Charity awoke to a gentle, persistent trembling that shivered through her entire body. Her eyes snapped open in confusion, the darkness around her absolute, disorienting. A surge of momentary panic seized her chest before memory flooded back, reminding her where she was: buried deep within Alejandra’s worn backpack, nestled against the soft folds of a hoodie that still bore the subtle, warm scent of detergent and fabric softener. The smell comforted her slightly, grounding her in this strange, cramped sanctuary.
The trembling grew more pronounced, rhythmic and steady, vibrating gently through the bag’s fabric, the movement gradually intensifying as Alejandra descended the staircase. Charity tightened her small hands around the thick cotton material, clutching desperately to keep herself steady, feeling every vibration and step in the soft tremors that rippled through her tiny bones. Each footfall felt distinctly colossal, traveling upward through Alejandra’s body and into the bag as muffled, yet undeniable, seismic pulses.
Then the subtle vibrations turned abruptly thunderous as Alejandra reached the main floor. Each massive step exploded into sharp booms, audible even through the muffling layers of fabric and canvas. Charity curled her body tighter, her heart thumping wildly, instinctively flinching with every step that thundered closer, as though bracing herself for an unseen impact.
Then came Alejandra’s voice, powerful, confident, and booming. Her tone was casual yet commanding, unrestrained by the cautious politeness that normally governed conversations around Littles. Alejandra, clearly unaware of Charity’s diminutive presence, spoke openly, her words resonating loudly through the bag. Her voice flowed smoothly, Spanish syllables rolling effortlessly off her tongue with a rich, lyrical fluidity. Although her accent had softened through years of living in America, a distinctive Mexican cadence remained, warmly and effortlessly shaping each word. Charity didn’t understand Spanish well, only grasping snippets she had overheard casually throughout her privileged life, but the sheer vibrancy and energy of Alejandra’s speech overwhelmed her nonetheless.
A sudden movement startled Charity, Alejandra had lifted the bag. The whole world lurched violently upward, and Charity gasped as gravity shifted abruptly beneath her. She slid sideways across the soft hoodie, tumbling into the rough interior lining of the bag’s fabric. Her stomach fluttered uneasily as the bag swung gently back and forth, Alejandra’s gait steady yet careless, each stride powerful, rhythmic, relentless. Charity imagined herself suspended precariously in space, at the mercy of forces entirely beyond her control.
The swinging motion continued as Alejandra moved swiftly, her brisk pace creating a hypnotic rhythm that Charity began to anticipate. Soon enough, the swinging steadied into a predictable sway, still nauseating but bearable. Charity’s breathing slowly evened out as she adapted, gripping tightly to the hoodie again, listening intently for any clue about her surroundings.
A metallic scraping sound, zippers opening and closing, preceded a sudden dip and crash as the bag was abruptly placed down. Charity’s tiny frame jolted harshly against the bag’s bottom, her small limbs protesting at the rough landing. Outside, muffled voices spoke rapidly in Spanish, the syllables muffled by thick canvas yet still audible, their intonations shifting between casual laughter and short bursts of lively chatter. Charity imagined Alejandra briefly meeting friends or coworkers, their laughter punctuating casual jokes she couldn’t possibly grasp. Despite the uncertainty, the normalcy of their interaction provided Charity an oddly comforting illusion of safety.
But the respite was brief. After mere minutes, Alejandra lifted the bag again, and Charity was thrust back into motion. The familiar rhythmic sway resumed, gentler this time, until another set of sounds filtered through: the hiss and groan of pneumatic doors opening, the rush of outside air, and then footsteps echoing across hard, artificial flooring. Charity jolted upright, eyes wide in the darkness. Alejandra had stepped onto a bus, or perhaps a train or tram, mass transit, at any rate.
As Alejandra settled into a seat, the backpack lowered gently onto her lap, shifting Charity’s orientation again. Now the gentle, rhythmic vibrations of the vehicle beneath them replaced the steady rhythm of walking. She could feel the faint trembling of the engine through the fabric, the slight sway and jostle of the ride translating directly into gentle rocking motions that were both soothing and disorienting. Charity breathed slower, the slight, rhythmic swaying calming her pounding heart.
Outside sounds seeped through the fabric walls, a blend of muffled conversations in both English and Spanish, indistinct announcements crackling over an intercom, and the occasional squeal of brakes or the hiss of pneumatic doors. Charity strained her ears, desperate to discern a clue about their destination, but it was hopeless. All she could do was curl tighter, endure, and wait.
The journey continued with intermittent stops and starts. Each halt shifted the bag slightly, sometimes accompanied by voices in English, sometimes Spanish, and occasionally a blend of both. Alejandra would briefly speak to someone in her melodic, confident Spanish, warm greetings and short, friendly exchanges, before the bag once more lifted abruptly and moved onward. At times Charity heard the distant jingle of a store bell, the sharp burst of laughter, or snippets of distant music drifting faintly into her hidden world.
Every movement was magnified inside her dark enclosure. Each sharp stop jerked Charity forward, and every sudden acceleration pressed her deeper into the folds of Alejandra’s hoodie. She clutched at the fabric desperately, her knuckles aching, her heart racing with uncertainty. She felt utterly helpless, reduced to nothing more than an unnoticed stowaway carried by a giant through a world too immense and chaotic to comprehend.
At last, after an indeterminate amount of time, the ride smoothed into an extended, steady motion. Charity, lulled by the rhythmic hum beneath her, began to feel her eyelids growing heavy again, her tiny body exhausted from adrenaline and constant tension.
She was nearly asleep when suddenly Alejandra stood, and the backpack lurched sharply upward, jarring Charity awake. She gasped, disoriented, as the bag swung violently, Alejandra’s quickened pace indicating urgency or excitement. The movement stopped abruptly, accompanied by the metallic squeal of brakes and the soft hiss of doors opening again. Charity tensed as a rush of cool air seeped through the bag’s fabric, bringing with it the smells of the outside world, crisp autumn air, exhaust fumes, faint traces of food, and damp pavement.
Alejandra spoke loudly and cheerfully to someone else in rapid Spanish, her voice bright with familiarity and warmth. There was the echo of laughter, a brief exchange filled with affection, then the bag dipped downward once more. Charity’s stomach lurched violently as she realized Alejandra had placed her bag down again, this time firmly, decisively.
She steadied her breath, straining to hear clues of where they were. The muffled voices continued somewhere nearby, speaking warmly and with animation. She recognized Alejandra’s voice, mingling with another, deeper voice, perhaps an older woman or a friend. The conversation flowed seamlessly between Spanish and English, spoken easily and casually, filled with affectionate teasing and gentle humor. Charity strained to make sense of the fragments she caught, but everything remained frustratingly unclear.
The uncertainty of her destination frightened Charity more than anything. She had no idea if Alejandra was home or visiting friends, if she had entered a busy market, a cozy apartment, or a crowded café. The inability to see beyond the fabric confines of her hiding place left her disoriented, vulnerable, and at the mercy of a giant whose awareness of her existence was nonexistent.
Charity drew herself deeper into the warm, fabric nest of the hoodie, waiting patiently, nerves frayed yet too cautious to move. Wherever Alejandra was now, Charity knew she had to wait for the perfect moment to reveal herself. One wrong move, one rash decision, could easily result in catastrophe.
With grim determination, Charity steadied her breathing, calming her frantic heart, preparing herself to be patient, watchful, vigilant, and ready. For now, hidden away, unnoticed by Alejandra or anyone else, she had no choice but to cling to the slender thread of hope that somehow, against overwhelming odds, she would regain control of her tiny, precarious existence.
Until that moment arrived, she could only wait, small, frightened, and invisible within the depths of a giant’s bag, carried unknowingly through a vast and indifferent world.
Alejandra looks beautiful, I must say.
Between Jordan, Kelli, and now Charity, I’m surprised that a little hasn’t puked while riding in a bag or backpack.
I realized I dont have much for latina textures when I went to look for one. She turned out pretty well all things considered.
same issue.and the solution i used of buying MMX Resource Saver Shader Collection 6 I don’t think looks too good, although with my color deficiency it’s hard picking a tone i have in mind haha
It’ll be interesting to see her reaction to tiny charity
She might not have one if she doesn’t find her.
1) “Her tone was casual yet commanding, unrestrained by the cautious politeness that normally governed conversations around Littles” that does not sound like how Littles have been treated.
2) “Charity imagined herself suspended precariously in space, at the mercy of forces entirely beyond her control” That’s probably what it’d feel like
3) “Despite the uncertainty, the normalcy of their interaction provided Charity an oddly comforting illusion of safety.” I could see why it’d do that.
4) “Charity, lulled by the rhythmic hum beneath her, began to feel her eyelids growing heavy again, her tiny body exhausted from adrenaline and constant tension” she’s a very sleepy little.
5) “The uncertainty of her destination frightened Charity more than anything. She had no idea if Alejandra was home or visiting friends, if she had entered a busy market, a cozy apartment, or a crowded café” it’s almost like climbing into the bag was a bad idea.
6) “she had no choice but to cling to the slender thread of hope that somehow, against overwhelming odds, she would regain control of her tiny, precarious existence.” hopium is one hell of a drug.
6) sometimes its better to be hopeful then always assume the worst. If you know your not in a good place like Charity presumably is. Looking on the brightside is probably better mentally.
5) Either option had risk. Its not like Charity was guaranteed to be found if she stayed outside the bag. She could have been knocked off before Alejandra got there. Then either knocked out or injured. THen regaining consciousness hurt on the floor sometime later and who knows when someone will be around again.
4)When its dark and your being rocked about. It does lull a person a bit.
3) its certainly more of a glass half full outlook then i’d have.
2) The forces of Sara coming at you from all directions.
1) Well I do feel like people would still be more polite around littles then they would be if they knew they weren’t around. Like if someone didn’t like your dog they would probably refrain from saying that around you or your dog but would more likely say there true feelings in private or amongst alternate company.
6) I could see that, “the worst part about being a pessimist is always being right” as they say.
5) True enough, this just seems like a bigger risk to me.
4) Oh, that’s much gentler than I was imagining.
3) especially from someone who’s used to glass overflowing.
2) That’s a horrifying thought.
1) Perhaps, but from what we’ve seen from Mia, Sara, Ellie, Saddie and people like them is that people have less of a filter around Littles.
Charity, if she is lucky will be her service little and paint her fingernails and toenails. That would be fun to see her be taught how to do that lol. She is a pretty girl, good thing none of the littles got a really big girl lol. They would get lost in a role lol.
I dont know if Charity woudl consider that lucky.
The city has to be really dangerous for a little. What happens if a rat sniffs her out in the bag? The City has so many large nasty bugs. Lack of predators that are in the burbs .
Then she would be killed and eaten with her remains probably drug off to some corner where she would be devoured and that would just be the end.
Isn’t that a running gag in this world? calling people in unfortunate situations “lucky”?