Topsy Turvy

[Cosmin Luminitsa]

Undecimber 20th
Year LV
10.01

The elegant sound of a reed pipe was clearly evident, despite the bustling crowd shoving its way every which direction.

On a small bit of concrete, just to the side of a large jewelery shop, a lone boy resided. Though he was by no means downtrodden and quiet. On the contrary, the musical instrument was held to his own lips, fingers dancing among the different holes. His curly-toed shoes mimicked this movement, slender build jostling this way and that.

This was a daily routine for Cosmin, really. Though his destination changed quite often, he would improvise on his handmade instrument, body flowing lazily however it wished. Street performing was the boy's only source of income, and though it wasn't ideal for most, Cosmin couldn't imagine doing anything else.

The reason for choosing this specific place in which to dance was simple. As a rule, women were more generous to him, and what better place to entertain them then before a store filled with invaluable gems and sparkling stones?

To add to the charming flow of the pipe, several bells adorning his eccentric outfit chimed and jingled merrily. This was a method he had been taught as a young child; a way to inflict more music into the air without an additional instrument or a partner. It was quite effective when he was in need of a little extra money.

This wasn't to imply Cosmin didn't have any friends of course. Granted, he didn't really have anyone he would refer to as a friend, nor even a companion..or even liked. But plenty of people were prone to begging for a piece of his lime light, tagging along with him wherever he went, fans really. Did they count as friends? The boy didn't think so, as was the reason he never allowed them to help with his music. So inexperienced were they bound to be, he trusted he'd make less money than he did by himself.

Half lidded brown orbs raised slightly as a foreign chink caught the brunette's attention. Cosmin gave a lopsided grin of thanks to the passerby as she dropped a small handful of coins into the roughened hat Cosmin had placed on the ground before him.

Even small miracles were a true gift to this gypsy.

---
Word count: 427
Outfit: Not gonna lie. He was entirely loosely based on Clopin.

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Comments: Open to anybody. ;3 Have fun~ <3[/blockquote][/size][/font]

[Mercy Bell]

Chink. What?

Mercy stopped abruptly as a hand suddenly reached out and grabbed her upper arm. She knew that it was her mother, who had been walking beside and just ahead of her, so did not panic -- but a flood of curiousity raged through her. Odd sounds, of course, and some odd colours. She hadn't stopped or commented on the music as she'd wanted to, or the extraordinary appearance of the singular blotch that was playing (all that Mercy could ever see of people were blotches, and this one was singular); not at all that she hadn't wanted to, but her mother would have only jerked her along anyway.

Then there had been the "chink!" of coins. Olivia Bell knew the sound far more keenly than her daughters, the two youngest of which were trailing behind her this morning. Mercy turned her head, lowering it so that her pale eyes could not be seen beneath the brim of her bonnet.

"What exactly are you doing?" Hissed her mother, her cold gaze upon the slight blond Beatrice, all dimples and curls, who was tucking her small purse into her sleeve and trying to look innocent. The result was quite a hilarity, but then again, Beatrice always was.

To keep Beatrice from opening her mouth (which always ended badly, without fail) Mercy interjected. "It was for the music, Mama." She said, swallowing as Olivia tightened her grip. The woman directed her eyes to the gypsy boy, dressed in so gaudy a manner, and they narrowed upon him as if he had committed a terrible crime.

"That is not music, Mercy. It is gypsy noise."

Topsy Turvy - The Hunchback of Notre Dame

[Cosmin Luminitsa]

"That is not music."

Ah, the unmistakable venom within a voice. Cosmin was all too used to this, and above all else, it was quite amusing. To abhor a boy just because he danced unproactively was so closed minded it usually brought a wide smile to his face. It seemed the intolerance for foreigners was everywhere.

"It is gypsy noise."

Coffee coloured eyes rose from the sight of jingling bells to a women with several daughters in tow. To teach ones so young to hate was quite despicable, Cosmin always thought. Why not just hand them a lance and order them to spear all unfamiliar characters? This gypsy was taught to care for others regardless of their social standing or, in this case, nationality.

Except for most lawmen. They were quite rude.

Withdrawing himself from his inner musings, Cosmin flashed a dazzling grin towards the elder woman, deliberately sending a wink her way. As if to add insult to injury, his curly toed feet shuffled forward inconspicuously, closer towards the small group of maids. A single gloved hand continued tapping, palm-down, on his hip where a cluster of bells were present. This enabled the past beat to continue, despite his lips losing contact with the pipe.

He leaned downwards slightly and, with another disarming smile, gazed at the young girl responsible for the small charity.

"Merci, mademoiselle," he whispered, before making an exaggerated bow, so low that the tip of his nose nearly touched his shoes. Straightening up, he cast a glance towards the girl who had been severely reprimanded not a minute ago. Cosmin's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he took in her appearance, but it was her eyes that really caught him off guard. There was no mistaking that murky cloud manifested in milky orbs; she was blind.

A small amount of empathy welled within the gypsy's chest, though he didn't pay it any mind. Rather, he approached the disabled blonde and, this time offering a kind smile, spoke softly.

"Would you be interested in a dance in your honour, miss?" he asked quietly, "Perhaps you cannot see, but you can hear, yes?"

---
Word Count: 356
Outfit: Obvious
Comments: D'aww~ I felt sentimental, couldja tell?

[Maggie]

__________________________

Maggie;

Ah, the hustle and bustle of the village was certainly a sight to behold. Let alone encounter! When Maggie had made her first adventure through the busy roads she’d nearly been squished by several pairs of feet, hurrying along their way to their owner’s next destination. Luckily her mother had snatched her out of the fray before anything else could happen, but the memory still remained imprinted on the young Guardian’s mind. Not that she paid it much mind at the moment. Oh no, she was much bigger now and had grown accustomed to the uncertain travel methods of humans that walked up and down the roads. Experience told her to step to the side if someone had a heavy stomp to their walk, brush against an ankle if one had a slow pace, and then scurry if one had a skip to their step.

‘They always have something to do in a hurry,’ She could hear her grandfather saying, chuckling with a shake of his head. Maggie gave a small frown, confused why the older cat had found such a thing so amusing. He’d given her a funny look after saying that, a small glimmer in his eyes that he got whenever he talked about their grandmother. But that was a long time ago, and she had yet to ask him about it. Maybe she’d ask him later… If she remembered of course. Shaking her head, Maggie twitched her ears and quickened her pace, noticing the skirts she’d been following for the past half hour were disappearing into the crowd ahead. Weaving through legs, shoes and cloth, Maggie caught up behind the small Bell girl she’d been trailing after, pleased that she hadn’t lost them in the mass of people.

Maggie didn’t favor any specific villager or family, but it seemed she had a tendency to follow the Bell family as of late. The daughters were quite pleasant to follow around, always getting into some sort of situation at one time or another, though she couldn’t say the same for their mother. A sudden harsh tone caught the cat’s attention, and Maggie felt her ears lower when she realized who it came from. Olivia Bell was not cup of sugar when she got angry – though Maggie wasn’t sure if she had much of any sweetness in her soul. Watching Beatrice hide away her purse into her sleeve, she twitched her whiskers when somebody came over to

Watching Beatrice hide her purse and slide her mother an innocent look, Maggie made a small sound in curiosity to see what she’d done to receive such a harsh comment. Looking from side to side, she noticed a rather dog-eared hat sitting on the side of the road, a collection of coins glinting from inside. Ooh… Wait, what? Forgetting her previous task of following the Bell ladies, Maggie made her way towards the hat, sniffing it lightly before pawing at it the edges. Who did this belong to? A jingle made the tabby look to the right, her attention immediately caught on the young man standing close to Mercy. Was this his? Well, whatever. This guy had bells on him…

Eyes widening with glee, Maggie all but pounced on the young man’s shoes, paws trying to trap the small silver ball on the end of his toes. Maggie? Short attention span? … Maybe.

[Mercy Bell]

Beatrice stifled a gasp when the boy winked at her mother, but Olivia was in no hurry to disguise her disgust. Her nose went into she air and her lips pressed into a thin, harsh line. Beatrice echoed her mother's expression, but there was a lilt to her lips that hinted at a smile and her eyes were bugged out, her eyelashes batting. She sidled closer as if had flirted with her, letting loose a bubbly fit of laughter at his antics.

"He's French!" She all but shouted, pleased with herself. Some people stopped to see what was going on, and then shook their heads and moved on. Beatrice Bell was always too loud. She seemed to deflate as the object of her amusement shifted his attention to her sister. Her arms crossed under her chest, pushing up her breasts (maybe just a little bit intentionally).

Mercy lifted her milky eyes, though she kept her face pointed squarely at his shoes. His voice was surprising. He must be quite close to her own age. So young, yet entirely alone -- wasn't he? She had heard whispers of him, of course. A fool, a gypsy, wandering the village. If there had been more, she would have heard. Even while Olivia made a noise that could only be translated as adamant protest, Mercy had a coy smile on her face that said that her opinions did not match her mother's. She had enjoyed the music. She wouldn't mind hearing more. "I'm not entirely blind," She whispered, "It is only the colours that count, anyway."

Beatrice frowned severely as her younger sister continued to monopolise the boy's attention. Weakly, and without any real meaning behind the words, (because she had nothing else to say), she repeated: "He's French."

Bea let out a terrible screech as an orange ball of fluff darted past her feet, leaping upon the shoes of the gypsy boy and ringing the bells there to high heaven.

Mrs. Bell gasped, exclaiming, "Miss Margaret...!" But it was only surprise. The vagabond deserved to have his shoes ripped to shreds by a cat, in her opinion.

[Cosmin Luminitsa]

"He's French!"

The loud exclamation had Cosmin's ears ringing ever so slightly, though his manners prevented him from displaying this. Of course, in most situations, he wasn't the most polite of people, especially with his constant tricks and pranks, but he wasn't so rude as to embarrass a girl who was simply intrigued.

Instead of commenting, the gypsy's attention remained on the blind girl, far more interested in a downtrodden soul than an excited teenager.

"I'm not entirely blind. It is only the colours that count, anyway."

Not entirely, eh? That was rather fortunate. At least, fortunate not to be fully robbed of sight. To lose it at all would no doubt render the strongest men incapable of anything. Cosmin could even admit he might lose his own spark of life should he cease to be aware of his surroundings. After all, it's his eyes that really made him the successful gypsy he was today.

"Right you are," he replied, chuckling softly, "Why, without colours, would the tiger have stripes? Would the flowers be unique?" Two slender fingers pinched a single bell between them, shaking it gently. "Would gold sparkle so?"

"He's French."

The weak, pouting statement drew Cosmin's eyes and, tilting his head, grinned. "Sometimes~" he drawled, though made no move to further comment.

A warm pressure was evident on his feet and, sparing his eyes a few moments to inspect the source of the sudden sensation, Cosmin gave a thoughtful hum. A feline would find his many bells and dangling clothing entertaining. With a joyous little giggle, the boy raised one foot off the ground, shaking it from side to side, deliberately forcing the bells to chime. Cats were amusing enough, especially when he was the cause of their ceaseless attempts at makeshift hunting.

---
Word Count:289
Outfit: Obvious
Comments:I haven't had this much fun in a thread for awhile. ;3

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[Maggie]

__________________________

Maggie;

Maggie was unperturbed by the exclamations of surprise at her sudden launch at the young man’s feet. She had become accustomed to such sounds, what with a life of surprising others for her own amusement. Screams, squeals and gasps were the things trickster’s lived off of, no? Even though that wasn’t the objective at the moment. Right now all she wanted to do was get that bell! Paws batting frantically, she tried to latch onto the smooth surface of the shiny sphere, but found with dismay she couldn’t find any. Giving a sound of determination, she tried to chomp her jaws around the bell, but found that was equally impossible.

More jingles made the feline snap her head away from the current ball she was focused on eating capturing, wide eyes locking onto the other collection of bells the young man had on his outfit. There were more! Bell at her paws forgotten, Maggie let her feet gather up underneath her chest, rump wiggling in the air as she readied herself to pounce. With another spring, Maggie aimed to try and grab hold at one of the bells by his chest, only to miss by a few centimeters. Ears wiggling, she tried again, and failed once more. What was this? Was he intentionally standing taller to keep them out of her reach? Yes, that had to be it. Maggie could never fail like this!

Tail tip twitching behind her, Maggie sat down to look up at the colorfully dressed gypsy. She gave a loud, indignant meow, clearly voicing her opinion about the impossibility in the matter. Sure there were other bells on his feet, but she wanted those ones… Or until he started moving again. But for now she wanted the higher up ones, the bells that glinted in the light and just had to be out of reach. She pawed at one of his legs, as if trying to find a way to climb up if possible.

[Mercy Bell]

Mercy was laughing, and so was Beatrice. THe antics of the little kitty were absolutely priceless. But then, that was Miss Maggie. Always ready to distract herself with the round and shiny. Even among the mirth of her girls, Olivia Bell remained stoically smile-less. Her eyes narrowed again on the boy, all thoughts of felines and bells gone, and she gripped the nearest daughter (Mercy)'s arm, beginning to walk.

Mercy put up a small protest, for it felt rude to simply walk away (plus he had promised her a dance, and however scandalous that was, she was curious). Beatrice pointedly ignored the continued progress of her party, leaning down with arms outstretched in order to pluck the kitty from the ground and hold her to the bells at the boy's chest.

"You can't be French sometimes, you know," She said slyly, as if he were an idiot and she a genius. Her eyelashes then fluttered over her blue eyes; apparently, she forgave him his inferior intelligence.

(Post is sucky, sowwy. )

[Alastair]

.Alastair.

Alastair made his way through the bustle of the late morning market n the town square. The big ash colored tom was enjoying the sights and the scents, but certainly not the foot traffic. His tail twitched in annoyance and he leaped up onto a stack of crates outside of the grocer's, hoisting his stocky body with surprising ease up onto the eaves of the nearest thatch roof.

Ah, the travel method of choice. A bird's eye view and a clear pathway. The late Autumn sun tickled his fur pleasantly and he pattered along the rooftops, enjoying himself as he rarely did. There had been no attacks for some time now and that was always cause for a little happiness. Alastair knew full well there was more to life than fighting: he was glad of that for others, but personally it tended to be more of a difficult thing for him. Others had friends and family and lives outside the fight. But Alastair had been born a fighter. If there was more to life than fighting for him, he had yet to find out what that 'more' was. Usually it was enough for him to watch others enjoying their own lives. The happiness of the townsfolk was, after all, what he lived for. Yes it was the life of a bachelor, but he wasn't unduly unhappy. He had his rare moments of sunshine and that was all he asked for.

As he made his way along the rooftops the breeze carried an unusual sound to his ears. The sound of a flute and bells. It was not that music was foreign to Benevolence, it was the melody that caught the tomcat's alert ears. The tune was sprightly, alluring, and foreign. Patterns of sound flowed from beneath the awning of the jeweler's shop that Alastair had never heard in any variation of music from Benevolence. One thing he was nearly positive of: this musician was a foreigner. And foreigners who made it through the woods alive were always interesting. Like that Benson fellow. Alastair had dodged a few dirt clods that the smithy's apprentice had thrown: he assumed young Benson didn't believe the cats protected the village. But why he disliked the Guardians, Alastair couldn't say. Benjamin Benson, however, was not the human in question at this very moment.

Alastair bounded to the edge of the roof, dislodging a few hanks of thatching as he went. Ah well, they'd be patching it anyway come Samhain time. The rains would come soon and the roofs would need fixing. No harm no foul. He kept moving, popping his head over the edge of the roof and spotting a gaggle of the Bell women congregated around....Miss Maggie and a young man in motley?
He reminded himself that he was doing this for more than just his curiosity. Newcomers had to be checked out didn't they? Yes, they did. It was his duty as a Guardian was it not? It was.

Maggie, the little ginger cat, seemed intent upon killing a passel of the tiny silver bells the young performer had sewed to various parts of his costume. Alastair sniffed.
Dignity out the window.
He thought to himself with a scoff, ears flicking in the direction of the Bell ladies.
Whatever floats her boat, I suppose.

He was distinctly surprised, as he surveyed the group of tittering women, to see Miss Mercy out and about. Some fresh air would probably do her good, he thought dryly. No wonder the poor thing was frail: keep a flower inside to save it from the frost and without sunlight it will never bloom. Sure she was sickly but it couldn't be good to make her stay cooped up like that. And such a sweet young woman too. She was his favorite of the Bell women. Mrs. Olivia was too sour in his opinion and Beatrice to wanton. He appreciated women with spirit but he didn't consider flouncing and pouting a display of genuine mettle.

The humans he knew were so interesting he'd nearly forgotten about the boy, but Miss Mercy addressed him again and Alastair's golden eyes darted back to the gypsy's slender figure. He let out a throaty little mew of greeting to Maggie, hoping only her sharp hearing would catch it. The last thing he wanted was the focus to shift to him. Although neither he nor Maggie had ever spoken much, it seemed polite to make his presence known. Alastair wasn't much for eavesdropping.

[Cosmin Luminitsa]

Cosmin's lips parted slightly, as if to voice a protest as the snooty woman proceeded to stomp away, blind daughter in tow. He held back any words however, releasing his breath softly instead.

Without a moment's hesitation, the brunette let his trademark grin slip into place, raising a gloved hand to wave enthusiastically after them.

"Come back later, mademoiselle," he cried, letting a small chuckle float past his lips, "I'll be saving that dance for you!"

Oh, he knew all too well this would probably prompt the elderly female to become even angrier, perhaps turn around to give him a piece of her mind? Whatever the course of action, Cosmin was far too accustomed to prejudice treatment to be phased any longer.

Such was common for his people after all, and it still wasn't all that uncommon for them to be seen as unholy and evil. To be hated was one thing, but to be accused of witchcraft was another matter entirely, and Cosmin had held witness to too many executions to still have a soft heart. No, should he be shouted at, Cosmin might just have to force his hand into dowsing the woman in water. That or besting her in a battle of wits. Both were..equally satisfying.

""You can't be French sometimes, you know."

Glancing back to before him, the gypsy eyed the girl. On her chest she held the same cat that had earlier been attacking his clothing and, to Cosmin's slight disgust, she was using this as a reason to present her bosom quite provocatively towards the brunette. Not that he was a stranger to such advances, but perhaps Cosmin had fooled himself into thinking such blatant display of sexuality was only common amongst his own people. Perhaps he was wrong.

"Au contraire," he replied, raising a finger thoughtfully to rub at his chin, "I can." Choosing to continue, Cosmin figured he might as well twist his words, if only a little. "To be something is to speak it, act it, and appear it. Dacă eu nu vorbesc limba română, I'm then Romanian." A giggle fluttered past pink lips, perhaps a little mocking. "Understand?"

Without waiting for an answer, Cosmin's attention was diverted to the sound of, oh joyous, another cat. Not to say he had a particular dislike for felines, only..There seemed to be an excess amount present in this village, and he wasn't entirely certain what his views on it were.

This one didn't seem all that keen on coming forward however, which struck a curiousity chord within the gypsy. With a slight inhale, he raised the reed pipe to his lips once more and blew into the mouth piece, fingertips moving at a slow pace as if to coax the small animal closer. Cosmin would rather be adorably attacked then stoically shunned, after all.

---
Word Count: 473
Outfit: i307.photobucket.com/albums/nn309/RockLeesLilShadow/Disney/clopin19.jpg]Obvious

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[Maggie]

__________________________

Maggie;

The cat slouched in a way that could’ve audibly said ‘hmph’ when she received no reaction from the elaborately dressed man. Usually people bent down to see who was pawing at their legs and feet, trying to figure out which cat was getting in their way or distracting them from their business. Of course ‘Margaret’ was one of the names that immediately came to mind to any villager, but Maggie supposed the reason the young gypsy man hadn’t looked down was because he already knew she was here. Fiddlesticks. Perhaps she could try climbing up the side of his pants like she used to when she was little... Though she’d received a few good slaps for that. Better to stay safe below then get smacked by that reed pipe of his. That would certainly sting…

She didn’t pay mind to the sound of feet stomping away and Miss Mercy giving protest as her voice died away into the soft murmur of the crowd around them. No, as per usual her mind was focused on one thing; getting those bells. Jumping had been ruled out, and she’d likely get shooed away if she even made the slightest attempt to latch her claws into his pants… Hrm, this was going to be difficult. She didn’t have to think for very long though as Maggie felt the world disappear below her paws as a strong force pulled her up and away. Ah, much better! Giving a purr, Maggie wildly wiggled her paws out in front her, content that she could finally reach the shiny spheres even though her touch merely grazed them. A true hunter made use of their surroundings, as her father might say. If by humans he might’ve meant surroundings of course. Bah. Specifics.

Her hunting playing was cut short however from the sound of a distinct meow. Ears swiveling like miniature radars, Maggie’s wide eyes darted around for a few seconds before landing on the gray figure of Alastair. She hadn’t really spoken to the gray Guardian much, hearing more things about him through Cedric and her father then anywhere else. The two admired the rather stand-offish Guardian and told her to be sure to treat him with respect should they ever meet. Such a warning was wasted on the younger Guardian however. She’d respect him for his actions, but she wouldn’t treat him any differently then she would anyone else.

Attention shifting towards the new arrival, Maggie gave a bright mew in return. She wriggled in Miss Elizabeth’s grasp, trying to find a way to squirm out of her hold and back onto the ground. Maggie didn’t mind being held and was thankful for the boost to reach the gypsy man’s bells, but her goal had been reached and the position was proving to be much more a hindrance to do much else in. A constantly changing attention span…

[Mercy Bell]

Beatrice giggled as Maggie pawed at the bells, but jumped back as she started to wiggle. Sometimes a wiggle meant claws would shortly follow. She dropped Maggie to her feet abruptly, standing back, and looking upward to wear Maggie had just recently been staring. She had to shade her eyes to see, but eventually made out the figure of a cat. Stocky, well-built, of a greyish colour. It was certainly Mr. Alastair.

"That is Mr. Alastair. Hello Mr. Alastair!" She yelled it as if he were a great distance away. Her gaze went back to the gypsy boy, and she continued to pointedly ignore her mother's shouts for her to follow. "The cats are magical, you know. They protect us." She turned her gaze back down the road to her mother, who was glaring against the morning sun and waving her arms. Mercy had drawn her bonnet down again, bowing her head so that her face -- and more importantly, her milky white eyes -- were not visible. It was her usual stance. Mercy's eyes tended to unnerve people.

Bea once again turned away from her mother, as if she had not heard. "I am Beatrice Bell." She dropped a quick curtsy, one that was quite surprisingly graceful. "And who are you?"

[Alastair]

.Alastair.

The burly tom gave Beatrice - the daftest of the sisters, in his opinion - a short,throaty 'mraow' of affirmation. Poor thing. Wasn't her fault she was dim as a dying candle. Still, the way she threw herself at men made him glad she would never see him in anything but his daily four legged form. Mrs. Olivia Bell he ignored completely. She was bitter and unfriendly in a manner that just rubbed him entirely the wrong way.
Hypocrite.
Maybe a little. He knew that he might be respected for his prowess in battle, but he was far from renowned for his social skills. It suited him fine though; he didn't particularly care. Maybe that had something to do with it...
As if that matters. I'm a Guardian, not a socialite.

Alastair cocked his head, eyeing the distance between rooftop and ground. Upon deciding it was thoroughly manageable he leaped down from the thatch roof, bringing a few bits of straw down with him. They fluttered to the dirt as he landed solidly on the ground a few paces away from Maggie....who seemed to have entirely forgotten he was there and turned her attention to the bells adorning the young man's motley. His tail twitched in slight irritation but he made no comment. Wasn't his place. Wouldn't do any good.

He cleared his smoky mindspeak voice, hoping to catch her attention. Normally he wouldn't bother interrupting her fun but he had a question for her, seeing as she'd been observing the newcomer for longer than he had. Then again, he reminded himself, it was Maggie he was asking. He was famous for his surliness and she was famous for, well, her silliness.

+'Scuse me, Miss Maggie; what do you know about this young man so far?+

He didn't make the sending a harsh one, it was simply a straightforward querry. It might seem like a thoroughly unecessary question, a paranoid one, but Alastair didn't much care what it seemed like. He was a good Guardian because he was aware and because he was thorough. That was something he wasn't willing to change about himself on the offchance he might change someone's opinion of him.

[Gareth Cleaver]

23 Undicember

I take a walk to get the din of the smithy out of my head and that old hag has to go and open her mouth!

Gareth often walked down the main causeway of the village to think, and to clear his head. He also knew that he would be a deaf old man if he did not take breaks from his work. The smithy was not a welcome home to those whose ears needed pampering.

"Hello Cosmin!" Gareth said as he waived to the young gypsy boy. Most of the elders in the town were not fond of gypsies, mostly because they were not natives. Gareth, being a first generation (and probably a last generation as well) Benevolence resident, he had decided long ago that he would be the one to welcome in these sort of children. It had always bothered Gareth that he and Benjamin, his assistant, had been welcomed so warmly while Cosmin was so distained by the town folk.

He then noticed the women looking at him, so he promptly dropped several coins in with young girls.