A man, a burlap sack over his head, is unceremoniously plopped in front of a set of guards, if they could even be considered as such. While they possess shields, the apparel decorated with a black snake over a rolling, green hill, it was likely they'd simply stolen them off the backs of the real soldiers who'd worn them once. "What's this now?" asks the first man, peering down at the covered man. His hands are bound behind his back with an unforgiving and tight knot, and his voice is muffled as he tries to speak. There is a bloody hole in his trousers, showing off a hastily bandaged thigh. "It's the criminal, Jaksin Carvix. Wanted for the murder of seven girls, two men, and a young child. He's also a thief." A bag of shiny gems and golden coins clinks beside the man and a woman steps up beside her catch, black-blue hair waving in the wind. "Tha's the third one thi' week, Hale," the second man says, his words accented with the deep drawl native of Sunterin. "Where'd ya find 'im hangin' roun'?" "Itaine. He was planning on robbing the Lord of his treasure and one of his children." Her words are clipped and short, like she's just waiting to get her reward and go. The men exchange looks and the first one digs into his belt and tosses a small sack of coins at the woman. She unloops the string and peers inside, a scowl crossing her features at the sight. "Twenty-five gold pieces? He's worth much more than that," she snaps. Irritation writes itself along the lines of her face, aimed at the men for giving her only a quarter of what her quarry had been worth. "All we go', Miz Hale," the second man smirks, watching the woman's dark brown eyes turn almost black with anger. She rips the sack off of Jaksin's head, revealing him as the man she said he was. He spits in her direction, "Bested by a woman." The immediate response is her silver bow cracking against the back of his skull, the resounding whip of the string riding the air enough to pierce the ears of everyone around her. For good measure, the woman leans down and grabs a handful of the stolen goods, plopping each coin in slowly as she glares the two men, as if she is challenging them to fight her. "Ge' outta 'ere, woman," the second guard barks, frowning as she sends a cheeky smile in their direction and walks off, adjusting her bow on her back again. Being a female bounty hunter is hard enough, but it was made worse by men like the two watching her exit. It's unfortunate she had to resort to things like taking stolen goods just to sustain her appetite and poor drinking habits. It's even more unfortunate that she doesn't care. Night finds her perched on a bar stool with a mug of something dark, alcoholic, and frothy in front of her. "What's go' ya down, Zay-eera?" the barkeep inquires, leaning one elbow on the counter. The way he speaks her name makes her smirk, because she knows he was trying. One of the few friendly men in Sunterin, the barkeep, Jonson, always gave her alerts and new people to track down. He's one of the few people Zaira brings herself to trust. "It's Zaira," she corrects, pronouncing the middle of her name with a sharper sound. "Got paid less today... Again." The admission makes her drain her cup and swing the handle in Jonson's direction, silently requesting another. "They'll do tha' to ya, but ya'll find somethin', I am sure o' tha'." There's a twinkling eye as Jonson observes her taking out the amount she owes him for room and food. "Thank ya, Miz Hale. Oughta stop while yer ahead, ya know. Ya go' a fair sum with ya." "Settling down is boring, Jonson. Why would I want to turn out like you?" The mean joke has him bellowing as he swipes her coin with one hand and slaps her on the shoulder with the other. "Knew there wa' a reason I liked ya, girly," he rumbles before he fills her glass again. Zaira grips the handle and leans back to observe the other bar patrons. It's rowdy, chaotic and overall unsettling. Just the way she likes it.