Work Text:
Lady Ching’s gone and found herself a captain.
Lord, that thought is terrifyin’.
I glance at the wave again, just to be sure I ain’t read it wrong. There were the words, plain as day: “My captain and I will be at the Eavesdown Docks at 9 pm local.” I lean back in my chair, jump at the squeal. No matter how many times in a day I do that, gorram thing always takes me by surprise. Useful sometimes, for ‘nnoying tha piss outta them that wronged me, sittin’ here behind my desk, rockin’ away like I don’ hear a thing. But when a man’s alone, it creeps up on him.
Kinda like the Lady herself.
Lady Ching’s the only name she ever gave me, and in my business, you don’ ask for more. She’s a real stand-up gal, if’n a bit intimidatin’ upon first meetin’. And the second. And, well, basically all the time. Woman’s got a stare that can singe a man’s ball hairs, and anyone who walks ‘round these parts with just a blade—even if’n that blade is two feet long—has either skill wit' a weapon, or brass cojones. She’s prolly got both. An assassin, like. Maybe a bounty hunter for a span. Either way, that woman has seen the ‘Verse. You can see it in her eyes. The Lady’s got old in a profession that don’ get old, and those scars o’ hers look to be near her own age. Two big ol’ Xs, one carved in each cheek, and a third across her lips. I don’ know where she got ‘em—there are things you don’ ask a Lady, after all—but I don’ know if it’s more terrifyin’ that she lived through someone doing that to her, or that she mighta done it to herself.
She got a pretty face under all that scar, though. If she’s this pretty in her age, I can imagine how drop-dead gorgeous she musta been young. She’s got this flowery accent too. Still Chinese, but a different flavor. And god, she is whip-crack smart. Smarter ‘n me. Yeah, that ain’t sayin’ much, but while I ain’t that educated, I ain’t dumb, neither. She’s got book smarts behind all that fightin’. Got grace and poise, and decent muscle under those traditional clothes. I have a theory that she was a Companion once, or gonna be, and some jealous girl paid a man to ruin her face. A smart, ambitious Chinese girl trying to climb the Guild ladder young? They wouldn’t kill her. Nah, there’s plenty o’ fates worse’n death.
But that’s all speculation. I like my balls—and my life.
It ain’t bad, here. Most o’ the work is respectable, with a little on the side to make ends meet. I got food in my belly, a roof over my head, more’n one room to work, sleep and shit in, new clothes when I need ‘em. Lower-middle class, one would say, but the bottom o’ the middle’s still the middle. I only gave Ching a wave because the last crew offering t’ move my stuff never showed. Industrial supplies, mostly. Rubber, oil, glue. A ton o’ masks for them what work in the factories. It all needed to go t’ the Rim. And, heaven help me, she answered.
I sit forward again, squinting at the paper. “My captain.” Those two words haven’ changed. Lord, what am I t’ do with that? What kind of hellbeast can hold the loyalty o’ a woman like Lady Ching?
I’m guessin’ I’ll find out in a few hours, when the two of them come to get the goods.