Zandelia snorted into her cup as Bob’s comments, still surmising it was very much an act. She could not quite tell with the short man in truth, his character slipping into various states as easily as she breathed sometimes. She pondered, occasionally, if anyone knew the real Bob Barton. She suspected that somewhere, deep inside his greedy and duplicitous soul, there was a nice person smothered with darkness, but she couldn’t bring herself to get her hands dirty trying to find out. Some secrets were too difficult to acquire even for Zandelia. She drained the rest of her watery ale in one, short mouthful – swallowing it slowly as she mulled over how to respond, trying to put the sensation sloshing across her taste buds to the back of her mind, where it would not be noticed.
Easy money is never easy, in that the dwarf is correct. Still, money is money and my future requires much funding, if I have any say in the damned matter she mused to herself, placing her cup down carefully, the clink of its wooden form upon the table top audible to all four of them.
“Bob, the day I willingly cradle a man in my arms – or let him cradle me – is the day I jam a knife in his side. Men aren’t worth the effort, not even you – though your charm is obviously something of legend,” she returned to him, leaving it to the others to decide exactly how she meant that comment to be accepted in their minds.
"Women are usually smarter and more satisfying at any rate. They, at least, don't try and tell you that their ability to drink their own bodyweight in alcohol and then proceeding to vomit it up upon the floor is grounds for a tumble in the hay" she told him with a small, derisive snort.
She nodded and gave a small smile to the short Symenestra, steepling her fingers across her torso as she considered the situation for a further few moments. It was a strange tableau that the four of them were frozen within, like so many flies in the ointment. She knew the little woman had some formations of a plan, as no one of any level of intelligence beyond that of a snail would approach others about a ‘job’ without a sound sense of what they wanted – and how they were to get it – and this girl was far from stupid. She had picked her target well, after all. Bob was a well known scoundrel and could cheat the stitches out of a Nuit. The Iur were known for their determination as much as their hardiness, and as for herself, well Zandelia was known by a few as gifted in certain areas of expertise. She tilted her head slightly, making her tone thoughtful as she responded.
“The short man is right,” she said, with a smile for the game of verbal barbs she was continuing, “there is no such thing. You have something in your mind, and it must be dangerous if you require us. Your kind is known for their subtlety. You would not need help unless there was a catch” she spoke, letting her words fall into place with the preciseness of a chess player.
“Though, I admire your boldness. Few of your kind would come out into the open. If you want to talk then I shall listen, wherever you might want to talk. I do not promise I shall aid you though. My experience with Symenestra has been far from pleasant,” she continued, her eyes not meeting the woman’s firmly, “but hopefully you might change my perspective” she finished, leaving it unsaid what might occur should that not evolve.
Zandelia slid out of her sitting position, coming to her feet and standing next to Bob, awaiting the response of the others. The isur she did not know, though she found interesting in the extreme – few Isur’s residing in Sunberth. Still, Bob and the shiny arm could do as they pleased, she held no sway over either of them. She hoped that they would follow suit though and, at the very least, hear what the lass had to say.
After all, it’s much better to greet a Symenestra in numbers than on your own – and preferably with something blunt and hard in your hands she thought to herself as she crossed her arms across her bust and stood impassively over the unfolding scene.
