Saoirse had decided to take a walk in the town, no doubt to rant about the injustices of the world to anyone who will listen, or just weep to herself about how difficult writing actually is. By now, she was pretty much ready to just get to the market, buy some necessities and then head home—but she didn't, and instead kept walking, absent-mindedly passing a building without care until she was stopped by someone asking for help.

As much as she was nice and relatively helpful, she was also a judgemental bastard. "You shouldn't be riding bikes, ser," Saoirse looked down at the man and crossed her arms. Did this man not know how those bikes were made? What the conditions of the workers making those bikes and collecting the materials for them were? The gall!