Snippet #1458107

Lamia lounged about her thread bare couch like a lazy cat, chocolate and honey colored hair fanned out behind her, one leg hanging off the side. The lights in the living room were dimmed, though her emerald eyes shone vividly. What also glinted brightly was the small pile of gold pieces on the floor beside the couch, Lamia having reached a hand down to run her slender fingers through the recently stolen loot. A dreamy expression crossed her features and a low, satisfied purr rumbled in her throat. She had been napping on and off, the previous night was spent hunting through the alleys for people to con and shiny items to steal from the unexpected. The pile of gold wasn't much of a turn-out, for she had had nights where she would return home with a sack nearly full of stolen goodies, but it was better than nothing. Curious as to the time, Lamia hefted herself up and off the couch with a sigh and crossed the room to one of the windows. The wallpaper in the living room was torn in various spots, revealing older wallpaper beneath, the dingy colors eventually running together. Wood panels lined the floor, the telltale signs of wear and tear prominent.

Peering outside, she quickly realized that it was around noon. Another sigh escaped her plush lips. She didn't particularly want to go outside today, but she had made a mental note to drop by the tavern for once to see if there was anything new in the up and up of the town. Looking back to the rickety, stained coffee table in front of the couch, Lamia walked back to the center of the room to collect her belt with attached pouch and holsters, securing the belt around her waist. She then reached for her beloved pistols, "Shock" and "Awe", placing them carefully in their respective holsters. Shock on the left, Awe on the right. Bending from the waist, she leaned down and double checked the hidden slots in either boot for her daggers. They were secure, as well. Removing the thin piece of cloth that was around her wrist, Lamia threw her hair back in a pony tail, leaving her bangs to frame the sides of her face. Her outfit consisted of a jade and gold trimmed bodice, with a light brown, short-sleeved peasant blouse beneath it, and black harem-styled pants. Upon her feet were black, mid-shin length boots. Around her neck, her mother's favorite necklace, stolen out if spite. A silver key with a heart shaped handle, the handle adorned with small sapphires. Once satisfied that she had everything and was ready to go, she exited the front door and secured it.

Lamia lived in the back alleys, the slums of Carmaine. She thought it easy living there because it was a breeze bullying the other poor louts if they posed any trouble. And if they kept up, she simply rendered them unconscious or killed them, whichever suited her mood at the current time. Eventually most of the alley residents learned to leave her alone lest they wanted to wake up in a different part of town or catch a bullet between the eyes. There were still a few who would pick a fight for fun, and both Lamia and her assailant would wind up heavily scuffed, but Lamia fought dirty. Losing was not in her book. And the times she had lost, she almost always got her revenge at some point or another, biding her time. She sauntered down the street, hips swaying from side to side, her boots drumming a staccato rhythm on the cobblestone street. The houses that lined the alley were close together, one right after another, with run down wooden doors and windows covered in grime. Beggars could be seen leaned against the walls, pitifully asking for food or gold pieces, or passed out in the middle of the road from too much to drink. Those that had accumulated enough gold set up make-shift stalls to sell whatever goods they got their hands on. Street-walkers graced the alley with their presence, offering their services. The atmosphere was gloomy at best, but Lamia grew accustomed to it, having had just as gloomy of an atmosphere in the old home where she was raised.

After a little ways, Lamia reached the edge of the alley ways and turned onto the main street, focusing on the hustle bustle of children running by, people darting between this stall and that haggling prices, the smell of fruit and pastries filling her nostrils. She pushed her way through the crowd, making her way to the Comm's Arms tavern. Lamia had been by the tavern before, but never really spent an extended amount of time in it. Today, she decided, she would tavern monger for a while and listen to the gossip. The rancid smell of alcohol soon permeated her nose the closer she got to it. For a moment it brought back one of many horrid memories of when her mother would drunkenly whip her. She regretted not killing her mother, and debated on going back at some point to do just that. Snapping out of her reverie, Lamia finally approached the tavern doors and pushed them open. A cacophony of yelling assaulted her ears, emerald eyes trying to quickly take in the fight before her. A slight smirk touched her lips, Lamia loved fights. Especially big ones. In big fights she could further spread the chaos with fighting of her own, pilfering items and making off with them in the disarray. To participate, or take a seat and observe as planned? Her mind was made up for her as a mug started whirling in her direction, at her face actually, ducking just fast enough for it to fly right over her head, and into Cailen. She started to laugh at the pain Cailen was in, but was cut short due to a drunken patron in a chair beside her grabbing at one of her pistols. Lamia quickly snatched his wrist, twisting as hard as she could, and pulling back with her weight to sling him to the floor. She then took the patron's seat, both palms resting on her pistols, and propped her feet on the patron's head, digging her heels in. "I would like to know, too." Lamia said coolly in response to Cailen's statement.