Talking Politics | Closed RP
"And I suppose that you believe that education should not be available to the masses too," the words dropped from her tongue like venom, her face hot from the argument. Her opponent grinned with bright white teeth at her, and Amina glared back, waiting for his response.
"What good is educating the masses? Most of them don't know what to do with the knowledge put in front of them, nor do they care." She threw her hands up in the air, giving a grunt in her exasperation.
"There is no talking reason with you," growled out, her response fell into the space between them and announced her brief leave-taking of the conversation. She needed to regroup -- calm down and think about what else could be argued.
He enjoyed being the advocate for her prospective opponents far too much, and not for the first time that week she wanted to throw her fist across his smug little face. The masses should be given every opportunity to study -- her sisters should be able to afford schooling just as much as her. Her father and mother should not have had to choose who to send.
Reasoning against riches to the rich was never an easy task.
She stalked across the carpeted floor of the library, her footsteps jarring their way up her legs as she proceeded. The flat, felt, slippers that she wore on her feet did little to shock absorb, especially on the marble floors of the school's largest library.
Her hair hair swing in a curtain over her shoulders as she went, and Amina turned the corner into some stacks with the certainty of one who knew her surroundings. She knew exactly the book she was looking for and the area it would be in.
The stack of books reached far up, and she craned her neck as she came near to the shelf, scanning the titles with lavender eyes. Ah...there it was. The title gleamed out at her in silver script from the spine, two or three rows out of reach. The small Vanar woman cast about for a ladder, grumbling to herself when she found none.
Amina arranged her features into a look of determination, brow drawn low, and she stretched up onto her tip-toes, straining with her arm for the volume she wanted. Her fingers brushed the bottom of the spine ineffectually, falling back down again as she was forced out of the stretch, panting vaguely before she tried once more, in vain.
She might have to climb the shelf.