Take a deep breath and forget about it
From Create Your Own Story
You remind yourself that they are just children, and that if your parents (if you'd had any) had spent your childhood fighting a war against each other, you probably wouldn't have been much different. You grudgingly let the matter go yet another time. You're not sure the parents would understand you anyway, given how few Slavic words you know, how drunk the father always is and how loudly the mother is always yelling.
You descend the cold, dark staircase and head out into the street, thankfully with no more incident than a knife whizzing out the door of your neighbours' rooms seconds after you passed by, but this is par for the course. As you take a moment to peer up and down the street - it never hurts to check for bandits, or worse, your landlord - you suddenly feel a pair of small hands enthusiastically squeezing your firm, juicy buttocks. You squeal and whirl around, cheeks hot with anger and humiliation, in time to see one of the tiny terrors tearing away down the street, shrieking with laughter. Seething at the latest indignity inflicted upon you by these diabolical children, you make for a nearby alleyway and stop there to collect your thoughts.
You think about the things you need to do today. You are often ashamed of your ignorance of, well, absolutely everything, and yearn to improve your education. You can't afford a tutor with your meagre savings, but you might be able to convince someone in town to give you some lessons. You could look for a job to earn yourself some much-needed cash. You consider heading towards the central market and political center of Fiume, and trying to find someone who has a problem a freelancer like yourself can solve. Your career as an adventurer has never really gotten off the ground because every time you approach men they take one look at you and picture you on your knees, or bent over, rather than putting arrows through their enemies' throats, but it's always worth a shot. The way you're dressed won't help convince people of your martial talents, but on the positive side your cleavage isn't bulging in their faces either. You could start your day off by going to Mass, and you know you definitely have some things to confess. Finally, you could admit defeat right away and wander aimlessly around town picking your nose, which is what you end up doing every day anyway.
You decide to:
