irresurrection:
With the speed that comes from a lifetime of getting the hell out, Nott dodges between Beauregard’s legs. “I wasn’t taking it! I’m just looking!” she screeches, which will totally pass scrutiny while she’s darting away clutching the thing, right?
She slides full-tilt under the cart, bumps her head on its underside, and hears Caleb startle from above. Hopefully out of reach, she takes another look at the blade. It’s small — not a weapon, not particularly shiny, and frankly not of much interest. But after all the fuss, Nott feels, you know, kind of committed.
“Beau,” she calls, “do you shave?”
“What the fuck.” Her voice is low, nearly as flat to the ground as Nott but not as willing to dive underneath the cart for it, instead choosing to stare at her and make sure that blade doesn’t leave her sight. With her elbows hitting the dirt, she waves one incredulous hand, squinting. “Do you think gives you the right to go through someone’s fucking shit? Nott?”
