They have been "brat" their entire life. Or, when called to with less harsh tones, "brainless". They were intelligent, they tried to be kind, but always the same cruel words. As they wandered the world they met a band a travelers who helped them find a new name, and took the traveler into their arms, helping heal a broken spirit. -- Fighting Fit
There are houses with too many children. Spaces too small for the people occupying them. Nevertheless, those spaces can still contain love. Worse than that are the spaces with too many things and not enough love. In those spaces, where appearances are more important than wellbeing, neglect is an atmosphere. In such places, a kind heart is never seen.
Call her Brat. Her household blood relatives did. Brat Brainless Bringingshametothe Slatemane-Family.
Therefore, it's no surprise that she took what she could get and left at the earliest opportunity. Her first act of stealing from the rich was taking some of the things they prized but rarely looked at from their hiding places. She funded her equipment with their sale. A lifetime of sneaking around and taking things that wouldn't be missed lead her to be an excellent rogue.
Pick on those with fancy clothes. The ones with their noses in the air. The ones who glittered. And always gift to those who were worse off.
There was a special kind of elation from buying a meal for some poor beggar down on his luck. Or renting a bereft family a luxurious stay in some swanky hotel. Little gifts to begin with, and then setting them forward on a better path.
Her household blood relatives would have hated that. Disruption of the natural order, this; setting up a dependency, that; enabling freeloaders and scammers, blablabla. A pox to all of it. Money was only a means of keeping score for them. It was life and death for everyone else.
And then one day she woke up with a Wizard in her hidey hold.
"Nineteen," said the Elf. "Still technically a child. And yet you've become notorious in this city. They're calling you the Rat of Glitter Row. At nineteen."
"Brat," she corrected. "They call me Brat."
"Oh, they don't know your name. You've never been caught, never been held for interrogation. The common folk absolutely love you, of course." Dark brown eyes evaluated her. Appraised her. She wasn't used to being valued like that. "Who called you 'brat'?"
Shrug. "The people in the house I started in. I was always Brat." She made mock of the fancy woman's inevitable speech. "You are a brat. Brainless! Bringing shame to the Slatemane family!"
"Ah," said the Wizard. "The Slatemanes. Yes. I've been meaning to give them a kharmic realignment."
Kharmic realignment. That was such a Penny Player phrase. She'd seen enough of those in her early afternoons, plucking purses from the overstuffed and inebriated. Brat laughed. "Who d'you think you are? Wraithvine?"
The Wizard smiled and offered a hand. "Very pleased to meet you. Yes. I do believe I am still Wraithvine."
No. It was all wrong. The players acting like hir always wore a straw wig dusted with goldish affect. The wizarding robes were every colour of the rainbow and beset with stars and glittery glass 'gems'. This Wraithvine had copper-brown hair and a coat-o-pockets that had faded out of a dull brown hue.
It was the wear in hir clothes that made it sink in for Brat. This was someone who would get clothes for their longevity potential and wear them out. These were the kind of clothes that even an Elf would pass down to their grandchildren, yet it had been worn thin by the same pair of hands making the same adjustments for millennia.
Brat asked the next logical question. "Am I in trouble with you?"
"You seem to be setting the balance very well," said Wraithvine. "I would like to join with you and set more balances. Further and wider than this one city. You can find a better name, and greater value for yourself."
"I still get to shame the Slatemanes?"
"Until they dare not show their faces for a hundred years."
Brat liked that idea.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / oocoskun]
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