Ari had grown accustomed to such looks in the last weeks. The rumor mill was nothing if not insistent; among her guild-mates, many looked at her thus, as if trying to work out just what was going on in her mind. Some, she knew, considered her a political genius. Others thought her immense good fortune was wasted on her – in their opinion – feeble intellect. She didn’t really know which group Damia fell into, nor did she particularly care unless the woman suddenly started trying to maneuver her like a chess piece.
In Ari’s experience, the corsair was usually more direct.
“Oh no,” she said, her voice sweet as honey, “I have all afternoon, I assure.” It was hard to resist teasing when it was clear the other woman hoped she would be on her way. “Just how much gil do my thoughts merit, do you think? I'd pay at least ten for yours. Perhaps we should trade?”