W.I.P. Via Graff

Via's birth was uneventful. There were no storms on the sea to threaten her father's coast-side cottage, nor threats from local pirates. The Graff family was stunningly quaint, and Via's early childhood was tranquil, if not boring. Her mother had once been a marine, but she been forced into retirement by an injury and her father was a lowly woodcutter. Via was the only child of her family- her father wanted more, but her mother did not. Her parents had big dreams for her, dreams that she'd be a scholar or a doctor. Schooling never happened; instead, at age six, Via began learning her father's craft. She began this training by splitting logs; the axe became familiar to her and she grew strong.
Her father never forgot to remind her how hard woodcutting was for someone her age, and her mother complimented her strength. She was precocious and she knew it. Her hands callused from the axe-handle, and she wore those calluses proudly. She spent much more time in the forest than she did in towns. Her life was different from the cityfolk- the other children never had the intimacy she did with hard work. Via only visited civilization with her father, and only when they had excess lumber to sell. Her father would give her a small fraction of the money made, and she'd gladly store it in her pocket. Occasionally she would visit the street vendors, but rarely did she buy anything. There was one stall in particular she would visit to gawk at the baubles. It was hidden under the shade of a rare-sight, a ten-foot-tall palm tree. In the summers she tended to avoid it though, as many of the bookish children would congregate below the cool canopy of that one tree. It embarrassed her to be in their company- they could afford the private schooling that she could not. Via knew they considered her stupid because she couldn't read, and they called her hands ugly too. Only a child could be so bothered by that petty of an insult, and she was a child. She stopped being proud of her calluses. She kept on chopping wood for her father though.
She was eleven years old when she worked up the courage to spend her child's fortune at the bauble stand. Her savings had grown impressive; no longer would the wad of bills fit in her pocket. Instead she foolishly carried a satchel stuffed with money through Loguetown. Luckily for her, she was not attacked by thieves. Her luck ended there though. She forgot what summertime meant.
A boy made fun of her whilst looking up from his book. He was leaning his back onto the counter of that stall.
"I'm watching it for my father" he said smugly when she met his gaze.
She didn't retort, and instead approached the stand. Via's eyes pointed downward to the spread. There were trinkets of all kinds, and cheap jewelry. Fake diamonds sat in the twinkling bronze rings. Red glass rubies shined, and a pocket mirror reflected the excitement in her vision. This was her reward for diligence; she could buy whatever she wanted. This moment of independence redeemed every ounce of taunting she had to endure. This spread was available to her and none of the other children. This spread was a bunch of junk.
She decided to keep her money instead, but the boy with the book at the stand thought otherwise. He grabbed the strap of her money pouch with his stubby claw and snarled out "buy something." His grip was tight. He would not let her bag go. So she rammed her fist into his face.
The boy's nose bloodied moments after her knuckles completed landing. He was surprised by the pain, but kept clenching onto her satchel strap. Via saw the real street vendor returning; it was the bookish boy's father, and she could hear him shout. She ran off, and the leather snapped away. She turned her head backwards to see that satchel fall into the street. She kept watching her bag as she drew towards her home, and managed to see the vague shape of that annoying boy pick it up.
Via couldn't sleep that night. She was ready to explode with the fury of a righteous avenger. That's the way her childish mind saw it. She had been wronged, but she thought it was a battle between good and evil. She had been taunted and prodded and pushed about by some rich, educated boy who thought he could walk all over her. This wasn't her fight, she argued while sitting in her bed, it was the fight of all the poor who faced the mockery of the rich. Via knew she was so much stronger than that little geek. She wanted vengeance. She couldn't deny herself the thoughts of taking back her satchel full of her hard-earned cash and hitting the boy once more. She entertained these revenge fantasies until the mid hours of the night, when she gave up. She had been in bed far too long to ever have a chance of sleeping. So she got out of her bed.
Wandering in the wee hours of the night was dangerous, so Via took her woodcutting axe with her. A child of her age would never dare to use such brutal means to defend herself, so maybe that was a lie she told herself to pretend she wasn't up to no good. Whatever reason it was, she came to the stall by the palm tree in Loguetown with her axe and made a wedge in the palm. Her father had taught her controlled felling; she knew that when she cut that tree down it would fall on the stand. It was stupid of her to do it. The stall's owner never did her any wrong, even if his son did. She knew though that her rival never could have felled that tree as she did. This was her statement, her declaration of war. The loud thud of the palm hitting the stand awakened the sleeping residents of the neighborhood. Via wanted to run away, but as soon as she saw the vendor's crestfallen face sag downward she knew she had to face the consequences of her actions. The angry shouting of ten or so half-awake citizens hurt her ears- the fury shook into her head and left a harsh ringing in it. The victim of her vandalism didn't make a single noise though, except for his sobbing. Salty tears cascaded down his face. Via wanted to apologize to him, but she knew that apologies wouldn't fix anything. She put down her axe and gasped out an irritated sigh. She really did regret chopping down that tree, and come the next day, she'd only regret it even more.
Her father's idea of punishment was to take away her axe. Her mother thought that was too lenient. "But darling," She said, "taking away Via's axe will only give her more time for shenanigans."
"Well she certainly can't just work more," her father retorted, "she enjoys the woodcutting far too much." He was right; Via did love to chop trees. It made her feel strong knowing that none of the other children could handle her job.
"What if we send her to boarding school, then?"
"That's out of our finances, you know that." The lumberjack became more exasperated because there was no easy answer to the punishment. "She'll have to apologize."
Mrs. Graff thought long and hard about how to punish her. Back in the marines, they'd just arrest a lawbreaker like her, but that message wouldn't go across well. "Sending her to the marines is probably out of the question, aye?" She laughed a little. "What about a monastery?"
"A monastery? Seems a little... I don't know. There's no better way, but they'll have her working there too." The Graffs didn't want to give up their child, but this was a truly outrageous thing she had done. Because of Via, Mr. Graff would have to give up most of his money to rebuild the stall she broke.