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"Savvy?" – speaking
*Savvy?* – thinking
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Roxanne Cavarnnair traced her hands over the delicate engravings on the box, before setting it down on her bed. She opened the lid and took out, in her own opinion, what was the most beautiful sword in the entire world. The blade was light, but strong, very simple to wield, and the engravings on the hilt, nothing short of beautiful. There were Celtic designs scrawled into the deep emerald metal. How William had gotten it to shine so green, she could never guess, but she was grateful he had. Roxanne set the cutlass back in its case and closed the lid, sliding the box carefully underneath her bed. She then ventured over to her mirror, and sat down in front of it. Roxanne stared into her reflection carefully, not at all sure what she was looking at. She touched her untamed locks, which hung to her waist and burned a fiery red. She then found herself peering into her own eyes, which upon her realization, startled her. She had her father's eyes; she knew that, they were a blazing hazel. The bright emerald green made her seem to be possessed of a madman in the moonlight, and the contrast of her deep brown made it seem as if her eyes were swimming in rum.
*I wonder what it would be, if I were normal?*
Roxanne sat there, staring down at her clothes. She wore her father's old boots, his white shirt, a vest, and his slacks, rolled up to meet the boots; all of which he could no longer wear. She was lucky her father was so understanding, he had long since given up on trying to fit her into women's clothing, she just wouldn't stand for it, and knew she would rather wear his old garb than buy her own.
*Why go out and waste money on stuffy new clothing when I could wear father's old clothes? Besides, these have more character anyways.*
She glanced over at her bed, another of her father's garments laid strewn across her bedding, an old and worn green jacket, which came to her knees, and a tattered three corner hat. She wouldn't touch the dresses the women wore today; they were too confining and wouldn't slip over her hips even if she liked them. The only thing Roxanne wore that resembled women's attire was the necklace that once belonged to her mother. It was a gold locket that she would rather die before losing.
*If mother were still alive, would I act and dress like this?*
Roxanne sighed and brought a brush to her hair, going through her tresses carefully. Roxanne's mother died when Roxanne was only 13, now, at 25, it seemed she had all but forgotten what it was to be a lady. The only thing, aside from her locket, that kept Roxanne remembering her mother was her hair and build. Her mother was a strong Irish woman, and passed her height and red hair to her daughter. Roxanne sighed, and stood up. She was bored of just sitting around, staring at herself. That was for the wives of noblemen to do. She strode over to her bed and pulled out the box from under it, taking out the cutlass carefully. Roxanne then picked up a sheath she neglected to see and tied it to her waist. She then slid the blade into its casing and slipped the empty box back under her bed. She slipped on her jacket, tied a green scarf around her head, and stood at her mirror. Roxanne was nearly out the door when she remembered something.
*Hmm . . . I think I can manage holding it now.*
Roxanne opened up her wardrobe and bent down, rummaging through until she found her treasure. Roxanne pulled out a small box and set it on her bed. She opened the lid and pulled out a pistol.
*Good, father hasn't found it yet then.*
Dueling lessons were one thing, and convincing her father to let her keep the cutlass would be a challenge, but if he knew she had a loaded pistol in her possession, she would surely be punished severely. She pulled out the holster and tied it tightly to the back of the sash that held her cutlass; she then slid the pistol into the holster. She walked about her room, making sure she had freedom of movement. Satisfied, Roxanne grabbed her hat and was out the door.