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Post by Anya Savicheva on May 25, 2011 18:58:36 GMT -8
It was ironic that the more money you had, the more careless you were with it.
If one were to really look in the area where Anya had occupied herself within the St. Paul’s District, it wouldn’t be all that hard to notice that she was out of place. It was as if she were a clown trying to blend in with a group of dogs, she stuck out more than she had intended to. This led to many certain types of stares as she walked around, eyes usually saying one thing: “Should she be here?” By all means, she shouldn’t have. However, years of hanging around the wealthy had taught her something: They were easy to steal from. One would think that attempting a theft being the sort of person she was within a crowd of these certain people was much too obvious. However, that was the beauty of it. A wealthy man looked upon a girl of her stature suspiciously, expecting her to try to steal his purse. And what if she didn’t play to that expectation? Eventually people would stop paying attention to you. That’s when people didn’t expect it.
It was even easier when you begged. And it was even easier than that when you were a foreigner that begged.
“Ya plohoiy,” she began, stopping a passer by. Grabbing his arm, she squeezed on the hem of his jacket, looking up at him desperately. He seemed frightened, even disgusted, and tried pulling away somewhat with a look that wondered if she were crazy, and if her hands would leave a mark on the velvet of his clothing. “Pozhaluiysta, pomogite mne.” Another squeeze on his arm. She bit her lip, offering her palm to him.
“I don’t understand you,” the man said to her, grabbing at the wrist that belonged to the hand that tugged upon his sleeve so desperately. “I have to be somewhere,” he added more urgently, when she seemed to not be understanding.
“Pozhaluiysta,” she urged again, swallowing hard. He was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second. She gave another hard gulp as she pretended to struggle with her words. “Please… am poor, need help. Do understand?” She urged her palm closer to his face, as she began to smile. Passersby had begun to stare at the two, and the man would have given the clothes off of his back in order for him to be left in peace. Beggars never used to be this pushy, he thought. Anya continued to whine, muttering “please” over and over again. In frustration, he roughly pulled her hands from him and glared.
“Good God, fine,” he spat. His eyes were like daggers at this point, looking upon the girl disdainfully as he reached for his purse. He produced a single coin and threw it at her feet. Anya scrambled to the ground, grabbing it and holding to her chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. He began to leave again as she pounced upon him again, wrapping her arms around him as she covered his face with kisses.
“Bless you!” she exclaimed heavily. That was enough for her victim. Without ado, he took her by the arms and threw her to the ground as roughly as he could. She merely stared at him, affronted, as he straightened his jacket and walked away. She noticed a small content smile upon his countenance as he was rid of her. She smirked inwardly and began to walk away, her palm wrapped tightly around the leather of the man’s purse.
Anya waded away from the crowd of people and into a secluded alley. As she opened the man’s purse, she idly wondered how long it would take him to notice the part of him that was missing. She counted the gold inside, wanting to scream at the bundle she had claimed for herself. “Anya,” she muttered proudly, bouncing on her heels as she stuffed the purse into the breast of her shirt. “We will not go hungry for while.” She sighed happily, leaning against the cool, brick wall of the alley as a small smile tugged on the corner of her lips.
Life was so good sometimes.
((I'm sorry this sucks so hard. D:))
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