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[uquars_gadget]

Helen's sitting out on the steps of a building in Creem di Leemaa, a good two armspans from the whirling parade. When, occasionally, a brave fool tries to get her to join the dancing she snaps at them. By now most of them have learned their lesson, and keep away

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[toxic_perfume]

The short blonde woman who steps out of the building behind her doesn't stick out nearly as much; her jumpsuit, emerald green shot through with golden threads, is almost as bright as the costumes worn by the locals.

She looks around with a calculating smile, and doesn't spare more than a glance for the girl sitting on the steps at her feet.

[uquars_gadget]

The rat--not a smart one, like the ones at Milliways, but rather one who is sort of dumb and nice--squeeks in panic at the woman's arrival and bolts into a hole under the steps.

Helen turns and glares at her, putting half of her hair behind an ear so that the woman can see it. "Well," she snaps, in strangely accented English. "What do you want?"

She is usually (depending on who you ask) more polite, but she is sick and tired of dealing with the people of Creema di Leema.

[toxic_perfume]

"Oh, I don't know."

The woman looks down at her, and grins recklessly.

"What've you got?"

[uquars_gadget]

Helen raises her eyebrows. The woman doesn't seem like your average person from Creema di Leema.

"I haven't got anything," she is stiffly dignified. "I'm not a merchant. There are shops over there," Helen tilts her head to indicate the other side of the swarming parade-party-street, "though. If you want to get flung around."

A woman in blue with a fox mask on swings towards them and Helen's glare shifts to her. She swings away again.