Zhi knew where he liked to go. She knew what he liked to do. She knew who he'd been hanging around with, the rumors that surrounded him, and who he'd taken to his bed. She knew he was dangerous.
She waited for him.
The name of the tavern didn't matter. Most of them were the same in Limsa Lominsa, their differences categorized by who frequented them, and who controlled them. This one still sheltered under the law, for the most part, and it was for that reason that Zhi tended to avoid it. But here she'd been for a couple bells, leaning against a wall with full view of those who came and went, drink in hand and casual conversation with anyone who stepped her way. There'd been one drunken proposition from a woman who was too cross-eyed to notice the smell, or the mangy fur on her tail, or the fact that Zhi did not qualify as attractive by most conventional standards (and as ugly by most of those same conventional standards) -- but most weren't drunk enough to take that sort of interest in her. That suited her just fine.
She waited.
Two bells came and went. She paced herself with her drink, squatted and played a game of dice with a lad who most responsible people would consider too young to be drinking. She cheated him out of his gil. She bought him a drink with his own money, and set him off on an errand with the promise of earning back that same gil. It was always easier to corral kids into doing dirty work for you once you'd rid them of their own sense of self-worth, assuming they didn't cuss you for your troubles. It wasn't a matter of manners. It was a matter of survival.
Pyralis Targaryen's arrival was noticed. Handsome, flirtatious men always were, same with beautiful, flirtatious women. The beautiful were always admired. People were always drawn to them. It had its benefits, sure, but right then Zhi didn't want those benefits. Especially not there. There were already two women and one man who looked interested; whether or not they knew him on a personal level, well, that didn't matter. What mattered was that she would become notable if she approached him directly.
So she didn't.
One of the wenches came at her discreet signalling, and she tucked a few gil into the girl's cleavage (which that same girl did not appreciate; Zhi narrowly avoided getting slapped for her troubles) with a murmured request to pass along a message to the new arrival. She had a warning for him, and she'd be waiting for him outside whenever he was done: a miqo'te lass with a kinked tail in the shadow of an alley. She would wait to see that the wench delivered her message, then she would slip outside.
She was sure he wouldn't be too leery to meet her.
Pyralis Targaryen could handle himself.
Zhi was counting on it.
She waited for him.
The name of the tavern didn't matter. Most of them were the same in Limsa Lominsa, their differences categorized by who frequented them, and who controlled them. This one still sheltered under the law, for the most part, and it was for that reason that Zhi tended to avoid it. But here she'd been for a couple bells, leaning against a wall with full view of those who came and went, drink in hand and casual conversation with anyone who stepped her way. There'd been one drunken proposition from a woman who was too cross-eyed to notice the smell, or the mangy fur on her tail, or the fact that Zhi did not qualify as attractive by most conventional standards (and as ugly by most of those same conventional standards) -- but most weren't drunk enough to take that sort of interest in her. That suited her just fine.
She waited.
Two bells came and went. She paced herself with her drink, squatted and played a game of dice with a lad who most responsible people would consider too young to be drinking. She cheated him out of his gil. She bought him a drink with his own money, and set him off on an errand with the promise of earning back that same gil. It was always easier to corral kids into doing dirty work for you once you'd rid them of their own sense of self-worth, assuming they didn't cuss you for your troubles. It wasn't a matter of manners. It was a matter of survival.
Pyralis Targaryen's arrival was noticed. Handsome, flirtatious men always were, same with beautiful, flirtatious women. The beautiful were always admired. People were always drawn to them. It had its benefits, sure, but right then Zhi didn't want those benefits. Especially not there. There were already two women and one man who looked interested; whether or not they knew him on a personal level, well, that didn't matter. What mattered was that she would become notable if she approached him directly.
So she didn't.
One of the wenches came at her discreet signalling, and she tucked a few gil into the girl's cleavage (which that same girl did not appreciate; Zhi narrowly avoided getting slapped for her troubles) with a murmured request to pass along a message to the new arrival. She had a warning for him, and she'd be waiting for him outside whenever he was done: a miqo'te lass with a kinked tail in the shadow of an alley. She would wait to see that the wench delivered her message, then she would slip outside.
She was sure he wouldn't be too leery to meet her.
Pyralis Targaryen could handle himself.
Zhi was counting on it.
