Misplaced
By tami(3)
It was raining. In Termina's transition of winter to spring, the precipitation never ceased to flood down from the overcast of clouds, surly mountains tinted with the ominous gray of unshed torrents.
Right now was no storm, but it was bad enough. A misted drizzle of ice water dusted pedestrians whose business could not wait until after the nippy bite of rainfall, just light enough not to freeze into sleet, subsided. They were fast-paced; their steps were brisk and made it look as they were gliding over the sodden pavement. With shiny slickers pulled over their heads and their arms tucked around themselves for warmth, they kept their line of vision rigidly directed to what was exactly in front of them. Few spared a glance for what appeared to a bundle of rags thoughtlessly discarded by a stone-block wall.
It wasn't, but for all it did it might as well have been a mound of useless refuse. Not once did it lift up its nodding head to meet the sparing looks that varied from sympathy to disdain. As long as no one approached the child, it was perfectly content to survive in its quiet, almost nonexistent way as most of the populace chose to forgo noticing the diminutive item of street trash. Commiseration did nothing, after all. None offered solace and salvation for something such as a forgotten orphan languishing in a corner.
"Hi!"
The misplaced girl barely past infancy cringed at the sudden interruption of her blank life. She raised her face slightly in instinctive response to startling greeting, but she had long ago learned to trust no one and turned away just in time not to meet the interloper's eyes.
"Hello, hello? Are you hungry? I sure am! I can't wait to go home, I'm cold too! Where're your mom and dad? Are you like me? I don't have any, so I'm an orphan, but that's ok, someone takes care of me."
Someone pulled up in front of her and clamped a forceful hand on her interrogator, withdrawing him so swiftly that she could hear the subtle plash of his heels skidding over puddles. He gave a squeak of protest, devoid of fear but full of indignation. It seemed as if he had been caught doing something wrong, and now a superior was roughly yanking him away form the scene of his misdoing with words of reprimand. She knew, because it had happened to her so many times when she had resorted to taking display foods and had been discovered by the merchant. She would have done that today, but it was too drippy for perishables to be parked outside, within arm's reach of a filthy urchin that had learned slovenliness got you chased out of stores. That was street trash's lot in life, to expect that all forces, human or nature, would work against you.
A wet clink brought her attention to a yellow bit wobbling in uneven circles upon the dampened pavement. It was the only shiny thing in the vicinity. Her hand darted out of her tattered cloak, draped over her prominent shoulder blades like a cowl of sackcloth. She felt her fingers closing over the coin, the eager grab scraping her already scabbed knuckles over the grainy surface of her patch of concrete. She tightened her fist, chalky with the filth that had accumulated over her fair skin over her uncleanly life, over the gold that had been warmed by being in the stranger's pocket, close to his own body, which was undoubtedly far drier than her own.
She looked up in an almost primal glee, assured in her childlike expectancy that the face she would see would have kindly eyes, a gentle smile, and an aura ringing the head of an angel, quite possibly her savior. In her elation she dropped her recently endowed alms. It scooted down the length of her ashen and sodden knees, clattering melodiously somewhere close to her ankle. The spirited commotion emphasized the chilly expression of the person before her, unperturbed and overall plain, save for the lofty height. One of his gloved hands held an umbrella over the heads of himself and the boy frolicking happily in collected rainwater at his feet, the other was stuck in his pocket in casual standing. After casting her one more disinterested, if not slightly empathetic glance, he steered the other child by the shoulder back onto the path of strategically placed flagstones, a road with drainage gutters pitted into either side.
She retreated back into her fetal position and retrieved the money by her calloused feet, deciding that tomorrow she would go see if the people in Arni could be as generous.
* * * (Ok. I've actually written and finished a number of fics, but I've been too lazy to post any of them. So. hello, I'm trying again.)
Author's notes: I guess everyone can figure out whom this is about . . . I've reverted to my one page format, as if anyone could tell, and I'm thoroughly disgruntled about the pen name change. There may be 3 lower case tami's in fanfic.net, but they say number of stories posted makes a difference. I checked; I'm the last lowercase tami, with 13 stories; the other two have 1. *shrug* They must be in their twenties or something. . . I'm thinking of changing my pen name, but I'd like to do that and keep my old account at the same time. Does anyone know how to do this? If you do, please tell me how to in an email or review.
Finally, leave a review if you could. I'd like to see if anyone could guess all three CC appearances in this fic. (Although I admit it's not all that difficult.) Thanks.
By tami(3)
It was raining. In Termina's transition of winter to spring, the precipitation never ceased to flood down from the overcast of clouds, surly mountains tinted with the ominous gray of unshed torrents.
Right now was no storm, but it was bad enough. A misted drizzle of ice water dusted pedestrians whose business could not wait until after the nippy bite of rainfall, just light enough not to freeze into sleet, subsided. They were fast-paced; their steps were brisk and made it look as they were gliding over the sodden pavement. With shiny slickers pulled over their heads and their arms tucked around themselves for warmth, they kept their line of vision rigidly directed to what was exactly in front of them. Few spared a glance for what appeared to a bundle of rags thoughtlessly discarded by a stone-block wall.
It wasn't, but for all it did it might as well have been a mound of useless refuse. Not once did it lift up its nodding head to meet the sparing looks that varied from sympathy to disdain. As long as no one approached the child, it was perfectly content to survive in its quiet, almost nonexistent way as most of the populace chose to forgo noticing the diminutive item of street trash. Commiseration did nothing, after all. None offered solace and salvation for something such as a forgotten orphan languishing in a corner.
"Hi!"
The misplaced girl barely past infancy cringed at the sudden interruption of her blank life. She raised her face slightly in instinctive response to startling greeting, but she had long ago learned to trust no one and turned away just in time not to meet the interloper's eyes.
"Hello, hello? Are you hungry? I sure am! I can't wait to go home, I'm cold too! Where're your mom and dad? Are you like me? I don't have any, so I'm an orphan, but that's ok, someone takes care of me."
Someone pulled up in front of her and clamped a forceful hand on her interrogator, withdrawing him so swiftly that she could hear the subtle plash of his heels skidding over puddles. He gave a squeak of protest, devoid of fear but full of indignation. It seemed as if he had been caught doing something wrong, and now a superior was roughly yanking him away form the scene of his misdoing with words of reprimand. She knew, because it had happened to her so many times when she had resorted to taking display foods and had been discovered by the merchant. She would have done that today, but it was too drippy for perishables to be parked outside, within arm's reach of a filthy urchin that had learned slovenliness got you chased out of stores. That was street trash's lot in life, to expect that all forces, human or nature, would work against you.
A wet clink brought her attention to a yellow bit wobbling in uneven circles upon the dampened pavement. It was the only shiny thing in the vicinity. Her hand darted out of her tattered cloak, draped over her prominent shoulder blades like a cowl of sackcloth. She felt her fingers closing over the coin, the eager grab scraping her already scabbed knuckles over the grainy surface of her patch of concrete. She tightened her fist, chalky with the filth that had accumulated over her fair skin over her uncleanly life, over the gold that had been warmed by being in the stranger's pocket, close to his own body, which was undoubtedly far drier than her own.
She looked up in an almost primal glee, assured in her childlike expectancy that the face she would see would have kindly eyes, a gentle smile, and an aura ringing the head of an angel, quite possibly her savior. In her elation she dropped her recently endowed alms. It scooted down the length of her ashen and sodden knees, clattering melodiously somewhere close to her ankle. The spirited commotion emphasized the chilly expression of the person before her, unperturbed and overall plain, save for the lofty height. One of his gloved hands held an umbrella over the heads of himself and the boy frolicking happily in collected rainwater at his feet, the other was stuck in his pocket in casual standing. After casting her one more disinterested, if not slightly empathetic glance, he steered the other child by the shoulder back onto the path of strategically placed flagstones, a road with drainage gutters pitted into either side.
She retreated back into her fetal position and retrieved the money by her calloused feet, deciding that tomorrow she would go see if the people in Arni could be as generous.
* * * (Ok. I've actually written and finished a number of fics, but I've been too lazy to post any of them. So. hello, I'm trying again.)
Author's notes: I guess everyone can figure out whom this is about . . . I've reverted to my one page format, as if anyone could tell, and I'm thoroughly disgruntled about the pen name change. There may be 3 lower case tami's in fanfic.net, but they say number of stories posted makes a difference. I checked; I'm the last lowercase tami, with 13 stories; the other two have 1. *shrug* They must be in their twenties or something. . . I'm thinking of changing my pen name, but I'd like to do that and keep my old account at the same time. Does anyone know how to do this? If you do, please tell me how to in an email or review.
Finally, leave a review if you could. I'd like to see if anyone could guess all three CC appearances in this fic. (Although I admit it's not all that difficult.) Thanks.