Hollow Street | daytime
1 YARIS 2718
Gale chewed furiously on the piece of tobacco. It was a supposed viable alternative to smoking the substance, the same flavouring filling up the senses but leaving a notably sticky taste across her tongue. Her lips curled, teeth set on edge before she spat the contents out into the bucket. Coughing, she shook her head at the tobacconist, “I’ll stick to the usual this time.”
The wrinkled, wiry man gave a grin before sliding a small, grease paper wrapped package to her. Within, the pre-cut and rolled cigarettes greeted her. The Smith loaded them into her tin alongside the small tube of matches. With a nod and a slap down of coin she was on her way once more. The start of the new season brought opportunity, new trade and stock was brought in, wages were counted and collected, and people were generally more giving. It was a good time for business, and a good time to jump on the metal shipments.
Lighting up a cigarette, she let it hang limply between her lips, her eyes scanning the bodies that moved. The troublesome were out once more, something that made her instinctively jam her hands into her coat pockets. The rest of her hunched in, arms kept closer, shoulders rising up into her neck. She skulked along, rope strap of her toolbox digging across her frame, the innards clattering with every step. Once more she looked her usual, filthy self, the blackened soot sunk into her clothes and features, the form bound down and flattened in places.
Boy.
Shoulders bounced off others, a quiet grunt of annoyance as he made his way across. One of the urchins ran into them at one point, feet bracing before they gave a nervous laugh. Gale exhaled the cigarette smoke from their nose, staring down disapprovingly, and watched them scuttle away. The orbs followed, watching as the subject began to terrorise a new victim before continuing onwards. Not their monkey, not their circus.
Turning the next corner to head to the forge revealed a new scene. It was one that gave some pause. Lips pursed, steps moving slower – it was a problem. They were in the way to go home. A drag of the smoke, a grumble as it extinguished itself; the Smith sauntered up to one of the nearby lampposts before attempting to relight it once more. Enough time however, for the eyes to intently focus and watch.
Man. Child. Woman. Standoff? Hold.
The eyes moved to the waistline of the man, noting he was considerably larger – a hairless bear - against the seemingly thin woman – a spindly twig. There was not much space between them; an arm’s reach at most, all being rather possessive. Too possessive. But over what? The boy? What had been missed?
One wants something. The child? For what? What evidence. How? First, defuse the situation.
Gale blew out a plume of smoke, and began to walk over. Knuckle rubbing against their nose, a large sniff before the finger pointed not at them both, but past them to the narrow street beyond. The rolling tone escaped after that, “Not to be that Git but, Nice Guy,” they head gave a nod to the woman, “and Gal, no doubt you both got a bunch of hard bites and all that.” The eyes looked both of them up and down, “You’re in the way. So can you take your playtime elsewhere cause,” Gale leaned back onto their heels, chin lifting to look down where they came from, “I’m pretty certain a bunch of fun Uncle Gollies are knocking about. Ye got?”