Having your face shoved against a wall was a helluva way to start the morning.
"Fyrilsolkn," she muttered, one cheek flat against it. The name came out mushed. "Always good t'. . .nnn. . .see ye."
His hands were traveling up and down her body. He didn't respond. He came up with nothing. As if she'd be so stupid as to hide weapons when she was visiting Galine. She'd brought her dagger, had laid it into Fyril's partner's hand. Abartoum. Also a bucket of moonshine.
The two men weren't related, but they were well matched. Tanned, ruggedly handsome, they kept their silences and moved before Galine could even open her mouth to order them around. They'd been with her for at least a decade, maybe more. They dressed the same, looked the same -- they had to be related, for all everyone denied it.
Fyril stepped back, and Zhi pushed herself off the wall, brushing herself off. She glared up at him, but he was moving towards the door. Or maybe that was Abar. Shit.
"Zhavi," the other one -- Abar? -- said. Stupid lookalikes.
She looked at him, tugging her clothing to rights.
"Do not put the serra in a foul mood."
She looked away first.
The door was open, the other introducing her to the lalafell ensconced in the grand room beyond. Pompous room. Decorated in plum and midnight blue, with little pops of scarlet meant to draw the eye in towards the person who occupied it. Galine. Only Galine -- she liked her theatrics. Upstage her and there would be a problem. Mess something up and there would be blood. Just not in her office. Or on any of her things. No, it would be done somewhere rough and quiet, where things could be cleaned up tidily.
Galine liked tidy. She was very particular. Anyone who dealt with her knew that first hand. And Zhi, walking into the room with a short stride meant to make the most use out of her slim hips, knew Galine first hand.
She still couldn't look the lalafell in the eyes.
"Still walking around as if you have been rolling in the midden, pet?"
Should've bathed.
As Zhi was finding her tongue, Galine continued to speak. "You always had to be so stubborn, no matter the cost to yourself."
"Serra," Zhi said, dipping her head down low before the grandiose desk that dominated the room.
"What is this? Are you bending to pick something off from the floor or are you showing respect? For the life of me, pet, I cannot tell."
Zhi winced. That damn familiarity. I ain't yer pet, ye feckin' windbag. But she straightened, offered the bow that fed Galine's ego. Naught more than a mummer's game.
"Serra," she said again, straightening. "I'm moving th'goods like ye asked."
"Still with that wretched slang." Galine tsked.
It was hard to breathe.
"They'll be comin' soon," Zhi continued, forcing the words out past her teeth. "I ain't done ye wrong."
"But what amuses me most of all is how . . . open you are with your temper."
The urge to piss pressed at Zhavi's bladder. She couldn't move. She just stared at Galine's be-ringed hands as they passed over papers. Were those papers about her? She stayed silent.
"You ought to be more careful of where you conduct your. . .business. Or should I say 'spats'?"
No, no, no, no, no. "Everything's been arranged real neat. . ." Zhi forced the words out. Her voice was small, weak.
"I have been thinking how it has been some time since I have invited someone to tea. Tell me, have you heard of Osric Melkire? Ahh. . ."
Zhavi closed her eyes.
"That is the young man you had your disagreement with in the Wench, is it not? How delightful."
"I -- "
"You, my little pet, are late. I do not accept tardiness. You should be well aware of that. How curious, then, that you would try to make excuses for your failure to be punctual. Curious indeed."
Zhi's hands had started to tremble. She pushed them against her thighs. Galine's fingers were tiptoeing across her papers, sifting through them.
"Serra -- "
"I believe you owe me another, teensy favor, pet."
Galine waited until Zhavi looked up from the desk, up to Galine's beautiful serpentine green eyes, before she made her demands known.
It felt like bells had passed when Zhi exited the small building in the upscale part of town. She stank of fear-sweat, and failure. She would have to contract help. Something. She had to think. She had to move.
She couldn't disappoint Galine again.
"Fyrilsolkn," she muttered, one cheek flat against it. The name came out mushed. "Always good t'. . .nnn. . .see ye."
His hands were traveling up and down her body. He didn't respond. He came up with nothing. As if she'd be so stupid as to hide weapons when she was visiting Galine. She'd brought her dagger, had laid it into Fyril's partner's hand. Abartoum. Also a bucket of moonshine.
The two men weren't related, but they were well matched. Tanned, ruggedly handsome, they kept their silences and moved before Galine could even open her mouth to order them around. They'd been with her for at least a decade, maybe more. They dressed the same, looked the same -- they had to be related, for all everyone denied it.
Fyril stepped back, and Zhi pushed herself off the wall, brushing herself off. She glared up at him, but he was moving towards the door. Or maybe that was Abar. Shit.
"Zhavi," the other one -- Abar? -- said. Stupid lookalikes.
She looked at him, tugging her clothing to rights.
"Do not put the serra in a foul mood."
She looked away first.
The door was open, the other introducing her to the lalafell ensconced in the grand room beyond. Pompous room. Decorated in plum and midnight blue, with little pops of scarlet meant to draw the eye in towards the person who occupied it. Galine. Only Galine -- she liked her theatrics. Upstage her and there would be a problem. Mess something up and there would be blood. Just not in her office. Or on any of her things. No, it would be done somewhere rough and quiet, where things could be cleaned up tidily.
Galine liked tidy. She was very particular. Anyone who dealt with her knew that first hand. And Zhi, walking into the room with a short stride meant to make the most use out of her slim hips, knew Galine first hand.
She still couldn't look the lalafell in the eyes.
"Still walking around as if you have been rolling in the midden, pet?"
Should've bathed.
As Zhi was finding her tongue, Galine continued to speak. "You always had to be so stubborn, no matter the cost to yourself."
"Serra," Zhi said, dipping her head down low before the grandiose desk that dominated the room.
"What is this? Are you bending to pick something off from the floor or are you showing respect? For the life of me, pet, I cannot tell."
Zhi winced. That damn familiarity. I ain't yer pet, ye feckin' windbag. But she straightened, offered the bow that fed Galine's ego. Naught more than a mummer's game.
"Serra," she said again, straightening. "I'm moving th'goods like ye asked."
"Still with that wretched slang." Galine tsked.
It was hard to breathe.
"They'll be comin' soon," Zhi continued, forcing the words out past her teeth. "I ain't done ye wrong."
"But what amuses me most of all is how . . . open you are with your temper."
The urge to piss pressed at Zhavi's bladder. She couldn't move. She just stared at Galine's be-ringed hands as they passed over papers. Were those papers about her? She stayed silent.
"You ought to be more careful of where you conduct your. . .business. Or should I say 'spats'?"
No, no, no, no, no. "Everything's been arranged real neat. . ." Zhi forced the words out. Her voice was small, weak.
"I have been thinking how it has been some time since I have invited someone to tea. Tell me, have you heard of Osric Melkire? Ahh. . ."
Zhavi closed her eyes.
"That is the young man you had your disagreement with in the Wench, is it not? How delightful."
"I -- "
"You, my little pet, are late. I do not accept tardiness. You should be well aware of that. How curious, then, that you would try to make excuses for your failure to be punctual. Curious indeed."
Zhi's hands had started to tremble. She pushed them against her thighs. Galine's fingers were tiptoeing across her papers, sifting through them.
"Serra -- "
"I believe you owe me another, teensy favor, pet."
Galine waited until Zhavi looked up from the desk, up to Galine's beautiful serpentine green eyes, before she made her demands known.
It felt like bells had passed when Zhi exited the small building in the upscale part of town. She stank of fear-sweat, and failure. She would have to contract help. Something. She had to think. She had to move.
She couldn't disappoint Galine again.
