Victoria played absent-mindedly with the googles around her neck as Vincent told his story. The reassuring weight and smoothness of the glass a comfort to her. When he had finished, she flashed him a small smile and a nod of understanding.
“The big city, huh? Sounds like it would be a lot of fun,” she commented in return. Pulling her hand away from the goggles, she cleared her throat and stared at the fire for a second; almost as if trying to think of what to say. The fire was mesmerizing, the dance of the flames like a choreographed ballet of individual performers. Ebbing and flowing with the pass of each breeze, the dry heat radiating from within its heart.
“I’m from a small place outside of Mistralton city,” she said, her gaze locked onto the fire. “There’s a big farming community around the area, a lot of work for my dad. Every summer, him and I would help with crop-dusting the new harvest. That’s where I learned to fly,” She finished retelling, her tone taking on a bit of pride as it reflected on that accomplishment.
Breaking her gaze, she turned to look at Vincent. Her left hand reached for the goggles at her throat once again. The well worn leather a fond remembrance of her father. “That’s where these came from,” she point out. “These were my father’s, he bought a new pair and gave me his old ones.” A smile crossed her complexion at the memory.
“I’ve been there for the past few years helping out my dad, but that’s a bit of a long story. I really wouldn’t want to bore you to death,” She tacked on at the end, almost hurried in inflection. Her green eyes turned glassy for a second, the recollection of her mother saddened her deeply.
“So, I guess you could say I’m a country bumpkin without the accent,” She joked, giving off a small chuckle. She took her right hand and smoothed out the hair resting over her shoulder, the frizziness had died down a little thanks to the water and dry fire heat. The brushing with her hand continued for sometime, a compulsive behavior she wasn’t even aware of at that very moment.