Ain't No Good (Wo)Men in Limsa Lominsa [closed]

[Zhavi]

The setting sun and a small number of rubberneckers were witness to Zhi's near total meltdown. Her mouth was open, but no words were coming out as she stared up at the much taller elezen. Oh, sounds aplenty were to be had; the bluster and fuss she'd put up had, at times, been heard for a square block. Those who frequented the lowtown weren't put off by it. After all, screaming matches and even dying cries weren't altogether infrequent. But, entertainment was entertainment, and those who didn't have much better to do had stopped to stare.

 

Zhi lifted her hands to either side of her face, expression contorted into something that went beyond and between frustration and consternation. Oh yeah, if it was possible for a woman to explode out of emotional overload, she would have exploded.

 

"Yeah?" She finally got out, the word twice as loud as was strictly necessary. It echoed off the surrounding buildings. "That's how ye wanna -- ya --" A strangled sound ended the sentence, and her hands punctuated it with a useless shake. Her fingers had curled inwards, almost as if she just wanted to close them around Verad's throat. If only she could reach.

 

What was in range was the man's belt. She took hold of it, turned away from him, and started marching towards the nearest sidestreet. Considering he outweighed her by a considerable amount, it was obvious to all witnesses that he was allowing her to drag him off, cart in tow. Oh, there'd be talk tomorrow, passed around and forgotten as soon as the next juicy tidbit came into hearing. But for now, the various passersby went back to whatever it was they did at that hour of the night, leaving Verad as sole witness to Zhi's . . .tantrum, if you wanted a nice(ish) way of putting it.

 

Once in the smaller street, thankfully bereft of gawkers, she attempted to push him up against the stone of a building. "We had a deal," she informed him, again, her voice lowering into a hiss that was probably meant to sound threatening.

 

It didn't.

[Verad]

In spite of the semi-rough and quasi-involuntary manhandling to which he found himself subjected, Verad never lost his smile, even as he felt the unpleasant stain of some previous alley occupant's sick splatting up against the back of his coat.  "You know," he said, spreading his hands wide in a placating gesture, "I haven't the slightest what you mean.  Of course we have a deal!"

 

His mind raced for an instant, found itself quickly out of breath, and settled in for a steady mental power-walk.  Her expression had certainly left her agog, for lack of a better word (or perhaps there was a better word, and agog was simply more fun to think).  It was unlikely that, apart from the inevitable negative publicity of cheating one of the city's unfortunates, this would be a serious problem.  But where was the pleasure in letting a dubious deal go uncompleted?

 

He settled for placation, and the sigh he offered was a mixed bag, long and full of exasperation, bemusement, and just the slightest touch of existential crisis.  Gave it some depth, he felt.  He tried to tilt his head as he spoke, kinking it downwards so he could look up at her with a raised eyebrow, half of a wry grin, and keep his other eye on his cart, a rickety thing that appeared to be made out of cast-off scraps of metal and driftwood, filled to the brim with nothing of value whatsoever, and therefore just the way he liked it. This particular position turned out to be impossible given the difference in height and the angle at which the cart was placed in the alley, and so the full effect of it was to make it appear as if his neck had broken and was lolling about aimlessly.

 

"And we will continue to have a deal.  The problem is not with a deal and the presence or absence thereof, but with the quality of the deal. Or rather, the quality of the merchandise, if you follow me?"

[Zhavi]

"I think. . ." Zhi ground out against the desire to start kicking his shins until dawn (and maybe even past dawn), "ye said that last time. An' like last time, ye abandoned me t'the squall!"

 

He was crazy. Madder'n a cockered, artless . . . artless . . . her repertoire of foul words failed her. No, there wasn't a word strong enough to capture the insanity that was Verad Bellveil. And she, starting to rise on tip-toes and cursing the differences in their height, had lifted one hand with forefinger extended. She was sweaty. Filthy. Smelly. Part of that was due to the fish slime that coated her top down, random scales and bits of fish skin sticking to hair, skin and clothing. Remarkable that she hadn't attracted more flies, really.

 

"Do ye -- d'ye know what a barrel full o'rottin' fish smells like at th'end o'the day?"

 

He should, since a small remnant of it clung to her. And thus, let us take a moment to appreciate the foulness of rotting fish warmed by the sun all day long. Now, let us imagine the smell magnified and borne by an individual whose sense of smell only intensifies when she breathes through her mouth. One who, we must presume, did not appreciate the smell of dead, rotting fish despite the similarities she shared with those of feline persuasion. Thus, we come upon her inability to modulate her voice to something below the volume of harpy shriek.

 

"Do -- ye?" Her stiffened finger stabbed twice towards the lower end of his sternum in time with her words.

 

Whilst in the main street, her smell had been mercifully dampened by the passing breeze and the freely circulating air. In the side street, however, whilst toe to toe with the elezen man, it would be quite more pronounced.

[Verad]

"Rott-ing, yes."  Despite the smell, the slime, the sick, and semi-serious threat of maiming alike, he continued to speak as if he were giving an address at a high and noble court, his hand held out hand, thumb and forefinger together, bobbing along with his words to emphasize the stress.  "Rott-ing. Not rott-ed. And that was precisely the problem, you see?"  Digits still poised as such, he gingerly picked a bit of the once-fish from her body - somewhere decent, certainly, most likely her hair - and held it up between them for inspection.

 

"Now, look, see here, I'm not saying it's not . . . adequate.  Good putrefaction.  That the barrel was in the sun?  Fine business.  But it wasn't long enough.  I have seen a good many rotten fish-carcass in my day, and I assure you, madam, - " Here it should be noted that the word was spoken without irony.  "That this!  This!" He waggled the bit of slime with such emphasis that it flew out of his grasp and was flung, accidentally, in the direction of her nose.  "This is nearly acceptable."

 

Only with that phrase did a look of disgust cross his face as he recoiled back against the wall, stifling a shudder.  "At any rate, you told me it was rotted, and not rotting.  Exactly why I went with you, as I recall.  'Mut'al good', wasn't it? I take the fish, and you take the gil?" 

 

He folded his arms, looking cross.  "Besides, my speech was impeccable.  I held up my end."

[Zhavi]

There were several points throughout Bellveil's words that Zhi opened her mouth, presumably to start up haranguing him again, but he gave her no quarter. It was during one of these -- the one where he'd plucked a bit of slime from her -- that she opened her mouth. The slime hit the side of her nose and slid down, hung precariously, and dribbled on in. She froze for a moment as her senses went about registering what had just happened -- smell, to taste, to the feel of fish slime entering her mouth -- and then she was spitting all over Bellveil's midsection. As if that wasn't enough, she hawked up a wad of something perhaps as disgusting, and spat that down between them. There was a high probability the bit of mucus landed on his left boot.

 

"Speech!" She got out, one hand lashing out and landing on the wall beside his waist. It was an intimidating sort of gesture, the kind that only really worked well if you were a good three or more inches taller than the other person. But, well, you have to give her some points for putting in good effort. Chin up, as they say.

 

"Yer quibblin' over how ruttin' rotten th'damn barrel was, an' y'have th'gall t'come snivelin' about yer speech?" Her voice climbed several octaves. "Ye daft? It was yer thrice-cursed speech what set th'clients t'riotin'! I sure as feck didn't upend the fish over me own head, did I? An' after I got th'ruttin' barrel off me head, where was me partner? Well?"

 

She gestured with her free hand. Slime flew sideways with the movement to mix in with the other unnameable substances on the ground.

 

It was possible that the question was rhetorical -- a common trap employed by many a fine woman -- but she glared up at Bellveil as if she expected an answer nonetheless.

[Verad]

Verad was very careful with his boots; it took a great deal of time, but he was always able to find the kind of boot that looked close enough to being serviceable and presentable to the public while still being nevertheless a tattered mass of holes and torn leather, ready to collapse at the slightest wrong look.  The sudden wad of wed slithering down between his toes told him that his eye had not failed him again. It was small comfort.

 

His brow furrowed, the perfect gesture to stifle a grimace as she made her accusation.  "Where was I?"  Glancing down and to the side, he cupped his chin between thumb and forefinger.  "A good question.  Where was I, where was I . . . " It was all sort of a blur once the mob had broken out.  He tended to purposely forget such things, and the struggle was evident on his face.

 

"Something to do with a good deal on imitation fool's gold, if I recall correctly."  He looked a bit hesitant, but then nodded.  "Yes, that was it.  You seemed more than capable of taking care of yourself, didn't you?  I thought the fish was excellent camouflage, if, perhaps, a bit hastily applied.  Anyway, you said you needed a distraction, did you not?  I should think they were properly distracted."

[Zhavi]

"In what --"

 

Zhavi retracted her hand from the wall and stared up at Bellveil. Her mouth hung open, her eyebrows bunched in over her nose. She took a step back, and closed her mouth. Then opened it. Then closed it, swallowed, and looked away. She put her fists on her hips, lips pressed together, and stared off down the alley for several heartbeats. "Y'know," she said, quite conversationally, "ye'd be a crackin' partner if ye weren't so blimmin' mad."

 

She looked back up at him, still glaring. "D'ye always leave yer partners in th'lurch, or is't jes me? Every. Single. Time. That weren't no distraction, that was a --" she shook her head, wonder overtaking the anger. "How ye've survived wi'such daft ideas, I can't even begin t'clue in on! But that ain't th'point -- now I've got a loss on record an' a 'ployer what'll be wantin' t'hear how things went. An' don't ye dare say th'fish weren't rotted enough fer ye to follow through! Yer arse is on this one same as mine. So tell me how y'plan - ta - fix - it."

 

She was back to jabbing at his sternum

[Verad]

At the rate she kept prodding, he realized, she was going to tear a hole in his shirt.  There was nowhere to go, though; despite his best efforts, merging with the alley wall and oozing out the other side, to reclaim his cart at a later date, had yet to occur.  It was clear he was going to have to approach the problem head-on, despite whatever crazy ideas she might have about his sanity or business acumen.

 

Rotting fish, honestly.  She had no idea how to evaluate a product.

 

He held up his hands in something approximating surrender, head tilted up to what he could see of the sky in order to hide the exasperated look on his face.  "Fine, fine.  Very well!  We shall set aside the, ah, difference of opinion regarding the value of our deal to fix this other, demonstrably less-important one.  Never let it be said that I never did anything for you."

 

A silent plea to the Twelve for patience later, and he dropped his eyes to Zhavi-level, folding his arms together and glancing to the side with a knitted brow.  "So, to be clear, there is a product, you do not have the product, and as far as anyone knows the product you should have is scattered across the bottom of Limsa's harbor - " He had to check himself before he finished his next thought, and closed his mouth.  "Does anyone know what it looks like?  Perhaps we could make something.  With paint and glue, you know."  He waved his hand up in a circle at the wrist.  "Construction paper, maybe.  I have some lovely scraps.  Would that work?"

[Zhavi]

"Ye don't do anythin' fer me," Zhi muttered as he talked. "Have t'twist yer arm, I do."

 

Still, his capitulation was well enough received, and she backed a few steps away from him with a wary, pinched expression. She scratched between her ears, pulled free a small fin, and dropped it to the side. "It was in th'barrel, remember? Ye took the fish, I took the gil -- after we got th'barrel in past th'Gate an' th'goods t'the right place."

 

Her voice had lowered in volume considerably: a disappointment to any lingering gossips, and a relief to those settling in to sleep, no doubt.

 

They had been the in-betweens, sandwiched between one set of clients and the other, final group who had set the caper up to begin with. One side knew that the fish, and the goods, were smeared across the harbor, mashed into a fine paste by dozens of angry feet. It seemed an impossible task, thinking about it. All from some simple, lucrative job that shouldn't have taken more than a bell to complete! She groaned. Wrong sort of people to piss off.

 

"Could make any number o'things, but I don't have a feckin' clue what they was smugglin'. Don't get paid t'ask questions, better t'not know." Her eyes narrowed. "Why, d'ye know? Wait. Mebbe -- it's a four-way job, right? Th'merchants what shipped it ain't know they're movin' black goods. We could jes, y'know, use some weights or summat. Whatever they was, have t'be small enough t'fit down a herring's gullet. Ain't our fault if th'packers split on th'deal, right?"

 

Of course, there was the problem of news of the mob and the upended fish barrel reaching their employer, but . . .Zhi could talk them out of that. Probably.

[Verad]

"I haven't the slightest. I was informed of an excellent deal on some rotted - " 

 

He paused, seeing a look in her eye at that particular phrase, and corrected himself. "On some bad fish that would suit the cart very well, and all I had to do was carry it out free of interference." That he had nevertheless caused a mob to spontaneously break out in spite of these instructions did not seem to bother him; the only consternation in his face was from the loss of his "reward," and it seemed to vex him greatly, leading him to scratch a perfectly-badly-trimmed beard in consideration.

 

"So I don't know, you don't know, perhaps the merchants don't know - do the employers know?" He glanced up at the sky, an act that would have looked quite grand were he looking up at anything but the scuffed plaster and stone of the Limsa alleyways, the tiniest strip of sky peeking out between buildings.

 

"Does anyone know? Is there, in fact, a product at all?" A mob was news, after all, and news travels fast, bad news faster, and by that logic surely they would have heard if they were in trouble by now. "Or were we paid to upend bad fish?"

[Zhavi]

"I'd take coin t'upend ye arse over skull," Zhi muttered. It was useless. Working with this man was a gamble. That was all there was to it. Sometimes you won big, but more often than not you were cleaned out and left naked under the sun wondering who took your delicates. Yet, despite that, Zhi always felt compelled to roll the dice. Why? Nald'thal, she decided, had a love of upending the rutting scales when it came to Bellveil.

 

"Tell ye what. Let's jes say a rival crew came an' started th'whole mess, an' neither yerself or me own self was gonna risk gettin' stomped and tossed off th'decks on a deal gone sour. Ye owe me a drink fer this, Bellveil. Ain't seen a run go this blimmin' crooked in years."

 

She spat to the side, and wiped her mouth with the back of her arm. Then she was back to glaring at him.