04-13-2011, 05:36 PM
The slums were home. Not the kind of home she had imagined when she was a child, daydreaming about how wonderful life could be. Mirela Beckett dreamed of meeting her father and living a privelaged life just like the rest of the upper class. Every time she picked a pocket of one of them, she'd go through their purse and see what else they kept in it. She learned a lot about the "Uppers" (as she called any member of the upper class) from lifting their purse. Mirela used this information every day of her life while she was on high street in the marketplace. She would dress as an upper and walk around, taking things from the privelaged. If she was ever caught, she was sure to be killed, but they would have to catch her first.
Well, after a long day of cutpurse, Mirela walked back home with a bottle of cheap whiskey. It was half full, the other half had already gone into her bloodstream. She sang an old folktale of her mother's people. It was a lullaby her mother had sung to her on nights Mirela was afraid to sleep. She remembered it through sheer force of will. If she ever had to take care of a kid, that's what she'd sing to it. Though, children were a scary thought.
She stumbled through the slums, taking a detour past her favourite places. She didn't really have anywhere to be any time soon, so the took small breaks to drink the whiskey in her bottle. Even drinking alone, she had a good time. That was until the end of the night when she ended up alone.
Mirela sat down on the stoop of a house, leaning against their railing. She wanted to go to a friend's house, but she couldn't figure out where she was going at this point. The woman just sat down for a moment, trying to gather her bearings. She adjusted her corset, feeling very trapped by it. Her clothing made her look like she should be with all of the uppers, rather than stealing from them. To anyone watching, an upper must have lost her way in the darkness.
Well, after a long day of cutpurse, Mirela walked back home with a bottle of cheap whiskey. It was half full, the other half had already gone into her bloodstream. She sang an old folktale of her mother's people. It was a lullaby her mother had sung to her on nights Mirela was afraid to sleep. She remembered it through sheer force of will. If she ever had to take care of a kid, that's what she'd sing to it. Though, children were a scary thought.
She stumbled through the slums, taking a detour past her favourite places. She didn't really have anywhere to be any time soon, so the took small breaks to drink the whiskey in her bottle. Even drinking alone, she had a good time. That was until the end of the night when she ended up alone.
Mirela sat down on the stoop of a house, leaning against their railing. She wanted to go to a friend's house, but she couldn't figure out where she was going at this point. The woman just sat down for a moment, trying to gather her bearings. She adjusted her corset, feeling very trapped by it. Her clothing made her look like she should be with all of the uppers, rather than stealing from them. To anyone watching, an upper must have lost her way in the darkness.
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