Spirits of the Earth

[Tags @pomelo ]

It wasn't his first rodeo.  No, but it was definitely the first one where he didn't have to sweat bullets trying to avoid making eye contact with any guards.  Yeah, he didn't have to sweat them, but they were coming out anyway.  Not that the smoke between his fingers was helping him much, but it would do for now.  What he really needed was a drink, but that, unfortunately, would have to wait.

Quinlan's face was ignited by the light of his cigarette in hand, taking along drag that made the passing guard eye him with a frown.  "You can't smoke that in here," he snapped.  "Besides you're supposed to be inside.  It's what you're paid to do, ain't it?"

Quinlan slowly blew out the smoke, straightening his back against the porch pillar at the rear of the villa just in the walls of Selevea.  It was a nice city, filled with bustle, parties, and money.  That last part was what brought him here obviously.  But instead of hiding out in some greasy dive, he found himself here at the house of some Lord Understone or something or other.  He needed something different, and a man looking for someone to play bodyguard seemed easy enough.  Nobody to hound after him, nobody to gut him in his sleep, and there was steady pay without too much risk.

He finished the puff and dashed the smoke out on a small case he had, a folder of iron that silenced the hiss of the smoke, and he quietly put it away to be enjoyed for later.  "I was just taking a break.  The air is nice out, all right?  Relax."

"Look, I can relax.  I'm not some hired thug.  So get your ass back inside and keep an eye on Master Theiris!  I don't know where Lord Understone found you, but I'd sooner scrap you off my boot and toss you into the river."

"Ha, like you can throw that far with your flab," Quinlan said under his breath.

"WHAT!?"

"I said, I'm going!" Quinlan spat and turned back into the porch, going back into the cacophony of the party currently being held inside.  It was a birthday bash, for the grand Lord Cedric Understone himself, and the guest of honor had certainly made himself comfortable on the arm of a twenty-something that Quinlan had to tilt his head nearly 90 degrees to admire the fullness of that moon.  He sniffed, going back to his post and looking out for Theiris Understone as he enjoyed himself.

He could remain vigilant – hell, he was getting paid for it, why the hell not?  Even if he was a little bored just standing there...watching everyone else have a good time, knowing full one or two of the villa guards would be bumping around the cleaning closets with some of the fine flesh out here.  He gave a smirk, one that stayed plastered on his face all throughout the night.


"All right, Quinlan, I'll relieve you for the night," Rutger muttered as she stepped through Theiris' antechamber door.  Quinlan had been reading for the night, standing up as soon as the other guard entered.  "You look like you need a drink."

"Don't I ever," he sighed.  "Look, the kid's just gone off to uh, well, I'm sure you can handle it.  I'm heading out.  Gotta get away from Sir Flabs-a-lot.  I don't know how you deal with him.  See you in a few hours, all right?"

"Sure," she said with a nod and watched him go.

It was easy avoid the Captain of Understone's men.  The man could barely walk two paces without winding himself.  Quinlan alone had gotten meaner in build in the last few years.  But as soon as Quinlan was out onto the evening streets, he was home free.  At least for the next few hours.  Selevea was a decent place, he thought to himself.  Better than Ketra by a longshot.  And not a bad place to find himself.

There had be a tavern around here where he could spend his gold.  Some place to help him forget that he'd sold much of his freedom away to a mercenary's job.  There was no risk, sure, but there wasn't much thrill either.  But far be it from him to say no to easy money.

Quinlan took out the smoke case, and pulled out the one he'd half-dashed earlier, igniting a match and taking a drag on it, when he saw a familiar shape coming up toward him, or so he thought.  He wasn't drunk yet, so he couldn't be seeing things.  Quinlan saw the pair of people behind it pass under a lantern's light and smiled.

He'd know that hair anywhere.

"Well, he certainly keeps his hands clean, doesn't he? The biggest fish usually do. Never do anything yourself you can't get a disposal underling to do for you. Come on. Let's get a drink. Might overhear something useful. Still have a few hours before we meet Granny."

The words were spoken by one of the two figures passing under the streetlamp. Spoken in an undertone, to the woman who walked alongside him, but Quinlan might just be able to hear them. The man was unmistakably Serenian. He had the lithe build and fair skin typical of the race. Human, but even more notably, he had tousled hair of bright blue and green and aquamarine eyes spoke of the faerie blood that set Serenians apart from their neighbors to the south and north.

A noncommittal noise was the only response the man got from the woman walking alongside him, who could hardly look less Serenian. Umber brown skin and big, coiled black hair that could only rightly be described as a mane set her clearly apart from the fair Serenians. But in a bustling trading town like Sevelea, neither of the pair stood out significantly. People from all over Serendipity, and some from farther, came to do business in the sprawling old city. Of course, it wasn't only legal traders that dealt here.

Selevea's unique political structure made it a den of illegal trade and activity. Goods ranging from smuggled weapons, dangerous magic, intoxicating botanicals, stolen treasures, to human lives. The latter was what brought the pair passing under the lamplight. Buying and selling human lives (or non-human, for that matter) was, of course, perfectly legal in Serendipity. Foreign lives, not Serenian lives. A facted that rankled a foreigner like Zahi Akello. But that didn't mean there wasn't a market for pretty, young Serenian girls. Of course the poor, forgotten, defenseless children of the street had always gone missing, from time to time, with few taking notice. But a steady stream of respectable young girls, some as young as six, had been disappearing from their homes and families. Sold, it was said, to Essryn and other places abroad for their exotic looks, or even domestically to those who didn't fancy a foreign slave. Girls, and some boys, had disappeared from all over the country, but rumor led them here.

Here in Sevelea is where they hoped to find the orchestrator of the whole dirty business.

Because however much things may or may not have changed for Quinlan in the past years, Zahi Akello found herself in a very different position indeed. No longer a Soot Wolf, no longer a criminal, Zahi Akello was now a detective in the service of the Queen. It had been a strange turn of events that had led her here: After her ascension to Red Jackal, her expulsion from the Soot Wolves had nearly cost her her life. She had ended up in the hands of the city guard, of a junkie detective who'd nearly killed her himself. But in the end it was decided that a skilled scraper like Akello, with deep connections to Arca's underground, might be an asset. So she'd been given the choice - or 'choice' as she liked to think of it - between entering Her Majesty's service, and death. Zahi might have had some lingering loyalty to the Soot Wolves, but none at that point to the current Red Wolf, and quite a bit more to her own skin than to any of them. It had been an easy choice.

A less easy line to walk, however. Her connections did prove useful to detective work, that was true, but anyone who changes sides has to be extra vigilant. Zahi maintained contacts in the Soot Wolves, particularly with Huxley, but did not know what fate Rufus had in mind for her. But she was certain she would find out, eventually.

In Sevelea, at least, she did not have to worry as acutely about him. This wasn't Soot Wolf territory. The Thieves' Guild operated here. They had, in fact, a meeting with a representative of the Guild - 'Granny' - later that night. That doesn't mean she'd let her guard down, however. As they passed under the lamplight, Zahi felt a pair of eyes on her. Her own odd, mismatched eyes glanced sideways at the figure. And for the briefest moment her eyes met Quinlan's, but her expression remained unchanged; as though she'd glanced at a stranger.

Because if there was anything Zahi Akello did not need, it was that asshole Connlaothain bloodmage, Quinlan Duirne.

It didn't matter if she didn't notice him.  He noticed her and it made him smile.  He intercepted her path casually, walking with a nonchalant lope and blowing the smoke of his cigarette off to the side.  His hand flicked the ashes and he approached with a sidelong glance.

"Zahi Akello," he said aloud, loud enough to capture the attention of the colleague beside her.  The young man turned to look between the stranger and Zahi, clearly confused and making a face at Quinlan.

"Move along stranger," he said.

"Oh, I believe I was addressing my old friend beside you, sir," Quinlan said with a grin.  "Come on, Zahi. Pretending you don't notice me is a bit childish don't you think?"

Oh, she had indeed noticed Quinlan. Zahi had recognized him almost instantly, like a kick to the stomach. And she thought she'd sent a quite clear message with her passing glance: Fuck off, Quinlan.

Tallinn, her blue-haired partner, meanwhile bristled slightly. His first assumption was, she guessed, that anyone calling himself an 'old friend' of Zahi's was likely a Wolf. And a confrontational Wolf, especially if one had followed them here outside of Arca, could be a dangerous one. Of course, Quinlan was neither.

Tallinn was about to respond to Quinlan, but Zahi held up a dismissive hand. "He's just a scrappy freelancer," she said to her partner. As in, He's not a Soot Wolf. He's probably not a threat. At least, not directly. The shitstorm of trouble that usually followed around the whiney blood mage could easily prove a threat to their job. That was why Zahi wanted nothing to do with him now.

Mostly.

The former assassin's expression didn't change when she looked at Quinlan, brashly blocking their path. Yes, she was the childish one. Unbidden to her mind came the retort, No more childish than sneaking away while someone else is sleeping. But she'd die before she'd say that aloud. In truth, she'd never really expected to see the man again, and the pragmatic woman she was, she never wasted time thinking of what she'd do if she did.

"Who's pretending?" she asked. "Glad to see you're still on your feet, though" she said curtly. If she had thought about him, she probably would have guessed he'd get himself killed by now.

Quinlan decided it was probably best to ignore her company.  At least until the man became relevant.  He wore similar clothing to her own, leathers that looked worn but not out of place.  It was easy to spot someone that didn't quite fit in; like Quinlan for example.  No longer quite in the patched vagabond rags in which he'd met Zahi, Quinlan cut himself quite a figure in a clean tan tunic, and brown leather trousers.  His jacket too was brand new, from the looks of it, and cared for better than when she'd last seen him. 

"Thanks," he said with a playful smirk.  He tilted his head, letting his eyes inspect her more closely, and he had no issue with what was presented before him.  Even if her attitude was as abrasive as ever.  "You look like you're not doing so bad for yourself either.  It's good to see you again, Zahi.  You look good.  I mean it."

For the briefest moment, Zahi also forgot about her partner. Quinlan's genuine - and quite obvious - appraisal of her left her feeling... awkward. In truth, Zahi did look a little worse for the wear from the past few years. A visible scar ran down her jawline that hadn't been there when he'd seen her last. A mark of her ascension to the Red Jackal. Back when she'd still been a Soot Wolf.  But what was she supposed to say to him now? 'Thanks?' That was obviously out of the question. Instead, she bristled a little, her expression just barely tightening.

Tallinn wouldn't need to be a mind-reader to sense the vague tension between the two. Or, at least, the tension from Zahi. He wouldn't smash the 'moment' just yet; but he watched Quinlan carefully.

"Sure," Zahi responded coldly, "my health's taken a big upswing since ridding myself of suicidal Connlaothians." She gave him a curt nod, turning to continue on her way with Tallinn. "Take care of yourself, Quinlan."

"What that's it?  Not even a proper hello or goodbye?  I shoulda known," Quinlan sighed, watching her turn to leave.  He took another drag from his smoke, blowing it off to the side.  "Where are you headed?  Nevermind, I'll walk with you."  Dashing out the smoke, Quinlan ground it beneath his boots and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

"You still owe me that drink, you know.  Maybe we can finally get it," he chuckled.

"Is that why you're here?  To get a drink?  You look like a scab," Tallinn scoffed.

"Correction.  To get a drink with Zahi."

"Yeah, that's it," Zahi answered. There was nothing biting in her tone; it was business-like and maybe very vaguely condescending. She had already began to walk away as she said it. "Take care of yourself," she repeated over her shoulder as Quinlan took the last drag from his cigarette.

"'Old friend'?" Tallinn asked under his breath, eyebrows raised with a hint of skepticism and amusement.

Zahi just gave a dismissive shrug. But before she could steer the conversation away from their unexpected reunion and back to the business at hand, Quinlan was at her side again. What a huge fucking surprise.

"I don't owe you shit," she answered matter-of-factly without breaking stride. I don't remember you being much into a 'proper goodbye', anyway. Again, unbidden thoughts in her mind. The truth, of course, wasn't that Zahi was bitter that Quinlan had left her there. Just that he'd done it first. If he hadn't, she undoubtedly would have. But that was ancient history now. Now Quinlan was just in the way.

He felt the bitterness of that reply, even if she was just trying to tell him to fuck off.  Really, even those words probably weren't enough to send him scattering away, not after the day he'd had.  She was familiar company, and like a dog after his owner, he followed her as they kept going down the street.  Tallinn obviously wasn't pleased with his presence; not that his opinion mattered in anyway.

"Uh, yeah, you do," Quinlan said with a shrug.  "You can have a drink too Tallinn.  She can be a real handful you know."  He smirked.  "Come on Zahi.  We can call it just having a drink for ole time's sake.  I mean sharing one beer doesn't really count.  We need to do the whole shaboigan."

Tallinn chewed on his lip a bit.  "We're headed over to a tavern now, since you're all ready following us.  You may as well come along."  That chewed lip turned into a curious smirk, looking at Zahi for a response.

For a moment, Zahi lost her composure and shot Tallinn an incredulous look. Was he doing this just to spite her? Truth be told, she was sure Tallinn had never really taken to her. The somewhat straight-laced detective didn't seem willing to trust a former criminal. He was the second partner she'd been assigned since joining the Queen's service. It was something of a pattern.

But at this moment, she just hated both men.

Her expression was recomposed, if a little annoyed, when she glanced sidelong at Quinlan. "I don't think Tallinn wants to do 'the whole shebang.' Me neither, for that matter."

But her words, or bristling composure, didn't seem to matter. Because somehow they seemed to be stepping into a grimy, dark little pub, led by a very amused looking Tallinn. She knew he was enjoying seeing Zahi knocked slightly off her guard. Which only annoyed her more. This was going to be one fun drink.

"I believe the word was 'shaboigan,'" Tallinn corrected, but was quick to step out of Zahi's range once they were actually inside the little pub.  Quinlan wondered if they wouldn't just prefer something that was a little cleaner, but actually seeing the sight made him smile.  This was just the kind of place he'd probably find himself in day in and out if he hadn't found his new gig.

He just followed Zahi to wherever she ended up, sitting beside her and tapping the table as a bar wench came by.  "Beers please.  A pitcher for the table.  We're old friends catching up," Quinlan said with a flashing grin.

The woman smiled and looked over at Zahi.  "Oh, that's so sweet!  I'll see if I can scrounge up two."

"I'm going to see if I can't pick up anything interesting at the bar." Tallinn glanced between the strange man they'd picked up and Zahi. It might sound like he meant a girl, but Zahi knew he meant rumors or any word on the street that might help them. (After all, he could do that inquiring after a girl. And, in a way, that would be easier for him to do without a woman at his side.)

Anyway, they both knew that Zahi could take care of herself. And if she couldn't? Well, Tallinn was unlikely to miss the former Soot Wolf he suspected, she guessed, of being a double agent, still in the pocket of Canis Rufus.

Tallinn thumped the table once, grinned at the pair, then took his beer off to the bar. Zahi watched him go with a controlled expression. Once the blue-haired Serenian was settled at the bar, Zahi turned back to Quinlan, giving him a proper assessment this time. It was hard to judge whether or not he really looked 'better' than last time she'd seen him; he'd been at death's door then, after all. But she suspected he did. Cleaned up, at least. And with less of a desperate, suicidal glint in his eye. His stupid grin was the same, though.

"All right," she finally drawled, trying - and probably failing - not to look too surly. Zahi always prided herself on having a cool demeanor, and it wasn't entirely lost on her that the people who could ruffle that the most, and easiest, were men that she might actually care about. Or cared about, in this case. "You've got your ten minutes, Quinlan. What do you want?"

He blinked at her, when the pitcher came around he poured himself a pint.  He was glad the other guy made himself scarce.  This was hardly a kind of night he wanted some third wheel around - not that he was certain he could make more of it than what was all ready there - but if Zahi did rip out his throat, at least she'd have the courtesy to keep it between them.

He tried to hold his smile at bay, then quickly decided against it.  What reason did he have to hold back?  Quinlan brought the glass to his lips, sipping it just a bit to savor the amber flavor of it.  He prefered a harder drink, but he planned to work his way up to that.

"What do I want!?" he murmured, tone astonished.  "You ask like I have some kind of ulterior motive."  This deserved a second longer drink of beer.

"I haven't seen you in years.  I'm surprised to say the least, but not displeased in anyway."  He smiled just a bit, looking her over, admiring what he saw, but moreover keeping his gaze steady on her.  "I want to know how you've been.  This is more than a ten minute beer."

The look Zahi gave Quinlan was the look you might give someone talking complete nonsense. As though Quinlan was there, telling her all about how he wanted to turn them both into fairies and ride away on butterfly-winged miniature unicorns. In other words: No fucking way did she believe a word of what he was saying. And, of course, that what he was saying seemed both absurd and somewhat foreign to her.

In truth, though Zahi had formed close relationships with several other Blood Wolves during her time there - people she would risk her life for, and vice versa - she couldn't really call any of them friends. And the only person she'd ever really opened up to... Well, where was Bujari now? And where had he been when she'd been nearly beaten to death and left for dead? Not that she would have necessarily expected the Yoreiqi to risk his position and standing in the Wolves for her - a cushy job as Spirit Wolf, all the young thieves to bed he wanted. But it did put things in perspective. He'd been the only man, probably, that Zahi had ever really loved. And a fat lot of good it did her.

So perhaps it wasn't a huge surprise if there was something defiant in the way she looked back at Quinlan now. "I want to know how you've been." Yeah fucking right. He wanted something, sure, she believed that. Hell, she wasn't even entirely certain that he wasn't here to try to use their past to gain her trust and drag her back to Canis Rufus. There would surely be a monetary reward in it for him.

"I've been fine," she answered tersely. "See, less than ten minutes. You can take the rest of the time to finish your beer, though."

He breathed out cooly, wanting another smoke but refraining from doing so for the moment.  He looked at her and her beer and his expression sobered, the smile vanishing from his face.  Quinlan could tell she wasn't going to budge.  Stupid Zahi and her stupid steeliness.  He had to respect her for it in some way.  She was right to be guarded around people that may or may not have it out for her.

Though he couldn't quite understand why she would think he would be one of them. 

"You don't look fine," he admitted out loud, looking at his beer and her reflection in it after the foam dissipated.  "On the inside I mean.  You look like you'd kill any man that looks at you the wrong way.  And feel perfectly justified in doing so."

Another sip and he took out the cigarette case, and the bag of tobacco he'd once again acquired.  "If I'm going to finish my beer, so are you.  It's the custom when two people like us share drinks.  I won't let you drink alone."

That elicited a major eye roll from Zahi. "Please. 'You don't look fine... on the inside I mean,'" she repeated in a mock, sappy voice. If she were more of a reactionary, she might mime puking at that line. And, if anything, it gave more weigh to the thought that he was here with some ulterior motive.

Really. 'On the inside.'

Nauseating.

Zahi leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table top, her own beer forgotten for the moment. "Cut the crap, Quinlan," she said, giving him a level look across the table. "What do you want? You have a job you want help on? You're trailing me for someone? You need a stepping stone to get to something else, and I could be that stone? Well you can forget it. I don't have time for your shit, and I'm not interested in being used or dragged into another one of your catastrophes."

Quinlan tried to keep a straight face, and smirked at her.  "You really think you can see through my bluff?  You got me.  I'm here, in the middle of the most boring fucking city in Serendipity all because I wanted to track you down and drag you into some kind of escapade only an idiot like me could possibly get himself dragged into?"

He slapped the table with a rasp of knuckles and rolled himself a smoke.  "Why is it so hard to believe that I want to have a genuine conversation with you?  Besides I'm off duty at the moment.  I got this gig guarding some hot shot noble's annoying brat.  Babysitting.  You're familiar with the term.  It's easy money, but damn I get bored.  I wanted to a drink.  I bumped into you, and I liked you enough to drag you into sitting here with me having this inane argument.  And I thought maybe you liked me enough even for just a second to endure it with me."

He sighed a the windbag speech and rubbed his face with his hands.  "I don't have...anything to do with whatever nonsense you think I'm really here for."

"I don't know. Sevelea is full of at least as many criminals and smugglers as Arca. Maybe you just haven't made the right friends yet," she remarked dryly to his response that Sevelea was 'the most boring city in Serendipity.' And, perhaps, to deflect some of the attention away from herself.

Zahi watched Quinlan levelly as he babbled through his 'why can't you believe we're just good friends' monologue. It sounded pretty feeble to her. But maybe they had different memories of their time in Ketra. Because she was thinking, Who ever said I liked you at all? Finally, she gave a little snort and said, "Sure, you 'liked me enough' to steal my fuckign dog."

It was a dry comment, perhaps even meant to have a little humor in it, a little.

Then Zahi leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and regarded Quinlan with her chin raised slightly. Finally she gave a short sigh and shrugged her shoulders slightly. He wanted to have a conversation. Fine. "Fine," she said aloud, tone still defiant, "what do you want to talk about?"

If anything was clear, it was that Zahi was not going to make this easy for him. As though she ever had.

"But," she added quickly, "you don't have all night. I still have business to attend to later."

Quinlan shook his hand, chuckling at her continued abrasiveness.  It just took him back, to every thing they went though and then some.  He supposed the old adage was right.  The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. 

He twirled the smoke in his fingers thoughtfully.  "Same old Zahi," he murmured.  "That's a relief, at least."

He put away the tobacco and cigarette case and pulled the matches from his other pocket.  "Very well, what happened to you after I left?  Taking our dog with me."

Zahi sat across from Quinlan, arms crossed, looking cross. At his question, she rolled her eyes. This whole situation was very uncomfortable for her. In fact, she was a little annoyed by how awkward she felt. She gave a brusque shrug.

"I went back to Arca. Got told off for taking off after a job. What'd you expect?" She paused, then rolled her eyes and asked, obligatorily, "And what about you, Princess?"

Not that she cared.

He sniffed.  And casually pushed her beer closer to her.

"I got into all sorts of trouble after I left.  Fluffy ran off.  I can't say I know what happened to him.  Thought maybe I'd make better money with risking my neck less and got this job.  Not much else to tell."

He settled in the awkward silence a long while, shipping his beer.  Eyes flicked to her before he leaned in and kissed her cheek gently.  "I missed you," he uttered the words quickly, but not so quietly.

Zahi's hand slipped around the mug of beer, but she didn't lift it to her lips yet, just ran her fingertips idly over the fired clay mug. It was a little gesture to appease Quinlan. While still defying him, of course. His presence unsettled her, and she wanted this encounter to be over as quickly as possible. Maybe it would go faster if she did drink the beer, she thought. And, as much as it pained her to give into Quinlan's wishes, she took a slow sip of the beer while Quinlan gave a brief summary of his misadventures. Her expression one of pained, faux-attentiveness.

Of-fucking-course Fluffy ran off. Who'd blame him? Not that Zahi really cared. It wasn't like she'd have been able to take the dog back to Arca. It wasn't like she'd want to have!

She opened her mouth to say something snide about the dog running off all the same, when Quinlan... leaned forward and kissed her! And not a bawdy, sloppy kiss on the mouth. But on her cheek! What was wrong with him!?

Despite herself, Zahi went immediately stiff, eyes wide with surprise. And - worse yet - her dark cheeks colored. The bewildered, and genuine, expression lasted for only a moment or two before it turned into a more comfortable scowl. Made all the scowlier for having been caught off her guard.

"Sure, sure, Princess," she bit back at him, the color not entirely gone from her cheeks. "I'm sure you've just been fucking heartbroken."

But any further barb escaped her, so she simply scowled more and took another sip of the beer - a slightly more generous one - while glancing over to the bar to make sure that Tallinn was not paying attention to them.

He didn't expect the action to be taken lightly and when the barb followed he just smiled a little and sipped his beer again.

That was more like the Zahi he knew.  But a heated response spoke more than she let on.  The heat from her cheeks, he could feel when he brought his hand up and ran a finger along her cheekbone.  "Are you saying you didn't miss me any? Not even a little bit?"

He leaned on the table, looking at her from the corner of his eye, watching her fingers on the mug.  She'd probably die before ever admitting anything to him.  Anything real that was.  She'd just brush him off like always.  He couldn't say he knew exactly what he wanted, but just sitting beside her was the first time a jolt went down his stomach.

Quinlan let his hand drift toward hers, thumb running along her knuckles on the hand closest to him.

Zahi knew that if she followed her knee-jerk reaction and responded the way she wanted to - namely, shoving Quinlan violently away - that she'd draw far too much attention to them. She wanted to ask what he was doing and, more importantly, remind him that they were in public.. But she hadn't made it as far as she had in her 'chosen' profession, either with the Soot Wolves or now in the Queen's service, by following her knee-jerk reactions. Instead, she settled with snatching her hand away from him. She regarded him then with a hard look, jaw set with a vague frown on her lips.

The look wasn't one of suspicion, exactly. Zahi would much prefer to think Quinlan was putting on a show to tease her. Well, maybe he was. But the idea that bothered her much more was that he wasn't. And she wasn't sure how she felt about that. Though she'd never admit it here, there was a part of her that craved someone familiar, someone she could trust. It was something she'd had in the Soot Wolves, once, but had very much lacked in the last two years. And there was a small part of her now that wanted to take some comfort in Quinlan's presence. That wanted to relax and confide in him, at least a little. A small part that wanted to pick up... Well, where had they left off?

And was Quinlan really someone that she trusted?

"I haven't really thought that much about you," she answered, her more thoughtful frown 'relaxing' back into a faint scowl. It was a mostly honest answer. "I've had a full enough plate without worrying about a boozing, womanizing outcast with a death wish."

He could sense the genuineness behind the answer.  He sniffed a little and chewed thoughtfully on his lip.  She really had her plate didn't she? Quinlan smiled, just a little before sipping down the rest of his beer.  "Well, it's good to see you're still alive.  And doing, uh, well for yourself I guess."

He didn't hesitate again, kissing her temple this time and withdrawing it as the final gesture of affection. For now anyway.  He found his face a flush, unusual for himself and didn't know what more he could say. 

Instead he cleared his throat and offered a small smile, noticing at least she'd drank some of her beer.  "At least it's not moonshine this time, am I right?" he said.

"Cut it out," Zahi growled as she gently, but firmly, pushed Quinlan away from her. What had gotten into him? Anyone watching them would think they were old lovers, finally reunited after years. Which they were not. Sure, things had happened, but...

But Zahi noticed Quinlan's temporary expression, and the color in his cheeks. And for a moment, she felt very odd. Something in that moment was chipping away at the barrier she'd thrown up around herself. Zahi frowned. This vague, uneasy, but not all together bad tension between them was not something she was enjoying. And seeing Big Mouth Quinlan running out of things to say just made it worse.

"Well, i suppose," she answered noncommittally. "Look, this has been fun.  But some of us have jobs to do.  I think we're done here."

"Aw, come on.  Don't go.  Things were just starting to get civil between us.  Believe that or not," he said, looking at her more seriously.  Still, he knew there wasn't much of anything he could say that would change her mind.  He just grinned at her and took her still largely filled mug of beer and sipped it himself. 

"As ever the work horse, aren't you Zahi.  Come on. I haven't seen you in two whole years, can't we spend a little time together?" he pressed.  "Alone?  Bah, I guess questioning whether your job is really that important is an effort in sheer futility.  But you can't blame me for trying."

"As a matter of fact, my job is more important than having a few beers with you," Zahi answered coolly. And it was true.

Zahi wasn't a cut-throat any more. She had real work to do, for the real Greater Good. It was a role that, though she might not easily admit it, suited her. She'd never been particularly inclined towards criminality; it had just been the world she'd found herself brought up in. In fact, she'd excelled as a Blood Wolf because she was more inclined towards keeping the Wolves safe and in order than she was to fleecing, thieving, and smuggling.

Plus this job struck a personal chord with the former Soot Wolf. Kidnappers, traffickers, abductors of girls... It was, after all, the same fate that had torn her mother from her jungle home to a rundown brothel in Zantaric. She wasn't going to let Quinlan distract her from it.

But.

Zahi regarded Quinlan for a long moment, arms crossed across her chest now, her expression hard and inscrutable. Because there was something about Quinlan's almost awkward mannerisms just now. The memory of their time together in Adela, that seemed like a lifetime ago. It was a different lifetime. And while the new work suited her... She'd never admit it, even to herself, but Zahi - accustomed to the constant presence of people since she was a child, of being part of some organization - was lonely in her new life. Even if she didn't particularly like people. She was used to being part of something. Now, or at least for now, she only had a loose affiliation of guards and inspectors who didn't trust her much further than they could throw her.

Zahi let out a long exhale through her nose, knowing she was bound to regret what she was about to say. "Fine," she capitulated, sounding altogether unhappy about it and unable to refrain from rolling her eyes as she said so. "Shove off for now. Go to the Green Lantern," a dingy, rundown, all-around sad excuse of an Inn; exactly Zahi's sort of place. "I'll meet you there when I'm done."

[The Green Lantern? 8D]

He honestly wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he could damn well say it wasn't that.  Quinlan felt his smirk shrink, if only not to spoil the moment and he stood when he was ready.  "Well, all right.  Sounds good to be," he replied and rapt his knuckles on the table.

"I'll see you then."  Assuming she was even going to show up.  He decided he was going to take that chance.  If she didn't show after this, then at least he could knock back a few shots.  Or...  maybe he shouldn't drink so much right away.  The night was still early, and he could really use a walk.

Cool air soothed flushed skin when he went out.  She'd show, he told himself.  But to what end?  Maybe she'd kill him after all.  Maybe she'd just knock him around a bit.  He supposed he'd just have to wait to find out.

((What's really funny here is that I was actually thinking of The Great Gatsby.))

The Green Lantern was a barebones, dingy place that gave the impression of not having been cleaned - or really even used much - in years. Downstairs, there was a smattering of worn wooden tables and chairs, mostly empty, a few with a melted mound of wax from generations of candles that had never been cleaned away. The only other light was from a dusty, cracked green lantern that swung lazily over the scratched, grimy wood of the bar. Nothing adorned the walls, and the only living souls in the place - aside from Quinlan - were the old barmaid and two or three old men, looking grim and drinking alone, spaced as far apart as they could manage in the fun l dim little room.

The night was growing old when Zahi finally appeared, several hours after Quinlan had left her. The grim men of the bar didn't even turn their heads to look at her. Only their eyes moved. Zahi ignored them, passing directly to the bar without so much as glancing at Quinlan. After a quiet exchange with the tired old woman working it, however, she didn't leave the bar with a drink. But with a key.

She still didn't acknowledge Quinlan until she paused at the base of a rickety stairwell that led up to a handful of rooms that promised to be just as cheery as the bar.

Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, "You coming, Red?"

Quinlan had almost fallen asleep by the time Zahi showed up.  He'd been reclined at the bar until the door swung open and until five foot six inches of poofy hair walk through the door. He didn't say anything when she did arrive, just slid off the bar and watched her.

He followed along behind, almost regretting his decision not to drink after that one beer, but this was all he'd been waiting for. If she wanted to kill him, he'd regret not drinking.  If he just got roughed up, then he could have a drink to soothe the pain.

"Yeah," he murmured and followed along like a distant shadow.  Eyes flicked to the hallway, to the sparsely decored walls, dirty with smoke and grime.  It was positively lovely.

Quinlan entered behind her, shutting the door gently once it was open.  "Is this where you're staying now?" he asked.

"No," she answered honestly after the door had shut behind them. She turned to Quinlan then and, taking hold of his shirt collar, drew him right to the edge of her personal space. Her hand stayed there, but she didn't pull him any closer. "You don't really think I'd bring you to where I'm staying?"

She didn't trust him that much. Or, at least, she wasn't going to act like she did.

He lunged forward, pulled by her hand.  He stared down at ber, a bit wild-eyed, but remaining steady.  He didn't answer her.  Wasn't she always complaining about his talking anyway?  He braced his hands around her face, smirking just a little.  But it faded when he kissed her, sealing lips together something fierce.

Zahi didn't flinch away when Quinlan moved towards her. Her mismatched eyes gazed levelly back at his wild ones. Only narrowing, just a little, when he smirked. But she didn't move away from his kiss, meeting it with just as much passion and energy as Quinlan brought. Her arms roped around him, hands pressing into the small of his back as she kissed him.

Zahi was never much for words.

Thankfully they weren't needed.  Quinlan breathed hotly between kisses, feeling his head throb so hard he thought he was going to pass out.

He moaned deeply, his hands snaking around her and grabbing her ass with hungry hands.  He pressed her waist to his, hip to hip, and slowly snaked them up the back of her shirt, nails prying at her skin.  Quinlan didn't kiss her so sloppily now, taking his time instead in exploring the hollows of her mouth.  One hand stayed at her back, another snaked between them to grasp between her legs.

Zahi returned every attention with a fierce, but detail-oriented and deliberate hunger, and already she could feel her heart beating loudly in her chest. It was almost surreal, being here with him now. Being with anyone like this.

Her hands explored the muscles of his back and shoulders, sliding up his neck and into his hair. She only broke away from the kisses when his hand snaked between her legs. And that was to let out a small, dry laugh.

"Whoa there, Princess," she laughed huskily. "Be direct, why don't you? No need to beat around the bush."

She shook her head at him, pulling away from him just enough to shrug off her jacket before binding herself to him again, pressing hard against his flesh, and steering him towards the dingy little bed as she kissed him.

She was actually laughing.  And smiling?  Quinlan didn't know whether to be stunned, confused, or both.  Thankfully he didn't dawdle too long before he too took his jacket off and dropped it to the floor.  Off came the shirt as he followed Zahi to the bed, draping it on the rickety chair beside it.

"If I didn't know any better it sounded like you were trying to talk dirty.  And failing," he chuckled.  An arm reached up and hoisted her into his hips.  He sat back on the bed, reclining just enough to settle her on top.

Lips sought her neck and throat sucking deeply there it turned her skin red.  His hands didn't fumble, pushing her shirt off until it landed in a pool on the ground.  He gripped at her breasts, massaging them gently with strong worn hands.

A snort was the only response Zahi gave to Quinlan's teasing. She didn't have time to banter words about. Zahi followed his inertia onto the bed, pushing him down flush against the bed as she straddled him, clinging tightly to him with her thighs.

She smoothed her hands over his bare chest, leaning into his touch until she was over him, kissing him fiercely again.

The weight of her body pressed firmly against the hardened manhood beneath her.  Quinlan released soft breaths and hungry moans as he ground his hips up against hers.  He bibut at her bottom lip as he was wont to do.  Blood roared in his ears, heart throbbing with an exhilaration he hadn't felt in a long time.

No words, he reminded himself.  Just action.

And that was what he wanted too.  He reached down and slipped the buttons of her trousers off, thumb running along the skin below her belly button, dragging his fingernails along her body.  Lips broke the kiss, leaving a wet trail to take a breast into his mouth.  He sucked deeply on her skin, hands pushing  until the curve of her ass was free of her trousers.

Zahi let out a low moan as his mouth found her breast, and soon she was the one biting her bottom lip rather than Quinlan. She pushed her hips into the rigid member beneath her, grinding against his need. It was a need she hadn't felt in a long time, and somehow knowing that it was his, Quinlan's, only made her own greater. So when he pushed at her trousers, at first Zahi angled her hips to help him.

But just at first. Because that wasn't going to work on its own. So Zahi broke away from his touch just enough to - somewhat awkwardly - kick her trousers off herself. She paused a moment then now naked and above him, to gaze down at Quinlan. Her expression was hard to read, but it was somehow removed from the heat of the moment. And, for that moment, uncharacteristically genuine.

It passed, though, and Zahi lowered herself down urgently to kiss him again, balancing with her legs while her hands wandered down to work at the fastenings of his own trousers.

It didn't take much effort to take them off.  The buttons popped, giving way to freedom and he eased out a sigh of relief through his nostrils.  He murmured her name somewhere through the hungry kisses and in that, he wriggled his trousers off his hips, shuffling his ankles out of them.  "Come here," he whispered.

He eased in the coaxing, drawing her up further onto his chest until he hooked an arm underneath her knee.  He brought his face closer to the heat of her sex, drawing lips and the coarseness of his shadowed beard along her belly.  He sucked deeply on the skin of her inner thigh, meeting her eyes briefly before taking in a deep breath.  When what he sought was near, he flicked his tongue out to her sex, tasting and testing with every writhe of her body.

For once, Zahi listened, coming down to him when he beckoned her, then following his coaxing up to his chest. This once, it seemed, it might not be a competition.

She rolled her head back with a heavy, pleading exhale as his coarse skin of his cheeks and mouth an across her belly and lower. When Quinlan finally found the heat of her sex, her breath hitched and her entire body reacted, stiffening and relaxing.

"Gods, Quinlan," she breathed heavily; an uncharacteristic exclamation for Zahi, who was usually quiet. And she reached out with a hand to brace herself against the wall as his attention made her writhe and buck.

Cradling her against him, Quinlan leaned in against her, bracing himself as his tongue lapped and rolled around her clit.  She tasted sweet, and where her body bucked, he brought himself forward to keep her balanced.  He kept his taste persistent but steady, listening to her body, the soft moans, the breathy exclamation.

His free hand teased her entry, index finger circling around her folds.  It didn't take much to slip within her though, sucking lightly on her clit until she was trembling above him. 

And trembling she was, eyelids fluttering and strangled moans escaping her lips as Quinlan worked below her. His touch inside of her and the pressure of his mouth on her clit sent waves of pleasure through her, and there was little she could do but gasp and cling onto Quinlan with her legs, desperately propping herself up with one hand braced against the wall.

She held off her climax, though, wanting to enjoy his ministrations and prolong the sensation, the contact.

Quinlan moaned against her, working to her pleasure, feeling her body listening to her every motion.  "Zahi," he muttered, coming up only for air, continuing to taste and lap at her with that hunger that burned in him.  "I missed you."  He kept on, hiking her leg up higher to give him greater access.  Quinlan grunted with effort, moving to sit up, holding her firmly and working to encourage her to her peak.  Fingers worked deeper, stretching her feelingly, then receding in rhythm.

Zahi didn't last for much longer under the combined efforts of Quinlan's hand and mouth. She whimpered as her body shuddered heavily, rolling through a prolonged climax and clutching the dirty wall of the inn's room. She stayed where she was for several moments, chest heaving and breath ragged. When she finally moved back over Quinlan, she kissed him heavily for a minute then gave him a wolfish grin. She gave him another quick kiss before trailing her lips down his body.

Their rutting was long and protracted, making up for the multiyear intermission. When they were finally spent, Zahi collapsed next to Quinlan, breath still heavy.

"So, Princess," she breathed the first words she'd spoken since she'd pushed Quinlan onto the bed, a faint shadow of a smile on her lips, "it's good to see you again."

Quinlan panted heavily beside her and chuckled a little.  Eyes were still shut for a good long few seconds because he needed time to pull them out from the inside of his head.  When he opened then, he turned on his side and kissed her hard. "Very good I hope, I hadn't rutted that hard in a long time.  But I'm glad it was with you."

He smiled and pushed a poof back.  "I don't know if it isn't obvious but...yeah, I've been working out."

Zahi snorted a dry laugh at Quinlan's last little statement. But she didn't jerk away from his hand when he reached out to touch her hair. "I dunno, Princess," she teased, reaching out to pinch the skin of Quinlan's stomach, "you're getting a little flabby if you ask me."





[[SHORTEST POST EVER!!!!]]

His face turned red. "No way!  Not even.  If anything your hips are a little bigger than I remember."  His hand dipped intl the curve of her behind and cupped the hard msucle there.  "Nevernind.  My mistake.  Nothing but buns of steel there.  Maybe I need another rut if you think I'm getting fat.  I'm very particular about my figure."

He laughed and gestured to her.  "I didn't know you were one for pillow talk.  I thought you just had this hardy exterior you'd never let down."

Quinlan's teasing about her hips was largely ignored. Instead, Zahi gave a derisive snort. "Who said anything about 'pillow talk'? I think you're confused; I was criticizing you, Princess. Not buttering you up."

She shifted then, turning to her side and propping herself up on an elbow, resting the side of her head in her hand, to get a better look at Quinlan. Her expression was more serious then, or at least more contemplative. Her eyes studied him, laid out next to her, as if trying to assess if he really had gotten 'soft.'

But all she said, truthfully, was, "I never thought I'd see your ugly mug again, Red." That perhaps explained why Zahi had thought so little about him in the intervening years. Why bother? "Still running wild? Trying your hardest to get your head blasted off, fucking everything you come across in between?"

"Listen Butterfly, criticism is the same as pillow talk," he snorted and shook his head.  He pushed his hair back from his face the ends sticking to his forehead and he stared up at the ruddy ceiling in this rundown excuse of an inn.  He didn't care where he was most of the time.  Chances were he'd call himself lucky if he woke up in a cheap tavern in the years prior to now.  Now most of the time he'd just wondered what the hell he was doing with himself.

"Same to you," he murmured, lost in thought at that moment.  He sighed and glanced at her, at all the new little cuts on her body.  It had an interesting story to tell, one Quinlan's right hand absently traced. 

"I've uh, sobered a lot I guess.  Thought I'd find a steady job," he replied with a grin.  "It's nice.  I don't have to do much but I get paid pretty well."  He shrugged.  "What have you been up to in all that time?"

Zahi's eyes shifted to watch Quinlan's hand absently trace the lines of the new scars she'd acquired since he'd seen her last, a shadow of a frown on her face. Most were from the night she'd nearly been killed by the invisible forces that had infiltrated the Soot Wolves. When she'd been left for dead in a blazing warehouse. Another, she knew, would not have survived that night. She had never voiced the opinion to another, but Zahi was sure that it was only whatever strange blood ran in her veins, the same that let her handle a flame as easily as a flower, that had saved her that night.

"Hmm." She shifted her gaze back up Quinlan. "That doesn't sound like the suicidal scoundrel I remember. 'Sober.' 'Steady job.' You get a head injury somewhere along the way?"

She was silent again for a moment, then gave a little shrug. "I suppose, really, nothing too much has changed for me. Also got a new gig after a bit of a dust-up with my old gang. The job's not really too different from the last one, though." And that was all true enough. Lots of the circumstances of Zahi's life had changed, sure. But the basics? Not really. She was still a scrappy kid from Zantaric, trying to stay ahead enough to survive.

He laughed.

"Head injuries?  Yes, many I'm sure.  Probably some I don't even remember," he said and leaned up to part his hair, showing a scar where a blunt object collided with his head.  "See?  I do remember this one. Got it while spelunking in some hole in the ground filled with these ugly plant people with hair like stalks of broccoli."

Quinlan observed her more closely.

"So you and Tallinn.  Purely coworkers?"

Zahi raised her eyebrows lazily, making a show of feigning interest, as Quinlan showed her the scar on his head. "Broccoli people, huh?"

Despite her steely exterior, she was about to push back her hair and show Quinlan the scar down the back of her jawbone that she had got the night she was made the Red Jackal. But Quinlan's question stopped her.

"So you and Tallinn.  Purely coworkers?"

Zahi actually laughed out loud at that.

"Why, are you jealous?" she asked, the dry laugh still in her voice. She gave a snort. "The skinny, blue-haired Serenian? Please. He can barely stand working with me, much less anything extracurricular." She gave another snort, considering the prospect for a moment, then gave Quinlan a sly grin . "Plus, despite the present situation, I'm a bit pickier than that."

He wished he was asking out of pure conversationalism and curiosity, but truthfully he wanted to know.  And maybe he was wondering if Zahi had any rendezvous with anyone else.  He wouldn't hold it against her if she did, because she could very well do as she pleased.  And she wasn't at all shy with expressing what pleased and displeased her.

"Maybe," he muttered and chuckled.

He moved a curl from her face, flicking it off casually.  "I guess I should consider myself lucky then, that you picked me after all."  Quinlan rubbed at the tired skin beneath Zahi's eyes, pulling off a stray lash and flicking it off.  "I'm glad I bumped into you again.  Even if it was during your working hours.  Hoped that worked out for you by the way."

"Tallinn's not my type, anyway, to tell the truth. For mysterious reasons beyond my understanding, I seem to only like womanizing assholes who are bound to leave me in the end."

Though it sounded like it could have been, it wasn't really a jab at Quinlan. In truth, Zahi was thinking of Bujari in that moment. There was part of her that still couldn't believe that, when she'd fallen, been left half dead and out of favor, he hadn't come to her. Hadn't looked for her. Had he? Sure, their relationship had always been tumultuous, but she would have thought... Well. It wasn't right to say that she 'couldn't believe it.' Of course she could. And would she have acted any differently if their positions had been changed?

Zahi wouldn't admit it, but she knew she would have. And was any of it really a mystery, she wondered, thinking back to the man in Zantaric who had pulled her up off the streets...

"Not that I want anyone to stay," Zahi added hastily, in a tone that was just barely making fun of herself, after her moment of reverie.

A shadow of suspicion passed through Zahi's mind at Quinlan's off-hand inquiry about her job 'working out.' As much as she wanted to trust him, she wasn't sure with Quinlan that she could really put anything past him. So for now she just made a noncommittal sound and said dryly, "Well, I think it was more that moonshine picking you for me. But," her eyes flicked over him before returning to his, "I suppose you fit my profile."

"You can admit it," Quinlan said flatly, although the amused grin on his lips never went away.  He gave her a sideways glance, as if he was tempted to look at her but sternly kept his gaze down toward his chest.  "You think I'm sexy.  Say it.  You know it's true."

And the corner of his mouth twitched.

He snorted, unable to contain his laughter any longer and shrugged, knowing Zahi wasn't the sentimental type.  Was he really getting soft here?  But the words spilled out before he could over think it.  He wasn't drunk, it couldn't be it.  Was it just the nostalgia of their little adventure that kept him lingering on it, or something else entirely?

"I know you're gonna make fun of it, but I guess most of the time I'm pretty lonely and never let myself linger on it.  It's still there, most of the time.  But I, uh, feel a lot less lonely with you.  Does that make sense?" he said, looking at the cuts on his hands as to avoid looking at her.

She was silent for a long moment following Quinlan's last words. They were uncomfortably in earnest, Zahi thought, and she was unsure how to respond to them. For that matter, she wasn't sure what he wanted her to say. If he'd thought that far ahead. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, the way he looked self-consciously at his own hands.

Well.

"Sure, Princess," she finally said, "me and anyone else you manage to get into bed with you."

She knew that wasn't what he meant. Zahi knew that he had meant what he'd said. But it was easier this way.

"But that's okay," she said, rolling over to briefly kiss him, just a peck, as she moved to sit up, throwing her leg over him and resting on his lap, straddling his hips. But her posture was relaxed, even comfortable. She watched him for a moment, a hand on his chest.

"I should probably get going," she said, sounding almost like she'd rather stay. And part of her would. Part of her would rather stay all night with him. If she wanted to, she could. It had been a long night, and Tallinn had said he planned to sleep until noon. Their work was mostly at night these days, and tomorrow night promised to be a longer one. She could stay, but... "Still got work to do."

Tongue lingered on his lips when she kissed him, feeling the resonance they left behind.  She'd meant to be nonchalant, that wasn't hard to decipher.  She was still Zahi after all, and after the rutting, what else was there to do.  Quinlan didn't say anything and just wiped at the corner of his mouth.  "No worries.  We always seem to bump into each other at inopportune times."

He grabbed her face and kissed her again.  It had a softer tone to it but no less hungry in its usual ending of biting her lip.  He pulled away and licked his own lips.  "Yup, you need a taste of moonshine," he chuckled.  "Go on then.  I found a bottle of whiskey I need to hammer back somewhere."  And slapped her ass.

Oddly, Zahi only reacted with the slightest hitch, the smallest scowl, when Quinlan smacked her butt cheek. She stayed where she was, though, straddling him there on the threadbear bed in the dingy inn's room. It was clear on her face that she was making a decision, weighing options, pondering possibilities. She could stay here. She wanted to stay here. Though she would never admit it, she ached for the comfort and familiarity of someone familiar. Someone she could let down her guard with. Even if that 'someone' was Quinlan.

She could.

If she wanted to.

Well.

Maybe a little bit longer.

Her hand moved up his chest, finally wrapping around to the back of his neck, and she leaned down and kissed him, deeply, pressing her weight into the kiss. "Alright," she murmured against his lips, "I can stay for a swallow or two or your 'moonshine.'"

His eyes grew a little wide at her seemingly abrupt change of mind.  What convinced her all of a sudden?  Quinlan wasn't exactly the kind of guy to question good fortune when it was sitting right in his lap - literally in this case - and he made a noise when Zahi pressed herself hard against him.  He didn't hesitate, snaking his arms around her back and sealing her to him in an embrace that bordered on possession. 

As if that could ever be a reality. 

He kissed her back with just as much eagerness, moaning a little at the end of it.  Somehow, his teeth caught on the curve of her bottom lip, as he seemed to be prone to do.  It was out of sheer habit, but it caught all the same.  Moonshine and staying just a bit longer seemed to feel just right to him.  A grin spread across his face, as he kissed her in response, letting his hands snake down her back to soothe the tender skin where he'd slapped her ass.

"I'll share my moonshine with you anytime," he said with a purr, gripping her skin, letting the points of his nails bite in just enough.  The pressure of their bodies encouraged the growth of his hardness, that she might feel prodding against her thigh.

"Sorry.  My spigot is a little more eager than expected," he said between kisses, yet not at all meaning his apology.  He shifted his hands to allow his fingernails to gently rake along her back as he tilted his head in to kiss along the crook of her neck.  "Why don't you just stay?  You've been working too hard."

"I like work," Zahi murmured against Quinlan's lips, then kissed him again; a slow, deliberate and unrushed kiss. That was true, too, for the most part. Work was the easiest part of Zahi's life. Much easier to make sense of than, well, situations like this one. If she were thinking sensibly, she would have left just now. But here she was.

Zahi sat back up, still straddling Quinlan, gazing down at him. She certainly did feel his hardened manhood, which was pressed against her groin after she shifted her position. She gave him an amused, lopsided half-smile. "Always the overeager little rabbit, aren't you, Princess?" she asked knowingly, rolling her hips once against his member pressed against her.

But more attention than that, she didn't pay to it. Instead, Zahi rolled off of Quinlan, slouched onto her back and propping herself up on her elbows. "Well, then," she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly, "where's the whiskey you promised?"

"You just assume that I have whiskey on hand for just this kind of occasion?" Quinlan asked in mock offense.  His grin was too teasing however as he rolled off the bed ass naked.  And moved over to the messy pile of clothes they left on the floor.  In the pocket of his coat he pulled out a slim smooth bottle, wax seal top unbroken as it were.

Sitting at the back down on the bed he handed it over.  "You do the honors," he said with a bow of his head.  "Go easy now.  I know you can only handle so much of it."

"You'd already said you had a bottle, butterfly brain," she said as she leaned forward enough to take the bottle from him. Opening the sealed cork she added nonchalantly, "I can't imagine what would have distracted you."

Zahi sniffed the bottle after opening it and immediately pulled a face. But, brave as ever, she took a cautious swig of the stuff. Pulling another face as she handed the bottle back to Quinlan.

"Lovely stuff," she lied through a grimace. Once she'd passed the bottle on, Zahi flopped back down fully onto the bed. She folded her hands behind her head, regarding Quinlan as he took the bottle. "No worries. I'll leave the heavy drinking to you."

Now he could take his time, so to speak, without the rushing of eagerness before.  He watched her take an experimental swig and chuckled at her faces.  Because, well they were funny.  It was short lived as he watched her relax and he took a taste of the whiskey himself.  It was good luck and he shook his head abruptly from side to side at its familiar burn.

"To be perfectly honest, I haven't had a drink of this kind in about eight months.  This is the first bottle to break that hiatus," he said and examined it in hand.  Rolling to lay on his belly, he adjusted himself beside her, letting his hand lazily stroke the skin along her body.  His touch was curious, as if he hadn't already explored everything before.

He didn't look at his own body that still bore the scars of their ill-fated adventure.  Some stories didn't need a retelling.  Did something come out of it, something less immaterial than the chump change in gold he'd collected by the end of it?  Too many questions with top few answers.

"How old are you Zahi?" he found himself asking.  "You never told me your age."

"Does that make me a bad influence?" She asked, glancing briefly over at him as he flopped down beside her. "And I would have assumed it was the other way around."

She let his hand roam over her without further comment, eyes looking half-closed at the ceiling if at anything. She didn't need to look at the scars crossing Quinlan's belly. She didn't need the reminder. She didn't think of those events now. She stayed in the moment, something Bujari had accused her once of never being able to do, and enjoyed the warmth of Quinlan beside her and his wandering touch against her skin.

Until, at least, his out of the blue question. Zahi rolled onto her side to face him, head propped up by her elbow, and she gave him a funny look. "That's an odd question," she said plainly, not quite frowning at it. But she considered a moment, then gave a little shrug. "Thirty, I guess. Or maybe twenty-nine. No one really kept track when I was a kid."

He nodded, grinning a little.  "I imagined as much," he said softly.  Eyes flickered over her face, her hair and the way it fell in her face, just her forehead anyway.  "Same age more or less.  Who would've thought."  The words were idle and he took another swig of the whiskey.

He just liked being here, lying beside her, even if it was for a short time.  Two battered rogues, maybe one a little more battered than the other, and he leaned in to kiss her, with a strange gentility that made his belly jolt.  It was brief and his touch remained curious, rolling over her breast. 

"Aside from the whole starving in the wilderness thing, what were you like as a kid?"

Zahi's almost-frown deepened, for a moment, to an actual frown. Her skin tingled when his hand rolled over her breast, but she was more distracted by this strange line of conversation. It raised her hackles a little; something inside of her warning that this was very personal; that this was actually letting someone.... Close. But for whatever reason, she forced her hackles down, she stayed where she was.

Maybe, she thought, because she knew that she could always just walk away from Quinlan. Or, rather, that he would walk away from her. Any 'closeness' she allowed now was, at best, ephemeral, at worst, imaginary.

"I don't know," she answered, the frown still on her lips a little. "I don't remember too much before my mother died. I suppose as a kid, I was mostly in the way. Who wants a little brat running around a brothel, heh?" She thought about it for a moment, dragging up memories she almost never revisited. But which were, given the current business here in Selevea, closer to the surface than normal. "I think the other women were kind to me, though. Taught me to speak Common, read and write a bit - none of which my mother could do. But that was a long time ago. I never went back there, and I'm not sure I remember any of the names or faces of any of the women anymore. Much less anything about myself."

Much better, she remembered the years after 'the whole starving in the wilderness thing.' But she didn't extoll upon those just now.

Quinlan knew his line of questioning was walking on eggshells with her.  It was a side of her she kept unseen, and for good reason most likely.  What were they then?  Friends?  Confidants?  Just two strangers that fooled around every few years?  He didn't know where he was going with this.  There was no goal.  Except perhaps to know her, and maybe that was enough for now.

He nodded at her answer, expression solemn, noting her frown.  He knew she didn't ask.  But he kept the conversation moving.  Better than heavy silence anyway.  "When I was little, I was getting into all kinds of trouble.  I guess I wasn't too different to how I am now."  A soft laugh.  "My father had a field day trying to keep an eye on me.  But when I was with my mother, I kept myself mostly behaved.  I remember i used to help her back little goodies.  She liked to make pastries, and sell them at market.  She made good   money, and she made a variety of little cakes, chocolate, strawberry.  They were delicious."

Quinlan looked at his callused scared hands.  "I'd help her bake.  I can still see my hands covered in flour.  It's a wonder I wasn't a pudgy little boy.  I guess getting into trouble keeps you fit."

Zahi gave a little snort of a laugh at Quinlan's comment that he 'was always getting into trouble as a kid.' "Some things don't change, then," she remarked dryly. But otherwise she listened, mismatched eyes watching Quinlan closely as he reminisced about his early years. It was strange to think of Quinlan with his hands covered in flour, helping a kindly mother bake cakes. Getting chased around by a caring father. She supposed she liked to think of him as being 'like her.' She wasn't jealous, exactly, that he wasn't. Zahi wasn't one to dwell on thoughts like, 'Oh, what would I be like now if I had had...' The notion was actually so foreign, she really couldn't even hazard a guess.

Different. Of that she was sure of.

And for a moment, the question did flit into her head. What would she have been like, if her life hadn't been marked so strongly by the need to stay alive, to survive.

It was a useless endeavor, though, and instead she said to Quinlan, without jest, "That sounds nice."

At some point her hand drifted to his side, tracing the outline of his frame. She was quiet for a moment, her eyes far away. Almost without realizing it, she continued, "I guess I never really had a 'parent.' Really. My mom kept me alive, kept me safe while she was alive, but she wasn't able to do much more. After I came back to Zantaric," she paused a moment, her expression looking vaguely conflicted. "There isn't much future for a street kid in Zantaric, especially not a girl. At least," she made a face, "there's only really one future. I suppose I only escaped it because I got picked up by a rising crime lord. I might've been ten, I'm not sure. Maybe younger. Saw me in rifling through the trash, told one of his bodyguards to pull me out and give me something to eat. That would've been the end of it, but scrappy little thing that I was, I didn't like some strange man picking me up - well, how was I supposed to know he was just pulling me out of the dumpster to give me an apple or whatever? - fought this big guy tooth and nail. Literally. I guess he liked my grit. Instead of giving me something to eat and carry along, he took me under his wing. I suppose he was kind to me. And, for awhile, was something like a father-figure." Zahi frowned at that. Her feelings towards the man, even after all these years, were still muddied, unresolved. As much as a 'survivor' as she was, she surely would have died without him. She knew that. "For awhile, anyway."

Quinlan felt the hackles on his body raise at the contact.  Her hand left a trail of goosebumps that he tried to do well to ignore.  He kept his eyes trained on her, momentarily flicking to the shape of the whiskey bottle that he didn't drink.  His ankles crossed, and he leaned on his side and elbow, turning the cork loosely in the glass top.

"I'm sure you beat him black and blue.  Small kid, beating up a full grown thug.  He was an idiot to think he could take you on," he commented idly, and he chuckled at the thought.  He was more focused on her than the drink and after a while offered her should she desire another swig of it.

"Something of a father figure?"  They were curious words, but he didn't force the issue.  Quinlan reached up to push her hair from her face, the curls relenting only when they fell to gravity.

His fingers pushed her tangled curls to the side, and Zahi’s gaze finally returned to meet his eye. “Well, kind of,” she answered dryly, “until he decided a young lover suited him more than a surrogate daughter.” She said this in the matter-of-fact, and almost casual, tone she frequently used when conveying something of some gravity. Something she nearly never told anyway. Just Zenia, she thought, and Bujari. She gave a little shrug, “He was still nice to me, though, and I didn’t know any better. I was still a kid. Fourteen? Maybe a little younger. So I thought it was fine.” She gave a short, hollow laugh. “Stupid kid, heh? Got a little hairy a year or so in. Now that I think back on it, it’s amazing it took me so long to get pregnant. But when I did, I was terrified. I did not want a baby. Like I said, I was still a kid. But he was overjoyed. A young mistress, a healthy young son - he was sure - he was doing pretty good by then, and it completed the set of his glorious success. He strictly forbid me to do anything about it. Took me ages to find an old crone who’d end the pregnancy for me. Promised me it’d look like a miscarriage, promised me he’d never know, promised me it’d be safe.”

She gave a short snort here, looking over to the dingy window. “Dumb kid I was. I believed her; I was too desperate not to, I guess. I nearly bled to death, the old hag. Infection, the works. Someone brought me back to him; I don’t know who. If it was her, or if someone tracked me down. Spent a week in bed, maybe two. He made sure I recovered, that I had the medical attention I’d need to survive. Then once I was back on my feet again,” Zahi gave a little huff. “He beat the shit out of me. How could I, what was I thinking. Killing his son, nearly killing myself. Stupid girl, didn’t I think of anyone else. Didn’t I appreciate all he’d done for me, to just let that old hag kill me. He nearly killed me then. But of course he didn’t. Still. That was that. Once I could walk again, I ran away. Nearly caught a few times, but in the end I found my way north. And now here I am.” She gave a snort and another mirthless laugh and looked back to Quinlan. “Some father-figure, huh?”

It was heavy stuff.  Probably a lot more than Quinlan was expecting, and a lot more than he thought she would ever reveal.  Instead of hoping to peel back the onion layer by layer, it all came unraveling in his hands.  Quinlan stayed focused on her, forgetting the whiskey altogether.  He said nothing, expression perfectly serious.

Despite her laughter, he didn't find anything humorous in the tale.  And maybe he would have had it been told by anyone else.   He leaned closer to her, and touched her shoulder, leaning in to kiss it, lips lingering for a time before drawing a few inches away.

"You did the right thing," he replied.  "You took care of you.  Didn't sound like he gave much of a damn to me.  Sounded more like he treated you like a trophy than someone he cared about.  You shoulda beat the crap out of him.  But then again you don't need me to tell you that."  He pursed his lips.

"You're strong Zahi.  I don't know how you do it.  Just years of practice?"

In fact, Zahi hadn't expected to tell this story herself. She wasn't sure why she had. It had just come out. But she didn't linger on what that might mean. But at his words, she looked at Quinlan, eyebrows raised slightly as though amused. When she spoke, however, her tone wasn't amused; it was calm and perfectly self-assured. "I don't need you to tell me it was the right thing to do, Quinlan. I know that it was. I don't need to be assured."

She frowned a little again, thinking over his words. 'Didn't sound like he gave much of a damn to me.  Sounded more like he treated you like a trophy than someone he cared about. She didn't want to say it aloud, she knew how it would sound, but Zahi really did think that he had cared about her. Not that it mattered. Not as though that would have been enough for her to stay. But she couldn't quite bring herself to hate the man. He'd saved her, more than once. And she believed, right or wrong, that it was because he cared about her that he'd been so upset, so scared. It had been the only time it had happened. But Zahi had talked to beaten women in the course of her work, and she knew that if she voiced any of this, she'd sound like she was reading from the same script as all of those women. And maybe she was. Was that her pattern? The man in Zantaric, who loved her as long as he controlled her, then nearly killed her once he hadn't? Bujari, who she'd had a more equal relationship with, but who'd been physically incapable, it seemed, of not fucking around on her?

She rolled over onto her back, these thoughts parading through her mind. Finally after a moment, she said, "Tell me more about your childhood up in cold, prejudiced Connlaoth," she said, then looked over at him, waiting.

He watched her face as if he could somehow watch the animation of her thoughts flash in progression in her eyes.  He couldn't of course, but his focus on her was steadied and he had just about lost most of his interest in the whiskey.  He rolled adkustedr himself, shoulder become stiff from its position.  Quinlan have a flicker of a smile, but his face was busy trying to think of a positive memory before he ran away.

"My father, he was a tinkerer, bought and sold trinkets, small jewels, doodads.  He was a mage but he could hide it well, because all he could do was imbue objects with mild enchantments.  Maybe make a necklace that makes a woman's eyes more radiant, maybe a coat that would somehow stay warmer than normal on a cold winter night.  He never did tell me where his family came from.  Across the sea somewhere probably."

Quinlan looked at himself in the reflection of the glass bottle.  "I went into his things once, a trunk he kept in the attic of our home.  Troublesome child, remember, and I remember finding a strange looking doll.  It was made of wood, with a carved expression into the face, smiling nonchalant, with carved circles for eyes.  When I asked him about it, he was really quiet.  And his eyes started to well up..."

Quinlan frowned a little, finally moving the whiskey and offering it to her.  "I'd never seen him cry before.  I guess it stirred unpleasant memories.  He hugged me and said it was a remnant of his old life, a piece he kept if only to hold onto.  But he never did tell me what.  If I were to guess, I'd say it was another child he had, perhaps one that died before he left wherever his family came from."

"Hm." The noise Zahi made was small, but she didn't have much more to contribute. It wasn't the sort of story she'd expected, and she wondered for a moment why Quinlan chose then to tell it to her. She'd anticipated something about running through Connlaothian forests, fishing, or having a dog, or something like that. But this was a very different sort of story than that.

"I guess your father has a lot of lost children, then." The thought came off her lips as it came into her mind. It might sting Quinlan, she realized, but Zahi wasn't one to soften blows. Because, of course, she meant Quinlan. Had his father made a small carved doll of him, too? Or kept some childhood souvenir that a boy Quinlan had loved?

It occurred to Zahi, then, that though she might have no one but herself to rely on, she also did not have the weight of other people's hopes and disappointments for her weighing on her. But was that a good thing? Maybe that thought was what caused her to ask, "Is he still alive?"

It didn't sting, but Quinlan nodded slowly in response.  He didn't know what his father did after he left.  He had thought he hated him for taking revenge, for endangering their family, for endangering his sister.  Quinlan had been caught up in everything that he had wanted to stay angry and bitter because it would stay the guilt he felt at times.  He realized he never would have gotten out of Connlaoth.  And he probably would have ended up like the other mages that died there.

He could only hope his father had remained in his sameness.
And he'd been relieved when he had been.

"Yes he's still alive," Quinlan nodded.  He looked at her.  "He's come on hard times, but he's still surviving somehow."  Quinlan laid out on his back.  "I mean it wasn't a bad life.  We had money, not a huge amount, but we lived comfortably enough.  I used to climb trees all the time with my sister.  We would catch fireflies and make lanterns from them...  she would release them before they died.  She didn't like seeing things die.  Even small lizards and spiders, she'd take out of the house and somewhere far away."

He shrugged a little, rubbing at his eyes.  "What about you?  You all alone still?  Because, you know, if you ever find yourself a little chilly on lonely nights, you can be my big spoon anytime."

Zahi didn't ask how Quinlan knew the present state of his father. If he'd ventured back to his war-torn, frozen country or if he used his blood magic voodoo to spy on him from afar or what. It seemed prying. The original question had been, too, she guessed.

At his question to her, Zahi merely gave a little shrug. "Aye, all alone still. Likely to stay that way, I guess. At least in the way you mean. No family of my own. And all the men I attract," she gave him a pointed look here, but a teasing one, "are unreliable little spoons, let's say."

He laughed.  "So I'm one of these unreliable little spoons?  I dunno, I think I've been more reliable to you than I have been to anyone else that I've been around.  I wouldn't have if I didn't think I liked you.  You're a...righteous babe."  He nudged her shoulder and leaned in to kiss along her collarbone.

"I dunno," Zahi answered, looking a little amused at Quinlan. "What do you think, Princess? Last time," she started, and even though she was technically criticizing him - was she? - her head tilted back as he leaned forward to kiss her collarbone, "last time you were my little spoon, you ran off and stole my dog. At least, that's how I choose to remember it. I certainly believe that you're unreliable by default, though. They always are. Probably why I pick them." She paused a moment, distracted by his attention, then corrected, "Well, 'picked' is the wrong word. I certainly didn't choose you. But you know what I mean."

"Except you did, and you're trying to make yourself feel better by putting it all on me," Quinlan said gently, eyes roving over her face.  Sure he could take criticism.  It was the salt of his life it seemed, and he couldn't survive without it.  Still he smirked, just a ghost of one.  "And before you think I'm getting sentimental, I know what you meant.  I mean, you're free to leave any time, yet you chose to stay."

He sniffed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes.  "Maybe you didn't choose me, but you chose me.  Why?  You don't seem to like just anybody, that's clear enough.  So why me?  Is it my dark mysterious eyes?" he murmured curiously, tone playful.

Zahi gave Quinlan an extremely skeptical look, letting him know exactly how she felt about this line of questioning.

"Let's get one thing clear," she answered matter-of-factly, "I got stuck with you because I found you carrying my target around in a bloody sack. Then I just got sucked into your little misadventure. I don't know how much choice there was in that."

"Anyway," she continued, "who said I like you? Maybe I just dislike you less than I dislike Tallinn."

He sniffed, and his grin said it all.  Oh, sure he'd drop it now.  It wasn't like this conversation wasn't going to go anywhere after that dead end.  And it wasn't like he was much of the touchy-feely type either.  But he just wanted to make sure she knew he was perfectly aware that what she claimed and what they did seemed a little less than parallel.

"Okay, Cap'm, whatever you say," he chuckled and leaned in to kiss along her neck and shoulder.  "I won't tell Tallinn you said that.  I wouldn't want anyone thinking you were turning into a big ol' softie."

"I'm not soft," Zahi argued, her voice a little breathy from Quinlan's kisses. "Here, I'll prove it."

With that, Zahi rolled them over, pinning Quinlan down beneath her in a brief show of her strength. She gave Quinlan a flash of a wolfish grin, then lowered herself down to kiss the side of his jaw, then his neck, tracing her mouth down his throat. Slowly, slowly, she moved downward. His collarbone, his chest, taking her time, hands smoothing against his sides, down his abdomen. Down further, the coils of her hair brushing against his manhood, her lips reaching its base, then pausing.

But right when Quinlan might be getting the 'wrong idea', Zahi pushed herself up off the bed. Standing there, she looked at Quinlan and shook her head at him. "I gotta get back to work, Princess," she said, regarding him for a moment longer before moving across the room to retrieve her discarded clothing and pulling them back on. She didn't rush about it, though. "Keep the room long as you like. I paid for the whole night."

A show of her strength that Quinlan frankly had been half-expecting.  He rolled over with ease and watched her, gaze idle and seeming only half-interested.  But the fire of her touches were not lost on him, he was still very much human after all.  Being too good to be true meant just that, and with a sigh he watched her get ready to leave.

"Nah, it's all right.  I told you I've got to find some place to knock back that whiskey."  He stood and stepped in close to give her a proper parting kiss, holding her face for a long quiet moment before pulling away and reaching for his own garments.  "Work smarter, not harder, Zahi.  You're strong, but you don't have to carry the world on your shoulders."  Uh, he was starting to get philosophical now.  It was time to hit a real tavern.

"Good night, Zahi.  Or good morning. Not sure what time it is now.  Not sure it matters," he murmured, sitting on the bed and taking the whiskey from the bed, unstopping it and taking a small sip.  "Still got a kick."

Zahi wasn't really going to work. In truth, she was simply going to the tavern where she was officially staying to actually get a few hours of sleep. She could stay here if she wanted to. Let Quinlan be her little spoon and sleep entwined with him, with the rare comfort of a warm bed. That, however, was a risk Zahi wasn't willing to take. But she would at least have the decency not to tell Quinlan that. Easier to say she had to work.

"I'll do my best," she answered idly. She threw on her tatty, oiled leather overcoat, then turned to look at Quinlan sitting there on the edge of the bed. Something like regret or pity shadowed her expression. But all she said was, "Take care of yourself, Quinlan. Stay out of trouble."

And with that, she turned and was gone, the door of the room creaking closed behind her.

If only doing that was easier done than said.

He wasn't going to let  Zahi get him down though.  She was a sourball, but a strange one never the less.  Maybe it was the repellant vibe she gave off that drew Quinlan to her in the first place.  He didn't know what or why, and maybe it didn't matter.  They were thoughts he could mull over with getting drunk elsewhere.

So with a lit cigarette hanging on his lips, he took to the street not long after Zahi left.  Morning was coming soon, but he'd take advantage of what little dark was left.  He sauntered down the street toward another pub, one a little livelier than where he'd just been.  He grinned as he stepped through the doorway, the light and energy bringing back fond memories.

He'd spend plenty of time in there, knocking back one crisp drink after another until one guy thought his drink was the one that spilled into his lap, and wouldn't take no for an answer and decided to shave Quinlan's face with a piece of a broken beer bottle.  Then what Quinlan thought would just be a fun night of getting hammered would have to be spent hammering said bastard's face into the wall.

By the time the city guard arrived, the other man was landing hard on a table and sending the drinks and food off it like a  catapult.  Quinlan was bruised on his cheekbone and his lip was bloodied, knuckles red and they didn't bother asking more questions than that.  The guard had Quinlan and the other man on the ground and before he knew it he was being dragged off to jail.

[[Crappy short post to start things up again...]]




"We picked up an employee of yer man. If yeh wanna talk to 'im."

That was the news that met Zahi when she entered the city jail the next morning. She didn't really need to be up and working yet, but she hadn't really slept after leaving Quinlan. So, well, why not? Not like she knew how to do much else.

"Sure," she answered, nodding curtly to the guard. The man clicked his heels and turned to lead Zahi down the narrow, dank halls of the city jail. Full of drunks and low-lifes and cheats. The guard stopped at a little solitary cell at the end of the row.

"Had to throw 'im in here on his own. Kept gettin' into fights."

Zahi only nodded because, snoring on the dingy cell floor, was a rather familiar red head. An uncomfortable jolt hit Zahi in the stomach. Was it something like... feeling betrayed? Or worse yet, hurt? She quickly pushed the feeling aside, her face stony. With just a nod to the guard, she took the key from him and he left her to it. But Zahi didn't unlock the door. Instead, she leaned with a casual air with her arms resting on the bars. She waited a moment, then finally spoke up.

"Wakey wakey, Princess. Beauty sleep isn't going to do your ugly mug any good."

A little solitary nook just for Quinlan. For once he was actually able to get a good night's sleep because of it. Of course he would have preferred not to be in jail at all considering he never did report back his employer the next morning, and maybe would have wanted to wake up next to a grumpy Zahi with a mean streak.

His butterfly was busy, and after leaving him cold the night before, he fell back into hold habits. No warm bodies this time, just a few good strong drinks to numb the pain of that brawl, and he was curled up on the hard wood bench chained to the wall in that cold damp cell.  Or he was until daylight began to sparkle in through the window up top.

And the voice on the other side roused him from his sleep.

Quinlan turned and put a hand on his eyes, rubbing the sleep crusts out of them and turning over, his head practically splitting open like a watermelon. He grunted, sitting up slowly. With a few deep breaths, Quinlan peeked up at her.

"Hey, Zah," he muttered, trying not to talk so loud. "Man, I'm sorry you had to see me like this.  I know this isn't an ideal second date."  He chuckled a little, giving a lop-sided smile as he tilted his head up to her, eyes squinting in the dimness. "How're you doing butterfly?"

Zahi did not return any of Quinlan's affectionate familiarity. She stood there, unmoved, gazing stony-faced down at him. This wasn't just normal Zahi-and-Quinlan behavior. Something was different in her demeanor. More professional, more distant, but there was also, deeper down, a hint of something more personal. Disappointment, maybe?

Because, of course he would be involved in this. Of course she would find him again, run into him here, let him in again. And he would be involved in this. It was just fucking typical.

But that was not at the forefront of Zahi's mind now. This was professional Zahi. And Quinlan could be anyone. It was a switch Zahi had developed as a Blood Wolf. After all, being the internal police of a criminal gang meant you may very well be tasked with killing someone who had only just been your friend a few days prior. And you had to do it. And Zahi was better at it than many.

She didn't answer his question. Instead she said, "Your new 'steady-work' employer won't be happy when you don't show up on time this morning, eh, Red?"

It was hard to tell sometimes, when faced with that cold wall of Zahi. That was the point wasn't it? To keep from figuring out what she was thinking? Quinlan could tell from her icy gaze as she leered down at him that she was in no mood for his games.

Well, being in jail wasn't ever fun. Even he preferred if he could avoid it altogether. And frankly he didn't care to have her see him like this. He'd been in enough trouble for that.

It didn't dawn on him that there could be any other reason she might be upset. But if there was one thing he appreciated about Zahi was the fact that she was practical. That enough could send his heart racing​. For now, the only thing racing was his head

Quinlan forced himself to stand, and his ears were ringing. His eye was bruised but the swelling had gone way down and there was a cut on his lip as he approached the bars and leaned beside the cell wall. Yeah,no doubt his employer would be pretty pissed one of his bodyguards ended up in jail.

"Yeah,well, I did have the rest of the night off. If I'm not fired,then I will probably get a very stern talking to," Quinlan chuckled in his easy going way. "Understone is kind of an asswipe but there are worse folk to work for, I guess."