It was dusk outside, and the shadows were long and thick. Zhi was standing half-swallowed in them; her upper body covered while her knees and below were lit up by the fading sun. The kink in her tail was visible as she watched a drunkard stagger from -- strike that, it was Targaryen. She flicked the edge of her tail back and forth to make sure she had his attention.
Should she be direct or indirect? Which would hold his attention? Bards were notorious for having short attention spans, but him, well, it wasn't so simple.
"Yer someone what knows th'doxy rings in th'city. Ye've used 'em. There's one what don't like who ye've taken t'yer bed."
She took a step back. Only her feet remained in the light. Her shoes were worn, a faint patina of dark green visible under the dirt. They were the shoes of someone who wasn't used to handling a whole lot of coin.
Should she be direct or indirect? Which would hold his attention? Bards were notorious for having short attention spans, but him, well, it wasn't so simple.
"Yer someone what knows th'doxy rings in th'city. Ye've used 'em. There's one what don't like who ye've taken t'yer bed."
She took a step back. Only her feet remained in the light. Her shoes were worn, a faint patina of dark green visible under the dirt. They were the shoes of someone who wasn't used to handling a whole lot of coin.
