Alana shrunk behind her father at the attention. Bertrand just gave the Blakes an apologetic smile and joked, "You wouldn't think I've been tellin' her Clover's going to hit her or somethin'. Alana, look at the girl. Do you really think you need to hide behind me?"
Ever-so-cautiously, Alana leant to the side, looking out from behind her father. The Black girl was a bit short for her age, and her dress was a bit big for her. Her purple eyes -- while perhaps not intelligent -- were alert as they studied Clover's face for a few tense seconds. "Hello," she said quietly, finally breaking the silence. She shuffled out a few ilms from her father's back and stared around the awkwardly, floundering for words to say.
Salvation came in the form of her father. "Alright, then. I'll get the rest of the stuff in. Play nice now, Alana."
As Bertrand wandered out the door, Alana couldn't help feeling a little betrayed. Her silent gaze followed him out of the store. It wasn't quite a glare; it was too mournful.
Her father gone, she turned back to the family and did her best to curtsy. It was an awkward motion; one that she obviously had little practice in doing. "Uh... Nice t'meet you," she mumbles, looking at the ground rather than facing the people before her. Her speech was a strange mishmash of her father's rural Gridanian accent and her mother's Limsa Lominsan brogue. Of course, her own bashfulness made it even less likely she'd correctly pronounce words. And of course, none of this mattered to Alana. "Um..." She continued her study of the floor and the toes of her leather boots. "I... I help on the farm 'n' stuff. Sometimes I like t'cook stuff."
Ever-so-cautiously, Alana leant to the side, looking out from behind her father. The Black girl was a bit short for her age, and her dress was a bit big for her. Her purple eyes -- while perhaps not intelligent -- were alert as they studied Clover's face for a few tense seconds. "Hello," she said quietly, finally breaking the silence. She shuffled out a few ilms from her father's back and stared around the awkwardly, floundering for words to say.
Salvation came in the form of her father. "Alright, then. I'll get the rest of the stuff in. Play nice now, Alana."
As Bertrand wandered out the door, Alana couldn't help feeling a little betrayed. Her silent gaze followed him out of the store. It wasn't quite a glare; it was too mournful.
Her father gone, she turned back to the family and did her best to curtsy. It was an awkward motion; one that she obviously had little practice in doing. "Uh... Nice t'meet you," she mumbles, looking at the ground rather than facing the people before her. Her speech was a strange mishmash of her father's rural Gridanian accent and her mother's Limsa Lominsan brogue. Of course, her own bashfulness made it even less likely she'd correctly pronounce words. And of course, none of this mattered to Alana. "Um..." She continued her study of the floor and the toes of her leather boots. "I... I help on the farm 'n' stuff. Sometimes I like t'cook stuff."
RP Profile | Characters: Alana Black (Balmung)
