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Roof |
Phia Grannett
::A girl with sharp eyes looks down her nose at you. She’s more than a little annoyed with your question, and turns her head abruptly toward the window to avoid your gaze.:: Ellen. Ellen Sophia Grannett. ::Her head snaps back and her eyes bore into yours with fierce pride.:: But I’m not a kid, eh?
Only Pop called me Ellen. ::Grins in inward amusement.:: Mum insisted on calling me Sophia, but most people know me as Phia, since it seems to be less of a mouthful.
Mum. ::She sighs and a shadow of pain passes across her face. Gathering her emotions, she shifts on the bunk, her legs tucked under her body in an attitude of defense. She studies you closely, and just as you begin to squirm uncomfortably beneath her persistent gaze, she breaks the silence.:: Mum was the daughter of a poor French merchant near Nantes. Sophia was her sister’s name, and she gave it to me when I was born to remind her of her family. ::She looks away, and a cloud of raw hate descends upon her features.:: Ellen was Pop’s mum’s name, from Southwark. He gave me the name to spite mum, she hated everything English, ‘specially him.
::Looks up at you, cocking her head sideways in a vaguely inquisitive gesture.:: Why do you want to know? ::Sighs after she realizes you’ll keep asking questions until you’re satisfied. She shrugs her shoulders with indifference.:: I’m 18, as of June 6. I was 17 when I ran away from home, so I’ve been on me own for a while.
::She untucks her legs and rises from the bunk.:: I thought looks didn’t matter here. ::She speaks with obvious contempt, misconstruing your innocent question. With a toss of her head, she turns and strides to the other side of the room.:: Appearance means nothin to me. :: At first you’re afraid she’s found reason to leave you, but you soon realize she’s merely retrieving a small, leather bound book that’s resting on the floor by the wall. She opens the worn cover, and begins to read. You watch her with interest, curious as to why a girl such as herself would be reading John Keats. She looks up and you appreciate her full features for the first time. She has penetrating blue eyes, so light and clear they look almost sinister, but a nearly imperceptible glow softens her cold gaze and you realize she’s not as indifferent to the world as she would have you believe. She has high, hollow cheekbones, and eyelashes so pale she has the appearance of being constantly startled. Her buttery-golden hair is swept up in a knot and wrapped carefully in a kerchief for practical reasons, but you suppose it would be quite lovely if she ever let it fall freely around her shoulders. She has small ears, a tiny impish nose dotted with freckles, and a pale French complexion. Her body is slim and lithe, and you suspect she’s been in a few skirmishes from the purple bruises on her arms and legs. Her average frame of 5’6’’ is clothed by a full, navy blue skirt and a slightly ragged blouse, and the pale green kerchief gives her the look of an English peasant. She points to a dog-eared page in the book and you realize she wishes to recite a line.:: Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. ::She carefully closes the book and steps lightly back to her bunk.:: Mum gave me this book when I was 12. ::Her point given, she smiles at you smugly and returns to her seat on the bunk.::
::Rolls her eyes impatiently, then grins sardonically. She’s decided to play along, if only to get rid of you.:: I’m an easy enough girl, once you get to know me. Otherwise I’m stubborn and indifferent, and…..::still smiling:: a general realist. ::Chuckling softly to herself.:: Americans are far too optimistic for their own good.
London. ::She looks past you, her eyes glazing over with memories.:: In Southwark, near the Thames. I ran away from Pop, mostly, tired of enduring his drunken lectures, and the accompanied beatings.
::Thinks for a moment and smiles.:: I have a brother, Jamie, over at Washington Heights. He followed me all the way from Southwark after I left with Jake… ::Halts mid-sentence, her eyes darting to the floor:: …he’s my only family now. ::smiles a bit and looks up:: He’s a dear boy, he is. ::Falls silent and you cough politely to remind her of your presence.:: What? Oh, right, friends. Alicorne and Gavin tolerate me, and Liese has seemed to adopted me as an older sister. ::chuckles:: Though I don’t mind a bit.
::Her eyes grow dark and she shudders with disgust.:: No. Not since Jake… ::frowns grimly:: …who practically tried to kill me last time I saw him. ::shakes her head:: Unfortunately, that particular incident made me indebted to a certain Alex Lourenco, whom I would rather not discuss. ::Crosses her arms and glares at you.::
::Frowns.:: What does anybody do around here? ::shrugs:: I eat, sleep, endure the factory each day, everything a working girl’s supposed to do. ::Raises her eyebrows:: Anything I should be doing?
::Laughs at your silly question, but complies with an answer anyhow.:: A couple of pennies, maybe? I never saw the use in pockets anyway, if you can’t afford anything to carry, why bother?
::She nods to her lap, indicating the book from which she previously recited.:: I like to read, poetry or most anything. Keats ‘specially, since mum liked him so much.:: She looks up and glances pointedly toward the open door:: Aren’t you leaving now? |
