Abandoned Warehouse District, Saturday Morning
As of yet, Éponine still hadn't gotten around to acquiring an official residence anywhere. This was partially due to the fact that she still had a very shaky concept of how to manage her finances, and alternated between carelessly spending all her money and hoarding it as much as possible. It was also partially -- though she wouldn't admit it to anyone -- that she was more than a little bit scared of the prospect of owning (so to speak, anyway) that much again, since she was still mostly convinced that she'd just lose it again if she did. She got by, though; she could afford to eat, didn't have much trouble finding places to sleep (it helped that she really wasn't picky about that), and took liberal advantage of the facilities at the post office. It worked. It was a hell of a lot better than she'd had before ending up here, anyway.
For the past couple of weeks, the abandoned warehouse district had served as home, and it wasn't damned bad as one, really. Though, she reflected with a yawn as she headed out of the warehouse she was currently occupying with plans to get herself some breakfast, it would have been nice to actually have a place to live this past week; she might have to put some thought into doing something about that.
She was halfway down Serendipity Place when she felt someone trying to reach into her pocket, and with a snort of disbelief -- since when was she the one in a position to be a mark? -- made a grab for the culprit -- a tall, scrawny boy of about twelve, who had a battered cane topped with an ornate brass knob in his other hand.
"What the hell d'you think you're doing?" she snapped.
[OOC: Yes, morning. Shut up, I've had a busy day. The PB was all hawkeye_too's idea.]
For the past couple of weeks, the abandoned warehouse district had served as home, and it wasn't damned bad as one, really. Though, she reflected with a yawn as she headed out of the warehouse she was currently occupying with plans to get herself some breakfast, it would have been nice to actually have a place to live this past week; she might have to put some thought into doing something about that.
She was halfway down Serendipity Place when she felt someone trying to reach into her pocket, and with a snort of disbelief -- since when was she the one in a position to be a mark? -- made a grab for the culprit -- a tall, scrawny boy of about twelve, who had a battered cane topped with an ornate brass knob in his other hand.
"What the hell d'you think you're doing?" she snapped.
[OOC: Yes, morning. Shut up, I've had a busy day. The PB was all hawkeye_too's idea.]