#v.sellsword

Meiko enjoyed her life with Troupe Falsiam, but sometimes she wondered how in the seven hells she ended up there.

She knew how, of course. Mistress Nashmeira had spotted her in a crowd and that was it. Her fate had been sealed! There was absolutely nothing anyone could do or say to persuade that woman once her mind had been made up, and two years later, here she was: a frequent performer, arse jingling wherever she walked, waxed in areas she had never thought to shave (if at all), and... picking up sellsword work to ensure the Troupe could eat.

What a fuckin' life I live.

She glanced at the note she had pulled from a notice bard inside the Drowning Wench, reading it over again. Presuming it wasn't a lure for slavers, the gil sounded a right amount for clearing out whatever bastards were occupying the Satasha Seagrot. She supposed she would just have to risk her neck and see.

She made her way towards the Aetheryte Plaza, squinting as the bloody overgrown shimmering eyesore reflected the sun's light in her eyes upon arrival. She swore under her breath and shielded her eyes with her hand as she looked around, trying to find --

Ah. That woman appeared to be the one at the meeting point. Probably. The other Lalafell around were either busily running to and fro or obviously lazing about.

"--Sorry, what?" Meiko had done her fair share of sellsword work for the good of the Troupe, but never before had she been asked to spar to prove herself. Wasn't being willing to put your life on the line for coin enough?

... What sort of job had she accidentally signed up for?

"Ye -- right now? Ye want me tae fight ye right now?"

The Viera was not well.

Actually, that was an exaggeration -- she was fine. But 'beauty day' under Mistress Nashmeira was never as enjoyable as it initially sounded. Sure, the massages, skincare, and hot baths were a wonder on Meiko's otherwise-untaken-care-of body, but there was a price that had to be paid.

The price of having hot wax rip at every patch of hair that wasn't on her head, modesty be damned. She had been doing this for years now and still felt like apologizing when that dead-eyed Au Ri woman they always went to disinterestedly told her to open for business, so to speak. And of course, every time, Meiko would be awkward and apologetic and crack jokes before shuffling off to the baths after tipping very well. She wasn't even sure if she was allowed to give tips! She just did.

At least she hadn't cried in awhile, though. That meant... growth? Something. Although growth was the last thing she wanted right now as she settled into a cold-water bath in the main room. Ranaa, bless her soul, would be following her. Meiko could not imagine how a Miqo'te didn't die from it.

With a tiny whimper, she leaned back against the edge of the tub and let her head fall against it with a heavy, hollow thump. There was a dull pain to it, but she couldn't bother to pay any attention to anything but the relief of cool water on freshly-decimated fields. Although, it would have probably been more relieving if she didn't have this towel on.

She peeked one eye open. There were a few other people in the main room, but they weren't anywhere near the cool baths in the corner and seemed preoccupied. Would anyone notice if...?

This Meme | Accepting

This Meme || Accepting

This Meme || Accepting

@shardgathered | Meiy'ana

“Careful there, Warrior o’ Light – stand ‘round too long, Nashmeira’ll try tae recruit ye into th'Troupe!” Meiko snorted, giving a wave with one chakram still in hand before approaching. “Ye need help again? Or waitin’ for th'show? We’re no performin’ ‘til after sunset.”