Your fucking bag is right here.
Valinta snarled. She was angrier than she had ever remebered being, because the stupid fucking bag almost broke her ankle. If her ankle was broken, she'd be screwed, because she was too far away from Sky, the closest thing to a medic, in Cercatori. And now its owner, a pissed off looking male, was freaking out at her, when he was the one that lost the fucking bag in the first place.
It didn't even deserve being called a bag anymore. No, it was the fucking bag. She despised it, but he obviously loved it. After all, it had his precious herbs in it. Barely restraining the urge to kick the fucking bag, Valinta snarled at the male that dared to accuse her of taking his bag. Because she totally would. That was her thang, you know, taking fucking bags/
Why the fuck did you leave your fucking bag on the ground to nearly break my God damned ankle if it's sooo fucking important, huh? she growled. You don't mess with a dancer's ankles. They were her most prized possesion, the most important thing that she could ever have, until she had children and a mate. And you still wouldn't mess with her ankles.
Valinta Speaks
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