’Wait...do I know this guy?,’ Zhen Shi thought to himself as he stared up and down an old man from Roaring Tide that had just asked him if he could sit next to him. Something about the old man’s face stirred a memory on Zhen Shi’s head, but he couldn’t recall it exactly.
Zhen Shi’s body might have been a tad younger but his memories were still worn.
Regardless of any gut feelings he might have had, he might as well stomach them for now.
’Why would he flatter me like-oh right, fucking somehow got younger...shit, then I might actually know this guy...but he doesn’t know me...okay, going to abuse this.’
The old man took a seat next to Zhen Shi, as he did, the latter poured him a drink, a green liquid that smelled of smoke and cinnamon, in an equally sized shot glass.
The two old geezers shot back their glasses after doing a short cheers, with only one of the two complaining about the taste.
<> the old man grimaced.
<> the old man smacked his lips in surprise, <>
The cactus wine had initially tasted like the most bitter tar in the world, but gave away to a refreshing flavor that reminded him of the tropical beaches of his younger days.
<> the old man began to say as held the shot glass between fingers, <>
Zhen Shi was about to say he immigrated, that was the truth of the matter, but that feeling in his stomach came back when he was about to say so. He felt the need to lie, but he wasn’t entirely sure why.
’Is it because of shame? Or is there something about him that is setting off my intuition for danger?’
<> Zhen Shi lied in a practiced manner.
This was an old alibi he and Bai Hua came up with a long time ago, back when they first arrived to Stampeding Bison as a whole. Just add a few details here or there, but the general structure was the same: immigrant parents, studiously ingrained language. It was honestly astounding how many people bought that story over the years, but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?
Judging from the old man’s tone he bought the story that Zhen Shi had sold, but he could sense a small sense of agitation when he mentioned his clan’s name.
This...this was questionable.
’Hold the fuck up, I recognize that ring...it can’t be...’
The two old geezers downed another glass before Zhen Shi decided to take initiative of the conversation this time around.
<> Zhen Shi asked as he poured both of them a third glass, <>
The old man laughed at Zhen Shi’s joke about the circumstances of a majority of Stone Claw’s residents for a few seconds before answering the question in a tone that went from amused to somewhat serious.
The old man was about to go on a spiel about what he was here for, before shaking his head about it.
Zhen Shi gave the man a pointed look, the type of look one gives when they have heard of such things before and were willing to listen anyways.
Zhen Shi turned his head back and switched to Hoof Speech.
"Hey, if anyone is looking for a Rodrigo Mortez, he is in the Swollen Bear, near the fabric district."
"Fucking knew it!," a walking meatslab of a man said as he settled his bill and made his way to the door.
The old man looked at Zhen Shi in shocked as he so casually did that.
<> the old man nodded in realization, <>
The old man reached for the ring on his hand and polished a few times before placing it on the table for Zhen Shi to inspect.
To anyone else, it looked like a more elaborate version of what the Zhen Clan use as their symbol.
To Zhen Shi, it made his stomach sink.
’Oh fuck me sideways.’
<> Zhen Shi lied through his teeth. It was a good thing he was drunk, otherwise he’d be showing more tells than mirrored sunglasses at a poker game.
<> the old man grimly stated, <>
Externally, Zhen Shi looked calm and acted in a manner that suggested he was used to such things.
Internally, he was screaming curse words like it was a barbershop quartet.
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[Oh shiiiiittt. The Lord ain’t gonna bit of news...I hope grandpa here knows how to keep a low profile...]