I might be a fan of your insolence / but that don’t make you innocent
Class and economic status weren’t things she tried to focus on, but, inevitably, she had little else to do when she stood hungry in the center of a market and some twerp told her that her stupid doll was too good for a seashell crown. Saphira came from a different concept of wealth, certainly, but the rich had excess and the poor went without. What she did now was certainly below her. She didn’t quite have it in her to be a sellsword, not anymore.
Saphira perked up half-heartedly into her saleswoman smile when the boy approached. He was colored like her, and about as dirty, with a sweet little look on his face. She did not trust him. He was a local, probably a nasty little street rat, and if he really wanted he could just go get her shells from the same place she got them. But - you know - maybe he had money tucked away in his scruffy mane somewhere with the burrs and the salt. She kept the smile on.
”Thank you, but I’m sorry to say, it’s a secret.”
She looked at him, and kept looking at him, until her smile wilted into a half-grimace and she sighed. ”You know where I got them.” She was starting to feel bad, now, and what if he wanted to pick one up for his sick little orphan sister or something? He hadn’t had the time to go scrounging around in the cove because he was so poor, and now she was trying to sell him a piece of sea-waste for tourist price!
Too bad.
”Look, kid, do you need something?”
