The belt was a woven hug, as if strands of nature had come together to form this slim wand of fabric. It was soft to the touch, yet strong, and the colours were of every natural thing in the forest.
The belt ran around her waist as liquid rock, the sort of grey that had was infused with the colours of brighter days, of nature and summertime.
Tina ran her hand along the belt rack, always she did this to hear them jingle at the buckles. She watched them move back and forth, independent of each other but bound to the same shiny rod of chrome. If she wanted to irk her mother, browsing an isle over for "treasure" she would do it over and over. But today one of the belts caught her eye; it was brown with a distressed look that was entirely genuine, quite unlike the jeans with fashionable holes in them in the stores. She fingered the top, smooth, silky, like suede. Over the top was an impression of leaves on a vine. The colour was more truffle than chocolate and the buckle tarnished almost black over brass with age. She mentally looped it into her blue jeans, blue and brown, like waves meeting pebbled shore. In moments it was in her mother's basket, a stowaway. Mother would see it at the check-out of course, she'd be inwardly pleased that her daughter had found something at the thrift store...
Imbar had the look of someone who'd lost weight fast. The tops of his jeans buckled like a pulled back curtain, held fast by a worn leather belt that had rather too much excess poking out from his side. Casey didn't want to look too closely but is she had the new overly large holes, rammed through with a meat skewer, would have been quite apparent.