upper body. Suckup. "We haven't, of course," he said, his voice far more musical and pleasant than when he'd been lecturing Zhi. It was to be expected, but she was irritated nonetheless. Zhi hadn't seen Thatcher in person before. She'd a general description of the woman composed of numerous rumors and the terse snippets of neutral information Clove sometimes let slip, but as ever the reality had its differences. She cataloged Thatcher's face, build, manner and dress, her eyes lingering on the woman's hair. A striking color made more so by her eyes, one often noted and not, in Zhi's opinion, over-exaggerated by the rumors. "Madame Thatcher, may I present Zhavi Streetrunner. She is one who deals in moving small quantities of goods as well as information acquisition and trade within the city," Clove said as he took his seat, gesturing to Zhi. Zhi didn't stand. She folded her arms and nodded to Thatcher, cheerfully ignoring the cutting glance Clove sent her way. For all he was pretty, it didn't do him a whole lot of good when he was mad. It took effort for the world's beautiful to look dangerous, in Zhi's opinion. Clove had certainly never mastered the art. "Charmed," she said, sitting forward. Her ears were upright and pointed towards Thatcher, showing interest in the mysterious woman. "I been hearin' talk o' trouble twixt th'marked houses. Clove here thinks y'could make use o'information afore things get sour." Zhi's smile was broad and confident in its implication that she could be the one to provide said information and prevent any number of potential calamities.

Cards lay spread over the pitted table, encircling the pile of gil that'd been haphazardly tossed into the center. The same pile of gil that was presently being drawn away from Zhavi while she stared down at her opponent's hand in pure disbelief. She'd had it. The winning hand had been hers. But, somehow, the churl across from her had slipped in a trick that shouldn't have been possible. Unless she'd miscounted. She frowned, glancing back at her own hand, slowly working through the length of the game through her own fuzzy memory. Nald's balls, did it matter? She'd lost. Losers didn't have rights to complain in Scuttlebutt, premier dive in Limsa Lominsa's lower decks. Beloved of gamblers and alcoholics, it was a tiny open air stall that changed location depending on day and which way the yellowjackets were pissing. It was the sort of place where you could always catch a game or five of whatever caught your fancy, be it by luck or skill. It was the sort of place only locals knew about, given its lack of permanent location and no sign to declare it as anything more than a spontaneous gathering of layabouts and knaves. Its only constant was the father-daughter pair what run it, and them the most villainous looking of the lot. So it'd been surprising to see the man sitting across from her join in. Zhi hadn't recognized him -- not altogether impossible, but being that she was a regular visitor to Scuttlebutt, unexpected -- and she hadn't seen anyone greet him with familiarity. Of course, she was also drunk. Drunk, and drained of most of the coin she'd brought with her. It'd been a pretty pile of winnings, too, enough to easily keep her drunk for the next two days. All gone. Her tail twitched under the table as the jeers of the people watching the game started to flood in. They blurred and overlapped, a tangle of voices she couldn't put forth any effort to decipher, though she knew the insults from those who played regularly with her were flowing hard and fast. She grimaced and waved them off, slouching in her chair with her feet planted wide under the table: a tough little rat in her rough clothes and sarcastic smile. They ignored her brief attempts to silence them, some few who'd been early in the game calling for a rematch. Zhi had other things on her mind as she stared at the stranger. "Hey," she said, voice loud over the din. "Winner buys a round. 'Stradition." Her grin was cocky, as if she was entirely unaware of the loss she'd just suffered. As if she hadn't just lied through her teeth. Scuttlebutt's sole tradition was that cheaters who were caught got stomped by any number of enthusiastic volunteers. Not that the stranger would know that, of course.

Zhi almost glared at him. She stared at the ground instead. Clearly Lalataru was a little bit loose between the ears, which left her in the lurch. Gamble with a madman, or stick to the truth? If he found out she was lying, well, she'd already found out that hard way that toying with him wasn't too smart. "Nothin'. . .special, I don't think," she said slowly. "It was jes. . .lines, an' they done what I asked 'em."

The upper decks in Limsa Lominsa wasn't the sort of place that tended to welcome people like Zhavi Streetrunner. That went double for its fancy-pants restaurant, the Bismarck. It was fair enough to say that she'd never eaten there, and certainly hadn't ever met someone to talk business there. Yet her contact, Clove, had insisted that it had to be at the Bismarck, that no other place Zhi tended to use would be good enough. "She still pissed at ye fer that?" Zhi had asked. Clove had glowered at her. Quite scathing, that glower. Zhi had snickered to herself, and dropped the line of inquiry. Clove was a whore. Not only was he a whore, he was one of Limsa Lominsa's marked, a man who belonged to one of the city's premiere rings that could boast both quality of goods and legality of operation. Not every prostitution ring (or House, as some of them liked to call themselves, propping themselves up on some sort of stately glamor) could stake a claim to legality; only so many writs of trade were drawn up every year for the operation of brothels. And that was why Zhi had been stuffed into borrowed clothing and doused with a flea treatment: Thatcher's ring was having some trouble. Zhi didn't know the details, hadn't been able to sniff them all out, but the rumors she'd heard had been confirmed when Clove had sought her. There was bad blood between Thatcher and one of her rivals, and it had spilled over into action. Trouble was brewing. Zhi's favorite. She could already feel the weight of gil in her palms, and the promise of dangerous, illegal activities. She could help Thatcher, she was sure of it. All that remained were the details to be ironed out and pinned down. Clove escorted her to the restaurant, had them seated, and fussed at her like a fishwife the whole time. It was patently obvious that he was still smarting from being found out on his last venture with Zhi (even if his part had been played as a smokescreen for Zhi, he'd done it without telling Thatcher), and that he felt she owed him for whatever issue it'd caused between him and his master. She barely listened to his prattling, choosing instead to scope out the restaurant. It was fancy, and snooty, and so pretentious she couldn't help but feel nervous. Her back was to the rail, but even so she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was being watched. She didn't like having a meeting in such an open environment, but Clove had insisted. He was still sucking up to Thatcher; the whole thing was being done on his dime. He was good at what he did, after all. Zhi settled in and watched for Thatcher, tuning Clove out as best she could.

Eesh, bummer. The closed bit seems to go on and off, a lot of people have said it's due to specific times when the server is busy, so it might be there one hour and then gone the next. Either way, I hope you're able to transfer sooner rather than later! And there's always forum rp in the meantime if you can't resist the itch.

I wonder who controls how much gil gets made, and how they deal with nations whose value is bad. . .and stuff. /tinfoil hat (I am useless.)

There were many unflattering things Zhi had been called on account of her typically bad attitude. All of the reasons for those monikers lay at the forefront of her mind as Lalataru looked at her from over the top of the notebook. Restraint was somehow very difficult in that moment. Resentment curdled deep in her gut. "Umm," she said, because she suspected there was a right answer and she had no idea what it was supposed to be. "I felt right calm, I guess?" Bored. She'd felt bored. Bored, and frustrated, and resentful. But it hadn't been hard, at least, and that was one small favor out of a heap of shite she'd gone through the past two days.

If you were on Balmung. . . (though I dunno if she'd even be willing to work as cheap as what Zhi would be capable of paying )

None of my friends are into writing, and I kinda. . .don't really talk about rp with people I know irl. So, to me, topics like these are wonderful places to splurge my opinion and see how it shapes up alongside others' opinions who are into writing/rp like I am. And, of course, whenever there are differing opinions people tend to talk more, especially when the topic involves something they're passionate about. Just how that social element works.

Your character is lovely. I agree wholeheartedly with Aysun. If you ever want to come by Limsa Lominsa or have an excuse for your character to sell stuff there, please let me know. I think him and Zhi could be best friends* forever. *she would buy his dubious goods. She'd buy lots of them. She'd also probably infect him or his goods with lice, somehow. They would probably be hissing and spitting at each other by the end of the first week. It would be glorious.