The boy refused to lift his eyes from the ground, submitting without effort to Annabelle's extortion, all flaky meekness, trying to shrink into the background when no one looked at him and when Annabelle finally turned to him he surrendered his money with little more than a meep, and with no protest at all.
"Yeah, yeah," Kit rolled her eyes at his apology and crossed her arms. Watched him scamper out the door and toward the exit and huffed. She turned back toward the dart board, tucked the dull knife away in a safe place and pulled out another. She drew back her hand and threw, and this one too missed hte main target, landing against the safety wall behind it. The tavern seemed happy to fall back into boredom, turning their attentions inwards and leaving Kit once more alone in a crowd of people.
Kit had endured worse embarrassment. And besides, she couldn't be known as a girl who would be driven away by a little shame. Such a thing implied weakness, and after what had happened on the second Kit knew that she would not feel safe until she had cultivated a certain image with the patron of the Spot as a girl to not approach. "He's sweet on you, isn't he?" She heard Annabelle behind her, and Kit peered over her shoulder, eyes narrow.
"Is he?" She considered. The boy had complimented her when she'd done badly, refused to meet her eyes, always had that damnable cheer about him. Kit shrugged, turned around. "Don't suppose it matters either way." She made another throw, fast and thoughtless, and this one landed very near the center.
For a long moment, Kit felt the barmaid's eyes on her back. ". . . Suppose not," Annabelle said, turned around and left Kit to her practice.
"Yeah, yeah," Kit rolled her eyes at his apology and crossed her arms. Watched him scamper out the door and toward the exit and huffed. She turned back toward the dart board, tucked the dull knife away in a safe place and pulled out another. She drew back her hand and threw, and this one too missed hte main target, landing against the safety wall behind it. The tavern seemed happy to fall back into boredom, turning their attentions inwards and leaving Kit once more alone in a crowd of people.
Kit had endured worse embarrassment. And besides, she couldn't be known as a girl who would be driven away by a little shame. Such a thing implied weakness, and after what had happened on the second Kit knew that she would not feel safe until she had cultivated a certain image with the patron of the Spot as a girl to not approach. "He's sweet on you, isn't he?" She heard Annabelle behind her, and Kit peered over her shoulder, eyes narrow.
"Is he?" She considered. The boy had complimented her when she'd done badly, refused to meet her eyes, always had that damnable cheer about him. Kit shrugged, turned around. "Don't suppose it matters either way." She made another throw, fast and thoughtless, and this one landed very near the center.
For a long moment, Kit felt the barmaid's eyes on her back. ". . . Suppose not," Annabelle said, turned around and left Kit to her practice.
