She was going to do it, Viola was really going to look for her family.
Charley could have jumped through the table to hug the woman. It didn't matter that the copper was still watching her —she was sure of it— from afar, or the other patrons in the tavern. They were all just people, just strangers. Even Missus Crouch, the nicest person in the world, was just a friend, as well as her boss. This was about family, and when the ministry witch found them again, she wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again.
"Much obliged for this, really. An'," she glanced at the drink in front of Viola, plumbing all the depths of her inexperience to figure out what it was. "Next one's on me, all right?"
When she tried to stand up, the urchin just about knocked the table over, and bounced back into her seat rubbing her sore knees. Swinging them to the side reminded her of something more to add for Viola. Charley wasn't thinking of bribes or greasing the wheels, not that she'd be opposed to it, but offered out of genuine gratitude, "An' come to Montague's, get whatever's yer fancy, on me."
The urchin got to her feet, steadily this time, and took a few steps toward the bar counter. Then she paused, looking back. For a moment, Charley wasn't sure about herself, feeling more eyes on her small, out of place form than usual. The indecision was fleeting, and disregarded along with the rest of the crowd. Charley flew forward and wrapped an arm awkwardly around the woman's neck in the best type of hug she could give at the moment.
"Won't be long, Vi!" Charley dashed off toward the bar counter, the coins in her pocket jingling loudly and her cap nearly flying off. None of it mattered, though, not with a real future laying just over the horizon. Not when she had her family back.
Then she wouldn't just be Charley, the street urchin, anymore. Or Charley, the flower girl. Or Charley, the dropout. Or Charley, the many more names she was called, behind her back or even to her face. She could just be Charley again, and know that it was good enough.
Charley could have jumped through the table to hug the woman. It didn't matter that the copper was still watching her —she was sure of it— from afar, or the other patrons in the tavern. They were all just people, just strangers. Even Missus Crouch, the nicest person in the world, was just a friend, as well as her boss. This was about family, and when the ministry witch found them again, she wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again.
"Much obliged for this, really. An'," she glanced at the drink in front of Viola, plumbing all the depths of her inexperience to figure out what it was. "Next one's on me, all right?"
When she tried to stand up, the urchin just about knocked the table over, and bounced back into her seat rubbing her sore knees. Swinging them to the side reminded her of something more to add for Viola. Charley wasn't thinking of bribes or greasing the wheels, not that she'd be opposed to it, but offered out of genuine gratitude, "An' come to Montague's, get whatever's yer fancy, on me."
The urchin got to her feet, steadily this time, and took a few steps toward the bar counter. Then she paused, looking back. For a moment, Charley wasn't sure about herself, feeling more eyes on her small, out of place form than usual. The indecision was fleeting, and disregarded along with the rest of the crowd. Charley flew forward and wrapped an arm awkwardly around the woman's neck in the best type of hug she could give at the moment.
"Won't be long, Vi!" Charley dashed off toward the bar counter, the coins in her pocket jingling loudly and her cap nearly flying off. None of it mattered, though, not with a real future laying just over the horizon. Not when she had her family back.
Then she wouldn't just be Charley, the street urchin, anymore. Or Charley, the flower girl. Or Charley, the dropout. Or Charley, the many more names she was called, behind her back or even to her face. She could just be Charley again, and know that it was good enough.
![[Image: bZbZdaH.png]](https://i.imgur.com/bZbZdaH.png)