"Yer sure?" Zhi almost choked on the second word, spat it out the way she might clear vomit from her mouth.
Chirp leaned out from the alcove they hung out in. Her exaggerated back and forth look up and down the alley was, as pantomimes went, enraging. Zhi lowered her voice, sure, but the heat was still there.
"Ye blasted blary bitch --"
Chirp cut her off. "Would I court yer stupid idea of praise if I weren't?"
Zhi ran a hand through her hair, nails digging into her scalp. "When?"
Chirp shrugged. It was a lowtown shrug.
It was never a good thing when enemies overlapped. At least not in Zhi's experience. Nald'thal always tipped the scales the other way when overlap happened. "Days? T'day? . . .now?"
Chirp shrugged again. Before Zhi could spout off more curses, she said, "look, ain't as if them who knows Dirk good enough t'recognize him are also dumb enough t'cross intent wi' him. Naw, only one dumb enough fer that is yerself. Half-wit, lately."
Zhi glared.
"He's made somethin' of hisself in Ul'dah, y'know."
The statement didn't change the glare.
Chirp frowned. "Ain't like ye t'hold this sort of grudge."
"An' the Skites're somethin' I'll jes turn me nose up at an' flounce around like they're wavin' sticks an' rocks at me."
Chirp gave her a look. A knowing you-were-the-one-who-trespassed sort of look.
"It was a shortcut, a'right?" Zhi flushed, but held firm.
"Was somethin'. Shortcut ain't what comes t'mind."
"Drop it."
"Sloppy, on me other hand. . ."
"Shut it. It was a risk I took. Fancy me a cut purse, but yer lips are flappin' fer no juice t'day. Last I checked, I paid ye fer information, not yer idea o' what wrong I done."
Chirp considered that, and took her time replying. She chose to trim her nails with her knife instead. When she spoke, her words were measured. "He weren't alone."
That gave Zhi pause. "What?"
"Yer man Dirk. Had another with'm. Ain't no one knowin' him."
The job. Comprehension dawned, followed shortly by a scowl. Rutting bastard!
Chirp watched her. "Real strange fer a man like Dirk t'bring a stranger t'town. He ain't done problemsolving here in a good long while. Could be there's more gain in trackin' him, 'stead of yer man Dirk."
"Do it."
Chirp was silent. At first, Zhi thought the other woman was calculating costs, but when she didn't move Zhi leaned closer. She opened her mouth to offer some invective as incentive.
"Ye should put Brindle on it," Chirp said suddenly.
"I'm not askin' Brindle."
"Ye should."
Zhi had a feeling the Bad Day was imminent. ". . .a'right. Why?"
"I ain't takin' no more of yer jobs. Not anytime soon." Chirp looked at Zhi and looked away. What she saw there made her continue a little faster. "Ye've been real sloppy. Makin' shit mistakes. Got word ye were beat out in th'middle of daytime, and ye've been spreadin' weird talk -- Unrelenting ring yer bells? Thought so. It's weird. I ain't wantin' no more part of it. Ain't a risk I'm gonna take. Cool yer heels fer awhile. Drop this cockered shit ye got with Dirk. I mean it. No one's gonna wanna play wi' ye if ye keep this up."
It took effort to keep her hands from balling into fists. Real careful effort. "Anythin' else?"
"Yep. Hawker's. That bit o' information cost, so wi' that, I ain't got no more dues t'ye. Don't go crooked, Streetrunner."
Zhi left first.
___
Calling her mood spectacularly bad didn't begin to touch on what was going on inside Zhi's head as she stalked Hawker's Alley. She wore a worn, floppy straw hat, a simple sleeveless vest, and a dirt-encrusted pair of pants. She looked like someone's farmhand. Those tended to be ignored; they usually were good for nothing but hard work, brought into town to shift things and little else. They usually carried little to no money, and had nothing of interest to say to anyone but other farmers. Most who walked Hawker's Alley left them alone.
Zhavi'd smeared just a smidgeon of goat shit onto the knees of her pants to encourage that general consensus.
The looseness of her clothing kept her genderless and uninteresting; her tail was looped up under her shirt and secured against her belt and her ears were folded flat under her hat. So long as no one got a good look at her face or lingered too long on skin color, she could have passed as a gangly hyur kid.
She moved through the Alley, carrying a sack of some sort of grain (filched) over her shoulder to disguise her stride, playing the hapless gadabout -- clueless farmhands who weren't used to the city lost their employers all the time in the Alley; Zhi'd used to bet with her companions on how long the most obvious of them would take to find said employers -- as she looked and sniffed for traces of Melkire.
It was her second pass through when someone wholly unexpected caught her eye.
Faller.
More than that, the older man passed someone else she recognized, though there was no visible contact between them.
Raz.
Zhavi did not believe in coincidences. She had no idea what Faller was doing, but that he'd breezed past Raz. . .
The likelihood of Raz being involved with Faller was low. Very low. Raz was still too fresh with the city to be able to offer anything to Faller that more established and trustworthy runners could. Probably. But if Raz was here, it meant he was working. Probably. For her? . . . no easy way to answer that question. Chance that he had heard a crumb of information about Melkire? Likely. Maybe.
Doubt hit her. A choice presented itself: follow Raz, or follow Faller. Which could she rattle more information out of?
She chose Raz.
__________
Lale had caught sight of Raz again, and from there it had been but a matter of time before he'd caught sight of an interesting transaction, and an even more interesting set of interested parties. These were not highly trained individuals. They were either hired thugs, or those invested in whatever personal acquisition could be gained from tailing someone who so obviously knew how to avoid attention. Indeed, had Lale not been watching Raz, he wouldn't have seen the slip.
That was worth something.
He'd picked up the end of the daisy-chain trailing after the man who was Jacel's most recent assignment.
He saw that moment, the big one, when Osric laid down a daisy and saw the second daisy in the chain. Osric ran. So did the daisy.
Lale was not so stupid. He put a hand to his ear.
"We have guests," he said, softly, walking forward with his usual awkward amble. "They're heading south-east by way of Cripple's Walk."
He paused, slowed to a halt, and took an abrupt turn. "Of course, ser."
Another pause.
"I imagine this is something Abiga would be very interested in knowing. It is possible the serra could use it, yes."
Another pause. Another turn.
"Hawk can watch. I will be there shortly."
Chirp leaned out from the alcove they hung out in. Her exaggerated back and forth look up and down the alley was, as pantomimes went, enraging. Zhi lowered her voice, sure, but the heat was still there.
"Ye blasted blary bitch --"
Chirp cut her off. "Would I court yer stupid idea of praise if I weren't?"
Zhi ran a hand through her hair, nails digging into her scalp. "When?"
Chirp shrugged. It was a lowtown shrug.
It was never a good thing when enemies overlapped. At least not in Zhi's experience. Nald'thal always tipped the scales the other way when overlap happened. "Days? T'day? . . .now?"
Chirp shrugged again. Before Zhi could spout off more curses, she said, "look, ain't as if them who knows Dirk good enough t'recognize him are also dumb enough t'cross intent wi' him. Naw, only one dumb enough fer that is yerself. Half-wit, lately."
Zhi glared.
"He's made somethin' of hisself in Ul'dah, y'know."
The statement didn't change the glare.
Chirp frowned. "Ain't like ye t'hold this sort of grudge."
"An' the Skites're somethin' I'll jes turn me nose up at an' flounce around like they're wavin' sticks an' rocks at me."
Chirp gave her a look. A knowing you-were-the-one-who-trespassed sort of look.
"It was a shortcut, a'right?" Zhi flushed, but held firm.
"Was somethin'. Shortcut ain't what comes t'mind."
"Drop it."
"Sloppy, on me other hand. . ."
"Shut it. It was a risk I took. Fancy me a cut purse, but yer lips are flappin' fer no juice t'day. Last I checked, I paid ye fer information, not yer idea o' what wrong I done."
Chirp considered that, and took her time replying. She chose to trim her nails with her knife instead. When she spoke, her words were measured. "He weren't alone."
That gave Zhi pause. "What?"
"Yer man Dirk. Had another with'm. Ain't no one knowin' him."
The job. Comprehension dawned, followed shortly by a scowl. Rutting bastard!
Chirp watched her. "Real strange fer a man like Dirk t'bring a stranger t'town. He ain't done problemsolving here in a good long while. Could be there's more gain in trackin' him, 'stead of yer man Dirk."
"Do it."
Chirp was silent. At first, Zhi thought the other woman was calculating costs, but when she didn't move Zhi leaned closer. She opened her mouth to offer some invective as incentive.
"Ye should put Brindle on it," Chirp said suddenly.
"I'm not askin' Brindle."
"Ye should."
Zhi had a feeling the Bad Day was imminent. ". . .a'right. Why?"
"I ain't takin' no more of yer jobs. Not anytime soon." Chirp looked at Zhi and looked away. What she saw there made her continue a little faster. "Ye've been real sloppy. Makin' shit mistakes. Got word ye were beat out in th'middle of daytime, and ye've been spreadin' weird talk -- Unrelenting ring yer bells? Thought so. It's weird. I ain't wantin' no more part of it. Ain't a risk I'm gonna take. Cool yer heels fer awhile. Drop this cockered shit ye got with Dirk. I mean it. No one's gonna wanna play wi' ye if ye keep this up."
It took effort to keep her hands from balling into fists. Real careful effort. "Anythin' else?"
"Yep. Hawker's. That bit o' information cost, so wi' that, I ain't got no more dues t'ye. Don't go crooked, Streetrunner."
Zhi left first.
___
Calling her mood spectacularly bad didn't begin to touch on what was going on inside Zhi's head as she stalked Hawker's Alley. She wore a worn, floppy straw hat, a simple sleeveless vest, and a dirt-encrusted pair of pants. She looked like someone's farmhand. Those tended to be ignored; they usually were good for nothing but hard work, brought into town to shift things and little else. They usually carried little to no money, and had nothing of interest to say to anyone but other farmers. Most who walked Hawker's Alley left them alone.
Zhavi'd smeared just a smidgeon of goat shit onto the knees of her pants to encourage that general consensus.
The looseness of her clothing kept her genderless and uninteresting; her tail was looped up under her shirt and secured against her belt and her ears were folded flat under her hat. So long as no one got a good look at her face or lingered too long on skin color, she could have passed as a gangly hyur kid.
She moved through the Alley, carrying a sack of some sort of grain (filched) over her shoulder to disguise her stride, playing the hapless gadabout -- clueless farmhands who weren't used to the city lost their employers all the time in the Alley; Zhi'd used to bet with her companions on how long the most obvious of them would take to find said employers -- as she looked and sniffed for traces of Melkire.
It was her second pass through when someone wholly unexpected caught her eye.
Faller.
More than that, the older man passed someone else she recognized, though there was no visible contact between them.
Raz.
Zhavi did not believe in coincidences. She had no idea what Faller was doing, but that he'd breezed past Raz. . .
The likelihood of Raz being involved with Faller was low. Very low. Raz was still too fresh with the city to be able to offer anything to Faller that more established and trustworthy runners could. Probably. But if Raz was here, it meant he was working. Probably. For her? . . . no easy way to answer that question. Chance that he had heard a crumb of information about Melkire? Likely. Maybe.
Doubt hit her. A choice presented itself: follow Raz, or follow Faller. Which could she rattle more information out of?
She chose Raz.
__________
Lale had caught sight of Raz again, and from there it had been but a matter of time before he'd caught sight of an interesting transaction, and an even more interesting set of interested parties. These were not highly trained individuals. They were either hired thugs, or those invested in whatever personal acquisition could be gained from tailing someone who so obviously knew how to avoid attention. Indeed, had Lale not been watching Raz, he wouldn't have seen the slip.
That was worth something.
He'd picked up the end of the daisy-chain trailing after the man who was Jacel's most recent assignment.
He saw that moment, the big one, when Osric laid down a daisy and saw the second daisy in the chain. Osric ran. So did the daisy.
Lale was not so stupid. He put a hand to his ear.
"We have guests," he said, softly, walking forward with his usual awkward amble. "They're heading south-east by way of Cripple's Walk."
He paused, slowed to a halt, and took an abrupt turn. "Of course, ser."
Another pause.
"I imagine this is something Abiga would be very interested in knowing. It is possible the serra could use it, yes."
Another pause. Another turn.
"Hawk can watch. I will be there shortly."
