Zhi rolled her eyes frequently. But here, now, she didn't think it would be a good idea. Bards were masters at performance, and even in the twilight she didn't trust him to be blind enough to hide the various little tells that would inevitably show. She held in the desire to give him exasperation, and instead showed him her intrigue.
There were still tics that a bard or someone trained in body language could pick up. The tip of her tail flicked once before she could hold it back. The skin around her eyes tightened. Her ears stood stiff, relaxing by degrees only when she remembered. Her mouth was firmer than her teasing tone warranted, though not by much. Little things. Subtle things. But they were there, and they showed her annoyance and just a breath of fear to those trained to pick up on them.
She couldn't help that. She wasn't a professional. Most of the time, she wasn't even aware of her micro-expressions. Few were.
"I'm a runner," Zhi allowed. She held up a hand, fingers fluttering to emphasize her point. "I bring messages. I ain't in th'business o'protectin'."
Forty-two times? Ass. No more than twenty.
Zhi might not be a trained fighter or even have the know-how or power to be a thug, but she wasn't slow, and she wasn't stupid.
One eye narrowed by a hair's breadth. He'd gotten to her, but would he be able to see it?
She was smiling. "Heaven's Gate is under . . . hmm. Their rivals are gettin' meaner. Tabart o' Jaded is lookin' t'put th'hurt on those what've had business wi' Grace's doxies. Ye can. . .take care o' yerself, aye, but ye ain't th'only man in town what knows that. What's more, Tabart's got some friends what could be used t'takin' care o' those what know their way 'round weapons. Ye agree t'help Thatcher, we'll be watchin' yer back. An' then ye'll get yer chance at," she looked him up and down, "mischief."
She leaned forward just enough to imply her next words carried some extra need for secrecy. "An' mebbe ye didn't notice, but I ain't one o' Thatcher's doxies." She straightened, and there was that challenge again, that dare.
There were still tics that a bard or someone trained in body language could pick up. The tip of her tail flicked once before she could hold it back. The skin around her eyes tightened. Her ears stood stiff, relaxing by degrees only when she remembered. Her mouth was firmer than her teasing tone warranted, though not by much. Little things. Subtle things. But they were there, and they showed her annoyance and just a breath of fear to those trained to pick up on them.
She couldn't help that. She wasn't a professional. Most of the time, she wasn't even aware of her micro-expressions. Few were.
"I'm a runner," Zhi allowed. She held up a hand, fingers fluttering to emphasize her point. "I bring messages. I ain't in th'business o'protectin'."
Forty-two times? Ass. No more than twenty.
Zhi might not be a trained fighter or even have the know-how or power to be a thug, but she wasn't slow, and she wasn't stupid.
One eye narrowed by a hair's breadth. He'd gotten to her, but would he be able to see it?
She was smiling. "Heaven's Gate is under . . . hmm. Their rivals are gettin' meaner. Tabart o' Jaded is lookin' t'put th'hurt on those what've had business wi' Grace's doxies. Ye can. . .take care o' yerself, aye, but ye ain't th'only man in town what knows that. What's more, Tabart's got some friends what could be used t'takin' care o' those what know their way 'round weapons. Ye agree t'help Thatcher, we'll be watchin' yer back. An' then ye'll get yer chance at," she looked him up and down, "mischief."
She leaned forward just enough to imply her next words carried some extra need for secrecy. "An' mebbe ye didn't notice, but I ain't one o' Thatcher's doxies." She straightened, and there was that challenge again, that dare.
