Cruelties of the world.

[Amelia Kosa]

It had been quite a few months since her family’s arrival at Ville de Kadence, but the townspeople were as unfamiliar to the young girl as they had ever been. She’d tried desperately to make new friends but somehow, the opportunity always seemed to slip away. Once, there had been a girl similar in age to Amelia… but she’d disappeared before the sixteen-year-old could work up the courage to approach her. She attempted to talk to a young boy, too – probably about eleven years – but he’d acted as if she were disease-ridden.

Scowling at the thought of him, Amelia gathered her skirts and sat gently upon one of the decorative, stone-carved wolves that protected this place. Her rich, hazel eyes searched the crowds for any potential companion and finally came to rest upon a girl. She had beautiful, blond hair pulled back in a simple ponytail and Amelia thought she could detect a faint – ever so faint – hint of Garou on the breeze. That was one thing about this place that the faye enjoyed immensely: the amount of creatures like herself. Her old friend in Shire, Marie, had been human and as such, Amelia could never tell her the secrets of her family. But another Garou couldn’t expose the ones Amelia loved without exposing herself. It was a perfect scenario – one that made the maiden grin with delight. She quickly ran a hand through her hair and checked her reflection in a puddle of water before proceeding to the other girl.

A bit shy and intimidated now, Amelia started slowly. ”Erm… hello there… I, uh, noticed you from the wolf” , she gestured to the stoney canine she’d been perched upon, ”and thought maybe you… well… maybe you’d like to talk?” Usually quite chatty, it was strange for Amelia to be so at a loss for words. Older and (as Amelia thought) more beautiful, this girl had perhaps been a bad candidate for friendship. The girl looked down at the still-developing female and Amelia saw a shadow of disgust play through her soft, blue portals. ”I’m sorry, but I don’t associate with commoners…” The girl said, startling Amelia with her words.

Fighting tears at the insult, the younger of the two fled. She couldn’t even form the words to oppose such cruelty. This place was damned! Her whole life was awful! Ruined! She thought again about Marie and Rosa’s David, thought about her brothers’ friends and the many children of Shire. ”I hate my life!” She growled, finding the darkest hiding place she could. Free to weep in private now, safely tucked away in the crevice between two shops, she let her tears flow. ”I hate this place and I hate that stupid girl!” She was sniffling like a pig now, slowly sinking to her knees. Balling herself up as tightly as she could, Amelia tried to block out the rest of the world. Large sobs wracked her tiny body and the girl silently cursed everything – everyone – in the world. She hated life. She hated being a commoner. She hated being a Garou. She hated herself for even approaching that girl. Oh! What a stupid move.

ooc: I apologize for the absolute suckiness of this post. Next one will be better, though! I promise!

[Lucas Darly]

bury me, bury me

Sensitivity wasn’t something one openly associated with Lucas of all people. He appeared hard and haphazard, strong and bold and vicious. When one thought of him, they didn’t think of softness or sheer gentleness. They thought of his ruthlessness and his aggression and his blatant disregard. For those who met him, those rare who took the time out of their lives to see the farmhand, well… they were disappointed. The majority of them expected a trouble soul and though he was that in some respects, he wasn’t the troubled soul seeking aid or comfort. He wasn’t looking for a hug, nor did he expect one. He was content with himself… and saw so many others who deserved the pity more then he. He was angry, but he deserved to be. Couldn’t they see? This was worth anger. All of this. This wasn’t right in any way, shape or form. They didn’t see what he saw. Didn’t recognize everything that was so wrong and so untrue and what deserved to be changed but couldn’t be. They didn’t see as he saw, they couldn’t understand his disgust and his wrath. But that didn’t bother him. No sir, it never did.

He didn’t mope or cry. He dealt with it the best way he knew how. Taking up a fist and getting rid of whatever troubled him. With that in mind he didn’t always handle things with the best of care and often came off rash. He seemed unwilling to be diplomatic and in many ways… he was. He didn’t care to talk. Speaking was the source of misunderstandings - he trusted actions more then he trusted voice… and relied on his actions to carry the meaning he wanted understood. As he wandered around in the depths of Kadence, flexing his human fingers (his knuckles were still somewhat raw from the previous night’s escapade) and suffering from a headache (even though the stitching he had near his scalp were well healed, and many of the other wounds he had taken to the head were well passed, it wasn’t rare for him to suffer from painful headaches for all the beatings he put himself through) he didn’t expect much from the day. Wincing at the light (he had undoubtedly drank his woes away last night) and feeling an empty stomach roar in protest (they desired that he return to Marilyn at the Inn for an early sup) he didn’t think anything of the morning… or the afternoon that ensued. He had not planned for tomorrow (he never did) and when it came, he went wherever he went with little obligation involved. Meandering down one of the darkened lanes then, he hadn’t expected to hear the sobbing of a young girl. Hearing her sniffle and cry and moan he wasn’t sure he believed his ears, despite the consistencies of the racket he heard. Lifting his head (he had had strolled along somewhat slouched) and tilting his chin he took in a whiff (almost as if he could smell her) he narrowed his eyes. Adjusting them against the light of day and the dark of shadow, he tuned an ear in and simply listened. Was someone crying? By Jove, it sounded like it! Glaring, he sought out the noise and when he found it (a girl in a corner, her back to the world) he was utterly startled and unprepared for the sight. Blinking, he looked at her. Gaping somewhat as her feeble body heaved and she beckoned her woes to leave her through tears and gentle sobs. He was never a good one at comforting others, nor was he ever good with a lady’s tears. Not even his own mum’s. He remembered how she stowed herself away, often, and simply wept. She locked herself in her room and cried… and it didn’t take much for him to find her as she was. Though she was a more silent one in her pain, he could feel it all the more. When he was younger he use to beg for her to open the door that separated them so, not that she ever did. Often that was how the nights ended, with young Lucas leaning against a heavy oak door and gently scratching at the chamber entrance blocked, not understanding why she cried so, and why she wouldn’t let him enter. “The filthy streets are no place for you.” He said this wryly, quietly. Not sure of what to say and how to say it, he spoke gently for once, eyeing the gal he towered over so and swallowing a lump that had suddenly built in his throat. “Go home.” It wasn’t as if he didn’t hear her cries of hate, and though we could draw parallels he refused to. Hate was a temperamental beast, and hers was brought about only by soreness and embarrassment. She was too young to hate. … To hate with meaning. … Not that he was any professor on the subject.

[Lilianne d'Allemagnè]

and so i’ll turn my head to the

moon.

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In the course of just a few days, Lilianne d'Allemagnè’s life had taken a complete turn in the opposite direction. A few days ago, she had a mother, a father, and two other siblings. A few days ago, she had Czar and the other horses to tend to. A few days ago, she had a home.

Her brother had found every last penny they owned and got a little plot of land with a tiny house. It was only two bedrooms, one bathroom, and two small joined rooms that served as a kitchen and a living area. Lili almost voiced her thoughts on that it would be too small for anyone to visit. But she quickly realized that, no one would be visiting anytime soon, unless they were spirits of her dead family.

To add to the grief of losing everything, the child had also found out that she was a wolf. A wolf that she hated with every fiber of her being, the wild urges that emitted from it disheartening her and just pushing her hatred further beyond normal boundaries. She didn’t hate herself, no, but she hated the fact that she had some other creature inside her, just emerging now. It was even more frustrating that she had seen her parents die in their wolf forms. Had they died as humans they might have gotten a proper burial. Instead, they were probably just tossed in a trash bin or burned, maybe even eaten.

Lilianne might have liked her feral side if she hadn’t associated it with the death of her parents. If she would have found out earlier, had her parents show her how to shift, she might have enjoyed it. She could have run with their dogs, and felt the speed of nature firsthand, instead of being on the back of a horse. She might have enjoyed all the heightened senses that came with the realization of a canine being, and she might have even just simply loved the feeling of being special. But that would be too easy. It is similar to the training of a dog, the association Lili’s subconscious made between the death of her parents and her canid form. If a dog is being taught to sit, it is already focused on one thing. If another dog comes by and starts snarling and biting at the dog’s throat, he may easily become frightened and stand up. When you ask your dog to sit again, he hesitates greatly, in fear of being bitten by a predator. It is a completely expected reaction, if you have been there for all the steps, and seen the fear inside the dog’s eyes. But if you haven’t, you may just think the dog is stupid, or just stubborn. If it’s punished from there, then the dog really won’t want to sit, and then you’ve got some serious mental turmoil.

It was closely related to the way Lilianne acted now. Because wolves ate meat, she didn’t. Because wolves were pack animals, she stayed completely individualized. The terrible part was that she didn’t fully understand why she acted in this way, and so neither could her brother. And he was all she had anymore.

Ville de Kadence wouldn’t have ever been her prime choice of living style. The hatred of cities and densely populated areas was practically included in Lilianne’s genetic material. She didn’t want to bother with them, and the sight of crowds made her spine crawl and her fingers twitch at her sides. Her left hand was constantly finding it’s way to the base of her skull, scratching the back of her neck though there was no itch on her skin. The itch was down further than that, implanted deep inside the strangles of her DNA.

Though, she more than likely had no idea what DNA was. She would have no idea that it stood for deoxyribonucleic acid. She would be oblivious to the fact that it contained the blueprint for her entire being. And almost equally, few people in her time would even begin to accept the fact that life might not just be right in front of us. Few people would question why a mother’s stomach inflated before she gave birth. Sure, they understood that the child was growing inside of her, but few would question how. Even fewer would question why the child was being carried inside the stomach, instead of in an egg like their chickens. Lilianne didn’t care enough to question these things.

Slowly, with one hand on her neck and the other clutching the skirt of her dress, Lilianne stepped lightly into what she assumed to be the town square. The garment hanging loosely on her body was extremely worn, with patches of mismatched cloth over the holes that had arose around her knees or on her sleeves. The weather was rather hot, and underneath her too-long sleeves, beads of sweat clung to the moderately tanned skin of Lili’s. She passed by vendors in the dimming light packing away their sales merchandise, though a few still eyed her clothing as thoughts of trying a sale passed through their heads. Eventually they all came to the same decision, though. She looked like a peasant, which probably meant that she had no money to spare. Which was very true. Lilianne and Trystan d'Allemagnè were all but bankrupt. The two had to salvage coins whenever they found them.

Coming upon a man staring into the gap between two shops, Lilianne stopped. He was fairly young looking, with shaggy hair but a completely apathetic demeanor. The peasant heard the quiet words from the man, his eyes tender with a kind of almost father-like compassion. Or, at least, that was how she tagged it. Inching her body closer, she managed to see a foot, and bits of a skirt, and tagged it as a female, and by the pitch of her voice, assumed she was around her age.

A touch of excitement built inside Lilianne as she thought about having a friend. An actual friend, to play with and talk to. And, if she was lucky, this girl might have a horse barn that she could visit. Pinpricks of grief flooded through Lili as she was brought back to the subject of her dead colt, Czar, whom she had taught everything. He had been a rather expensive Selle Français, of an extremely beautiful caramel bay and with a flaunty gait that kings would have envied. He was Lilianne’s pride and joy. But, he was gone too. Everything was.

The excitement left her as she remembered. Everything had left her, she was fully aware, thought she was screaming and kicking her legs in all directions on the inside. Her inner canine snarled and threatened to rise in her throat as tears stung her eyes. She dared not let them flow, however, and continued walking to her destination.

Just one stall from where the man and girl stood, a vendor had set up a vegetable stand. Lilianne reached down into her pocket and pulled out a tiny handful of livre coin, and set them on the makeshift counter. “Five tomatoes, please.” The vendor nodded and went to the back for a moment, more than likely picking up three more tomatoes, for only two were displayed in the front. All the while, Lilianne kept her eyes glued to the girl, fighting every urge she had to talk to her.

After all, she would probably just end up gone just like everything else.

ooc. I love 30 Seconds to Mars, Valid. ;D

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[Amelia Kosa]

Amelia hugged her body closer as the sobs continued to wrack her frail figure. She appeared in all regards to be a girl much younger than she actually was – made even more vivid by her incessant tears. Thoughts of the life she had given up rose in Amelia’s mind – as they always did when she cried – and began to haunt the poor girl once more, reminding her again of the terrors of that last night of normalcy… the night that had divided her life into two separate stories. There had been the first book or chapter of her life - the happy moments of her childhood - and then there was what she and the rest of her family had been left with… This companionless shell of an existence… watching as her family was slowly torn apart and her most beloved sister dying a little more on the inside with every passing day.

The sixteen year old felt as if she’d given up so much in the world… faced such horrors. It was unfair that now, though her family claimed she was safe, they still had these tormenting memories. These… awful memories of pain and loss and death. She thought about her friend Marie and how close they’d been. Thought about the hopes and dreams she’d been harboring in Shire… about the happiness and carefree nature of her brothers – especially Torin. She remembered her parents’ apparent absence of fear. The civility of her small town… the beauty of their surroundings and the hours of time she had spent exploring the nearby wilderness.

Everything, it seemed, that had made Amelia what she was… was gone. It had died along with Rosa’s love and Torin’s happiness on that night her family had been chased from their homes. And now… in a new, stranger place, she’d been rejected for all of the world to see. ’I don’t associate with commoners…’ The words had been so malicious. So cruel and hurtful. So degrading. Commoners… It was as if Amelia were plagued with some kind of horrible disease. Like she was beneath that other girl. Like she was… was trash! A dirty stray dog roaming the streets! Amelia had never been made to feel so inferior and now, through eyes drenched with her own tears, she marveled at the simplicity of her attire.

”It’s no wonder that girl doesn’t like me! I’m ugly!” Her sobs grew in intensity as the girl again plunged her face into her hands. The anger had dissipated by this point, replaced by a feeling of the most sincere self-pity. She wanted to hate everything, wanted to rage and scream, to crawl under the biggest and darkest rock she could find… but she cried instead. Like a weakling, she just cried. She blocked the rest of the world out and consoled herself with a symphony of tears and muffled sniffs. She wanted to tear those awful, plain, despicable clothes from her body and transform into a wolf – right there in view of the world – and run away into the forest and never come back…

… but something kept her rooted to that dark alley. The humiliation of the girl’s words instilled a fear inside Amelia… a fear that, perhaps, that girl was right. Did being a commoner make her less? Was she inferior? Was she really such a waste of flesh? The questions raced through the small maiden’s mind, whizzing like a torrential storm until finally she couldn’t take it. She raised her head to scream but noticed movement at the edges of her vision instead. With a slender, dainty hand the fem wiped her eyes carefully, watching the approach of this new figure. A man. A young man… but a man, none-the-less. Dirty and crumpled, he didn’t seem to be anyone of any kind of self-proclaimed importance. Not like that girl… Vaguely, Amelia wondered if this stranger was a commoner, like herself. She’d never noticed nor recognized anyone’s social standing before but… comparing this brute to herself, she realized they already had something in common.

His words rolled from the depths of his throat like a deep, beautiful melody. So filled with rage and passion, Amelia felt herself become entranced by the older human. No… he’s not a human. She realized suddenly, catching a whiff of canine on breeze. He was a Garou… of sorts. He smelled like a wolf… but not like any wolf Amelia had ever known. There was something different about him. Something… foreign. Something that was obviously very out of place here.

Forgetting about her own pain, the girl waited warily as he looked down upon her. His tone was harsh but so… gentle. Strangely… concerned. The girl got the impression that he didn’t want to care but cared anyway. To some extent, that is. Smiling shyly at the stranger, the sixteen-year-old gracefully pushed herself to her feet. She took a moment to wipe the water from the eyes before gazing upward in his direction. So much taller than she, his presence was ominous. Dangerous. And yet… he was so appealing. Like her brother, Torin. Amelia sensed some kind of hurt inside him. She wasn’t sure what that hurt could have been from… but then, she wasn’t sure he even knew.

”I could say the same thing to you, Sir.” Words came so easily to Amelia most of the time… she couldn’t even begin to imagine why conversation had been so difficult for her on this day. First that girl and now this boy… the faye felt her cheeks burning with an awkwardness she wasn’t used to. ”I’m Amelia… I was just… I think I must have gotten something in my eye.” She knew it was a ridiculous story to excuse her crying, but she didn’t want him to know she’d been weeping like a little girl. If he were anything like her brothers, he’d probably start laughing at her.

”Maybe you should introduce yourself before you start telling me what to do.” She tried to season her tone with the same avoidant bass as his voice contained, but the playful smile that crept across her lips destroyed any attempt of seriousness. She was teasing him, trying to lighten the mood in the only way she knew how.

[Lucas Darly]

TO KNOW THAT BEAUTIFUL THINGS

don't always stay that way

Where did she think filth belonged, if not in the streets? Did she keep her trash indoors, did she allow it to build up in her home and become clutter there? He eyed the young one warily. Both for the fact that he was recovering from a hangover and also because… well, what more was there to say? She was of the feminine variety, wasn’t she? And weren’t they dangerous. Yet, as dangerous as she was, was she blind? She didn’t seem to know what belonged in the streets and what didn’t, if she thought for a moment he deserved anything more than cobblestone brick and the gutters for refuge. … Then again to see her stowed away in the corner of an alley… did he really need her telling him he didn’t belong here, to know she was all jumbled, befumbled, betwixed?

Hearing what she said he couldn’t help but imagine the picture such a voice (one that was dutifully feminine and dutifully of the bright and happy variety. Now, one might ask how he could say this given the situation at the moment, but he was a well-rehearsed sort of gent. He might never be happy himself, and he may never be brightly cheerful as she was, but he could tell someone‘s standard nature well enough… well… he could tell her standard nature well enough. It was obvious. Just as the fact that she most likely wore her heart on her sleeve, eh?) painted. Despite his state of being a drunkard, despite his presence of being that violent son of a bitch that made people cringe - despite that, despite that? Despite that he wasn’t blind (though she may be), despite that he wasn’t as stupid as so many people thought he was. Despite that and more he had a brain. He could imagine. He could close his eyes - even if he didn’t at the moment - and hear the words between the lines that were being said. It seemed he had came across her in moments of weakness… and now she was grabbing at straws in an attempt to save face? He could see that. Could see her on the edge, on unstable ground. Could see her unable to balance just right and staggering for it. Swinging her arms as she swayed on the edge, seeking to catch a sense of stability that’d keep her from the deep, dark, abysmal place of ‘over the line’. He could see her struggling there, to save herself from an impending fate. She didn‘t want to fall - no one did. He could see that. … He could also see himself with another pint but he wouldn’t be the one to come forward with that. That’d break his abused poet image? Well, if it was a pint of wine…

The way her voice trembled, yet strengthened, it was familiar to him in the most wretched of ways. She was gaining her confidence back, he noted it with a small, hospitable smile… and that suited him just as well. He wasn’t good with tears. He was better with snarkiness. Yet, what had troubled the creature so? Though his senses were never as good in this human casting as it was in his other forms, he could detect a taste of sadness and inner-agony. She was hurt. Tears were always a sign of hurt. What had hurt her? Didn’t she know what she was? She was a wolf. A hunter, never the hunted. What could hurt a wulf? He searched his mind and could think of nothing. The wolves were apex… in the wild and in the city. That‘s the way it had always been, hadn‘t it? Even if it disgusted him to some degree. The Wolves had such a great history, a rich heritage and… simply awe-inspiring ancestry. Did they ever think they were being untrue? Feel they had wandered off the proud path they had walked upon? He did. He wondered when the pride had turned to humility, when the confidence turned to fear. Why did they hide?

“Indeed, we’ve had a batch of wind.” He said mildly, nearly smugly as he eyed the smaller creature. Yet nodding his head, he agreed full-heartedly. A few specks of dirt in ones eye? Ah, it even got a grown man tearing up he was sure. The grin on his lips tugged gently as his gaze rested impartially on the opposing set of peepers. Hazel those eyes were, quite homey. Did she truly think she was ugly (he knew it was rude to eavesdrop but he couldn‘t help his ears. Nor could he help that his thoughts were drawn to what she had said. Did she really think she was ugly?)? Though he may be experiencing a hangover, he had always taken comfort in knowing what looked foul and what didn’t… and yet… she appeared quite the opposite of horrid. Was he wrong? Young as she was, of course, he couldn’t say she looked anything more then adorable but wasn’t that good enough for the little jezebel? Still, being all alone as she was and having cuddled herself in a corner… Her skirt was far from as clean as it had been, and her cheeks were a bit flushed, and perhaps her eyes were a little red and her dainty little nose, too. A little muddied was the dear, a little worn and ragged, but Ragamuffin Anne wasn’t such a wretched thing… was it? He snorted at both the idea it was, as well as her cocky teasing. … Not that he didn’t return the grin, never mind an additional roll of the eyes. He couldn’t place it, but she reminded him of someone… Still, he was called out and knew it. And, again despite his norm he did something many would never expect of, well, him. Breaking into a bow, his midsection bent as he placed an arm dutifully there, he lowered himself like a gentlemen of old. Bowing to the lady, he took her hand with great care, “But pardon me, Miss Amelia. How rude. I’m Lucas.” There he kissed her knuckles, a grin still on his worn, tanned features as he glanced upwards to her. Remembering the etiquette he was taught once upon a time, he was, and having suddenly been propelled into a complying mood, he applied it. A little known fact…? When he was younger he was working for manor outside the limits of Kadence. As a random lad, firstly… but a doormen now and again. There to look pretty and to bow. Not that it lasted long. Around that time he also… got into trouble. Some trouble he… Well, some very deep trouble. Some very deep hurt. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Amelia.” He said, giving back her hand with a confident smile that would never (even if he wasn’t truly angling it) lose it’s dangerous, feral edge. He’d always look like a ruffian. He’d always look like he was up-to-no-good. But maybe being bad wasn’t bad? … Maybe fear and respect could be interchanged. After all, end was merely three letters away from friend - lives only a letter-deleted from lies. Maybe who he was… wasn’t as horrid as so many made it seem. “Now Miss Amelia, shall we, or shalln’t we?” Here he offered her his arm. Though he was taller, and though it was possible he ought to have things better to do then wander about with the little Missy… he didn’t and it seemed something about her had triggered a most dangerous thing. A tiny, itty-bitty shred of humanity… but not just that… maybe a little of… joy, too? Oh, now wouldn’t that be a delight!

Out of Juice: Not very fond of this post but it'll have to do. Dx And sorreh Nile, I couldn't think of a way to throw some attention at Lily yet. D; BUTYES. 30secondstomars IS yummy. ;o

[Amelia Kosa]

ooc; Lili! Where are yous! =O

[Lilianne d'Allemagnè]

it's not like you to ask

small favors.

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As she looked on from even such a close proximity, Lilianne’s discomfort grew more and more. She pleaded mentally for the vendor to hurry up, turn his large rump around and just give her the damn tomatoes. Flashes of bitterness raged through her at each passing minute, and as the male became more and more friendly, so did the common girl.

She was fifteen, going on sixteen, far old enough to realize that the man was rather attractive and the girl was borderline gorgeous for the teen Lili pinned her as. Lucas and Amelia, as they had introduced themselves, were practically trying to ignore her. Or, at least, that’s how she took it.

The girl had a streak for seeing things the way she wanted to. No, she did not want a pity party, there was no need for rash thoughts like that. But the drunken fool with beer on his breath and the sobbing girl with an obvious problem were well enough dressed for Lilianne to put them in a social category higher than hers. Amelia had on a beautiful dress, one that was simple yet elegant, and obviously not expensive. But by the looks of it, it was either bought from a seamstress, or her mother was a seamstress; and that was a stretch, seeing as there was probably a total of two, maybe three seamstresses in the entire city.

And then there was Lili. In torn rags and hair that had once been neatly tied in a braid was frazzled and pulling out. Her dress had dirt spots where her knees had dug into garden soil, and the edges of her sleeves were almost fraying. The neckline was stretched and the length short, but it was all she had. She washed the burlap and miscellaneous fabric dress every evening and laid it to dry every night, and had a soft pale blue gown that she wore to bed and washed every other morning. Not to mention Trystan’s laundry. Her mother had bought him two suits last Christmas that he rotated through the days, and Lilianne had sewn him a flannel gown to wear. It was fit for a female, for she did not have the tools to make a shirt and pants, so it was just sewn fabric without buttons, but, as usual, it was all that they had. Not to mention the fact that it was the least she could do for him. Sure, they hadn’t gotten along extremely well in the past, but he was her only family figure now, even if he was just a stupid wolf like she was.

As Lucas offered his arm to Amelia, Lilianne cringed. Once again, completely ignored. Completely looked over. Maybe she would have to break down and cry in an alleyway some day. Then, maybe some attractive man could sweep her off the ground and hold her in his arms, kiss her and stroke her hair as if it was the softest silk he had ever felt. And then he could offer his arm out, then pick her up and spin her around, and then carry her back to his mansion with a barn that held hundreds of beautiful Selle Français horses.

Hell, she could dream, couldn’t she?

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the man came back into view, carrying five of his ripest tomatoes. He handed her a poorly woven basket made of some kind of grassy reed, probably only good for light objects. He placed the fruits inside, and when she offered up her coins as payment, he pushed her hand away with kind eyes. “Consider it a gift, Miss.”

Lilianne couldn’t help but feel slightly insulted, though she let a smile grace her features. “I appreciate it, Sir. Thank you.” She was poor, and she knew that she was, but because this man had noticed it too, it only meant to Lilianne that she appeared like it even more than she thought. All the while, the little lovebird things exchanged glances and mild chatter, and Lili suppressed a snort of both jealousy and disgust. Let them do what they wanted, but she was going home to her brother. And with that, Lilianne passed the two and walked ahead quickly without a glance backward. The sooner she could get back home, the better.

ooc.

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