“Hello Avlynka,” Haru says as he enters the room and sets his coffee on the table, a bit of it slopping over the rim of the cup to add to the collection of stains on the table's surface. “How are you?”
“Good morning.” I reply in my less than perfect Matari, offering him a smile both of us know isn't genuine. He's Krusual, with a sunken chin and ratlike eyes, his naming mark a pale gray only just visible against his sallow, sunlight-starved skin.
“How's your health, Avlynka?” he asks. He knows perfectly well how my health is.
“Fine.” I lie. He enjoys these meetings, enjoys knowing that he has such absolute authority over a Seb. Republic, shmepublic. Old inter-tribal rivalries are as strong as they've ever been, at least between my tribe and his. I watch as he takes a sip of his coffee, a few drips dribbling off the bottom of the cup onto his notebook. He doesn't try to wipe them up.
“I see you have changed corporations... back to Gradient, eh?” he asks, clicking his pen as if to emphasize his curiosity.
I nod my reply, trying to follow what he's saying. He knows I barely speak standard Matari. He knows I know he speaks fluent Amarrian. I am pretty sure he talks extra fast when he's talking to me.
“Good, good...” he says as he scribbles something in the notebook. “They're quite good about keeping us up to date on you. New place of residence?” he continues.
“Gelfiven.” I reply. “Same place as when I was last in Gradient.”
“Ah, the RF station?” he asks, scribbling again before I reply. I know they have people keeping an eye on me. He knows I know that.
“Yes, on the RF station.” I answer obediently. It doesn't matter how much I hate him, how much I'd like to see him scald himself with that coffee. He's my parole officer, and right now, he may as well be Father Pator himself. He knows I know that, too.
“Any changes?” he asks, taking another sip of his coffee as he stares at me, awaiting my response. His mop of greasy, brown hair shimmers almost as much as the surface of the coffee.
I hesitate for a second before nodding. “Yes, um... or there may be, uh, soon. I am, um... I am trying to, um, I mean, hoping that the RJD will allow me to, uh, adopt a child.”
He stares at me for a second, the cup of coffee hovering inches from his lips. “Really?”
I nod again.
He sets the cup down and writes, slowly, carefully. He sets his pen down and quietly asks, “A particular child?”
“Yes.” I reply. I'm scared. He has the authority to reject it, to decide I'm not fit to be a mom, a parent, especially after what I did. He doesn't.
“Let us know how the proceedings go, alright?” he says – in Amarrian, this time – offering a smile which may or may not be genuine as he collects his notebook, pen, and coffee, before turning and quietly walking out of the small room.
He knows I know he knows I can't have kids, I guess.
I stop off at a toy store on my way down, to pick up a gift for Mitja. It's a smallish sort of place, but pretty busy. A few parents, sometimes mom, sometimes dad, sometimes both, are listlessly walking around the store as their children run amok, playing with this and that. I have no idea what sort of toy Mitja might like... a stuffed dog? A hologame? A toy tank and some plastic soldiers?
I cannot help but laugh when I see the display of “Ava Starfire” toys. I pick one up and stare at it, the small articulated piece of plastic with hand painted tattoos that vaguely resemble my own, the face on the toy a rather frighteningly good likeness. I put it down.
I don't know how well “Ava Starfire” toys would sell if the people buying them knew I just came from a visit with my parole officer. I doubt very well.
The Wolf toy, however, catches my eye. I pick it up and examine it – yep, it is the one that is supposed to be flown by the Ava Starfire figure, with a little cockpit to sit me, err, her in – but it is a pretty good model of an actual Wolf. It seems rugged enough... I flip it over and am disturbed to read that it was made in Intaki, but I guess everything is these days.
Nowhere on the toy itself does it say my name. Good.
A small Brutor girl squeals in delight as I turn and begin to walk to the counter. “Dad! Look!” she yells as she points at me. “It's her!” Her little braids bounce as she runs over to get a better look at me, her broad smile showing that she has begun to lose her baby teeth. “You're her, right?” she asks while pointing at the rack of toys.
“Yeah. I am.” I reply, kneeling down so she can easily read my marks. “What's your name?”
“Taka.” She replies, now a bit bashful. Her father walks over and blinks a few times at me, evidently at some sort of loss for words. Taka asks, “So did you really kill that nasty PIE lady three times in one day?” Evidently that made the news.
“Well, I didn't kill her.” I reply, smiling, playing the part that Minmatar pop culture evidently has decided I now play. “I just blew up her ship three times. A Vengeance.”
The child, out of the blue, gives me a big hug. Her father shakes my hand, and offers me thanks for “Fighting for our people.” By now, a small crowd has gathered, and I spend twenty minutes or so talking to parents, posing for a few pictures with children and adults alike, and giggling as people send text messages to friends. I never thought I would really like the attention, but I have to admit, it feels kind of good.
I say my goodbyes, wanting to get to the orphanage as soon as I can. I have to go on patrol in a couple hours. The Vherokior girl – she looked like she was about 14 – at the checkout let me know, with a roll of her eyes, that she just can't see what the big deal about me is.
“I like your hair.” she says, somewhat standoffishly.
“Thanks. I like your outfit.” I reply.
She hands me the Wolf toy, and I quickly leave, wanting to put some distance between myself and the store – and the crowd of kids – before unwrapping it and ditching the box in a disposal chute. I walk to the lift, and I can't help but play with the Wolf toy as I walk. A small group of Sebiestor men, on their cigarette break outside a bank, stare at me as I walk by.
Hey. It IS a pretty good model of a Wolf, ok? Have I mentioned I love that ship?
I walk inside the orphanage and sit in the waiting area, next to a young Gallentean couple who are evidently here to adopt three children – I know that, because they tell me so, repeatedly. Good people, overall, but also kind of a microcosm of the Gallentean attitude toward us; that we're somehow backward, primitive people who cannot possibly take care of ourselves.
Though, when I stop and consider the immense number of orphan kids in the Republic, I have to admit they may be right, in some ways...
Hakla, a middle-aged Brutor woman and my caseworker, walks over and calls my name. “Ms. Surionen?”
I stand up quickly, smiling. I really like Hakla; a good lady with a good heart, and a testament to what makes the Brutor, overall, an amazing people. “Hello!” I reply. “Um, I brought a toy for Mitja...is that alright?”
“Of course. Come on, follow me. He's in my office.” she says. She heads back to her office, through the maze of corridors and rooms that seems to typify every government office everywhere, and opens the door. Mitja is seated in a chair, reading an oversized book about construction vehicles.
“Hi Ava.” he says, in Sebiestor, smiling up at me, holding the book on his lap, his arms spread wide to grip the covers, with that wonderful innocent dignity that only a four-year-old can manage. I sit down on the floor next to him.
“Hello Mitja.” I reply, smiling so broadly I almost feel silly. “I brought you somethin'.” I hand him the Wolf toy, which he takes only after carefully closing the book and ensuring it will not slide off of his lap.
He studies it closely, lifting the cockpit to peek inside. “Is this the kind of ship you fly, Ava?” he asks, his bright blue eyes wide with delight.
“Yeah. I fly one sometimes. It's a Wolf.” I answer.
“I know what kind of ship it is, Ava.” he says, sighing a bit at me. Me and Hakla both laugh.
I sit and play with Mitja when I am not signing papers, or answering yet another round of questions, questions I swear I have answered four times so far, papers I have already filled out in triplicate. I don't blame Hakla for this – she is just doing her job – but I am terrified that the RJD will find some reason, any reason, to not let me adopt Mitja. I guess there are some pretty good reasons.
Hakla leaves us alone for a half hour or so, and we quietly play, talk, and get to know each other a bit more. Mitja has been through this before; twice, other people have come to adopt him, but one was declined due to a failed drug test, and the other was actually approved, but never came to pick him up and take him home.
No four year old should be as mature, should understand as much about the shitty nature of most people, as Mitja does. He asks me several times if I am really there to adopt him. I reassure him again and again, that yes I am. He has been here for over a year, Hakla told me, since he was found living in a hovel in the slums on Eystur, alone. All attempts to locate his mother – he doesn't know his father – failed.
Mitja is Sebiestor, like me. He's a little bit skinny, even for a Seb, but he's so, so smart... smarter than I am, I'm sure of that. I can't help but smile when I look at him, his bright, big blue eyes, that messy tangle of long brown hair.
Please, Spirits, let them let me take him home.
Author
Topic: Roles (Read 1108 times)