That day, like so many days before, had Christie standing alone, arms crossed to warm a shivering frame. That day, Christie was wearing a simple blue skirt with a matching jacket and a white blouse. White high heels were not particularly ideal in this terrain; this area was the midway between the slums and the golden city, and while it was not half as run down as in the bad parts of town, there were old, shut down buildings harboring wooden planks over doors and windows. Glass lay broken by the side of the crooked road and the remains of cars lingered, empty and abandoned.

A particular strong gust of wind blew through, ruffling Christie’s shoulder length black hair and making the teenager wince with the overpowering smell of smog. Factories in the distance billowed smoke; all those not fortunate to have been born into a wealthy family lived near these massive monuments that did nothing but produce worthless merchandise for the human race—or whatever was left of it, anyway.

In the distance—the center of town—was the ‘Golden City’, the only place where the clouds broke to let stream in the rays of sun blocked out elsewhere by the dark clouds. This was the only place in miles where the sun would shine constantly, the only place where the stars and moon could be seen at night. All due to science, of course, paid for by the wealthy to supply them with a happy and healthy environment. They didn’t wake up in the middle of the night cold, or choking because the pollution was so thick.

Christie was glad, then, to be well off enough to afford decent clothes, even if back home wasn’t so safe or swell. So, here was where the fun began. Chrissie was missing only one thing—a necessity to all girls—and that was the little white purse that would complete such an outfit as was worn. But that was just a ruse; the location of the purse was known at all times.

Christie waited for someone that looked to be well off to approach; it would only take a little time. After all, looking so cute and vulnerable, what middle-aged man could resist the allure? That was the plan. Get them close enough to distract them with looking for the purse, and then take their wallet when they weren’t looking. Getting caught was never an option, but…there was always the occasional risk. High-heeled shoes were not running shoes, but if Christie knew anything, it was how to run. How to run and survive when there wasn’t a job open to those that weren’t wealthy.

Tyril turned his face up towards the sky, frowning slightly. He missed the way the sun felt on his face, back before the skies were dank and gray. As a merchant, he moved back and forth between the two cities quite often. He'd been born above but when his parents died, he was all but tossed to the slums. He made it by selling off almost all of his possessions. Despite loosing everything, he'd found that he loved the excitement of the open markets and began to live as a traveling merchant between both cities. It was a hard life but he loved it.

The cold wind that blew through the slums went right through his clothes. With a soft shiver, he pulled his coat tighter around his body and pulled his hair around his shoulders so that it covered his throat. He'd been searching the other places, looking for possible items to sell above. It was a sick and twisted hobby by the luckier residents of the Golden City loved collecting the shabby, moody art works of the slums. He supposed that he should feel bad for taking advantage of this fact but in his mind, he made up for it by selling as low as he could to the people here. This morning hadn't produced much of anything promising and Tyril was headed back to his hotel room.

He noticed the girl in white and blue. Mostly due to the white. It stood out starkly against the overall drab tones of the city. He paid her little attention as he walked by. It didn't seem very safe and she didn't look very warm but there was nothing he could do for her. Not without looking like some sort of pervert, at any rate.

Christie was a little displeased at not being noticed; it wasn't normal. Most of the men that came back this way were complete jerks and wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of some poor helpless woman. Which, of course, Christie was not.

This fellow didn't look too rich, but Christie was desperate; Jennifer was just getting worse and just sitting around wasn't helping.

So, doing the only thing that came to mind, Christie gave out a sort of wail, hoping to catch the other's attention. In a silky voice once he once thought to be cursed, he cried, "Dammit!"

Tyril cursed under his breath. It was cold and his hotel room promised a warm bed in a voice he could almost hear. But as much as he might have wanted to, but he couldn't ignore it. Maybe it was his curiosity, or the bit of chivalry he still maintained but he stopped and turned.

He slipped his hands into his pockets as he approached, stopping a few steps away from the girl. "You in some sort of trouble, miss," he asked, glancing up to her face. 'Not bad for a girl,' he thought to himself, bringing a slight smirk to his lips.

Christie hid the smile that had just formed and put on a mask of absolutely disarray. "My purse. It had--it had everything in it. And it's lost. I need it back or...or I'll be in so much trouble! I can't go home without it!"

Oh, what a lie. There wasn't even a purse to begin with. Christie hoped that this fellow, like so many others, wouldn't be so quick to catch on to such a ploy.

Tyril fought not to roll his eyes. Lost purse... he should have guessed. He glanced around, not seeing any places that it could have fallen behind or into. "When do you last remember having it," he asked, turning his back to her to look around a little more in what he assumed was the direction she came.

He squinted as a particuarly cold wind made his eyes water. It was certainly not the weather for this type of thing.

Christie may have been a good enough actor, but even so couldn't pretend that such a cold chill hadn't been distracting enough. Thinking it best to get this over as quickly as possible, Christie circled this male, feigning to be searching for the last place a purse could be watch; in reality, the search was for a wallet of of some sort--or, at least, it's hiding place.

"I'm not sure. I don't remember dropping it at all..."