REALLY good writing day today. I wasn’t sure when I first started – some scenes are just resistant until you actually get a groove going. And then Marina started being protectively sassy and it just went off. You go, momma witch!
Word Count: 2376
“Miss Fehrliss,” one of them greeted, offering a polite bow. It made the scabbard of his short sword upset the back of his surcoat, and she imagined a short little tail growing there instead.
“Steward,” she greeted back, not returning the bow. They would forgive her for it; she had a baby strapped to her, after all. “As I said, it’ll be a moment before you can browse.”
“We aren’t here to browse, miss,” the second steward said, all business and decorum. Gods bless him, he could barely be over seventeen years old. “We’re here to talk about -”
“You’re in a market, gents,” Marina chided them. “Bold of you to announce you don’t intend to buy anything.”
“Miss Fehrliss, please,” the first man cut in, holding out a hand to shush his companion and tilting his head at her with a faint, friendly smile. “We have been trying to be respectful of the situation you’ve found yourself in, but it is difficult for us to stand by while you struggle so.”
“Struggle?” Marina echoed, looking and sounding scandalized. She put her hand on her cheek and tilted her head. “To what struggles are you referring, dear steward?”
To her surprise, the man understood her sarcasm for what it was, and had the presence of mind to look apologetic. “I mean no insult, miss. But you are still running a simple market stall to make ends meet, and living in a small hovel that is in no way fit to raise a child. Especially one like-”
“Don’t talk to me about my child, unless it’s to tell me how cute his little round cheeks are.”