By some miracle means, Saoirse found herself seated on an overhang portruding from one of the buildings near the docks, with a notebook and pen in her hand. Of course, those miracle means were actually just scaling and climbing the walls in a way that took almost embarrasingly long to get over with, but now she was on top of the world! Though it's not exactly rare that she climbs buildings and all thay just for shits and giggles, today she found a real motive for doing it, and that was to find inspiration. The sea was very pretty, of course, but it gets boring after a while, just looking at it from the ground. Thankfully noone had mamaged to drive her away from her little spot yet.

While it was true that her poetry got a start from her socialist tendencies, she eventually managed to split off to writing  just. Poetic things. Whether that was intentional or not, she couldn't even say herself. And so she sat there, scribbling into her little notebook, groaning in annoyance every now and again because writing is pain.

Whitby. Whatever it was that her siblings saw in this town, Nesah could not see it. It was as crowded as it was dull. There was the sea. There was a beach. There was a ruin. There were too many shops selling the same black 'jewelry' fit only for people who wanted to look like they had given up on life already. If you came too close to the cottages and yards, there was the nauseating smell of fish mixed with the kind of filth that only existed where too many people lived packed together. And there were the bastards known as seagulls. People actually traveled to this place for their mediocre seaside holidays, but even that had stopped during the winter. Whitby. Despondency-on-sea.

But for now she continued to exploit her siblings' hospitality, for though she longed for an independent life, she knew that her parents would be concerned if she lived all by herself somewhere else, so for their sake, she was stuck here. For now. Nesah spent most of her time studying for her entrance exam, but now and then she would take a walk, still trying to see the attraction of the town which her brothers apparently felt. The harder she tried, the more she hated the place. She hated it when dirty fisher people nearly bumped into her. The thought of getting that smell on her clothes was sometimes enough to make her turn around and go back inside. She hated the way the people talked, with accents so thick and words so strange that it was hard for her to understand with her text-book taught English. She hated many more things, and she stood reflecting on all of them by the water side, thinking that she was alone for once. But suddenly she heard a groan. She turned to look around, but she could not see anyone. She just was turning back when from the corner of her eye, she spotted the young woman on the overhang and jumped in fright and grasped. She muttered something in Yiddish. Look! Another thing she hated!

Saoirse was just scribbling things into her notebook like a madwoman, regretting having ever decided to start writing poetry. Maybe she should've just become a swamp witch instead. But, alas, it was too late to reconsider her choices, as she was sitting on this overhang writing things and there was nothing she could do about it that didn't include making the depressing walk of shame from her little spot back to her disgusting, disgusting little 'house', if you could even call it that. So she decided to just stare blankly at the sea, groaning in disgust at herself and at literature and at the sea and at capitalism for making her start writing this stuff and at Whitby and at the world and at everyone who has ever existed.

Though she was stuck in her own bubble for this brief time, said bubble was quickly burst as she saw a sudden movement from the corner of her eye and heard a gasp and and an incomprehensible muttering. Whipping her head around on reflex to face the aforementioned sudden movement, she looked down from her little spot to see a young woman standing there, looking very very annoyed and full of hatred as well. What kindred spirits the two were. Saoirse looked at the woman for a short moment that regardless seemed very long to her, furrowed her eyebrows and frowned.

"Are you, like.......okay?" she asked. She wasn't doing anything worthy of that reaction, right? Was this woman going to drive her away from her spot? Though she would have worried about that in any other situation, right now she was too concerned with being kind of angry at the woman for bursting her little bubble.

Nesah looked up with an irritated frown, annoyed that she had been startled and even more annoyed that the other woman should have seen. She glanced the girl over. A pretty face, but poorly dressed and groomed. Shouldn't a working girl like her be busy doing whatever those fishing girls did on the beach, or pushing out babies to further overcrowd the town? Not sitting around on unlikely places doing God knew what? "Yes, I'm alright. Thank you." She said with a heavy accent, though her tone probably still betrayed irritation and impatience. "What on earth are you doing?"

Though Saoirse was still irritated, her anger and annoyance had mostly subsided by now. It became quickly apparent to her that the other woman likely wasn't from Whitby, what with the thick accent and just.....the vibes surrounding her. But maybe she was wrong and Whitby natives just sound like that. "Well, that's good, aye?" she replied, not expecting nor wanting an answer to the question. "What do you think I'm doing?" Another question she didn't want an answer to.

"Writing, of course," she raised up her notebook to further prove that she is, actually, writing. "Do you have a problem with that or somethin'?" Though her tone may have seemed confrontational or irritated, the question was genuine. Was this girl here to drive her away from her spot or something? Would be a real shame.

Nesah quirked an eyebrow. Could her sort write? Oh, yes of course. Wasn't her own brother throwing his own education and opportunities away to teach poor kids their letters? But she still couldn't fathom was a girl like her would need to write? And why up there, for heaven's sake? "No..." she said, hesitantly. "I just didn't expect anyone up there..."

At that, Saoirse laughed. "No one does!" she looked down at the woman with an almost proud look on her face. It seemed that she wouldn't have to leave her spot for some time, then. "That's why I'm up here. Because most people don't think to look up here and bother me. And the view is just better from up here." Alas, it seems that today she was bothered by someone. But most of her annoyance had disappeared by now, and she was much too focused on talking to this girl to be really angry.

Oh she could understand the not being bothered with. The main reason that she had chosen to inflict herself of Zech's hospitality, rather than that of any of her other siblings, was that she knew Zech felt the same way. That, and his house was bigger than Uriel's and though both were sleeping with some redheaded common girl who lived in the house, Zech's knew how not to be noticed. "Have you no work to do?" She asked, perhaps a little too straightforward.

Saoirse's expression fell. "This IS my work," she explained, gesturing with her pen in her hand. Well, yeah, she didn't actually work. Most of her time was just spent being angry and trying to start revolutions and writing poetry and attempting to liberate the working class. "don't YOU have work to do?" She retorted with a smug smile as if that was the ultimate 'gotcha'.

"No." She stated plainly. "Are you a writer?" Not a very successful one, judging by the state of her clothes.