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<blockquote data-quote="PhoenixAsh" data-source="post: 3833182" data-attributes="member: 18230"><p><strong>Jenna, Human Hexblade</strong></p><p></p><p>OOC: I'll take <span style="color: salmon">salmon</span>, hope I don't have to ruin a perfectly good spoon to claim it! <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite2" alt=";)" title="Wink ;)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=";)" /> </p><p></p><p>The heat doesn't bother Jenna. The city guards do.</p><p></p><p>It's an unpleasant realization that she can't meet their gaze, and that her pace quickens as she passes them. The heat is nothing. Her armor is lighter than theirs. She's worked harder in worse heat, even as a little girl. It’s been her constant companion for the past five years, locked away from society.</p><p></p><p>She wants to draw up her hood, but she realizes the odd behavior would only draw more attention in this heat. She wants to run. She doesn't want any of them to stop her, question her, or worse.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: salmon"><em>"Why would they?"</em></span> she reasons mentally. <span style="color: salmon"><em>"I've served my time! I'm free now. Get a hold of yourself, idiot! What was that!?"</em></span></p><p></p><p>There's a crash. She flings herself against a wall, looking around wildly. One of the produce vendors has dropped a crate, spilling its contents. She breathes deeply, pretends that she is taking a break in the shade - getting out of the oppressive heat. She watches the vendor recover his wares. She shudders. It’s probably her fault, she's losing control. Bad things happen to people when she loses control.</p><p></p><p>She batters back the demons of fear and wild imagination with the cudgel of reason and discipline. She straightens, correcting her posture to something a drill sergeant would find no fault with. Her expression blanks, then turns to an easy smile as she emerges from the shade with a confident stride.</p><p></p><p>A casual glance at his wares show its quality, growing up on a farm gave her an eye for such things. Fresh fruit is a luxury not often afforded to prisoners. She picks out three of the choices samples from his selection.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: salmon">"Where were these grown?"</span> She turns a plum delicately between her fingers. <span style="color: salmon">"Good hands tended these. Very fine, how much are you charging?"</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="PhoenixAsh, post: 3833182, member: 18230"] [b]Jenna, Human Hexblade[/b] OOC: I'll take [color=salmon]salmon[/color], hope I don't have to ruin a perfectly good spoon to claim it! ;) The heat doesn't bother Jenna. The city guards do. It's an unpleasant realization that she can't meet their gaze, and that her pace quickens as she passes them. The heat is nothing. Her armor is lighter than theirs. She's worked harder in worse heat, even as a little girl. It’s been her constant companion for the past five years, locked away from society. She wants to draw up her hood, but she realizes the odd behavior would only draw more attention in this heat. She wants to run. She doesn't want any of them to stop her, question her, or worse. [color=salmon][I]"Why would they?"[/I][/color] she reasons mentally. [color=salmon][I]"I've served my time! I'm free now. Get a hold of yourself, idiot! What was that!?"[/I][/color] There's a crash. She flings herself against a wall, looking around wildly. One of the produce vendors has dropped a crate, spilling its contents. She breathes deeply, pretends that she is taking a break in the shade - getting out of the oppressive heat. She watches the vendor recover his wares. She shudders. It’s probably her fault, she's losing control. Bad things happen to people when she loses control. She batters back the demons of fear and wild imagination with the cudgel of reason and discipline. She straightens, correcting her posture to something a drill sergeant would find no fault with. Her expression blanks, then turns to an easy smile as she emerges from the shade with a confident stride. A casual glance at his wares show its quality, growing up on a farm gave her an eye for such things. Fresh fruit is a luxury not often afforded to prisoners. She picks out three of the choices samples from his selection. [color=salmon]"Where were these grown?"[/color] She turns a plum delicately between her fingers. [color=salmon]"Good hands tended these. Very fine, how much are you charging?"[/color] [/QUOTE]
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