The Watchers at the jail eyed the brunette suspiciously at first, but shrugged when she wasn't under escort. She'd had reason to visit before, and her uncle was in custody again, after all, having been unable to keep away from the drink when free.
Her brief sardonic half-smile acknowledged their evaluation of her, and she sashayed down the row of cells to the one she was starting to think of as her uncle's home. Her cerulean skirts swirled in just the right way, and she was rather pleased with the impression she thought she was making. It felt nice to be properly dressed and looking like someone successful these days. Sure, that success was a matter of windfall – but then, to a busker, windfall was very nearly the definition of success. Or so she told herself.
When she reached that cell, in the very back, she discovered her uncle had a cell-mate this time. She sighed to herself as she discovered they were both snoring to beat the lumberyard saws. "They must have been arrested together, both too drunk to leave." She slouched up against the wall by the door, looking at the two idly, then focussed her gaze more on the red-headed lumberjack.
