There Are Many Things (iLac)

Job:

The concept of "free stuff" has persisted throughout the ages, a fact Leah has always been particularly grateful for.  When her belly was rumbling up an earthquake, market samples had relieved the immense hunger gnawing at her gut.  If her garments were so frayed at the seams that they slipped off her thin frame, often a kindly citizen would outfit her with used, but quite serviceable garments.  No one wants to be a beggar for life, but pride is just another emotion.

Another emotion to be fought down and nestled under a pile of pleasant, accepting fluff, where it can't possibly rise up as a biting retort that might cause trouble.

Besides, iLacs were prototypes, almost... a novelty, and soon to be widely spread.  If she couldn't find a use for the technology, surely she might happen on a buyer looking to procure such a device without venturing into the unnerving territory of the Neutral Grounds.

That was a perfect way to describe the small cluster of cities, on dreary and almost lifeless land.  Unnerving.

Leah's fire-engine-red tresses spiralled everywhere uncontrollably as the girl yanked a silver scrunchie of her hair, releasing the tightly curled bun she had slept in.  Right.  Now was the time for business- the business of acquiring an iLac.  As the skinny figure slunk through the gates, a smattering of onlookers took note of her dark-themed, metal and spikes outfit-- and also her possibly-dyed hair.  They labelled her a troublemaker, the kid whose mouth is the gateway for foul language and whose skin crawls with tattoos underneath the tight, shiny leather.

Eh.  They were wrong.  Leah disliked causing noticeable trouble.

The mage straightened up a few paces past the gates: long enough after passing through that all the guards and many fellow city goers had finished their examinations and deemed her a bit odd, perhaps someone to be avoided, but hardly a threat to be wary of.  That suited her.

A pale hand with scarred, slim fingers fished a crumpled paper from a deep inner jacket pocket.  The wrinkled paper was pressed against a nearby signpost and smoothed out so the blocky poster letters could be read.  Forty-ninth Street.  Her sole purpose for entering this grey and rather mundane city (despite all the mechanical and electronical advances).  It was the site of the iLac factory, at which the manager had made the generous decision of distributing the devices for free at a local scale.  Meaning, if one strode past, workers were handing them out in droves to teachers and party masters and just about any person who could halfway form a coherent sentence on his or her own.  All that was needed was "I wanna iLac," after all.

Her bangs dropped over her right eye, but Leah didn't make an effort to brush the clumpy ruby mass away.  As she strolled turned into Forty-ninth Street, a heavyset man with a rubicund complexion waved a white cardboard box four centimeters from her sloped nose.  He garbled a bunch of meaningless chatter about the factory and the manager's desires for more implements such as this in the future.  Eyeing the package, Leah jerked her chin in a swift nod and snatched it away, a grateful tilt to her head plain to see as she ambled away contentedly. Free stuff.  It sure was nice.