They wanted her dead.
Not so unusual, by itself. Death was as much a commodity as anything else traded within Limsa Lominsa's rising spires. What was unusual was that it had risen on a flood of misunderstandings. The Skites thought she'd cheated them, Yayabuko thought she'd wanted to exact payback, and several independent runners thought she was playing fast and loose. You didn't do that in Limsa Lominsa. Not unless you had strongarms to back up your play. Guess who had nothing?
Zhavi wanted Osric Melkire dead.
No one would touch him. Not for anything less than an exorbitant amount of gil, and she didn't have that. It wasn't personal. Okay, it was a little personal -- ruttin' churl had gotten her into the whole mess -- but what was done was done. He was a liability to her, whether or not she could use the information earned. It made her uneasy.
Thatcher's job was a problem. It was a lifeline. It was difficult. It was interesting.
The game was deadly. Repulsive, fascinating, gut-churning -- all the usual symptoms. All the usual excuses.
Clove had gotten hold of Brindle, who'd gotten hold of Chirp, who'd located Zhi in her temporary house while she played dress-up as Joz.
"Shiiiiiite," Chirp said. She was leaning next to the open window. She was trying to look sympathetic, and failing miserably.
Zhi ignored Chirp's barely smothered grin. She was too busy thinking. "An' yer sure it's two rivals? I'd only gotten hold o'th'one."
"Your problem. Ain't mine, guv. Keep tellin' ya t'branch outside Limsa. 'Sall connected, see?"
There'd been hits put out around La Noscea. Whoremasters putting out hits? That wasn't right. Zhi knew that writs were hard to obtain, but when had it ever become a matter of killing? No, something else was going on.
"I got need fer another runner," Zhi said.
"Go ask Yayabuko -- oh wait!" Chirp giggled, tapping her lower lip with a finger. "'Sgonna cost ya."
"Yeah. What else is new?"
______________
There had been a time when Zhi had crouched to be at Brindle's height. He'd been a scrawny runt of a kid, all knees and elbows, but since she'd taken him up he'd eaten regularly. He'd grown. Soon enough he'd want to become his own runner. Soon enough he'd be doing his own deals. Soon enough he'd betray her for a better take. But not yet. She could rely on him for one more big job. Just one more job. Nald'thal. . .
She stood across from him in an alcove, hood up to keep the rain off. Her tail was wrapped around her hips under her coat: she was just another forgettable rat in the rain.
It'd been a rough week for Brindle. She could see it in his face, the way he stood, the way his hands hung at his side. He'd survived. The scales had balanced, and he had survived.
But that didn't mean he would stay alive.
"'Sgonna get worse," he said.
"I know."
"Ye should drop it. Feckin' crazy! Ye know it's a ruttin' mess, it ain't right an' there's --" he looked sideways, shut his mouth, and leaned closer. His voice went nightwatch quiet. "There's talk th'barons're movin'. Zhio. Th' barons."
"What's that got t'do wi'me contract?"
The glare Brindle shot her was really something. "Y'think that bounty on yer client came from thin air? Huh?"
Zhi waved his concern away. "That's done."
"Yeah? It stinks. It ruttin' stinks. She's hirin' mercs, Zhio! What ruttin' whoremaster needs mercs? Strongarms? Sure. Mercs? Nuh uh."
Zhi grunted. "What was th'name of that supplier? Fer Heaven's Gate."
"Zhi!"
She waited.
Brindle caved under her cool stare. "Maioh."
She looked up, thinking. "Mm, yeah, go diggin' on her. An' th' other ring -- th'big one wi' the writ? Silken Slipper was it? Hire one o'their whores and play like ye want t'turn tricks yerself. See what else ye can fish up."
He had his stubborn expression on. "Yer gonna get killed."
Zhi laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair. He ducked away, flushing with the heat of his anger. Ahhh, there was the kid she knew. "They'll have t'get in line, laddo. Now go fetch me some information. Ain't keepin' y'paid to stand 'round glarin' at me."
He flashed her another look, lips set in a thin line, and walked away with his hands shoved into his pockets.
___________
Zhavi was dripping by the time she made it to the Wench. The rain had started fast and hard, and they were lucky the pub was so relatively empty. That could change. That could quickly change.
The rumor mill had exploded in the past week in regards to Thatcher. Her Ladyship Grace was falling fast, and when that happened trouble could only follow. Especially considering her enemies had already begun to resort to bloodshed; the scavengers would be quick to sniff out rewards on the heels of her perceived weakness.
Zhi walked up to Thatcher's table and tossed down a headscarf and a cloak. "Put up yer hair, an' put that on. We're movin'."
Without waiting for a reply, Zhi started walking for one of the exits.
They were playing a dangerous game.
The very best kind.
Not so unusual, by itself. Death was as much a commodity as anything else traded within Limsa Lominsa's rising spires. What was unusual was that it had risen on a flood of misunderstandings. The Skites thought she'd cheated them, Yayabuko thought she'd wanted to exact payback, and several independent runners thought she was playing fast and loose. You didn't do that in Limsa Lominsa. Not unless you had strongarms to back up your play. Guess who had nothing?
Zhavi wanted Osric Melkire dead.
No one would touch him. Not for anything less than an exorbitant amount of gil, and she didn't have that. It wasn't personal. Okay, it was a little personal -- ruttin' churl had gotten her into the whole mess -- but what was done was done. He was a liability to her, whether or not she could use the information earned. It made her uneasy.
Thatcher's job was a problem. It was a lifeline. It was difficult. It was interesting.
The game was deadly. Repulsive, fascinating, gut-churning -- all the usual symptoms. All the usual excuses.
Clove had gotten hold of Brindle, who'd gotten hold of Chirp, who'd located Zhi in her temporary house while she played dress-up as Joz.
"Shiiiiiite," Chirp said. She was leaning next to the open window. She was trying to look sympathetic, and failing miserably.
Zhi ignored Chirp's barely smothered grin. She was too busy thinking. "An' yer sure it's two rivals? I'd only gotten hold o'th'one."
"Your problem. Ain't mine, guv. Keep tellin' ya t'branch outside Limsa. 'Sall connected, see?"
There'd been hits put out around La Noscea. Whoremasters putting out hits? That wasn't right. Zhi knew that writs were hard to obtain, but when had it ever become a matter of killing? No, something else was going on.
"I got need fer another runner," Zhi said.
"Go ask Yayabuko -- oh wait!" Chirp giggled, tapping her lower lip with a finger. "'Sgonna cost ya."
"Yeah. What else is new?"
______________
There had been a time when Zhi had crouched to be at Brindle's height. He'd been a scrawny runt of a kid, all knees and elbows, but since she'd taken him up he'd eaten regularly. He'd grown. Soon enough he'd want to become his own runner. Soon enough he'd be doing his own deals. Soon enough he'd betray her for a better take. But not yet. She could rely on him for one more big job. Just one more job. Nald'thal. . .
She stood across from him in an alcove, hood up to keep the rain off. Her tail was wrapped around her hips under her coat: she was just another forgettable rat in the rain.
It'd been a rough week for Brindle. She could see it in his face, the way he stood, the way his hands hung at his side. He'd survived. The scales had balanced, and he had survived.
But that didn't mean he would stay alive.
"'Sgonna get worse," he said.
"I know."
"Ye should drop it. Feckin' crazy! Ye know it's a ruttin' mess, it ain't right an' there's --" he looked sideways, shut his mouth, and leaned closer. His voice went nightwatch quiet. "There's talk th'barons're movin'. Zhio. Th' barons."
"What's that got t'do wi'me contract?"
The glare Brindle shot her was really something. "Y'think that bounty on yer client came from thin air? Huh?"
Zhi waved his concern away. "That's done."
"Yeah? It stinks. It ruttin' stinks. She's hirin' mercs, Zhio! What ruttin' whoremaster needs mercs? Strongarms? Sure. Mercs? Nuh uh."
Zhi grunted. "What was th'name of that supplier? Fer Heaven's Gate."
"Zhi!"
She waited.
Brindle caved under her cool stare. "Maioh."
She looked up, thinking. "Mm, yeah, go diggin' on her. An' th' other ring -- th'big one wi' the writ? Silken Slipper was it? Hire one o'their whores and play like ye want t'turn tricks yerself. See what else ye can fish up."
He had his stubborn expression on. "Yer gonna get killed."
Zhi laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair. He ducked away, flushing with the heat of his anger. Ahhh, there was the kid she knew. "They'll have t'get in line, laddo. Now go fetch me some information. Ain't keepin' y'paid to stand 'round glarin' at me."
He flashed her another look, lips set in a thin line, and walked away with his hands shoved into his pockets.
___________
Zhavi was dripping by the time she made it to the Wench. The rain had started fast and hard, and they were lucky the pub was so relatively empty. That could change. That could quickly change.
The rumor mill had exploded in the past week in regards to Thatcher. Her Ladyship Grace was falling fast, and when that happened trouble could only follow. Especially considering her enemies had already begun to resort to bloodshed; the scavengers would be quick to sniff out rewards on the heels of her perceived weakness.
Zhi walked up to Thatcher's table and tossed down a headscarf and a cloak. "Put up yer hair, an' put that on. We're movin'."
Without waiting for a reply, Zhi started walking for one of the exits.
They were playing a dangerous game.
The very best kind.
