Got Your Money [Novi Pazar/Public]

((Haaaa, now that the plot has changed and age isn't a problem, Zdravka is Dragan's daughter...as she was supposed to be xD. However, thanks to them not knowing their histories, she still thinks she's his sister. AND NOW THAT SHE'S A TRUE SERBIAN WOMAN, I CAN PIMP THIS SONG FOR HER.))

Some people might have sensed a sweet sticky odor, with the tell-tale smell of grease somewhere off in the back of the stands, the familiar scent of better times, happier times, perhaps reminded of their childhood or of trips out with the family. As Zdravka paced the back of the stands' counters, however, running jagged fingernails over their surfaces, she only was aware of one smell, a faint one but one nonetheless: the smell of money making, and she was as honed to this waft as a shark was to that one unfortunate drop of blood.

The brunette knew there wasn't much money to be made working in a place like this, but hey, it was better than nothing. From time to time she wouldstep back here, checking off profits and revenue and taking into account how much had been soldand what still remained, what could be saved for another day and what she'd have to run back out in town to buy more of, thus deducting from their total money supply. She did it all at a feverish, almost obsessive pace, coming every hour on the hour with a scrap of paper onto which she wrote everything down. Money was her business, hell, it was her life, She argued over it, fought over it, scratched and bit for every bargain she could get.

"But I have to play nice, now..." she muttered to herself. She had to be a team player...not something Zdravka was particularly good at. But she knew team dad Vasilje--and actual relative of hers--would not take lightly to her being hunched over wads of cash protectively, hissing 'Minnnnnnnnnnne!' Which, of course, she wouldn't do...of course not...

As for now, it was accounting time. She loosened up her ponytail as she grabbed for the pencil stashed in it, putting its dull tip to paper.

"Need more flour...sugar...nuts, remember to get the nuts...ah, damn, this is not making for got profits at all!"

She growled, crossing out a few numbers while checking to make sure the apples stored away were still ripe. Perhaps she should loosen up...learn to enjoy the carnival for what it was instead of using it only for cold, hard cash. There were those strange visions she was having; dreams of gunfire, dreams of the squabble of what had seemed to be a very old bazaar, dreams of people speaking in a foreign tongue which she had been able to understand. And it all seemed so real. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck and she brushed it off, deciding to slump on the ground for a while.

It would take one hell of a person to wrench those thoughts---and any thoughts other than money---from her mind.

((FIRST TIME PLAYING AS HER, HERE'S HOPING FOR SUCCESS---))