Tatyana is someone who thinks they have no story to tell.

There were no eventful moments of childhood or dire prophecies seen in her birth. No parents to tell her if that wasn't even the case. Her mother was a blur in forgotten dreams, while her father may as well have been a blur for how small his love impacted this story being told.

Had she found herself at swordpoint to account for her earliest memories? She might speak of the waves and rolling of a deck beneath her as saltwater stung her lungs - the roiling waves mesmerizing an impressionable child with what a sunken god's wrath must have looked like.

An easier tale instead might have been of the sand beneath her feet and the harping of small fishing people leading small lives, of how the corals and all the wonderful colors beneath the sea must've looked to a younger Tatyana bereft of the necessary words to convey the beauty found in the tranquility beneath the waves.

How it was no small wonder when people saw the murky greens, bluest blues, and the depths of oily shadows and thought for a moment that they were in a completely different world disconnected from reality; unrecognizable in its complete and jarring alienness.

Perhaps what papaya tasted like the very first time? How unripe papaya was not very palatable? Certainly more palatable than the occasional poisonous berry or low hanging fruit, it must have seemed like a rare treat to an unsupervised child with an unusually strong stomach - and a stronger will to live, thankfully.

Any incidents of self-inflicted poisoning is a thing from this list she hesitates to recollect with any enthusiasm.

The rest of her life was both uneventful (in her opinion), and wildly eventful in the court of public opinion. Unsurprisingly, Tatyana is a fine example of repetition dulling even the most dramatic moments of one's short life, as with repetition do things become... not easier, but definitely less of a conversation hook for someone so utterly inundated with the kind of dangers that most city-born people blanch at.

Few souls would be less concerned over Cortosi pirates than Obanese census officials; the logic behind this being that she has found pirates aren't half as ardent in what they do when compared to censors and punishing vagrancy.

Having spent equal parts of her life traveling with her people with the sun on one's back, shared hardships, and a sense of belonging as opposed to surviving by the skin of her proverbial teeth in the cities has, evidently, managed to skew her perspective a little bit. Pirates were terribly simple in what they wanted when compared to the customs and laws of civilization.

All rather simple logic, really.

Today is much like yesterday, or the day before yesterday - all of it an adventure whose pages have eventually all blended together into an illegible mess where the only coherent part of this story was the now.

An utter lack of responsibilities has led Tatyana to wherever her feet take her with less than a passing thought as to what came before. What comes around the corner isn't something she thinks about, that's a little too philosophical for her tastes.