would you really rush out for me now?

Millicent hadn't been out in a long time, and now that Bellamy had finally loosened her reins she felt free again. The warm summer air flashed by her, carrying her brown locks along and pushing them to the edges of their extention. Despite being only two-and-ten (three and ten in a few moon turns), she felt so much older, and standing in the middle of a square staring pensively at a crowd she knew so little of did not make her look any more the way she was supposed to look.

Never had she dressed more immaculately either, with a short skirt from a vintage store, a neat blue blouse which had once belonged to her current guardian and her hair - before the wind took it - tousled in sections along her torso. She felt more like a lady, and whether this was for the better or for the worst she couldn't really tell for the time being. Maybe she will become as petty and feminine as Chara, or perhaps as determined as Luke.

Granted, Millicent Prentiss wanted nothing more than to be like Laetitia. Only in the past few years she could remember her father talking about a friend who partied, snogged, and broke every law in the book and managed to become Head of Uchitel, of all houses. The second year had never wanted to be honourable, yet she wished to be a leading figure in society.

If it wasn't nobility she wanted, then what did she want?

Yevgeny smirked as he walked by the people in the square, all staring at him like he were some kind of freak. Here they were, all proper and dressed for town, and he looked like he walked up from the underground. His hair swayed slightly in front of his face as he walked, fingers straightening the vest-like shirt he wore over his clothes. It was a good day for him, well, as good as could be expected.

He had bumped into someone and heard them mumble something about him being a vagrant, which caused him to snicker quietly. True enough, he did look like someone who didn't come from a wealthy home, which he didn't. His jeans were raggedy and ripped at the knees and shins, his shirt was half-tucked and had some illegible wording on it. Several wristbands, of every color adorned his wrists, matching the black nail polish on his fingertips.

Under the eyeliner, his eyes caught a glimpse of a girl, which is a word he could use loosely. She looked very much like a woman, which for all he knew she could be. Though, he didn't care much for people, he couldn't resist the natural urge to flirt with people, regardless of who they were.

Slowly, he walked up to her, eyes never leaving her body and stopped, several feet to her left. His tongue, playing with the ring on his lower lip. "So, are you dressed up to look like you belong, or are you some kind of pathetic socialite like all these people?"

The game was on.