Surly Fighting Girls and Salty Sea Slugs

The first thing that crossed Katsue's mind when she set foot on land was how blindingly sunny Unda was. The light blazed down from the sky and was reflected on the water, so no matter where you looked you had to squint your eyes. Everything in the open seemed to waver, and the puddles near the docking bay were liquid gold; shining so bright as they were. For someone like her, who was more of a night bird, it was far from paradise.

However, the locals didn't consider their country the haven it was cracked up to be either. They knew better. Most of the undan territory, especially the port towns, was home to insidious activities. Piracy sat on top of the pyramid, in cahoots with the black market. Then, there were the bandits, the thieves, the common thugs...

It only got worse in the poorer regions. Felons hid less and less, safe places decreased and living conditions became pitiful. Houses were second to filthy and a stench ran about town, partly masked by the salty air. That was the second thing Katsue noticed.

Nonetheless, her coming her wasn't an accident. She had travelled here willingly because of the high crime rate. Well, that and the advantage of local travel. Now that she had left Hajime's side, her options were limited. Unda was by far the best choice; since she could go anywhere else from there afterwards.

The harbour where she'd wound up wasn't that bad. Sure, shady businesses prospered here and there, but it was relatively safe compared to other towns. Katsue simply needed to dig a little deeper. Look in the right places. Find a band of thugs somewhere and let her katana do the talking. Petty, maybe, but she had a lot of pent-up rage ever since she had struck out on her own. Ever since what she considered her master's painful betrayal. She just felt like beating deserving people senseless.

A tavern would be a good place to start, right? Plenty of drunk, rambunctious lowlifes ready to accept any challenge to a fight? Not at this time of the day, probably...Tch. Before long, Katsue was walking aimlessly through the sinuous streets, brooding over what to do next. She stopped, and glanced around. A handful of people were carrying crates and barrels from the harbour and into the market. They were all evenly matched, except for one short, freckled girl who completely stood out. Katsue let her eyes drift past them and thought sourly: I guess I can look around the market for a while.

Miran was getting sick and tired of barrels. It was as if the Creator was mocking her. She hadn't had a penny to her name after leaving home, and she needed money for food. Getting anyone to consider her for work was difficult, once they factored in her disposition and apparent meekness in size and strength. She was not particularly strong, but she knew how to lift large, heavy objects. She never thought anything she did with Rourke and Moira on their farm would be useful, so she supposed she had been wrong yet again.

Admittedly, Miran had shouldered her way into a job she did not realize would take her over another ocean, and was clearly paying the price. Her flesh was red, her freckled darkened. Any skin she left exposed was raw and peeling. It was not as awful as the first time she'd gone sailing: she had not began her journey in a horribly moldy barrel, they had not been sailing off the rocky coast of Ventus, and she was getting paid a pittance for her work. She'd mostly been scrubbing an endless supply of dirt off of a ship. She was pleased to say she kept her lunch in her belly this time, no matter how often it felt she would lose it.

All she had to do was unload the barrels, get paid, and figure out what to do from there. Part of her had wondered how she was going to get home, but then she irately remembered her father. She had no desire to return to him, nor their barren, empty home with a lackluster set of peach and apple trees, which had probably been stripped of their bark (and fruit) by windstorms.

As she carried some of the lighter barrels down from the hold, she noticed a woman, looking every bit a foreigner as Miran, and she snorted. She carried the barrel beside the rest, dropped it, and waited several moments until her reluctant employer tossed her a few bronze coins and waved her off dismissively. Which, to Miran at least, was good enough.

Her work complete, she started towards the market. She tossed a second glance to the sword-bearing woman. There was a brief moment when she thought their eyes might have met, and she glared as if to say, 'What are you looking at?'

And then, just in case she hadn't been clear, she said, "What are you looking at?"

The bar was no go. She could always try but she would probably leave empty-handed, and she hated doing something for nothing. There were several other spots where she could gather information, like the town square. She realized now that the harbor would have been a good place as well. She had decided upon the market, but that meant she had to roam around, eavesdropping and trying to catch bits of conversation. Only, she hated tedious work such as that too.

Just as Katsue took a step forward, she was stopped by a taunting voice. Turning her head to look back at the source, she found herself staring at the small carrier girl she'd noticed before. Said girl was glaring at her in a way that served to automatically tick her off. What was even more annoying, was how ridiculously weak the girl looked. Katsue would have give her fifteen years of age at most. The Earth user, however violent she was, only fought with people 'her own size'. The girl seemed spunky at best, but Katsue would make such short work of her she would almost feel bad. If only one of the burly workers had spoken, it would've been different.

That being said, she wasn't one to be provoked and calmly away, retaining all her pride. She wasn't that mature. She approached the brown-haired girl with long, brazen strides. On her way, she willed a rock to her hand and tossed it up and down. Playfully, that is, so she didn't look completely juvenile. She wasn't doing it to threaten the girl. It was just a better way to keep her hands busy then swinging Sasayaku around.

She eyed the girl scornfully and said: ''Something wrong, shorty?''

She thought of asking the manager for information once she was done dealing with this kid. She guessed it was the grimy-looking man sitting at the table making a count of the merchandise. He probably knew what was what around here.

Something about the other young woman rubbed Miran the wrong way - maybe it was the rock Miran had not seen her pick up, and maybe it was the sword-toting. Maybe it was the scorn in her tone, and what she was actually saying.

Miran's frustration stemmed from the fact that nearly everyone she'd come into contact with in the past few days either glared at her or looked down at her, like the young woman in front of her. "Could ask the same o' you," Miran retorted harshly, stuffing her hands - and her earnings - into her pockets. Her eyes followed the rock for a moment before she looked back to the other woman.

Miran was not looking for a fight. She just didn't know when to shut her mouth and back away. It had always been a fault of hers; it was that lovely trait which had turned away a few potential employers, both before and after she left home.

"Creator, what's your problem?"

Indeed, it was this trait which led Rourke to compare her to a small dog: loud, but useless. Angry at everyone, and everything, but unlikely to do anything about it. And Miran had always been determined to prove him wrong someday.

She raised a hand, flicked the air, and sent a puff of wind over her new "friend's" hand. Just enough to send it a little further out of her grasp, and probably more than enough to annoy her. She meant, Don't you threaten me, although the gesture was not particularly threatening compared to the sword on the woman's hip. But Creator did it ever bug her.

''Conveniently forgot how you called out to me just now, brat?'' Called out wasn't the best word in this situation. It was more like apostrophized, but Katsue didn't go around throwing big words in her sentences like that. It was all the same to her anyway: the shorter girl had picked a fight.

The Terran was about two heads taller than the one before her, and it gave her a faint feeling of self-importance. Scratch faint. She liked feeling empowered. Heights worked; she was just that simple-minded sometimes. On the other hand, the young worker didn't seem fazed in the slightest. In fact, she looked peeved. Increasingly more so, like a kettle warming up to a boil. ''Creator, what's your problem?''

So neither her katana, tilted forward as if begging to be drawn, nor her earth wielding had worked on her. The girl was still talking back like there was no tomorrow. It almost had Katsue smirking until she felt a gust of wind knock the rock from her hand, just as she threw it upwards. The rock made a soft whistling sound as it traveled a few meters back and landed on the ground. Katsue followed the arc with her eyes, standing still for a moment.

There it was. The adrenaline coursing through her veins. The itch to fight, the desire, the urge, what have you! It made her skin prickle. So, this brat isn't completely defenseless. She often forgot about the existence of systems – heck, she had remembered her own on a stroke of luck. No one was ever utterly defenseless in Carista. For all she knew, the girl facing her was a master, or higher. She didn't have the aura about her, but she had learned to never judge an enemy by appearances from Haji--

Now she was pissed. She shoved the thought of the geezer out of her head and looked squarely at her speaker. ''I've got a lot of problems, and you're one too many. I see two ways of settling this: you apologize or we brawl it out.''

--

(OOC: -slaps Katsue-)

Scowling at the other young woman's assertion that Miran had been the instigator, she folded her arms and briefly considered a response. She admitted to nothing - instead, the sunburned young woman countered, petulently flaring her nostrils and pursing her lips while furrowing her brow, "Look familiar?" And then she returned to simply scowling at the other woman. "Or did you conveniently forget?"

Miran was rather pleased with how far the rock flew at that tiny puff of air, and she couldn't help but smirk herself. The taller woman had watched it fly off, which alleviated Miran's [correctly placed] fears. If she was fazed by that tiny puff of air, Miran imagined she wasn't much of a fighter either. Never mind the possibility of her never meeting a wind user prior to Miran (which did not even cross the Vennan's mind). As the woman looked back to her, Miran realized that she looked angry.

Oh. Shit.

And then, the woman gave her an ultimatum: apologize or fight. And while Miran was still weary of the sword, any good sense she had not to pick fights with someone larger, or better-armed, than her was still nowhere to be found. Miran realized that the woman threatening her was probably confident. Confidence was something Miran lacked, even though she refused to admit it.

"I'm sorry you're such a looney. I hope someone some day has the heart to help you with that," Miran mocked.

She tensed up, fully expecting the other woman to strike out at her.