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Innocence and Avarice [closed]


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"Heh, ye may be right there, Jozzie," he said with a smile as he raised his bowl to his nose and inhaled deeply.  The fish and the spices filled his nostrils and he immediately put his lips to the edge, tipped his head back, and drank deeply of the broth.  The smell became taste and he took another swallow.  "Not bad, that.  But if ye e'er want fer some real spice, 'ave Taru whip ye up summut.  'At's a man ne'er met a food what didn't need to burn more."

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The reminder cooled her eagerness. She abandoned the mug for the bowl. She was well acquainted with bargain-priced fish, and with varying recipes -- this bouillabaisse was not in any way, shape, or form traditional. Except in its dual heat. Cheap ingredients, likely bargain ingredients, had been used. But whatever Zhavi was, it wasn't someone very picky when it came to food. She slurped it enthusiastically, uncaring of the splatter on counter, chin, or clothes. When she put it down, a full third was gone.

 

There was a ring of orange-red broth around her mouth. She wiped at it, again, with the back of her hand.

 

"Can't say I woulda thought him fer that. Figured a man like hisself would go fer practical an' bland."

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"Bit o' wisdom fer ye, Jozzie: 's best not t'assume ye know Taru, not really.  Seems half the time t'be figurin' out 'is own self!"  He took another great slurp from the bowl and a long drag from his mug.  He set it down and stifled a belch, then said, "We can't all be knowin' ourselves through an' through, like ye an' I.  Other folk ain't so blessed as all that, no matter how high they can stack their books."

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Zhi'd been hoping for information -- figured Styrm would go all thoughtful on her now. She shrugged for him. "Takin' th'measure o'someone else 'swhat kept me alive. Sometimes I get it wrong." Another shrug. She returned to her bowl, lingering over it.

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Styrm sat silent a moment considering Joz and her words.

 

"Pffft!" he exclaimed as that familiar grin broke out across his face.  "Ye're tricky, girlie.  All grins an' jibes one moment an'...an'...an' heavy jus' the next," he said.  He smacked her lightly, carefully on the back and nodded to the bowl.  "Now eat up, seein' as ye were in some sort o' hurry back there."  And he threw his head back in the direction they had come from.

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Finish and get out, Zhi's instincts told her in no uncertain terms. Styrm's changes of mood put her on edge. One moment he was lulling her with his easy manner, and then he was reminding her that in an instant he might turn on her.

 

Another shrug, as lowtown opaque as she could make it. Her grin might have been just side of shaky, but that could be put off on the heat. Seriously, she was dying in it.

 

But she didn't want to look like she was hurrying. Joz surely wouldn't have anywhere to be. Not unless it was to go for the market's leavings -- they were cheapest in the evening, after all the good food had been bought up. "What 'bout yerself? Got somewhere t'be?"

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Styrm's gaze drifted over to the server across the room.  "Aye, I may jus'."  Hot though it was, distracted though he was, lackadaisical layabout though he could be, he felt that he saw something in Joz, something jittery.  Bah, he thought, probably jus' the heat.

 

"Not til later, though," he said.  "Now?  Now I'm sharin' a meal with me good pal Jozzie."  He nudged her again then returned to his food.

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Good pal.

 

He kept repeating variations on the same thing. It got under her skin, made her even more nervous. She slurped at her bowl again, avoiding the cracked mussels; they smelled half-sour under the heavy odor of the broth. She didn't fancy a stomachache, not under the current situation (though gods knew she'd eaten food gone bad before).

 

She finished her drink, gave him a bright smile as she hopped off the stool.

 

Get out get out get out get out.

 

"Good luck wi' hittin' th'broadside," she said in a loud whisper, giving him a wink before turning away.

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Zhi turned back, inched closer to Styrm. "Th'shellfish's bad. Smells sour." She looked over to Styrm's bowl. "Might be havin' a stomachache later, hey?" She shrugged (it was like she couldn't stop) and pulled her lips to the side in a wry half-smile. "Ye ate 'em afore I could warn ye."

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"Ah," he responded with a pat on his belly, "'ad worse, I 'ave.  I'll live."  He took a long look at Joz, then waved her away with one of his hands.  "A'right, a'right.  If ye ain't gonna 'ave 'nother drink with ol' Styrm, 'en off with ye."  He smiled then and called out, "But don' be forgettin' yer letters!  'S right back to 'em firs' thing tomorrow!"  Then he turned back to the bar and waited to order another drink.

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She hesitated. Should she keep drinking with him? But then, if she got completely drunk, would that barrier between them continue to degrade? Styrm was far too likeable a man. His affability (at any other time a boon) was a danger to her. Even at the risk of raising his suspicions, the less time she kept with him when he wasn't teaching her, the fewer chances to screw something up.

 

She was already tired and making mistakes.

 

 

"Have t'keep me teacher on his toes, don't I?" She'd wink at him, lift her hand in farewell, and exited the restaurant.

 

This time she tried to keep a better grasp of her surroundings, and who was placed in them.

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Styrm waved goodbye halfheartedly as Joz walked out the door.  The serving girl saw his empty glass and began to walk back toward the bar.  He looked out the door, Joz was gone but the sun was still out and about.  Maybe he'd be lucky and still get some sleep with this early start.  Otherwise, he hoped Joz didn't expect him too early the next day.

 

-----

 

Lolotaru finished examining and the cargo manifest as hired hands loaded the last large crate onto the wagon that ran from Wineport to Costa del Sol.  The crates would there be loaded onto a pleasure boat that rented out space in its hold for cargo bound for Limsa Lominsa and beyond.  In the city, it would be transferred to a larger vessel and would make the longer journey to Vesper Bay and, again by wagon, on to the markets of Ul'dah.

 

He looked up at the miqo'te girl next to him.  She looked down at him with her round green eyes as he addressed her.  "Remember, Felijha, the three smaller crates--the...eh...the Raincatcher Red, the Red Mantis Reserve, and the Agelyss Banks Signature, two dozen bottles of each--those are all going to my mother."

 

Felijha took back the manifest and hurriedly scribbled, whispering to herself, "Raincatcher, Mantis, Agelyss to Littlest Inn, care of Ms. Lila."  A final flourish of the pen and she spoke, "Done, sir.  Will that be all?"

 

Lolo thought for a moment.  He loved Wineport.  He loved the rain and the vineyards and the smell of his quarters there.  He spent as much time there as he could, always personally overseeing Kodu Co.'s dealings with Agelyss Banks.  Buying into the winery was one of his less considered, but more satisfying bits of personal business and although it was one of only a few ventures his Kodu Co. was involved in outside of Thanalan (and a comparatively small one, at that), it had proved to be an economic, if not entirely profitable, decision.  Especially considering the unusually copious amount of wine his mother's guests imbibed during their stay at the Littlest Inn.  Ul'dah could overwhelm the newcomer, particularly the more bucolically inclined Plainsfolk visitors which composed the majority of her clientele.

 

But he had work to get back to in the city, and a new student of his own, to boot!

 

"Yes, Felijha," he responded to his retainer.  "Thank you, as always.  Please, reserve me a space on the earliest ship back to Limsa after lunch tomorrow."  He would be back by evening, meet with Styrmsthal for an update on Joz, and be back to business by the following morning, invigorated as always by his short time away.  "Oh!  And give Mother my love."

 

"Yes sir," she said with a soft smile before climbing onto the wagon.  Lolo watched them for a moment, then turned and walked back inside where food, drink, books, and bags awaited him.

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  • 2 months later...

(this post takes place after Control and Art of Shamelessness)

 

So much could change in five days' time. And change, in Zhavi's experience, was almost always a bad thing; Nald'thal being as keen to tip the scales as he was on the side not to her favor. That sometimes they did go in her favor was more a product of his ever-present cruelty than any indication of kindness. The gods were never kind. Fair, maybe. Just, certainly, sometimes. Hard-edged indifference, however, with dashes of spite and hatred was more their thing.

 

That was what she knew.

 

She'd wrapped herself up in a tatty cloak, had flicked her crooked and tender nose twice to provoke tears and pain (and oh, gods, had she sworn up a blistering streak for that necessity), and had settled herself outside of Lalataru's door. She looked pathetic. More than usual, she looked like one of the wretched that clung to the skirts of the city, occasionally shaken off into the drink to no one's pity.

 

Jager'd tossed her room a day after he'd beaten her all to hell. Rather, what little there was to toss. What small valuables she'd to her name (the books, mostly) had been given over to Jager. Then she'd gone down into hiding, avoiding contact with all who knew her. For four days she'd been out of Styrmsthal's way. He'd have been to her room. He'd have seen the damage. He'd have told Lalataru, who should be back. If he wasn't, well, she'd be right proper fucked, and would have to adjust her plans.

 

In the meantime, she waited: body bruised, scabbed, and miserable. Her right eye was still swollen to all hell, and her face a right mottled mess. She favored her right hip, and contusions marked her head to toe.

 

If ever there was a young woman who might elicit sympathy out of a kind-hearted and protective man, well. . .it probably wasn't Zhi. But she could, maybe, come close.

 

Hopefully.

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Lolotaru crossed the Octant hurriedly, his head down and brow furrowed.  Ben sulked along beside him, his usually playful, curious hopping subdued per his master's mood.  Styrmsthal hadn't returned to Joz's room until two days after they had parted at the Three Tales.  He'd had too, too late a night and the sun spited his eyes all the next day.  They'd made such good progress he figured a day off wouldn't do either of them too much harm.  Weather round the southern tip of Vylbrand had delayed Lolo's own return by a day and so he was still unpacking when Styrm nearly knocked the door from its hinges.  Hardly a restrained man, his worry still struck Lolo in the gut.  And then he told him what he'd found.

 

Joz's room had been ransacked and Styrm had been unable to track her down.  He immediately set about asking around her building and neighborhood, trying to trace back any bad deals or enemies, turning up only confused looks and foggy recollections as his interviewees struggled to place a Joz, any Joz at all.  He didn't delay any longer in enlisting Lolo's aid, but even his connections had nothing of substance to offer.  The next day, and the next, Styrm had moved through Barnacles' Reach, knocking on doors, knocking down anyone with too smart a smirk.  Lolo patrolled the markets and Mealvaan's Gate.  Worry wore at both as they desperately fended off the sinking sense of futility they had both already begun to feel.

 

So it was with a heavy exasperation that Lolo climbed up and sank into a chair in the corner of the Wench.  He jerked to alertness with a start as the bellman from the Mizzenmast placed a hand on his shoulder.

 

"Master Lalataru," he whispered, "it would appear you've a visitor."  Lolo turned his head deliberately to face the bellman.  "She has been outside your door for some time now."

 

The bellman was almost knocked over by the sudden display of Dunesfolk celerity.  Lolo stopped suddenly halfway up the stairs and turned on a heel.  "Ben," he intoned with a wave of his hand, horizontal with palm down.  The carbuncle chittered in affirmation and bounded back down to keep watch as Lolo resumed his quick ascent.  As he breached the threshold at the top of the stairs and closed in on his room, his gait slowed, then stopped.  Even there, nearly the whole of the hall between them, the wounded aspect of her piteous frame was clear to him.  He hurriedly closed the distance between them and opened the door, casting only a quick look at her face.

 

"Inside," he hissed, his countenance all urgency and tension.  He cast a long glance down to one end of the hall, then the other, his fingers deftly navigating the familiar pages of his grimoire.  "Quick now, Miss Joz, please."

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Adrenaline kicked her in the gut. Zhi was suddenly at mercy to it, the reality of Lalataru's seriousness clawing at her -- and the knowledge that she was about to willingly commit herself to a closed room she hadn't the chance to scope.

 

She might die inside.

 

The nervous grin that threatened to spread across the breadth of her face was only just kept at bay; she kept her eyes downcast and let her lips tremble with the effort of keeping her face straight. The pain that resulted from the strain helped. Her movements were ginger, economical: they evinced pain though she strove to keep it to a minimum. Distrusting gutterborn wouldn't show any more weakness then they had to.

 

Joz would be hurting in other ways from the need to darken Lalataru's door.

 

"I didn't have -- I didn't have nowhere else t'turn," she started, tongue tripping over her nervousness, and Joz's, and the need to ensure he pity her in the right ways. "Ain't meant t'trespass, Master Lolotaru, but -- nnf!"

 

She clipped her shin on the edge of the door on her way in. She hadn't meant to -- damned fool, she -- but the pain blossoming over tender bruises was useful to her. She hobbled further inside, biting her tongue against cursewords she wasn't sure Lolotaru could appreciate. At the least, her eyes were watering again. She let the liquid tremble over her lower eyelids, hoping he'd see.

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He didn't see.  He was busy.  He'd shut and bolted the door behind her as she'd entered and had finished flipping through his grimoire. 

 

Any deftness in his drawing was only muscle memory, his hand would otherwise be shaking with the shock and emotion he was feeling in that moment.  The book began to glow dimly in his hands as he finished tracing the gentle, meandering pattern, dotting and embellishing it only slightly in his distraction; there would be time for greater exactness later.  With a final flourish of the pen toward the girl, he raised the book above his head with a flash.

 

He looked at her then and noted the tears in her eyes as the effects of Physick began to wend their way across her body.

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Shit!

 

Zhi had forgotten about the healing potential in arcanists. In but a few moments, her imaginings of a few days spent convalescing in his home until his guard was lowered were completely wrecked.

 

New plan.

 

Hiding out still worked; the fear from receiving such a harsh warning would count for a lot. She hoped.

 

Everything improved in seconds, and though she flinched back from him and his power, she unconsciously straightened as pain dimmed and disappeared. Magic had always intrigued and repulsed her; she still didn't look down as it fixed her damaged body.

 

"P-please let me stay. Jes a few suns, I swear, I jes --" she cringed. "I can't."

 

She was staring at his feet. She was wringing her hands.

 

Nald'thal, ye ruttin' bloody bastard, tip it me own way!

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Gods, she's beaten half to hells.  I'll have to work on her more later, maybe bring Ariel out..., he thought as he examined her still-considerable injuries.  He heard her voice pushing through his racing thoughts, insisting on his attention.  His brow furrowed.  Stay here?

 

His eyes flew wide and he took a half step back and said, "Absolutely not!"  Then, stepping toward her once again, more calmly, he spoke in a soft voice.  "Miss Joz, you're not nearly safe enough here.  Styrmsthal will have you off and hidden as soon as tomorrow."  He sighed and took another step, examining the painful looking results of her abuse, deep and dark and malevolent even while partly healed.  He breathed deeply and his face was once again set.  Not calm exactly, but steely, a focused tension, the wildness of the minutes prior beginning to give way to the weight of his calculating aspect.  "But first, I need you to tell me who did this to you."

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Too overprotective? That was a thing? Of all the responses Zhi had envisioned this man having to her little stunt, telling her his room wasn't safe enough (seas drown her, but what a rutting stupid thing to say!) had not even occurred to her. Who said that?

 

She dipped her head, bit her lip -- hide her surprise, hide her irritation -- and wrapped her arms around herself. Her tail was nearly pressed between her legs, ears back: misery personified.

 

"I don't want t'leave," she whispered, glancing around before settling on the door behind him. Begging. Was she reduced to begging? Seriously?

 

Whatever it took.

 

"Please don't m-make me leave. Not yet. Please?"

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Lolotaru raised one hand to his forehead and rubbed at his temples as his other hand clutched at the book in his pocket absentmindedly.  She was scared.  And she should be, by the look of her.

 

"We'll discuss this tomorrow, once I've had a chance to consult with Styrmsthal.  And once you've had a chance to tell me who is responsible for this."  He indicated her injuries.  He waved his hand at the door and hastily scrawled on a pad of paper, tearing it off once finished.  He cracked the door and the aetheric glow of Ben shone through.  He chopped downward with his hand before raising it palm up, placed the paper in Ben's mouth, and refastened the latches as the summon bounded down the stairs to the kitchens.

 

Turning back to Joz he said, "Tonight you may simply eat and rest."

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Zhi turned away from him. How far was it safe to push him? With that tone of voice. . .

 

She waited, silent, for him to make the next move.

 

Sometimes, rarely, there was strategy in silence. Even she could admit that.

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Zhi ducked her head in a nod, turned halfway towards him, and just looked at him. Her expression was slowly crumbling, exposing a piteousness that she'd not previously shown him. She hugged herself a little harder and looked down at the ground. She hadn't moved a step further in or around the room. She just stood there: an awkward guest, tension writ into the stiff lines of her body.

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At just that moment Lolo hopped back up out of the chair and crossed to the door.  Cracking the door once again, Ben's luminescence shone against his face.  Lolo pointed upward and moved his finger in a circle before closing his fist.  He pulled in a tray and close the door, cutting off the retreating light of the summon.  He turned and lifted the tray, bringing it to the girl, bread and broth coming into focus as he came closer, the room suddenly aromatic with the soothing warmth of mild spices.

 

"Please, Miss Joz, do try to eat something," he said as he set the tray down before her.  Re-seating himself in his chair across the room, weariness began to finally make gains against his adrenaline-addled body and he barely stifled a great yawn.

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