
Ver'svesh arrived back at the Refugee camp. Her return seemed to illicit a number of questionable gazes from the other refugees. Many had a look of earnest envy, that seemed to suggest a sort of jealousy of what she came in wearing.Â
Brown clothes, simple - but clean, and made of a quality hempen. It was soft, and seemed to fit her form well - loosely covering her and showing little to no skin. The new worker's clothes set her apart for the moment from the other begger's of the town.Â
"Did you hit it big?" one would ask, of which she would shake her head. She looked around somewhat nervously, looking down at the pile of dirty clothes in her hands. This outfit that she carried was of the same vein as the others of town - a leather vest, cloth undershirt, and long baggy pants. A single tooth for a necklace.Â
She seemed to have a sad look on her face as she kept her view down, but once more she shook her head, leaning down, she placed the bag of clothes on the ground. The rattle of the gil would attract just a little more attention to her.
RAising her hands in front of her, she would grasp hold of nothing in front of her, one hand higher than the other. She would made small, sweeping gestures with her hands, and then go down to her hands and knees.Â
She places her hand over the floor, making it flat and making circular motions above the ground. and then she tapped at the clothes on her body, as well as the bag of gil to her side. The others seemed to give a nod of understanding - work for gil is not unusual, but it can be hard to find a willing employer.Â
"I understand. Then, I believe you have something for us?" One man with dark tanned skin would ask. He crossed his arms over his chest as he stared her down, and his gaze danced down to the bag of gil atop the clothes.Â
Standing up, Ver'svesh picked up the clothes and gil. Reaching in, she pulls out a majority of the coins. She walks forward to one man, in particular.Â
This man had the look of a leader. His hair was kept short-cut yet still bushy, his clothes just as dilapidated as anyone elses. His eyes had a piercing sort of look to them, crimson irises and steady gaze. His eyes moved to her hands as he watched her offer up the money. He gives a simple sigh.Â
"We'll make sure it's put to good use." the man would stay lightly, "At the least, the kids will not have to go hungry." He paused, looking over her clothes. "Consider selling those to have more to offer to the others. You do not have a need for them."Â
...
Ver'svesh seemed to give a sad look as she looked down at the clothes. Her head dipped down, her eyes going soft as she looked at the fabrics. A memory plays in her mind as she is forced to shake her head, ever so faintly. Unable to accept such a lot, she denies it.Â
"No?" The man would say, knitting his brows at her. "Don't be selfish. -All- of the members of this place need money for food, not just a fancy set of clothes!" He'd demand, but Ver'svesh seemed to be hesitant even then.Â
She shook her head again. She patted at the clothes, and motioned to herself. Instead, she reached for the bag, and handed it over.Â
There is a moment's silence as the man eyes the money. He narrows his eyes, "You know what this means, right?" He'd ask, glaring at her. "Should you choose to just give up this gil instead of the clothes, we wont' be using it to feed you tonight. You understand?" He'd say, leaning forward a fair bit. "You will go hungry so that others can eat, for your greed."Â
She seemed to understand. She nodded her head. This was an accepted inevitability of her greed - to not be allowed to eat. Those who do not contribute in such communities do not eat. That is a simple fact of life. She picked her clothes back up, walking away.Â
[...]
Later that night, she would already be wearing her own normal clothes. She laid awake within her mat on the floor, an exhausted pillow seemed to offer little protection from the ground. The dirtied clothes seemed to be heavier than her other set of clothes that she had recently recieved - weighing down her shoulders even as she laid out on the ground.Â
She glances to the left. The clothes he had recieved from the Pathfinders - more accurately, as a gift from Laproa Bell, for her hard work, it was, in its own way, a treasure. She closed her eyes, remembering it all too well.Â
'Consider it a bonus for the hard work.' The kindness shown would not soon be forgotten. And she could not well just throw away something that was given specifically for it.
Brown clothes, simple - but clean, and made of a quality hempen. It was soft, and seemed to fit her form well - loosely covering her and showing little to no skin. The new worker's clothes set her apart for the moment from the other begger's of the town.Â
"Did you hit it big?" one would ask, of which she would shake her head. She looked around somewhat nervously, looking down at the pile of dirty clothes in her hands. This outfit that she carried was of the same vein as the others of town - a leather vest, cloth undershirt, and long baggy pants. A single tooth for a necklace.Â
She seemed to have a sad look on her face as she kept her view down, but once more she shook her head, leaning down, she placed the bag of clothes on the ground. The rattle of the gil would attract just a little more attention to her.
RAising her hands in front of her, she would grasp hold of nothing in front of her, one hand higher than the other. She would made small, sweeping gestures with her hands, and then go down to her hands and knees.Â
She places her hand over the floor, making it flat and making circular motions above the ground. and then she tapped at the clothes on her body, as well as the bag of gil to her side. The others seemed to give a nod of understanding - work for gil is not unusual, but it can be hard to find a willing employer.Â
"I understand. Then, I believe you have something for us?" One man with dark tanned skin would ask. He crossed his arms over his chest as he stared her down, and his gaze danced down to the bag of gil atop the clothes.Â
Standing up, Ver'svesh picked up the clothes and gil. Reaching in, she pulls out a majority of the coins. She walks forward to one man, in particular.Â
This man had the look of a leader. His hair was kept short-cut yet still bushy, his clothes just as dilapidated as anyone elses. His eyes had a piercing sort of look to them, crimson irises and steady gaze. His eyes moved to her hands as he watched her offer up the money. He gives a simple sigh.Â
"We'll make sure it's put to good use." the man would stay lightly, "At the least, the kids will not have to go hungry." He paused, looking over her clothes. "Consider selling those to have more to offer to the others. You do not have a need for them."Â
...
Ver'svesh seemed to give a sad look as she looked down at the clothes. Her head dipped down, her eyes going soft as she looked at the fabrics. A memory plays in her mind as she is forced to shake her head, ever so faintly. Unable to accept such a lot, she denies it.Â
"No?" The man would say, knitting his brows at her. "Don't be selfish. -All- of the members of this place need money for food, not just a fancy set of clothes!" He'd demand, but Ver'svesh seemed to be hesitant even then.Â
She shook her head again. She patted at the clothes, and motioned to herself. Instead, she reached for the bag, and handed it over.Â
There is a moment's silence as the man eyes the money. He narrows his eyes, "You know what this means, right?" He'd ask, glaring at her. "Should you choose to just give up this gil instead of the clothes, we wont' be using it to feed you tonight. You understand?" He'd say, leaning forward a fair bit. "You will go hungry so that others can eat, for your greed."Â
She seemed to understand. She nodded her head. This was an accepted inevitability of her greed - to not be allowed to eat. Those who do not contribute in such communities do not eat. That is a simple fact of life. She picked her clothes back up, walking away.Â
[...]
Later that night, she would already be wearing her own normal clothes. She laid awake within her mat on the floor, an exhausted pillow seemed to offer little protection from the ground. The dirtied clothes seemed to be heavier than her other set of clothes that she had recently recieved - weighing down her shoulders even as she laid out on the ground.Â
She glances to the left. The clothes he had recieved from the Pathfinders - more accurately, as a gift from Laproa Bell, for her hard work, it was, in its own way, a treasure. She closed her eyes, remembering it all too well.Â
'Consider it a bonus for the hard work.' The kindness shown would not soon be forgotten. And she could not well just throw away something that was given specifically for it.