So ingrained in her are the decades of backbites, the betrayals, the misunderstandings—perceived or earned, it makes no difference—that Jing trusts no one. That isn't to say that she makes no alliances; she could not do business as a mercenary if it were any other way. But she never allies with those who have no clear and compelling motivation to ensure that they are acting in their own interests. You want money? A favor? Insider information? All to be expected. That only makes sense. You're in it for the good of mankind? "I don't have time for you," she'll say, and she's on to the next prospective job.
Charity cases are right out.
With one very notable exception: her sister.
They were twins, you know. Sprouted and grown from the same egg. Snapped from the same trunk when they had flowered. Jing was the tall, toned one, with the bark of her skin pulled tight against her twiggy arms and legs. Her sister was the plumper, more supple sapling—positively engorged by Winslie standards, but the humans always were more comfortable around beings that looked more like them.
Jing will compromise and say her sister Lin was not accepted with open arms by the villagers of Streamstead. Still, for a Winslie, they practically threw her a celebration when she arrived. Meanwhile, Jing was avoided like all Winslies. The humans were uncertain of her intentions, called her a scarecrow, and were ready to avert their gaze when she tried to face them. It probably helped, too, that Lin's eyes did not flash like lightning when looked at directly; she had avoided even this Winslie curse. But that just meant she was defective, Jing told herself.
And where did that leave Jing and her sister? Well, it certainly left Jing with the menial jobs: carrying water, hauling firewood—and how the humans had a time of pointing out how her skin resembled the logs she was carrying. "Can't even see what she's carrying!" the others guffawed. "Yeah, the scarecrow must've gained some weight!" It wasn't even a good insult, let alone true. One could easily see what she was carrying; her bark was a much darker shade of brown.
But I digress. We were talking about Lin.
So there's Jing, the village's spittoon, and her twin sister, the hailed do-gooder in town. "You're nothing like the other Whimsies," they'd tell Lin, totally ignorant of the actual name of the race. "You're so nice, and no where near as frightening. Are you sure you're not part dryad?" So on and so forth. They actually made her a receptionist. A Winslie receptionist, mind you. Humans wouldn't look a Winslie in the eyes unless they wanted to be blind for half a day, and they gave one a job seating folks at the Jerky Turkey Inn & Tavern. No one with half a brain would be so foolish. Even after a promotion, Jing was still stuck blowing the morning bugle to wake up the village. Sometimes she would blow it early, just for spite. Right outside Lin's window.
Where was I going with all this again? Oh, right: charity cases.
Ever since those days, when a job would come up that even remotely put her sister out, Jing would take it. Even if it paid dirt. If fact, there were some jobs that literally paid Jing a pot of dirt. (Lots of nutrients, good for the bark, you know.) And she took them. She had to make do with fewer new things—patch her clothes and such—but in the long run, to see Lin's face when the road construction in front of the Jerky Turkey was taking far longer than normal...it was worth it.
That's how Jing got into this mercenary gig. At first she was being hired to stand behind a "guest" of the local gang to be sure nothing happened to them while they were in town. Lin hated it when the unseemly types walked into the Jerky Turkey like they owned the place. Jing didn't ask a fee; Lin's frown was payment enough. Then there was the time Jing was asked to make sure a bottle or two of the good stuff went missing from the bar one night. No payment necessary; Lin got strung up for missing them on the inventory. All in a day's work.
All that was a long time ago, now, and Jing has been with the same gang through it all. She's seen the underbelly of the village, called out fake merchandise, hocked some fake merchandise, dodged her way into and out of more than a few scuffles, and even learned a new language. (Who knew being fluent in Djinn could be so helpful?) For a Winslie, she's had a pretty decent life.
And thanks to Jing, after all these years, Lin's still just the receptionist at the Jerky Turkey.
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