Zhavi

6. Because 6 fucking hours with no food or drink. And completely incompetent staff who couldn't manage the line. The register people were fine. Is it bad that this reminds me of those old rollercoaster tycoon games where you had to hire entertainers so the people in line didn't go apeshit? I'm sorry y'all got stuck in line for so long though. That is pretty ridiculous.

I heard they passed out tickets to people still in line for priority service tomorrow. And apparently pnly they will get into the kerch line 10am-2pm The lore book looks great but i havent eaten since I woke up and I stood just under 6 hours in line. ...when I went to blizzcon awhile back, one of my guildies had a godly wife who would go and fetch us food and beverages while we waited in line. She was the best. You need one of those.

Sign me up for more customization. How about more faces that look older than 14? I'd dig that. ....also tattoos. Yum.

I'm sick and retarded, please excuse the double post of stupidity.

I'll light a candle* for you, you poor soul. Liadan, I read somewhere that the lorebooks will become available to us plebs sometime in December, but that could be wrong. * That was an outright lie.

If anyone scores the lorebook, I want pictures.

http://ffxiv.consolegameswiki.com/wiki/Commands If that is accurate, going by the other commands /roleplay /roleplaying or /rp might do the trick, if you haven't tried it. If not, the command might not yet be in. edit - you might have to add 'on' to the end of it. Like /roleplaying on Let us knowwww. Nah, I tried all of those before posting. No bueno. Even with the 'on' after it? edit - well, with and without on. Mmhm. Nothing works. http://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/playguide/win/text_command/ Appears nothing is in yet, sorry! (status commands are under 'other')

http://ffxiv.consolegameswiki.com/wiki/Commands If that is accurate, going by the other commands /roleplay /roleplaying or /rp might do the trick, if you haven't tried it. If not, the command might not yet be in. edit - you might have to add 'on' to the end of it. Like /roleplaying on Let us knowwww. Nah, I tried all of those before posting. No bueno. Even with the 'on' after it? edit - well, with and without on.

http://ffxiv.consolegameswiki.com/wiki/Commands If that is accurate, going by the other commands /roleplay /roleplaying or /rp might do the trick, if you haven't tried it. If not, the command might not yet be in. edit - you might have to add 'on' to the end of it. Like /roleplaying on Let us knowwww.

See, most of the time I don't like walkups. If I'm available for rp, I prefer tells. If I have it on, it's a hint to other players to, oh I don't know, look at my search info, where it will then let them know that I would like them to send me a tell. Same thing with other players where it will let them know to just walk up and start rping. There's not going to magically come a time where everyone uses the thing the same way. It's an indicator, not some super secret handshake that's gonna mean the same thing to everyone.

I like it when people use it to indicate that they want to rp, no matter what they're currently doing. I don't randomly look at everyone's note. I like having an indicator to check someone's note, or send them a tell asking if they'd be willing to rp. Or hell, even just to make a new contact. I don't generally like restrictions* in an open rp setting like MMOs -- even ooc things like this. *I've said it before and I'll say it again: RP is a hobby. Do what you want, but just don't expect that everyone else is gonna wanna do the same thing.

Ohhh nooo. I only rped with him once or twice way back when I first started up on Zhi. We made some rp plans that never quite panned out, but the couple of times I got to rp with him were oodles of fun, and he was a chill dude to talk to oocly the couple times I did. Very, very sorry to hear. Hugs to you all.

All I can imagine is devs cackling with their fingers steepled in front of their mouths, watching all the fuss and angst. The up and down numbers is like a shitty game of wheel of fortune. HOPE IT LANDS ON THE RIGHT ONE.

Wherever you are. Snag one of the innumerable other people looking for rp, and do your thing.

http://imgur.com/gallery/5KFTY faces and short descriptions of who they were to go with the names.

Bless you, Warren. *wraps around new zelda game*

Ul'dah stunk like dust, and dirt, and sweat. It coated the skin, the mouth, and the inside of Zhi's nose, so that she couldn't breathe for sneezing and frequently got nosebleeds. "It ain't th' air what makes yer nose bleed." Had she been muttering? Zhi bounced from foot to foot, glaring up at Brindle as he looked innocently away. "'S too hot," she groused, wiping at the sweat that was already starting to coat her forehead. Everywhere else too, but she wasn't about to go slapping at herself. Scratching, however... "Gods, Zhi, really?" "Go," Zhi snapped, flinging a hand in a careless direction as they funneled out of the receiving area for the airships and towards the elevator. "Go away. Be useful. Get me infermation, laddo, afore I take it out o' yer hide." She'd never been so annoying. He tossed her some semblance of salute, grinning like he'd guessed her current train of thought, and they kept that silence all the way down. He dashed out once the lift reached its end, and Zhi stared after him. To any casual observer, he was just another Ul'dah streetkid, indistinguishable but for the occasional off word or gesture. She? The Limsan way of walking, all rolling steps and loose-armed ego, was imprinted in her to her bones. She'd thought herself a fair act, but her time away from Limsa had only served to show her just how shaped she'd been by the city she'd grown up in. Not that time couldn't scrub that away like it did everything else. Brindle was affixed to places of crossing, so she knew he'd set to the markets -- which meant she was left to her very most favorite haunts: places that sold alcohol and other. - The smoke hanging hazy in the air smelled wonderful in the way it did to those who weren't quite ready to give it up. If only the same could be said for the rest of the room, which gave up sweat, booze, vomit, and ... various other bodily fluids. Perfect. Zhavi took a seat next to the biggest cluster of scrags, sitting upright but slumped -- just another lowlife come to feed at the table. Which, really... Not the point. She had her order, took her time looking over the broken lamps and dimly lit walls, taking in the slightly fuzzy texture of every visible surface. Judging by the smell, cleaning was second to excess, and that was perfectly fine with her. She doubted they could even smell her; the room was its own coagulation of present and past odors. Conversations and people came and went, far enough along that a few eyefuls of sinuous, long-past-retirement wenches eventually turned into a handful, which turned into ... gil exchanging hands. The right hands. The good thing about broken down dumps was that their standards were even lower than Zhi's -- and that weren't nothing to complain about. Still, she was nursing the right kind of headache when she finally heard gossip pertaining to her original intention, and she wasn't nowhere near hazed enough to let it go to waste. She let the conversation -- about the right jockey, ruttin' scrag -- play out and start to die before she caught up her thread. The man she wanted to talk to was a cartwright, evidently working on the wagons of one of the merchants who visited the races to gouge prices on items otherwise not worth mentioning. Everyone had something to say about merchants. So, she contributed. She said, overloud: "Trust merchants t'always be there when summat happens, aye? Blimmin' scavengers, they is." There was a nod, and a flicked glance towards her before she was dismissed: nothing particularly exciting about another washed up junkie, after all, and she'd not said anything worth getting worked up over. But the cartwright nodded, evidently a blasted enough sod to enjoy any attention lain upon him. Sad bastard. "Aye, but lissen, they get it taken right out o' them, at the races. Silver Bazaar charges a fee, see? Outta hear them moneyed tots cry." This time, there was a ripple of dark laughter, all of it muted and rinsed down with vapors and questionable liquids. "They're payin' yer drinkin'n gamblin' money," Zhi pointed out with half a grin that lasted exactly four seconds. She shooed off the wench still perched on her lap, and took a seat at the group's table. They all obviously worked hard, given their burly upper bodies...and played hard, given that their guts had no doubt seen an endless supply of cheap booze. She stood out by contrast, all skin and bones, marked by hard use. They sized her up, making their assumptions, and she let them -- giving a sneer that showed just what she thought of them. The table's ambience shifted, and settled. "May be, but they ain't done me no great service. Just more merchants." Easy. The next few quips got Zhi names of merchant company and merchants, folk who'd been at the event in question. Rumors, and gossip, and opinions on the living and deceased, coated in sarcasm and cynicism, and in language that could make even a sailor blush. A young one, anyways. By the time she left, she was feeling a sight more relaxed. She took a sideline to sell a few questionable substances she'd...secreted on the trip over (part of the boon of being so reprehensibly unhygienic was that the customs officers invariably chose self comfort over valor, and left her and her cheap ass clothes well enough alone), the proceeds of which would cover her bill at the rather rundown boarding house they always stayed at. Brindle was already there, catching sleep. He woke up when she opened the door to their room, and was bright-eyed in no time. They exchanged a report: names of expected merchants, possible nobodies, strangers, and one that caught Zhi's ears. Johi Jade. Apothecary and supplier to some of the more exotic demands, including the refiner Zhi was supposed to have gotten the drop from. Before it was raided and stolen. Possibly a coincidence, but with the way things were shaping up, Zhi was going to be visiting the woman first. In the (cringe) morning. For the millionth time, Zhi wished she'd been born as anything but a nocturnal Keeper. She slept terribly.

When it comes to building characters, my preferences tend to be for building them up as a whole person: elements that make sense, starting from when the character was young and moving up. I mean, that's how people form, and characters are supposed to be people, right? But, people are rarely predictable, and so a dash here and there of something discordant, something a little off or that doesn't quite fit expectations, is what makes a character both believable and interesting to me. After creeping your wiki, I can happily say that you're right on target for the things I believe make for good characters and good rp. Job well done. And this line: makes for extra cool points from me.

I think his point is that you don't see every bowel movement or piss the character takes. Authors don't describe the color, texture, shape of elimination, movies don't show you the contents of the bowl or the facial expressions made by the character while they're going for every single time. Because for most plots, it's entirely unnecessary. Imagine if every The Office episode covered the full 8 hour work day, not just the funny parts. Elements = good The entirety of the human experience = typically bad for fiction. edit- I can word. Promise.

Nuisances come in many flavors and shades. Welcome!

You get a compliment for being fun to brainstorm with. ALSO BECAUSE I FINALLY GOT TO WRITE WITH YOU YAY FOR BEING FUN.

Mother characters over 35 who still go around kicking ass and having a life outside of family is something not seen often enough in fantasy (though it is changing...slowly). Kudos to you for playing outside of the box, and doing it with grace and style.

Wow, these are pretty and cool. <3 the art.

Zhavi didn't think she'd ever get used to airships. No matter how many times she took 'em, it gave her the shivers to be so high up in the air. It weren't natural, and there was something wrong about seeing the city that had ruled her life reduced to a tiny speck below, and then behind her. Limsa Lominsa was a monster in itself, and it always chilled her to leave it behind, like it was about to reach out and snatch her back. She fought the sensation and looked away. Brindle was nattering something at her, his form irritatingly tall and lanky beside her. She missed being able to look down at him; at least then she knew he had no other better options. Keeping him around kept her sharp, she told herself. Repeatedly. "Slow down," she snapped at him, turning away from the rail to hover near one of the benches on deck. It kept her from pacing. Not pacing kept her from attracting too much attention. "Start over." She hadn't been listening. The sound he made told her he knew she hadn't been listening. "Listen, I went an' checked out some o' me larks, thinkin' mebbe 'twere that he'd taken on some sort o' yoke. Copper's crew, an' take a roll on whether'r not it was a one off, aye? But that's th' wrinkle, he ain't some sort o' poor gaffer, he ain't, 'twas a jockey what gambled, wi' a big break aside." Zhi looked up at the lad, squinting against the sun. Why was he so tall? "What's 'e doin' on me turf, kickin' up sod wi' Rourke?" Brindle shrugged. "Weren't no job caught at th' docks, no from what I can tell." Zhi gritted her teeth. "Well now, I'll pull me take from his widow, if I've need, mark me words." "Don't have one." "Th' take went somewhere." Brindle nodded, uneasy. "He's debts -- an' yeah, we knew that -- but I'm thinkin' they weren't all circlin' 'round gil." "So what, this's a blimmin' favor?" Brindle shrugged. "What's a jockey workin' Thanalan out doin' stealin' from some boss in Limsa?" Brindle shrugged again. "This ain't me gig." Brindle grinned, his bared teeth completely without humor. "Nah, but it'll be yer hide if Jager finds out. Mine too if Rourke finds out." Zhavi gripped the back of the bench. She hated airships. She hated travel. "Then we'd best move quick, aye?" Brindle nodded, eyes straying to her whitened knuckles. "Aye." _________________ Johi hadn't opened shop back in Ul'dah after the race, and she decided to keep it closed the day after, too. The last thing she needed were any high-minded Blades coming sniffing around her stall asking questions about where she'd been and what she knew about the murder at the races. She wasn't involved, and they'd like as not know that, but that didn't mean they wouldn't steal some of her inventory as "evidence," and she'd a mind to keep her profit. Besides, if they really needed her for questioning, they'd dig her out of her little one-room home. As it was, she sat in the narrow alley outside of her home, next to her open door, grinding and mixing herbs she was low on in the shop. Around her, men and women moved on their various daily errands. Gossip flowed, and Johi supped from it, casually, letting it keep her mind occupied while her hands worked. "Didn't you hear about that poor Miss Yates? Brother was the only thing keeping her and her boy fed, and now he's gone. Poor things." "Poor? Better off without that louse, if you ask me." "Better off? They'll be starving afore the moon's out!" "He'd tatty connections, and word was he was digging himself deep with his debts." "Connections? He was a gambler, aye, but he weren't no beater." "He got hisself in with a bad crowd, mark my words, because..." The voices trailed off, Johi catching herself seeking after them. Yates? Miss Yates and her boy? Surely that wasn't the good for nothing brother she'd seen dead yesterday... She chewed on her lower lip, hands stilling in her lap. Maybe...maybe she'd open her stall up anyways. Just in case. Just to be sure. There were some routines in Ul'dah it was better not to mess with.

The ship moaned. It was echoed by something lesser, deep in the belly of its hold, issuing from the mouth of a skinny, hollowed out man who lay on his side. He was barely illuminated, but the excesses of life and all its troubles were clearly visible, from his sagging skin to the threadbare, stained clothes that hung off his frame. He'd curled up, contusions marking what skin was visible. At the least, he wasn't bleeding much. "Shit," Zhavi said. "Shit," Brindle agreed. The two stood, looking down on the man. Zhavi's face was pulled into that death's mask grin that was one part gallow's humor and one part high; she put off a reek that ventured somewhere between her own excesses and a general disregard for bathing. Where her clothing was relatively well made, compared to the gentleman shivering and miserable on the ground, it too was stained and, quite frankly, ill-cared for. Remarkable how fitting it matched the situation. "I'll have it back," Zhi continued, voice full of gravel and misbegotten pleasantries. "I been sayin' that, me laddy-buck, aye?" "Been sayin' plenty things." Brindle sighed: it was the sigh of a child grown too soon, mismatched with his tall, gangly body and puppy-large hands and feet. He was clean, though he'd compensated for Zhavi's stink by wearing far, far too much cologne. It stung her nose. "Yeah? Aye, so I have. Like how I've need t' get some property back what belongs to me boss." "Afore 'e finds out," Brindle muttered. Zhi spared a scowl for the lad. He made a face at her. They resumed staring at the man on the floor. "So ye see why I'm a touch... o'erwrought when ye come in here talkin' tales 'bout scrags dyin' afore I can recoup me stolen ... property. Understand?" "And I- I tole you. If he ain't dead yet, he will --" Zhi's foot caught the downed man in the knee, and he broke off with a breathless grunt. Given the expression on her face, he was at the peak of her annoyance. As ever, it didn't last for long, a wide and guileless grin shifting her lips with her mercurial mood. "Now, now, guv, I'm sure there's still somethin' useful rattlin' 'round in that cracked knob o' yers. Spit it out fer me, me little songbird." Brindle chewed on his stubby fingernails, watching. "I can't change that!" The man's voice was trembling, and raspy in the way of an addict gone too long without a fix. "Then where's he gonna die, huh?" "He-he-he ... racin' -- he's racin' for th' Thanalan races." "On his pretty new bird?" "Ye-yeah." Zhi spat, eyes narrowing. "Figures. Him an' his new bird, me without me goods. An' I was gonna have th' drop done early this time." Her turn to sigh. She kicked the man again, but it was half-hearted. "Anythin' else?" The man coughed. "Gambler. Bad gambler." "Who ain't, in this sorry place." Zhi turned away, picking up a coil of rope. She handed it off to Brindle, who took it without question. The lad crouched before the man, hands working deftly. Zhi moved to a long table bolted to the wall, listening to Brindle's tuneless humming as she bent and sniffed loudly. Once, twice, thrice. Ah, relief. "I guess we're off t' Ul'dah?" Brindle rubbed the peach fuzz on his chin, eyes gleaming in the dim lantern-light. His muscles worked as he hefted the rope, pulling, pulling, pulling. Zhavi Streetrunner snorted. "Jes take care o' this. I've a few more tongues what need shakin' loose." "Then Ul'dah?" She moved for the stairs. "Keep yer head in th' game an' out from 'twixt yer legs, ye witless churl." Brindle's laughter, mixed with the gurgling moans of the fallen, followed her out. _______________ Dry heat and large, overbearing casks of alcohol matched well. Well enough that even the struggling merchants of the Silver Bazaar looked pleased, under their hard expressions and suspicious eyes. They suffered the races and the motley entourage that stumbled along behind, charging outrageous overhead to those greedy merchants who followed behind to attend the needs of the drunk, disorderly, and properly wasted. In her day job, Johi Jade didn't have much use for these sorts of customers. Then again, in her day job she didn't make so much money hand over fist. Everyone had a use for a well-stocked apothecary, but she paid out enough in protection money already to want to risk selling such...refined products as were sought at these not-quite-sanctioned events at her registered stall in the city. It said something that she made enough to cover a full moon's rent on these days, even with the Bazaar taking a full quarter from her profit. The bookie was hanging around the casks, and nearly every single swaggering idiot that went to him wound up buying more to drink. Sots, all of them. She wondered if the bookie had cut a deal with one of the Bazaar lot, and then wondered if she might do the same. Another day. One of the jockeys -- the winner, she realized, from the morning race; favored to win in the final late afternoon race a few bells down the line -- went up to the bookie. He was saying something. Johi couldn't see his face, but his back was stiff, and he was gesticulating wildly. Another gambler laughed, and the merchant pulling the beer -- or whatever it was -- filled up a hefty mug for the jockey. He took it, but it didn't calm him down. He started getting louder, and Johi took it as a sign to move to another area; such displays weren't good for her own business. Bells passed as she plied her trade from her discreet bags, word of mouth and a few careful lines keeping her busy between (and sometimes, rarely, during) races. It was hot, nasty work, and she knew herself to be one of many scavengers feasting on the misfortunes of others, but she didn't let it bother her. She'd her own survival to tend to, same as anyone else. Besides, she'd never had much respect for those who couldn't control themselves. She was drifting past the pickets of racing chocobos (race staff and organizers keeping keen watch over the birds; foul play could absolutely destroy attendance for later events -- gamblers didn't take kindly to any cheat not themselves) when she caught sight of the golden bird -- thronged with admirers, as usual. More unusual was the jockey, sprawled on the ground, leaning up against the post his chocobo was tethered to. The empty mug was beside his hip, tipped over. His condition was snickered over as officials went up and down the line, doing the pre-check before the race could start. This jockey was known for his lack of discipline, but even this was bad for him. Drunkards were always the same. The official got at last to the pair, and tried to rouse the jockey. Several times. Someone made a loud joke about shooting his wad too early. The crowd got loud, and then quiet when the jockey wouldn't wake. "He's dead," someone muttered. Johi didn't see who. Minutes passed. "Get th' arbiter!" The official snarled, gesturing for the guards to come attend. Murmurs rose as the guards came, pushing the crowd back. The two words, "he's dead," were repeated ad nauseum. Then the rumors started. "Huh," Johi said. She left soon after.