The sky blazed red, casting Limsa Lominsa in a bloody haze. This was all well and good, really, for the man who pulled his sword free from a dying man. The dying man crumpled, gasping his last breaths. If he had last words to speak, they were lost to the three who stood over him; he had been dismissed. One final cruelty, one final blow to his dignity. That was how it was in Limsa Lominsa.
A delicate lalafel woman watched, arms primly folded: she stood well back from where the blood might touch her fine clothes. "See to it," she said, her voice curt and frosty, "that this doesn't happen again."
"Milady," another woman said. This one was tall and slender for a roegadyn. Her clothing proclaimed her a sailor of some sort, but her hands lacked the right callouses.
The swordsman wiped his sword off on the dying man, then put his boot to the man -- now little more than a corpse -- and pushed him over the edge of the boardwalk they stood upon. There was a splash.
The lalafel woman made a face.
"Of course not, Milady," the swordsman said.
She glared at the two of them, the roegadyn and the swordsman. "It had better not. I have enough filth getting under my fingernails without this tripe to add to it. Lark, with me. You will root out the rest of that one's little den. I expect a report tomorrow morning.
"Now come along, I tire of this farce." The latter was spoken to the woman, Lark, who smirked at the man. She and her mistress walked away, leaving the swordsman to sheathe his sword and stare down at the water. He spat down at the corpse before he, too, turned to leave.
__________________
Three days later
"Me nephew."
Zhi paused, tail going rigid behind her in surprise, as she looked up from the crate of rags she was digging through. "Scales, Keto'to, ye creep 'round worse'n a nightbird."
She straightened, eyebrows pulling close together as she looked over at the old miqo'te. Every time she saw him, there was a small part of her that felt surprise that he was still alive; such was his advanced age, at least in appearance. Yet, he was as much a fixture of lowtown in Limsa Lominsa as the buildings themselves. Though he only operated at night (Keeper born, was he, and he claimed old age had made him too sensitive to the light of the sun to tolerate it), he was as respected as anyone could be in the city. Few were those who thought to mess with him, and those were always sure to find out just how many championed the old man.
"Me nephew 'ain't come back."
Zhi eyed him, curious, and let her expression twist to annoyance. "So?"
"Ye've needuva job, dovey."
Zhi's expression fell into something more dour at the words. Rumors flew faster than seabirds in Limsa, and her own fall from what little grace she'd commanded was a constant thorn in her side. Damnable jacks. "So?"
"I'll back ye." He was serious, his rheumy eyes intent upon her. Keto'to rarely intervened in any circumstance, preferring to keep to his ragpicker's stall and his neutrality. All the same, his word carried weight among those Zhi trucked with. Weight that she desperately needed -- Flit's own aid nonwithstanding.
Her ears pricked forward. "Yeah? Fer what?"
"Find me lad."
"Why me?"
Keto'to hesitated, his own ears flicking sideways. His tail lashed behind him, and his mouth pulled down. "He was nosin' 'round wi' the Oaths. Few're willin' t' --"
"Th' Oaths? What d'ye take me fer, a gadabout? Ain't no way I --"
"Five hunnerd."
The words stopped Zhi cold, mouth open and ears back. She closed her mouth, then swore, then tipped her head back with a groan. She folded her arms, her mouth working, not liking the implications and disliking her own greed even less. She needed the money. She needed someone to bolster her sputtering reputation.
She needed work.
"Up front," she snapped.
He dug around in his trousers and came up with a small pouch.
Sonuvabitch, he'd waited for her.
"There's some what're new t'the city what might fill in yer own gaps."
She'd been out of the thick of things for awhile. He knew she'd be unable to be efficient on her own. It rankled.
"Yeah, I'll find 'em." She snatched the pouch from him, stuffed it down her shirt, and turned away. Her need of new clothes forgotten, she'd started walking when he called after her.
"Zhio."
She looked back.
"If. . .if it's his body ye find. . .don't -- bring me back th'name o' them what took him from me afore y'tell me. Hear me?"
With a sinking feeling in her gut, Zhi nodded and went to go search the dives and hangouts where lowlifes collected.
She needed information.
A delicate lalafel woman watched, arms primly folded: she stood well back from where the blood might touch her fine clothes. "See to it," she said, her voice curt and frosty, "that this doesn't happen again."
"Milady," another woman said. This one was tall and slender for a roegadyn. Her clothing proclaimed her a sailor of some sort, but her hands lacked the right callouses.
The swordsman wiped his sword off on the dying man, then put his boot to the man -- now little more than a corpse -- and pushed him over the edge of the boardwalk they stood upon. There was a splash.
The lalafel woman made a face.
"Of course not, Milady," the swordsman said.
She glared at the two of them, the roegadyn and the swordsman. "It had better not. I have enough filth getting under my fingernails without this tripe to add to it. Lark, with me. You will root out the rest of that one's little den. I expect a report tomorrow morning.
"Now come along, I tire of this farce." The latter was spoken to the woman, Lark, who smirked at the man. She and her mistress walked away, leaving the swordsman to sheathe his sword and stare down at the water. He spat down at the corpse before he, too, turned to leave.
__________________
Three days later
"Me nephew."
Zhi paused, tail going rigid behind her in surprise, as she looked up from the crate of rags she was digging through. "Scales, Keto'to, ye creep 'round worse'n a nightbird."
She straightened, eyebrows pulling close together as she looked over at the old miqo'te. Every time she saw him, there was a small part of her that felt surprise that he was still alive; such was his advanced age, at least in appearance. Yet, he was as much a fixture of lowtown in Limsa Lominsa as the buildings themselves. Though he only operated at night (Keeper born, was he, and he claimed old age had made him too sensitive to the light of the sun to tolerate it), he was as respected as anyone could be in the city. Few were those who thought to mess with him, and those were always sure to find out just how many championed the old man.
"Me nephew 'ain't come back."
Zhi eyed him, curious, and let her expression twist to annoyance. "So?"
"Ye've needuva job, dovey."
Zhi's expression fell into something more dour at the words. Rumors flew faster than seabirds in Limsa, and her own fall from what little grace she'd commanded was a constant thorn in her side. Damnable jacks. "So?"
"I'll back ye." He was serious, his rheumy eyes intent upon her. Keto'to rarely intervened in any circumstance, preferring to keep to his ragpicker's stall and his neutrality. All the same, his word carried weight among those Zhi trucked with. Weight that she desperately needed -- Flit's own aid nonwithstanding.
Her ears pricked forward. "Yeah? Fer what?"
"Find me lad."
"Why me?"
Keto'to hesitated, his own ears flicking sideways. His tail lashed behind him, and his mouth pulled down. "He was nosin' 'round wi' the Oaths. Few're willin' t' --"
"Th' Oaths? What d'ye take me fer, a gadabout? Ain't no way I --"
"Five hunnerd."
The words stopped Zhi cold, mouth open and ears back. She closed her mouth, then swore, then tipped her head back with a groan. She folded her arms, her mouth working, not liking the implications and disliking her own greed even less. She needed the money. She needed someone to bolster her sputtering reputation.
She needed work.
"Up front," she snapped.
He dug around in his trousers and came up with a small pouch.
Sonuvabitch, he'd waited for her.
"There's some what're new t'the city what might fill in yer own gaps."
She'd been out of the thick of things for awhile. He knew she'd be unable to be efficient on her own. It rankled.
"Yeah, I'll find 'em." She snatched the pouch from him, stuffed it down her shirt, and turned away. Her need of new clothes forgotten, she'd started walking when he called after her.
"Zhio."
She looked back.
"If. . .if it's his body ye find. . .don't -- bring me back th'name o' them what took him from me afore y'tell me. Hear me?"
With a sinking feeling in her gut, Zhi nodded and went to go search the dives and hangouts where lowlifes collected.
She needed information.
