She was certain she had it all figured out. This was a good idea. No, it was a great idea! It had possibly put her in the good graces of K'erah and K'alya Basari, two extraordinarily wealthy women she had developed a begrudging fascination with, though whether for the better or worse seemed to depend entirely on the shifting moods of all parties involved.
The twins were not the sort of people Malika would usually choose to involve herself with. Beautiful and secretive, they were also privileged, wealthy, and proud. They were, to be frank, the exact sort of people she'd usually try to rob or take down a peg. Talk of tradition, insular bonds of family, generations of wealth and power carefully maintained through bonding ceremonies with other powerful lineages, all of it made Malika's street-rat, family-less, gil-less, chaotic self want to lash out and tear things apart. Bring them down to her level! Take their generations of money and spend it on cheap thrills, give it to other street rats, and melt down the rest to fashion it into something gaudy or tacky their family would definitely not approve of.
Malika, similarly, did not want their approval. She had actively enjoyed Alya's disapproval even. What she wanted was...was…
What did she want!?
Freedom.
That's what had brought her here to this large boat unapologetically swaying to and fro and back again on choppy ocean waters, headed to a brand new land: Radz-at-han, the twins' homeland. Malika would see things she'd never seen before, enter buildings she had never set foot in before, learn about an entirely different culture… get away from a few, pesky mercenaries hunting for her in Ul'dah…
And, apparently, get intensely seasick on a very large, very fancy boat full of crew members who had been instructed by Erah to forget the miqo'te thief had ever been on the boat in the first place.
She ran and threw up over the edge of the ship and into the mocking, swirling waves below. Hopefully the crew would forget about that too.
She had had a dream about the Basari before she met them. Of course she'd heard of them before, you'd have to be living in a cave not to. And even then Malika was fairly sure someone would have painted their likeness on that cave in gold paint. But she'd never felt inclined to visit their storefront until she'd had a strange dream where she'd followed a golden coeurl to their business' front door and then watched her hand open it.
A dozen disapproving glances, a hundred snarky quips and flirtatious turns of phrase, and thousands of gil later and Malika had upgraded her armor and weapon to ones vastly superior to what she had come in with. The family was genuinely talented. Their pride, it seemed, was well-earned.
She could have walked away then. She should have walked away then, she'd scolded herself many times later. But she'd overheard Alya lamenting about her duty as the head of the family to marry. Malika understood the impulse to marry for obligation about as well as she understood… well… doing anything for obligation.
But something had compelled her to offer her assistance.
"I can find out information, secrets, about potential suitors and I can get that information to you without them being any the wiser."
And something had compelled Alya to consider it, despite Malika's previous obnoxious behavior and blatant disregard for social or professional custom.
And something had convinced Erah, the more easy-going and cheerfully playful of the two, to suggest Alya give Malika a chance.
Then there was the lunch date where Erah had been surprisingly gracious and genuinely pleasant to interact with and…
"Seven hells," Malika whimpered pitifully as she held onto the railing of the ceaselessly rocking ship and threw up again. What was even left to vomit? Her ears pinned back to her head and her tail tucked sadly between her legs, Malika looked more like a sad kitten in need of mother's rescue than a trained infiltrator and performer on a mission to possibly save her wealthy sponsors.
The boat hit a rough wave right as she let go of the railing and it sent her careening backwards and up against the side of the bridge with an audible THUMP and "OOF!" followed by a very visible bruise appearing on her left hip. It tilted back to the right again and she scrambled against the unfamiliar, shifting floor to keep from bruising her other hip. Her stomach flip flopped and she allowed herself one, quiet, mournful whine before she straightened herself out and regained her composure.
But it was fine. Better than fine! Eventually she'd be in a new, exciting, dangerous place doing new, exciting, and dangerous things. She'd dig up dirt on the Who's Who of Radz-at-Han and, while giving it to Alya to make an informed decision about her future, Malika would also have that information. She'd heard there was a rare stone in these lands called "Giantsgall" and pocketing one as a souvenir seemed a fitting reward to her for detective work.
Whatever happens happens, she told herself as she tried to focus on regaining equilibrium. I'm not doing this because I have to. I'm not beholden to them... or to anyone! I'm the one in control here. The ship lurched forward again and she nearly lost her footing once more.
