DAMNED IF I YIELD AT THE END OF THE CHASE
Min hated this place. It was full of too much mirth and useless energy, bursting with people who had nothing to contribute and even less to say. It was opened by an Outlander, too, something that brought a curl to her lip. The bartenders were invaders as well, both of them loud and obnoxious in a way that immediately made her fingers twitch with the desire to slap.
She had gotten herself a drink (too bitter) and stomped over to the corner. The only reason she was here was to try and listen to the people around her. To the Naturals, to see if any of them felt the same way she did about the Outlanders. To the Outlanders, to see if they had anything of even the slightest value to talk about. So far, it was a no.
Sighing, resting her cheek on her hand and looking out over the bar, she wondered when exactly she was going to meet somebody, anybody, who was half as sensible as her. She had watched with a flat face the preparations beginning in the town for the Sparkbird, a stupid children's fable, had seen people trying to sing songs to the Luxere rather than simply forcing them closer with a rope and a sword. No one was practical. It was all sentiment over reality, a desperation to feel good over the obvious need for discussion and progress.
Frowning as she was in the corner, one hand clasped on her drink, she was trying to purposefully look as unapproachable as possible. Usually this worked, most people avoiding her. It did work, until Min shifted in her chair and knocked her knife (a small thing just for opening letters and teasing open jars, kept in her pocket by accident) from her jacket. She watched it bounce under the table and through the other side to the middle of the room.
Her facade of stoic quiet broken for just a second, she ducked under the table and reached out to grab it, her short arms struggling to quite get at it without completely losing all dignity and crawling, which she refused to do.
MIN
