A picnic was really too good to resist. How could she not? When it came right down to it, the aromas of plentiful food were more powerful than flame to a moth. The street urchin was simply doing what was natural, that was all. And naturally, the picnic-goers brought far too much food for themselves, they couldn't exactly blame Charley for taking advantage.
Charley, herself, thought her nose might explode with the heavenly smells. They were even worse the closer she went, at one point the urchin was pretty sure she was no longer walking. No, she was definitely floating her way across to the tables, heedless of the glaring looking of those tweed-faced upper crusters at the picnic. Charley could worry about them when she wasn't hungry anymore.
Her pockets were nice and deep inside the urchin's trousers, with a few on the vest she wore over her shirt. Charley used them to her full advantage, plucking out rolls or fruits to stuff into pockets. A few of the foods were far too tempting, like a steaming tray of hot sausages, to wait for later at all. The urchin wasn't about to bother with a plate, much less a fork and knife, and turned a couple of the sausages into cigars for her mouth to chew on, bobbing up and down as she browsed the rest of the picnic wares.
Wide eyes glanced up when Charley heard the screaming begin. She clutched her pockets, sure that someone was about to grab hold of her for taking the picnic food. No one was about to snatch the grub from her without a fight!
The urchin found herself luckily spared from the confrontation, spying a blue-fingered, black-haired boy at the center of the commotion. Charley could almost see the moment before it began, and kicked her feet into action.
She wasn't about to stick around for whatever awful things the upper-crusters might do, no matter how bad Charley felt for a fellow picnic-crasher.
Charley, herself, thought her nose might explode with the heavenly smells. They were even worse the closer she went, at one point the urchin was pretty sure she was no longer walking. No, she was definitely floating her way across to the tables, heedless of the glaring looking of those tweed-faced upper crusters at the picnic. Charley could worry about them when she wasn't hungry anymore.
Her pockets were nice and deep inside the urchin's trousers, with a few on the vest she wore over her shirt. Charley used them to her full advantage, plucking out rolls or fruits to stuff into pockets. A few of the foods were far too tempting, like a steaming tray of hot sausages, to wait for later at all. The urchin wasn't about to bother with a plate, much less a fork and knife, and turned a couple of the sausages into cigars for her mouth to chew on, bobbing up and down as she browsed the rest of the picnic wares.
Wide eyes glanced up when Charley heard the screaming begin. She clutched her pockets, sure that someone was about to grab hold of her for taking the picnic food. No one was about to snatch the grub from her without a fight!
The urchin found herself luckily spared from the confrontation, spying a blue-fingered, black-haired boy at the center of the commotion. Charley could almost see the moment before it began, and kicked her feet into action.
She wasn't about to stick around for whatever awful things the upper-crusters might do, no matter how bad Charley felt for a fellow picnic-crasher.
![[Image: bZbZdaH.png]](https://i.imgur.com/bZbZdaH.png)