Louisa takes an automatic step back, tensing up. Well, the guy didn’t sound hostile… or Nikidian, for that matter. She pushes the brim of her hat up slightly, peeking at Hans out of one eye while leaving her face mostly hidden. The sight of Hans lets her relax slightly; definitely not a soldier. She lets her hat fall back into place.
Instead of talking, she shrugs, letting a grunt communicate her ambivalence to the contact. While her Marsadan was pretty good, her accent would definitely give her away. She quickly pushes past the young man, her mind returning to the thought of bread. Then a thought occurs to her. Would it be worth it…? Her stomach argues yes. Her mind screams definitely not. Her stomach wins.
Louisa turns back to the stranger, clearing her throat to get his attention one more. “Food?” she asks, grimacing at her thick accent. Hopefully no more words would be necessary to get the point across.
He stops. “Oh? Uh, yeah. Not on me, though. This way.” He says, going back to where he’d come out into the city from. It seemed he didn’t quite grasp what her accent might have implied. At least not right away.
Louisa follows him quickly, her eyes darting around nervously. Even the thought of imminent food wasn’t enough to calm her nerves. She was bound to draw attention soon enough. It was just good fortune that she had encountered a dopey stranger to help her out so quickly. That wasn’t being fair; he was a nice dopey stranger, at the very least. The thought of bread, any bread, was enough to put her in a good mood, and anyone willing to help her get there had earned a share of that positivity. Mmm, bread… she couldn’t wait.
He lead her into the base of the resistance, where she might see Sean sipping tea and looking at a map, seeming to have awoken recently. “Oh, a new friend?” He asks Hans.
“She needed food.” Hans said. “And we have food, right?”
Sean sighs and nods. “Yes, we do. In the cupboards. I checked.”
She mirrors his nod, following him to these “cupboards”. This place gives her a bad feeling, but it wouldn’t take long to grab some bread and leave. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? The two didn’t seem to be Nikidian sympathizers, so they wouldn’t report her to the military. Maybe they could identify her if asked, but by then she’d be long gone. Long gone and well-fed, that is.
Hans grabs some food out of the kitchen cupboards and hands it to her. “Here you are, miss…” He trails off. “Funny, I don’t think I ever caught your name. I’m Hans.” He tells her.
Louisa freezes, stopping halfway through the motion of biting into a delectable piece of bread. N-no, she couldn’t tell him that! Idiot, now she was suspicious! Do something! But what? Gah, anything!
She takes a vicious bite from the bread, mumbling something indistinct through her chewing. She barely notices the delightful taste of the bread through her panic. Think! What could she tell him? Nothing? No, she had to tell him something! Not her real name, surely. Could she pronounce a Marsidian name convincingly? Another accent, perhaps?
Louisa swallows, her mind still racing. She had to say something. Anything!
“Louisa,” she blurts. No! She was supposed to say anything but that! It’s all she can do to to not crumple in defeat, her face slowly flushing red from adrenaline.
A shrill “eek!” falls from Lousia’s lips, and she buries it behind another bite of bread. Nonononono. Whoever this stranger was, he was far too suspicious. She needed to be gone. Now.
She abruptly turns, cradling her acquired food in her arms as she attempts to brush past Sean and leave the building. As she does so, a tiny corner of her mind protests the idea of leaving without even a thank you. What kind of monster stole food without even saying thank you?
“Merci!” she says over her shoulder, the word slipping out before she can think. She stops dead in her tracks, one hand clapping over her mouth as her eyes stretch wide in horror.
Loiusa stands still as a statue. Only her eyes move, following Sean out of the corner of her eye as he approaches her. Her musket and rapier were plain and visible for anyone to see; it was only a matter of time before he realized that two and two made quatre. But what would he do with her then? Would they report her to the military? Or would they beat her, turning their rage against the invading army against the closest outlet? It was all she could do not to quiver at the prospect.
He stopped. “That musket makes me think military, but the attire tells me otherwise.” He says as he sits. “Come, take a seat. I want to know a bit more about you.” He said, coldly, but not angrily.
The thought to flee disappears as soon as it enters her mind. She nods weakly, her hand falling from her mouth to support her breakfast once more. She sits across from Sean, landing on the seat at an angle. Her posture is rigid, and she stares straight ahead.
She swallows. There wasn’t much of a choice, was there?
“Desehteh,” she admits, her voice quiet and strained. It feels as if a small part of her dies there and then, the light going out of her eyes as she accepts whatever might happen next. What a lousy deserter she was; she hadn’t even made it a day without getting herself caught. Had it been worth it? She wasn’t sure it was.