#joy:open

She stares longingly at the greenery just beyond the bars and uniforms; the House ran out of fresh produce last week, and so all they can do for the time being is imagine how the apples would taste. Scratching absently at one side of her neck, Rue hears the gentle shuffle of feet behind her -- she’d left just as the fog was clearing, and in only minutes the dirt paths would be as bustling as they get -- and begins to speak out loud to no one in particular. It’s a trademark of the Garden District, it seems. “Do you think they’d trade for anything?” she asks, referring to the bobbies who stand watch at the apple tree, “I don’t think I could fight all five of them alone.”

Ophelia pursed her lips, she was feeling hungry, actually no, starving. She was ravenous and her belly begged to be filled with something delicious and savory. She turned to her approacher, her eyes lingering on their bare skin. “And who are you to be asking for one of my precious yams?” She asked. Her bounty was plentiful, but she was particularly agitated at this time. 

“Fuck!” The bottom of the paper bag carrying her supplies from the apothecary burst open, and about three bottles of chlorine and a rather large saltpeter went rolling down the street, stopping just short of a sewer drain and several pairs of shoes. “Shit. I’m -- so sorry, can you please just give that back to me, if you don’t mind? Please?” Wouldn’t be too out of character for any of these joy-filled nitwits to simply ignore her and pick up her supplies and keep them as though she didn’t exist. Which, in their defense, she was sure half of them didn’t even notice her at all.

“I’m currently playing a fun little drinking game. Every time I see someone take a Joy, I take a drink. I’m already quite tipsy after five minutes.”