TIDES ( o )

Her days had become as consistent and predictable as the motions of the tides. Pepper could feel her moods sway and sink, then rush and rise just like the ocean. Fish in the morning, collect mussels in the afternoon, fish in the evening, cast nets at night... then fall into a deep, dreamless slumber shortly after the moon revealed itself in the sky. She had become a creature of habit, and she hated every blasted second of it.

Pepper was crouched by the dock, reeling in a huge lobster trap. With each heave on the chain, her muscles screamed. Tears moistened the edges of her eyes and her hands were burning and streaked with saltwater and rust, but she had a job to do.

Once the container (empty again) was hauled onto the dock, she set it with bait and dropped it into the foaming water once more. Perhaps tomorrow (though she doubted it), she'd have more luck. Pepper stared grimly at the horizon where the ocean met the sky, contemplating what it would be like to just float away.

Sadly, Peppermint Smithers didn't have the wings or the technology to make it happen. She was stuck on the land with fanciful dreams.

Sighing, perhaps a little melodramatically, Pepper picked herself up off of the dock and gathered her pail of mussels. It was time to return to the house and prepare tonight's dinner - what else? Seafood stew.

Grumbling to herself about the lack of nutrition she had in her diet, Pepper stumbled up the beach and onto a bustling District street. People peddling petty wares and cheap trinkets shrieked from either side of the cobbled street, waving their gaudy seashells and shellacked necklaces in her face. Pepper squinted through the bright sunlight that reflected off of brightly painted carts and hefted her pail closer to her body.

She had her own little cart, stashed away behind the shack that she called home, but it wasn't worth hauling out when she had so little to sell. In a few more weeks, she'd have finished her master work: a tightly woven knit top with small shells sewn to the ends of the sleeves, hem, and neckline. It was made of shimmery blue thread and thick purple woolen yarn. If Pepper had been more selfish, she would have kept it for herself.

However, the fish weren't biting well lately and all she was picking off the bottom of the dock were small morsels of mussels - barely enough to make a satisfying stew.

Pepper sighed contentedly. Today was the first day in a long time she'd managed to gather enough to make a thick, delicious stew. Now, where was that alley that led to her own small, ramshackle neighborhood?

She scanned the crowded street, then found the correct turnoff. Pepper picked up her pace and trotted towards it. So distracted was she by the possibility of a thick, scrumptious stew (her mouth had even begun to water!) that she wasn't paying attention to where she was going.

Pepper slammed into a stranger, spilling her mussels and a fair bit of saltwater all down the front of their shirt. Mussels clattered to the dirty ground, and Pepper shouted an expletive. "Hey!" She shouted, blushing at her own mistake but too prideful to admit she was in the wrong. "Watch where you're going!"