lock your doors. [flint/grey]

[Charity Hendricks]

The blond haired vixen set the various items on the wooden counter, frustration clearly spoken through her rigid, sharp movements. The shop keeper was an elderly man, perhaps shorter than Charity herself, though even she found that hard to believe. He'd owned the shop many years, and the young woman was a frequent of the store, constantly in and out for little things here and there. The older man had grown fond of the girl in a fatherly way, and concern flickered in his graying eyes at her obvious tension. ”You look rather perplexed today, dear.” He spoke slowly in a gruff smoker's voice. Charity frowned and shifted her weight uneasily as she tossed a few hard earned coins on the counter and helped bag the items. ”Yes, yes, just slightly. I knew I'd regret it.” She shook her head, ashamed and somehow heartbroken over the disappearance of a man she'd known for hardly twenty four hours.

She groaned inwardly as she shifted the bags into an easy position to haul in her arms and made her way out the door, refusing to answer the older man's questioning of what had gone wrong, and what exactly she did regret. Instead, she put on a fake smile and grinned at his inquisitive nature impishly before shuffling out the swinging wooden door and toward her cheeky little gelding. The paint stood at the hitching post, eyes half closed lazily. He peered at her from under a drooping eye lid as she shoved the groceries into the saddle bag, intent on escaping from the town and all the questioning glances at once. Moments later she swung into the saddle, adjusting the floor length gown around herself so as not to get caught on the saddle's many hooks and rings, and spurred her heels into Matches' sides. The seemingly lazy gelding perked up at the thought of movement and immediately bounced into a rickety lope, tail swishing behind him contently.

As they made the trek home, Charity leaned her head back, a heavy sigh leaving her lips. Why had she let herself make such a massive mistake? He was a gang member for Christ's sake! He had little to no care in the world who she was and she was certain she was nothing but a rather willing rape case now. He didn't even know her name! She was almost positive he had purposely avoided her name, but then again it made little sense for her to share his alias and not question hers. Maybe he forgot? Maybe he didn't care? Maybe she'd never know.

When she'd woken alone in her cozy little cottage bedroom, she'd had not one exact emotion. She was annoyed, but not surprised, and somehow disappointed that he'd abandoned her in the midst of the night. It had been a terrible feeling, and she didn't know why. He was nothing but 'Flint' to her. Nothing but a name, and a face-- a strikingly handsome face, she might add. But other than that he mattered little to nothing at all to her. Right? A thwarted groan left her lips at the billions of thoughts scrambling around her head in a discombobulated fashion. ”Uhg, why did I give in?” She muttered to herself, profanity edging on her lips before she reminded herself she would not use such inappropriate language. Curse words were simply a lack of vocabulary skills. But sometimes they sounded so good. She continued her bitching and moaning along the way to the crystal white cottage. Once there she went about her daily chores. She took care of the little bay paint gelding efficiently, feeding and watering him speedily after un-tacking and cooling the equine off generously, a fall nip in the air.

She dumped Carly's kibble in a metal bowl loudly and waited for the blue canine to bolt over in a series of yips, yaps and violent jumping before settling in her place to chew contently on the small round bites. After tending to the dog, and turning the horse out in her dusty private paddock, she made her way back to the saddle, quickly unloading the groceries from the saddle bags and juggling them precariously in her grasp. She strode confidently toward the front door, stepping up the stairs easily, the light blue long-sleeved gown hugging her body closely and tightly as she took the final steps to her front door. It took several seconds of shifting and rearranging before the frustration finally set it. In exasperation she set two of the brown paper bags on the wooden deck and fished from the key underneath the lacy neckline of the dress. Her fingers seized the cool metal of the key and slid it into the door, twisting it until it clicked open. She held the key tightly and gathered up the groceries she'd set down before slipping through the hardly-cracked door frame. A foot caught the swinging door and pushed it closed before she spun and began clumsily changing over the items to lock the door. She would never leave the door unlocked again, though she doubted that would stop any determined gang members. But her mind was on different things, namely Flint, still, as she fumbled with the door knob, hardly aware that she had been thinking of this mystery of a man so much in such little time.