Tiny Litsy's page

At the age of five, the existence of Elizabeta Lancarius came to an end in the blaze that took her home and her parents. What was left of her, a haggard child in rags, was unceremoniously dumped on the steps of Old Kintargo's orphanage on a bright morning.

The decrepit old building was rumored to have been quite beautiful before it left the care of the Iomedaen church, driven away by the spread of violence and poverty in the district. Without much financial support, it had become a mere way to house the poor, the unwanted and the forgotten until they were old enough to leave.

As a child who remembered nothing but her name, which she mispronounced with the lisp of a five year old, Litsy probably wouldn't have lasted long if it hadn't been for Connor- at least, that was what he liked to boast about. Not that it was strictly untrue. Otherwise, her first and strongest memories wouldn't have been spending time with him, curled up with a book, telling him a story he couldn't decipher, and pointing to him words that he would get wrong on purpose to make her laugh.

Connor was a year older than she was, a solid foot taller, and nearly twice as large. He could have easily become one of the little brutes of the playground if he didn't keep to himself so much, and because he could throw a mean punch, few dared to disturb his solitude. There were rumors, said in a very low whisper, that his mother had been a "prostitute", though Litsy didn't know what that word meant.

At first, she didn't get why he had taken a liking to her, with her "tiny body, hella big mouth, and a knack for getting in trouble", as he used to say. It certainly hadn't earned her many friends. She was being pushed around a lot because of her slight build, and when she eventually got fed up with being mistreated and started to talk back, it had made things even worse. Why Connor had chosen one day to step in and chase off her bullies was, for many years, a mystery to her. Then, one day, he had opened up and told her about his little sister, whom he didn't see anymore because she had left the city with their mother. Litsy had wondered why she hadn't brought Connor along then, and said nothing but understood things a little better.

It was him who first had the idea to leave the orphanage. His head was filled with impossible dreams. He was persuaded that they could make a living out in the streets by becoming thieves, like many other children. They could bring some of the kids along, the ones who were sick of never getting adopted, and form a kind of big family. Litsy voiced her concerns, but a dangerous life outside with Connor was better than a half-life walled in the prison of the orphanage.

For five years, they just about managed to make a living on the streets. Because pickpocketing or heists were extremely risky, they turned to cons, which Connor and Litsy became experts at creating. They shared their profits, more or less equally, and found abandoned flats to shelter everyone at night.

Yet, the street urchins were frequently exposed to hunger, sickness and fatigue, which dwindled their numbers. Worse still were the grown-ups-the deranged and the criminals roaring the streets for fresh prey, drug-dealers seeking credulous clients, police officers on the lookout for easy-to-deal crime that could improve their arrest records and reputation. While Connor's dreams shrank, focusing on renting a tenement in Old Kintargo, Litsy's expanded. At the age of fifteen, she used most of her savings to hire a detective, who unveiled the existence of the minor noble house of Lancarius, fervent supporters of the late Monarch Carellia. Their estate had burned down in the wake of a political purge, leaving no other survivors than some distant family and a few servants, who had promptly left the country. Litsy refused to try and contact any of them and never talked of what she had learned to another soul, yet she started eyeing the Greens and its luxuries with a newfound resolve, persuaded that one day, it would be her and Connor's home.

The rise to power of Mayor Barzillai, however, destroyed whatever fragile equilibrium the two friends had managed to achieve. Increased patrols in the streets forced the gang to take more and more risks in order to make a living. One day, Connor's luck ran out, and he got recognized while trying to cheat a man from his purse. Litsy wasn't even there when the police constables dragged him away.

Some of his former partners in crime were foolish enough to think of breaking him out, or assist to his military trial, which Litsy categorically forbade out of fear that it would only end up in more arrests. Consequently, neither she nor her gang have any idea what exactly happened next to Connor. She believes that he was probably taken away to the old salt manufactory, now turned prison, where even rumors have trouble getting out.

There was, of course, nothing to be done. He'd never have wanted more people to get into trouble anyway. Still, Litsy sometimes lay awake at night thinking of the new Mayor's infamous fondness for dogs, and what they did to prisoners, and felt her heart sink and her eyes water.

Worse still, her authority over her own gang members was now waning, as they grew more and more distrustful and defiant of the traitor who had abandoned one of their own numbers.

It would only be a question of time before she ended up, once again, in serious trouble.

Litsy doesn't look like much, in every sense of the word. Aside from her incredibly petite stature that prompted Connor to nickname her "Tiny", there is nothing particularly remarkable about her. After a good wash, her plain but agreeable features might even be generously called pretty, though she rather disdains such infantilizing and under-handed compliments.

With her pale skin, dark eyes, even darker hair that she wears at shoulder-length and expressive eyebrows, she looks like many Chelaxian girls of around the same age. Few of them, however, would be caught dead with Litsy's worn-out but practical and comfortable clothing, or her disheveled hair that she cuts with her own knife. Living on the streets has taught her to distrust others and always watch her back, so she does her very best at trying to conceal any distinctive feature she might have, out of fear of being recognized by previous targets or the police. She is particularly exasperated by a mole above her left eye, that she typically attempts to hide beneath her hair.

In spite of her slight build, or perhaps because of it, Litsy has developed a boisterous and cheeky personalist that has rendered her an expert at talking her way in and out of trouble. Ever the staunch materialist, she has learned to rely on that ability as a way to make a quick profit. However, Connor's arrest has proven that not only were there problems against which her sharp tongue couldn't do anything, but that material goods would not wholly suffice to her happiness.