pippi. d4. cb.

"Pippi, d'ya need help with that?"

"NO THANK YOU!" the small girl yelps, attempting to haul a crate of milk up two flights of stairs.

Despite her complete lack of upper-body strength and the fact she was turning so red in the face one might think she was about to pop a vein, Pippi was determined to get the job done herself. Call it stubborn, call it a thirst to prove herself, girls like Pippi were born in the parts of District Four that didn't offer hand-outs. You had to learn how to do things yourself around here, even if a friendly neighbour didn't mind lending a hand to a struggling thirteen-year-old every now and then.

"You sure?"

"I GOT IT I GOT IT-" Pippi insists, managing to lift the crate with trembling arms up one single stair before dropping it down with a thud and a sigh. 

Wiping sweat off of her shiny brow with the back of her hand, she stands up straight and attempts another lift. Grunting and shuffling as fast as she can, she almost makes it up three more flights - until her clammy hands slip and the crate clatters back down to the bottom of the staircase.

She groans along with the sound of glass bottles clinging together, praying that none of them are broken. A hand runs down her face and she sighs, motioning over toward her neighbour - who swallows down a laugh.

She insists he take a bottle with him when they're done, too proud to keep them all and too mortified to send him home without a token of thanks.

"Alright," she huffs, blowing strands of brown hair out of her dark eyes. "But only up the first lot of stairs. Together, ready? One, two, three!"