It was dangerous to go alone. Moreso than usual. But Zhavi didn't have anyone old or wise to hand her something to take along with her. What she had was her wits and a few layers of bruises to remind her that stupidity had a price.
The moon was almost full.
It had been raining, lately. The streets were glistening in the scant light that came from the sky. Clouds covered most of it, though the moon had found a hole through which to peek. Zhi avoided the puddles, hands in her pockets, and avoided the guttersnipes hanging out in doorways.
They made suggestions to her as she passed. She'd grin, and shrug, and keep walking.
Just another night, right? Just another walk through the darkness, fear on her tail. She'd fecked up her own take. She'd allowed herself to be watched. She hadn't noticed. That got runners killed.
She skipped over a thin trickle of brackish water on its way over the edge of the spire she was on, and smoothed her hands through her hair. Too much was on the line for her to feck another take. The city was always hungry for death. She'd come close. Close enough to do something about it.
For the first time in two years, five moons, and twenty suns, Zhavi Streetrunner had bathed.
It hadn't been one of her typical sluice-and-scoots. It wasn't even the lavender soap escapades that had marked her meetings with the Cap'n. She had scrubbed, for nigh on an hour, and rinsed several times in a proper bath. She'd bought and used dust for her lice. She'd been clean for the first time in a long time.
Then, carefully, she'd scented herself. Not with any feminine -- or even masculine -- perfume, but with the smell of the city. Her own body odor had been scoured away. All that was left was the city.
She'd dressed in muted colors, a blend of pale and dark. All of her clothing was tight to her body. The city belonged to her, and no one was going to take that away from her. Not Galine. Not Raz. Not Melkire. Not Xydane. Not Jager.
No one.
She slipped past another group of late night rapscallions, and ghosted up a wall. It was time to play fetch for Galine, time to finish up her gods-damned favor.
She wasn't going alone.
Jager was found, and Zhavi carefully tailed him until he was in a workable position. Until he was in the right spot for her to surprise him.
Turnabout was fair play, after all.
She dropped next to him, near silent, and if he wasn't fast enough she'd grab herself a fistful of his shirt and shove him up against the wall she'd dropped down from. Hard.
The moon was almost full.
It had been raining, lately. The streets were glistening in the scant light that came from the sky. Clouds covered most of it, though the moon had found a hole through which to peek. Zhi avoided the puddles, hands in her pockets, and avoided the guttersnipes hanging out in doorways.
They made suggestions to her as she passed. She'd grin, and shrug, and keep walking.
Just another night, right? Just another walk through the darkness, fear on her tail. She'd fecked up her own take. She'd allowed herself to be watched. She hadn't noticed. That got runners killed.
She skipped over a thin trickle of brackish water on its way over the edge of the spire she was on, and smoothed her hands through her hair. Too much was on the line for her to feck another take. The city was always hungry for death. She'd come close. Close enough to do something about it.
For the first time in two years, five moons, and twenty suns, Zhavi Streetrunner had bathed.
It hadn't been one of her typical sluice-and-scoots. It wasn't even the lavender soap escapades that had marked her meetings with the Cap'n. She had scrubbed, for nigh on an hour, and rinsed several times in a proper bath. She'd bought and used dust for her lice. She'd been clean for the first time in a long time.
Then, carefully, she'd scented herself. Not with any feminine -- or even masculine -- perfume, but with the smell of the city. Her own body odor had been scoured away. All that was left was the city.
She'd dressed in muted colors, a blend of pale and dark. All of her clothing was tight to her body. The city belonged to her, and no one was going to take that away from her. Not Galine. Not Raz. Not Melkire. Not Xydane. Not Jager.
No one.
She slipped past another group of late night rapscallions, and ghosted up a wall. It was time to play fetch for Galine, time to finish up her gods-damned favor.
She wasn't going alone.
Jager was found, and Zhavi carefully tailed him until he was in a workable position. Until he was in the right spot for her to surprise him.
Turnabout was fair play, after all.
She dropped next to him, near silent, and if he wasn't fast enough she'd grab herself a fistful of his shirt and shove him up against the wall she'd dropped down from. Hard.
