R oshan was the one presence that Vendetta couldn’t shake, regardless of how she might try. He stuck to her like sand and the smell of sun, a near permanent part of her existence that was, at times, quite annoying. As he chuckled and agreed with her, she felt those little bits of sand dig deeper into her coat, grating against her skin. At least he seemed to understand the difference in their hierarchy, if only somewhat. She couldn’t imagine how he acted around someone who actually tolerated him.
She caught the necklace almost on instinct when Roshan tossed it, holding it securely in her grasp. Idly, she thought it might be worth more if the pendant were turned into something else. Fused into the handle of a weapon? The breastplate of a piece of armor? As a necklace it could easily go missing or be stolen, but reconstituted into something else, it could become a symbol. Vendetta would have to take it to one of the blacksmiths and see what they thought. One of them did owe her a favor.
“If I can say anything about you Roshan it is that you wouldn’t make such a stupid mistake to bring me something not worth a penny,” she said, and it was as much a compliment as the winged man would probably ever receive from her, “I am sure it’s real.” The way the gems refracted the light told her much more than any jeweler would be able to. Roshan, for all his irritating ways, was one of the better thieves the market had, and it was this fact that gave him the miniscule amount of wiggle room he had with her.
The trio turned a corner and Vendetta stopped. She had reached her destination, for the building looming behind her was holding one equine that the unicorn had unfinished business with. “I am incredibly particular about my daggers,” Vendetta said then, glancing at Roshan. No doubt he knew this but did not care. Although her answer was not a solid no, for she was always open to adding to her collection, she also did not want to encourage his behavior.
“Now, I have a deal to make happen,” her voice floated over her shoulder as she was already turned way, climbing a few steps to the door with Azrail close behind. The queen of the blackmarket did not even knock. She simply gripped the handle, turned, and parted the shadows with the swath of her red skirt. “Goodbye, Roshan,” drifted down the stairs just before the door closed behind a disappearing Azrail, leaving the thief alone on the street outside.
She caught the necklace almost on instinct when Roshan tossed it, holding it securely in her grasp. Idly, she thought it might be worth more if the pendant were turned into something else. Fused into the handle of a weapon? The breastplate of a piece of armor? As a necklace it could easily go missing or be stolen, but reconstituted into something else, it could become a symbol. Vendetta would have to take it to one of the blacksmiths and see what they thought. One of them did owe her a favor.
“If I can say anything about you Roshan it is that you wouldn’t make such a stupid mistake to bring me something not worth a penny,” she said, and it was as much a compliment as the winged man would probably ever receive from her, “I am sure it’s real.” The way the gems refracted the light told her much more than any jeweler would be able to. Roshan, for all his irritating ways, was one of the better thieves the market had, and it was this fact that gave him the miniscule amount of wiggle room he had with her.
The trio turned a corner and Vendetta stopped. She had reached her destination, for the building looming behind her was holding one equine that the unicorn had unfinished business with. “I am incredibly particular about my daggers,” Vendetta said then, glancing at Roshan. No doubt he knew this but did not care. Although her answer was not a solid no, for she was always open to adding to her collection, she also did not want to encourage his behavior.
“Now, I have a deal to make happen,” her voice floated over her shoulder as she was already turned way, climbing a few steps to the door with Azrail close behind. The queen of the blackmarket did not even knock. She simply gripped the handle, turned, and parted the shadows with the swath of her red skirt. “Goodbye, Roshan,” drifted down the stairs just before the door closed behind a disappearing Azrail, leaving the thief alone on the street outside.
@Roshan end c;
