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Spiderswalk AU
Dec. 22nd, 2012 11:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lina_inverseIt was cold out. Cold and damp like it always was this time of year as dusk settled around them. A small girl set huddled underneath a broken streetlamp, wrapping her tattered mud-soaked cloak around her tightly to protect her from the chill as best as she could. One dirty hand jutted outward from beneath, the only thing visible aside from her broken shoes and pale, gaunt face. Dirt was smeared across her chin and cheeks, eyes sunken and vaguely haunted. The only bright thing about her were the defiant whisps of red hair stuck to the sides of her face and peeking out of the tears in the hood of her cloak like fine copper. Amongst the other urchin beggars on the streets around the central square it was her only real selling point, her only asset. It was the only reason anyone stopped for her at all.
Not that all of the attention was necessarily good.
Sometimes the strangers offered her some meager coins, spare pieces of valuables, or food. Sometimes all they offered were kind smiles, and that was suitable payment given that many of the average workers off the square were one bad day away from her spot on the corner. But some of them -- usually those with the most to spare -- would stop to sneer. To raise their lip and turn to make a comment to their wives or children about what sort of filth was invading their streets, how something ought to be done about it. Occasionally they even picked fights with her, shoving her and telling her they were going to fetch the police if she didn't scurry back to the hole she crawled out of. Sometimes they flung mud at her, laughing openly at someone so far beneath even the lowliest of their own servants.
It was those people that Lina took note of. It was those people that made her vision sharpen, eyes temporarily coming to life as she took careful note of their features and demeanor, etching them into her mind's eye. Every abuse she took she could endure, because she knew what they didn't. It was all a ruse, and the final joke would be on them.
That cold evening in particular found a gentleman on horseback trotting by on his way up the street-- the high streets where the most well-to-do resided, as if the horse hadn't been indication enough. It was obviously well-groomed, the finely etched leather tack alone being worth more than what most residents made in a year. She didn't dare raise her eyes; no one in her position would have dared such a challenge. But it didn't matter; that hair of hers had caught his attention, and apparently the gentleman was in want of a little sport.
He reared his horse back, bringing him back to settle squarely in a pile of mud before nudging him into a full gallop, laughing as the mud and horse feces mixed in the gutter splashed across her cloak. Lina jumped back, jaw grinding as she looked up in time to see him turn and grin beneath a full black mustache and top hat, actually tipping it slightly at her in a mocking farewell.
This was it. This asshole was her target for the evening.
She slipped from her corner towards the alleyways that ran parallel to the high roads. Or, well, parallel enough if you were familiar with the back ways; cutting across entrance ways, jaggedly pieced together between buildings crushed together through years of expanding despite the apparent defiance of spacial laws it required. She followed, ducking between clothing lines and dropping her tattered cloak, grabbing at one darker and heavier as she moved silently with her assailant.
He stopped at last at an impossibly large house, carelessly leaving his precious horse in front of the stable with the engrained confidence of a man who'd spent his life having someone else clean up after him. Why worry about his horse? A servant would be along shortly to care for her. He gave her a pat on the nose before stumbling inside.
No servant would be coming today.
With her cloak wrapped tightly around her, Lina moved effortlessly across the ground, small and quick and unseen in the dark as she expertly avoided the spots illuminated by the bright lanterns adorning the estate. Untying the harness from the fence post it had been so lazily tied against, she swung up on the large horse and trotted it across the grass to avoid the sound of heavy hooves against the cobblestones.
The horse gave no protest; it was either grateful for it's liberation or had no particular allegiance to it's idiot of an owner. Once she was further from the estate, she threw the hood back on her cloak and laughed. The sunken look on her face vanished, replaced by one of victory and confidence. This horse would fetch a pretty penny; she'd eat well tonight and for several more nights. She wouldn't have to crouch on the street to pick out a target again for quite some time.
Stupid, stupid rich people.
Not that all of the attention was necessarily good.
Sometimes the strangers offered her some meager coins, spare pieces of valuables, or food. Sometimes all they offered were kind smiles, and that was suitable payment given that many of the average workers off the square were one bad day away from her spot on the corner. But some of them -- usually those with the most to spare -- would stop to sneer. To raise their lip and turn to make a comment to their wives or children about what sort of filth was invading their streets, how something ought to be done about it. Occasionally they even picked fights with her, shoving her and telling her they were going to fetch the police if she didn't scurry back to the hole she crawled out of. Sometimes they flung mud at her, laughing openly at someone so far beneath even the lowliest of their own servants.
It was those people that Lina took note of. It was those people that made her vision sharpen, eyes temporarily coming to life as she took careful note of their features and demeanor, etching them into her mind's eye. Every abuse she took she could endure, because she knew what they didn't. It was all a ruse, and the final joke would be on them.
That cold evening in particular found a gentleman on horseback trotting by on his way up the street-- the high streets where the most well-to-do resided, as if the horse hadn't been indication enough. It was obviously well-groomed, the finely etched leather tack alone being worth more than what most residents made in a year. She didn't dare raise her eyes; no one in her position would have dared such a challenge. But it didn't matter; that hair of hers had caught his attention, and apparently the gentleman was in want of a little sport.
He reared his horse back, bringing him back to settle squarely in a pile of mud before nudging him into a full gallop, laughing as the mud and horse feces mixed in the gutter splashed across her cloak. Lina jumped back, jaw grinding as she looked up in time to see him turn and grin beneath a full black mustache and top hat, actually tipping it slightly at her in a mocking farewell.
This was it. This asshole was her target for the evening.
She slipped from her corner towards the alleyways that ran parallel to the high roads. Or, well, parallel enough if you were familiar with the back ways; cutting across entrance ways, jaggedly pieced together between buildings crushed together through years of expanding despite the apparent defiance of spacial laws it required. She followed, ducking between clothing lines and dropping her tattered cloak, grabbing at one darker and heavier as she moved silently with her assailant.
He stopped at last at an impossibly large house, carelessly leaving his precious horse in front of the stable with the engrained confidence of a man who'd spent his life having someone else clean up after him. Why worry about his horse? A servant would be along shortly to care for her. He gave her a pat on the nose before stumbling inside.
No servant would be coming today.
With her cloak wrapped tightly around her, Lina moved effortlessly across the ground, small and quick and unseen in the dark as she expertly avoided the spots illuminated by the bright lanterns adorning the estate. Untying the harness from the fence post it had been so lazily tied against, she swung up on the large horse and trotted it across the grass to avoid the sound of heavy hooves against the cobblestones.
The horse gave no protest; it was either grateful for it's liberation or had no particular allegiance to it's idiot of an owner. Once she was further from the estate, she threw the hood back on her cloak and laughed. The sunken look on her face vanished, replaced by one of victory and confidence. This horse would fetch a pretty penny; she'd eat well tonight and for several more nights. She wouldn't have to crouch on the street to pick out a target again for quite some time.
Stupid, stupid rich people.
