This was not happening. This was seriously not happening. After all the time she’d spent preparing for this, after all of the cajoling with her father to let her leave their house in Scotland, after all of the da*mn lunches she missed saving up for this and this was what she was met with?
Teal eyes narrowed and glared at the sign pasted bluntly above the entrance of the small stall, the blond avidly wishing that the overly cheerful message, happily repeated in what had to be five different languages, would just spontaneously combust under her glare.
What the heck was that? This stall was one of the first things you met once you’d struggled your way out of the Euro Tunnel, most certainly the first thing providing food, and therefore is the welcome point, providing the first experience of both food and courtesy that their tourists would encounter. It was supposed to be open, welcoming, a pleasant happy place that would give visitors nice, happy memories that popped up whenever they gazed at the small pieces of shite that passed themselves for souvenirs.
And what a way to make an impression.
Dragging her eyes irritably from the sign, she started to scan the room, searching for anything that resembled a cash point. Christ, was this irritating. She’d already exchanged the majority of her money before she came - it wasn’t as if she was clueless or anything - but as she’d only transferred it into a spending account a few hours ago (the less warning her father had that his darling daughter was not going to a sleepover with her friends as she’d claimed the better), she’d hadn’t had the time to collect it before she’d had to rush to catch the coach that would remove her from The Life That Wasn’t for a week before she was forced to implode.
And she was so hungry.
Cursing under her breath as her search revealed nothing more than a mass of tourists, her school group included, milling around the assorted souvenir stores, (where the heck was the bank?) she adjusted her purse strap higher up her shoulder, checking as she did so that she still had all of the necessities: mobile, wallet, passport, ID Card that identified her as a student, pepper spray, etcetera, before striding purposefully into the crowd. Maybe, maybe if she was diligent enough she’d manage to find a cash point before she practically wasted away with hunger, but she couldn’t count on it. She gritted her teeth as her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. If the worst came to worst she’d just have to ask someone.
She hated France.
Banner by me. Image used in banner by sakimichan on subeta. Character is mine. =3
Yoru Ryu ~ Rar-roX