"Me name's Minniver or Minn... Oiy! don't you be callin' me
Minni, I'll slice ya soon as look at ya!"
All of five foot, full of spit and vinegar. Lithe body most oft attired in trappings more
befitting a cabin boy.The knife cut chestnut hair, might have been pretty once. Fingers
flexflex. A gamin smile, the twinkle of pixieish eyes. "Well yer pockets are warm
enough, ent they?" She shoves the hands deep into her own big pockets.
"Yeah I lives here abouts, wot's it to ya? Me mum were a prossie an'
me da', well, 'oo knows? 'oo cares? figured I'd best be
goin' 'fore she turned me out. 'Ent 'bout to 'ave sum ol'
fat merchant gruntin' over me bones!" For all this bravado, is that a hint of
pain in those young, ancient eyes?
"Cor, go on, mate, aint nuffin' wrong with me, life's dandy as
candy." The fluttering coy lashes don't quite fit the words that come next.
"Yeah, so's I nicked 'is bloody cat, so wot? coddling a tidbit like
that....bloody waste of meat, if ya ask me"
She's slipped around the corner into that dark alley, a furtive look over her
shoulder, as the filthy, torn mattress is moved, another backward glance,she slithers
through the broken basement window, grimy fingers slip out to pull the mattress back.
Pickpocket