Name: Zinaira
A kid, probably around fifteen? Sixteen? Well, anyway, a kid ran between the stalls, bumping into finely dressed people and dashing rather clumsily between all the lords and ladies out for the yearly holiday. Soft but cropped brown hair crowned an olive-skinned face, just barely brushing the eyelids covering pine forest green eyes. Maroon wing blades protruded from the kid's open-backed shirt, and the long tunic covered most of what could be seen of the tell-tale lucain tails, whose tips one could just barely see peeking out from under the beige cloth. Her bare feet were covered in the dust and sand of the road, and the edge of her desert-bloomers were tattered and had a few frayed edges. However, a ribbon embroidery trim finished off her cuff-sleeves, collar, and hem of her tunic. A red sash about her waist kept her tunic from billowing out around her in the dry desert wind. Lanky arms and large, thin-fingered hands held onto two buckets (one smaller than the other), whose contents threatened to jump out of their containers at any moment. Her furry 'cain ears flicked forward as she heard the lord call her name, and she dutifully delivered the buckets to his feet. He tossed her a silver coin, which she deftly snatched out of the air and pressed to her collarbone, bowing. Melting into the crowd with a small smile on her face, the girl vanished like a mirage.
Later that day, the girl sat in a corner of the tavern, filling up the cups of those whose rum was gone. A bruise colored her cheekbone, and a sticky sweet stain was splattered over her tunic. Her eyes were wary as she filled each cup thrust before her, ready to run at a moments notice but hesitant, for she needed to money they gave her for the job. Suddenly, thick fingers curled around her arm and yanked her aside. The lord she'd carried buckets for earlier that day laughed in her face, his breath tainted with alcohol.
"Lookie what we have here jean-tel-men, a right pretty little wretch isn't she?"
The girl squirmed uncomfortably, her eyes darting fearfully towards the open door only feet away, which breathed cool night air onto her face. She let out a sob as he pulled her closer to him, his hand held indecently around her hips.
"Fighter isn't she? Wanna to make some money wretch? Good money for a nice set of legs like yours, wannto come home w' me? Wifes not 'ome..."
She managed to make eye contact with the bartender, a good woman who had helped her out situations like this before. The bartender walked out from behind the counter, her lips set in a firm line and hands on her hips.
The drunken lord saw this, and made for the exit and into the night, the now crying girl caught in his arms. Escaping into a side alley, he breathed close to her face as his hands prodded her, and the girl struck him in the face with a fist, bloodying his nose.
She quivered in fear, but her hand stayed raised as he made to move at her again, while all the time he was making atrocious suggestions.
"Gonna make you pay wrench, you shouldnta done that, I weres gonna pay you..."
He tugged at the sash around her waist, pressing her up against the adobe brick wall. The girl started to scream, but he stroked her upper lip and then shoved her own sash into her mouth. Her hands scrabbled at the back collar of her tunic, pulling it down to reveal skin beneath. The lord chuckled and grinned, making comments about how good she was being. The girl reached into her collar as he let go of her hands to grab her waist again, and pulled out a long sheath that had been strapped to her back. Drawing a silver blade with purple and green runes etched along the blade, her eyes gleamed with tears as she sunk it into his chest. The lord didn't make a sound as the light ran out of his eyes and pooled in a red pool beneath him. The girl wiped the blade with her red sash, and proceeded to strip the lord of his rings, necklaces, and outer clothing. These she bundled up and wrapped in the sash, sliding the sword back into its hidden sheath under her tunic. Hurrying back to the tavern, she collected her pay (which had been left under the doormat for her) and fled into the night, terrified that she'd be found out and hung for murdering a lord.
Zinaria lay in the shade of a sand dune, the morning sun just barely shimmering on the horizon but still throwing blades of scorching heat across the sands. The sand around where she lay was churned up from her thrashing in the night. Blearily, she sat up and rubbed her eyes, regretting that her night's rest had once again been ruined by the nightmares. Resting her hand on Coaxcoach, who was always on her person whether visible or not, she scanned for anyone foolish enough to invade her camp. As always, no one was there. The lucain-girl set about making breakfast, a simple meal of granola soaked in a bit of her precious water.
Shoveling in the food, she pondered upon her dream. Of course, it was another of those time in the dark days after she'd run away from home when her vulnerability lay in her youth and gender. That wasn't a problem anymore though, as she stayed away from people as a whole, content to live her life as a solitary nomad, happy in her own way. And free in the only way... she thought to herself, standing up and stretching. The morning's light reflected off the blade of Coaxcoach as she slid it into it's sheath. The fact that she bound her chest and kept her hair short and scruffy added to her deception of her real gender, but the real problem was her bloody tails I mean, it's kinda hard to mistake a three-tailed lucain for a guy. So she wore a cloak at all times, hiding her tails. Zinaria put away her blanket and heavy night cloak and donned her lighter day coat. "Off to embrace the generosity of others,"she laughed, "Whether they feel like sharing or not..."
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