Ryela Solde
Character
Ryela stepped out of the parts shop feeling considerably more confident than when she had entered. The replacement regulator had disappeared into one of the larger pockets of her charcoal fatigues, safely wedged among the tools and miscellaneous connectors she considered necessities. Her father had trusted her to handle the errand alone, provided she checked in, so she pulled out her comlink as she joined the flow of pedestrians. "Got the regulator. It's the right one; I checked. And I'm still alive." Satisfied that she had fulfilled her obligations, she tucked the comlink away and started back toward the Vigo.
She made it perhaps half a block before something smelled really good. Savory smoke drifted through the street with a sweetness and spice she couldn't identify, immediately distracting her from the responsible return journey. Ryela followed it into a nearby plaza until she discovered a small repulsor-cart beneath a faded awning, its grill crowded with strips of marinated meat, peppers, and vegetables. The vendor piled everything into warm folded flatbread with reddish sauce, shredded greens, and crisp golden bits, and Ryela's stomach promptly decided they had found their destination.
The menu proved less cooperative. Most of the names meant nothing to her, but one selection had a little flame symbol beside it. Ryela narrowed her crimson eyes at the warning. At thirteen, she had already decided adults tended to underestimate what she could handle.
"That one."
A few minutes later, she settled onto a low wall bordering the plaza, brown braid falling over one shoulder as she balanced the food on her knee and took her first bite. For one glorious moment, following her nose seemed like the best decision she'd made all day.
Then the spice arrived.
Ryela froze as heat spread across her tongue and climbed into her nose, her eyes widening while she stared accusingly at the innocent-looking flatbread. Pride kept her from immediately running back for the drink she had neglected to buy. She swallowed with some effort and regarded her lunch with newfound respect.
"Okay," she murmured hoarsely. "I see how it is."
The sensible choice would have been to accept that the flame symbol existed for a reason. Ryela was thirteen, however, enjoying a rare taste of independence, and absolutely unwilling to be defeated by lunch. After giving herself a moment to recover, she lifted the flatbread and took another bite.
Aknoby
She made it perhaps half a block before something smelled really good. Savory smoke drifted through the street with a sweetness and spice she couldn't identify, immediately distracting her from the responsible return journey. Ryela followed it into a nearby plaza until she discovered a small repulsor-cart beneath a faded awning, its grill crowded with strips of marinated meat, peppers, and vegetables. The vendor piled everything into warm folded flatbread with reddish sauce, shredded greens, and crisp golden bits, and Ryela's stomach promptly decided they had found their destination.
The menu proved less cooperative. Most of the names meant nothing to her, but one selection had a little flame symbol beside it. Ryela narrowed her crimson eyes at the warning. At thirteen, she had already decided adults tended to underestimate what she could handle.
"That one."
A few minutes later, she settled onto a low wall bordering the plaza, brown braid falling over one shoulder as she balanced the food on her knee and took her first bite. For one glorious moment, following her nose seemed like the best decision she'd made all day.
Then the spice arrived.
Ryela froze as heat spread across her tongue and climbed into her nose, her eyes widening while she stared accusingly at the innocent-looking flatbread. Pride kept her from immediately running back for the drink she had neglected to buy. She swallowed with some effort and regarded her lunch with newfound respect.
"Okay," she murmured hoarsely. "I see how it is."
The sensible choice would have been to accept that the flame symbol existed for a reason. Ryela was thirteen, however, enjoying a rare taste of independence, and absolutely unwilling to be defeated by lunch. After giving herself a moment to recover, she lifted the flatbread and took another bite.
Aknoby