That close, even the most dead-nosed hyur would have been able to smell her. While she'd taken to bathing recently in order to not piss off the Captain, in-between their jobs together she didn't bother. And Zhi? She wasn't the type to sit pretty in a tavern or an inn. She dug into the city, tread the nastiest paths it had to offer. Offal, rotten things, fish -- it was all there, not as strong as it might normally be, but an unmistakeably bad odor.
Zhi did not think for a moment that the man in front of her wanted to bed her out of some misplaced desire. It wasn't about sensuality. It was about control. Zhi knew about control. She knew about expectations.
Galine had seen to that.
And that sort, that which overcame the senses and the mind, that was the kind that no one would ever hold over Zhavi Streetrunner again.
Ever.
As those thoughts flickered lightning quick through her mind, some of that rebelliousness leaked through. Her lips tightened, one ear flicked back, her nostrils flared. Maybe those signals could be confused with desire, but the heat in her eyes wasn't sensual. It was angry.
Adrenaline had started leaking into her system, and her pulse quickened. It fluttered at her throat.
She looked down at his hand, and back up to his face. "O'course ye will," she said, and her voice was soft, lilting with invitation. "An' t'help Thatcher an' get yer treat, are ye willin' t'do what it takes?"
She clasped his forearm, gave it a little squeeze.
Zhi did not think for a moment that the man in front of her wanted to bed her out of some misplaced desire. It wasn't about sensuality. It was about control. Zhi knew about control. She knew about expectations.
Galine had seen to that.
And that sort, that which overcame the senses and the mind, that was the kind that no one would ever hold over Zhavi Streetrunner again.
Ever.
As those thoughts flickered lightning quick through her mind, some of that rebelliousness leaked through. Her lips tightened, one ear flicked back, her nostrils flared. Maybe those signals could be confused with desire, but the heat in her eyes wasn't sensual. It was angry.
Adrenaline had started leaking into her system, and her pulse quickened. It fluttered at her throat.
She looked down at his hand, and back up to his face. "O'course ye will," she said, and her voice was soft, lilting with invitation. "An' t'help Thatcher an' get yer treat, are ye willin' t'do what it takes?"
She clasped his forearm, gave it a little squeeze.
