Dustland Fairytale (Liazzat/Public)

When Liazzat asked about a horse (who, mind you, was in its last few days of life) she was given all sorts of mixed reactions from the ragtag crew. Some gave her the go to get rid of it, most were absolutely horrified that she'd ever conceive the idea to use the thing for food. In the end, she had no other choice but to go to the market and buy lamb which, she was positive, wasn't as fresh as the butcher had claimed.

And she would've shared too.

The Kazakh sat, bored, poking at the fire while waiting for the water to come to a boil; All sorts of thoughts clouded her mind. She wondered if she should have added more squash to the manti filling, it would made the spoiled lamb taste much better. Or maybe she should have made a whole other dish altogether it was too hot for dumplings after all. But if Altynai's brother came by.. Surely he loved manti. He would especially love hers--

Liazzat felt her cheeks become red for what was probably the thousandth time that day. She had been thinking about the girl's brother a lot lately. How much she wanted to meet him, impress him, she even thought of their wedding even though their was a small chance they'd ever get married.
Ever since Altynai had brought up the idea of a family, Liazzat became more and more nervous about her future. She was old, or at least getting old. She needed a husband, a house of her own and plenty of children to fill it but her options were so limited. There were no other Central Asians she knew of except for the asshole from the market and she would much quicker die than place herself at his side as 'wife'.

The Kazakh sighed and brushed a lone bead of sweat from her brow, focusing her attention back to the pot before her. There was no use in worrying about him anymore like there was no use in thinking this mysterious brother would show up to the ragtags any time soon. She would just have to die a spinster, much to her and surely Altynai's disappointment.

She drew another sigh.


(LMAO WHAT IS THIS.)

The Midwestern territory was more similar to home than Bess expected. True, she did very much prefer the comforts of home to long-distance travels, but she really didn't have much of an option at this point. The dry, dusty winds made the girl long for her city, but she didn't really find much of a difference in living in a overcrowded caravan than scrounging out an existence in the slums of downtown Charleston. While people here were less inclined to help a sister out, or much less half anything positive to say, Bess figured that she may as well keep her chin up as there was no use crying about it. In fact, she found it liberating in a way. She was an independent lady, earning her own stay and wages. Life seemed to be fairing better, but if only there was some way to get rid of her bum of a daddy.

Bess shook her thick, braided hair out of her favorite kerchief, and leaned against the flank of an old horse. The animal wobbled and whinnied harshly which caused the startled girl to swivel around and apologize to the beast. "Oh, you poor baby," she crooned and smoothed its mane sympathetically, "I'm sorry, that must have hurt them ol' bones o' yours." The horse responded simply by blinking its half-blind eye sadly. The chords of Bess' heart practically broke from the sorry sight, so she gave the horse another series of pats and hustled forward once more.

"Poor ol' thing," Bess murmured speaking to no one in particular. "If that were my horse, I'd treat it better. I'd feed it or maybe sell it to one o' them carriage companies. They take care of it, feed it an' brush it an' everyth'n." She had no doubt that if her father had that horse, he'd shoot it, put it out of its misery.

Heart temporarily heavy, Bess walked on in search of something that would take her mind off of the dismal atmosphere. That didn't take as long as expected when she caught wind of something cooking over an open flame. Was it barbecue? Soup? Bess couldn't have cared less; it was a home-cooked meal, for crying out loud! Bess loved to cook, and probably looked the part with her stocky frame and apron that bore each stain like a culinary badge. She followed the draft through the camp for a little bit until she arrives at the source. It was a woman, but she sure didn't look like the kind from these parts, or the States fir that matter. But what bothered Bess the moat was that the woman looked sad. Even though Bess estimated that they were both probably in the same age range, the foreigner looked somewhat older with such a sorrowful expression. Bess forgot about the food, and primped herself as she approached the unfamiliar female.

"My, oh my, what has is all this? I'm startin' to worry 'bout all these sad folk 'round here. When one person ain't happy, ain't nobody happy! That's bad for business!" Bess stooped over the pot of boiling meat and nodded approvingly. "Ain't got a clue what that is, but it smells delicious!" Bess lifted the edges of her patched up dress and dipped politely. "My name is Elizabeth Sanders, and I can't tell you how hard it is to find good cookin' 'round these parts." Pulling up a stump-turned-footstool, Bess folded her hands in a ladylike manner, round eyes twinkling at her new friend. "Now I don't mean to be a busy-body, but what has you in such a bad mood, sugar? You're much too pretty to start getting frown wrinkles this early."

Bess

Liazzat jumped up at the sound of the female's voice, spinning to face a rather dark, rather plump woman. She barely had time to greet her before she went off about the mood around camp then on to examine the pot.

"Ah-They're dumplings," The friendly woman was even quick to grab herself a seat before the Kazakh could even move to accommodate her new guest. "and t-thank you."

"Liazzat Zhanuzakov." She wiped her clammy palms on her skirt before reaching to take Elizabeth's hand in both of her own. She prayed that Altynai would see their new guest and know enough to bring out tea. Liazzat felt awfully unprepared and nervous about being a terrible host, her hands becoming more sweaty than before. Luckily, the black woman didn't seem to mind at all.

Liazzat sat back down and began to fix the handkerchief wrapped around her head. Suddenly, it was feeling all too tight. "Early? I'm in my twenties- Well on my way to being a lonely, middle-aged hag. I don't think frown lines would matter at this point." She gave a disheartened sigh. "My parents would be so disappointed- my young friend certainly is- that I haven't made a family yet. There are girls younger than me who have already given birth, I'm ashamed!" Her dark, tired eyes flickered up to Bess apologetically; She played with the edge of her apron.

(HNG THERE WOULD BE MORE BUT MY DOG IS FREAKING OUT OVER FIREWORKS-/pushesheroffweep)