Post by Fuuyuko Suwa on Jun 12, 2016 2:52:25 GMT -5
"Be right back, okay? Me and the boys are just dropping in here for a quick visit." Said boys--"cousins" and "uncles" and such, all much older than her--have already leapt from their high produce-crate perches up on the wagon, swaggering shoulder-to-shoulder into the nearby establishment's open door. A man snores, slumped over behind the bushes, curled up around his pet pig; this is a bar.
"Why can't I come with?" Fuuyuko rubs at her face, sweat smears all over the too-big sleeve.
"Aw, Fuu-chaaan." There's enough room on the wagon's edge for both child and adult (and more); sweet old Haru, her chaperone, elder family member, and (for official Suwa business purposes like these) boss, takes a brief sitdown to Fuuyuko's left. One big hairy arm slings over her shoulder, and they're sharing a half-hug that would be so much more comforting if her dear elder's armpit didn't smell like salami. "Are you scaaared of being out here alone?" Their feet, both petite, dangle side-by-side.
"Yes." She says it without a lick of amusement, glaring up into old and wrinkly gander-sockets. "This is the 71st District, Haru. The mules trampled a body on the way in." Fuuyuko's elder meets her glare with a dessicated and dour look. She already told her it wasn't a person body. Could've been a dog for all they know. It's just too dark to see at that hour.
"Alright, here." Haru, right hand crushing their (great?) grand-niece creature's left shoulder for support, manages to stand back up. Worn metal tastes freedom from its leather cage. Fuu squints at it, for many reasons. Mostly because the silver soaks up the afternoon sunlight. "If I leave my dagger with you, will that make you feel better?"
It won't, but Fuuyuko reaches forward anyway. She pinches the blade cautiously between the thick pads that are her fingertips. That might as well be "yes". Haru's hand releases and ascends, fingers already roosting upon this small child's head; but there's no ruffling to be had. Ren Suwa had combed her daughter's hair five times over, pinned it up into two (irritatingly tight) pitch-black silk dumplings, and wiped every strand down with product. Put her daughter in a nice kimono, too. A little rouge on the cheeks. They'd all told Ren that this was a supply run to the single-digit districts.
"Yell if you need help; we're only a shout away."
They could've left this heavy girl, with her thick kimono, in much worse weather. At the same time, they could've picked a better spot to park. The sun streams directly upon her, while sweat and hair and starchy stiff linen tickle her nape. The produce boxes can't be towered high enough to give shade. Besides, they're far too heavy.
She doesn't even move at the sound of alley activity--perhaps just a fallen barrel or beam, she hopes--but she does white-knuckle clutch her dagger. Fuuyuko goes quiet as a Fuuyuko can. It's gonna be a few years 'til she becomes the type to make a "first move".
But she's watching.
"Why can't I come with?" Fuuyuko rubs at her face, sweat smears all over the too-big sleeve.
"Aw, Fuu-chaaan." There's enough room on the wagon's edge for both child and adult (and more); sweet old Haru, her chaperone, elder family member, and (for official Suwa business purposes like these) boss, takes a brief sitdown to Fuuyuko's left. One big hairy arm slings over her shoulder, and they're sharing a half-hug that would be so much more comforting if her dear elder's armpit didn't smell like salami. "Are you scaaared of being out here alone?" Their feet, both petite, dangle side-by-side.
"Yes." She says it without a lick of amusement, glaring up into old and wrinkly gander-sockets. "This is the 71st District, Haru. The mules trampled a body on the way in." Fuuyuko's elder meets her glare with a dessicated and dour look. She already told her it wasn't a person body. Could've been a dog for all they know. It's just too dark to see at that hour.
"Alright, here." Haru, right hand crushing their (great?) grand-niece creature's left shoulder for support, manages to stand back up. Worn metal tastes freedom from its leather cage. Fuu squints at it, for many reasons. Mostly because the silver soaks up the afternoon sunlight. "If I leave my dagger with you, will that make you feel better?"
It won't, but Fuuyuko reaches forward anyway. She pinches the blade cautiously between the thick pads that are her fingertips. That might as well be "yes". Haru's hand releases and ascends, fingers already roosting upon this small child's head; but there's no ruffling to be had. Ren Suwa had combed her daughter's hair five times over, pinned it up into two (irritatingly tight) pitch-black silk dumplings, and wiped every strand down with product. Put her daughter in a nice kimono, too. A little rouge on the cheeks. They'd all told Ren that this was a supply run to the single-digit districts.
"Yell if you need help; we're only a shout away."
They could've left this heavy girl, with her thick kimono, in much worse weather. At the same time, they could've picked a better spot to park. The sun streams directly upon her, while sweat and hair and starchy stiff linen tickle her nape. The produce boxes can't be towered high enough to give shade. Besides, they're far too heavy.
She doesn't even move at the sound of alley activity--perhaps just a fallen barrel or beam, she hopes--but she does white-knuckle clutch her dagger. Fuuyuko goes quiet as a Fuuyuko can. It's gonna be a few years 'til she becomes the type to make a "first move".
But she's watching.
