Typically? Thieves exist everywhere, ser, but there can be no such thing when no one claims them in the first place.

[She snaps a cherry hair clip in her bangs, then a banana one just below it. Perhaps not cute at all, with the mishmash of colours her long, dusty pink hair is becoming, but fuck it. Her childhood was stolen too early, and she's going to cherish the simple things right now.]

There was no one here. Now I am here, and what I take is mine. What you take is yours, unless you take it from me. Then you are the thief. But why squabble over such things when there's plenty to go around?

[She pauses, then plucks up a small bow hairclip, in a soft shade of mint. Holds it out to him with a curtsey.] A token. Peace, truce, whatever you would like to think of it as. Rejection will be seen as a refusal of these ideals.