29 February 1988
"Welcome to the third annual Founder's Day, everyone," chirped the young woman in front of small audience. Eyes followed as she paced up and down the makeshift stage. In her arms, she held a bingo ball cage that rattled with every other step. "As you know, we at the Wammy's House wish to foster the best and the brightest children of the world. On this day, we wish to identify those that have and those who will go above-then beyond-expectation."
"We open our doors and our hearts to orphans around the globe. It is our hope to spread both fortune and talent to those who just need a chance to prove themselves. Ranging from the humanities to the social sciences to the hard sciences, we find youngsters who yearn to learn more and to be more. Not just for themselves but for their fellow neighbor as well."
"Now," she placed the bingo ball cage on the center podium and faced the audience, "Let the naming ceremony begin." The woman began to crank the contraption, being mindful of the finicky arm on the cage. One by one, black marble after black marble lined up onto the bottom groove of the cage. White letters and numbers painted the surface of each sphere, the only detail to the otherwise non-descript toy.
Behind the woman, a line of about ten children fidgeted on the stage, unsure and unaccustomed to the stares. While some were acquainted with the occasional look of pity or disgust on the streets, few found familiarity with the mixture of fascination and friendship brewing in the eyes of their soon-to-be peers.
The young woman cleared her throat, resting her fingertips on the edge of the cage. "For those of us who are new to Wammy's House, I would like to take a moment to explain the purpose and significance of the naming ceremony."
"Decades ago, the founder of this establishment had a wife and daughter. His wife had difficulties with pregnancy, as did their daughter later in life. While the daughter threw herself into research, the wife threw herself into philanthropy. Let me be clear. This house is not a charity. This house is an opportunity. This house is the byproduct of the Wammy family's determination, ingenuity, and openness to make this house a home. A home of hard work and intellect.A home where we produce and protect research."
"However, such a place requires sacrifice," she picked up one of the marbles and traced her nail beside the white paint, "On this day, we put down the name given to us at birth. In exchange, we pick up a title. Through this title, we contribute and uphold the honor of Wammy's House. We dedicate ourselves to research and philanthropy. We are the unknown variable. We are the missing link. We are to the world what a cog is to a machine. We are many, yet undistinguished. Unassuming, yet vital."
"I am 29. I am proud to introduce to you your newest peers and colleagues," a grin finally broke through the woman's face as she turned to the children onstage, "Now, as each of you step forward, I will call out your new identity."
"V. 2. X. 67. 33. Y. A. B. E. And M."
Each child moved towards the audience, one after another except for the last two. The first was a young man in his mid-teens. In his arms was a toddler with wide eyes and, in that moment, a wider grin. The newly identified child waved to the crowd, triggering the long anticipated applause. She giggled even more, letting out a euphoric squeal as she made eye contact with L.
L smiled.
-0-
"That speech was a bit over the top," L stated blandly to the young woman next to him. He earned himself an elbow to the ribs. His companion, 29, glared.
Both sat in the emptying atrium right outside the room of the ceremony. Around them were small groups of adults and children, eating cake and exchanging business information. Like every other private Wammy's House event, the Founder's Day naming ceremony attracted prospective parents from the public. Although the information from the events remained classified and behind closed doors, that did not stop affluent families from seeking out potential adoptions. 29, for example, has long past declined the same amount as her namesake.
The girl, who was no older than twenty, glared at the boy, who was no older than ten. He frowned, taking the arm and latching onto the crook of her elbow, "Were you nervous? It was a good speech, don't get me wrong. But there wasn't a need to outline the history of this place. This isn't one of your romance novels you know. There was no need to state the obvious."
29 flushed, wiggling her arm in a poor attempt at escape. L, in response, perched his chin onto her shoulder.
"You're like a crotchety fifty-year-old man in a five-year-old's body, ya know."
"Seven."
"What."
"I am like seven seven-year-old 'youngsters' in a nine-year-old's body."
"Doesn't that make you forty-nine then?"
L did not answer, choosing to look at his newly identified peers. Not only was it unusual for Wammy's House to accept multiple orphans simultaneously-even if it was Founder's Day, it was unheard of for orphans to approach the house together. Of the ten children, nearly half were from a group that personally appealed to Mrs. Wammy during one of her continental tours. Not only did it breach an unspoken level of formality between orphaned children and foster homes, it also broke L's favorite teacup and saucer.
He had accompanied the Wammys to the university partly because he was choosing a college and partly because there was a really good cake that 29 helped bake for the event. Long story short, L had an incomplete tea set and a new friend after he walked off the campus. Speaking of which, here she is now.
"Aw, look Ellie! It's your admirer from college," 29 teased, turning his hold on her arm into a hug. Her one free arm wrapped around L as she tried to absorb the approaching toddler into her public display of affection bubble. "Hi, Emily!"
The little girl did not respond, instead choosing to stare at their mostly emptied plates. While L's had not even a crumb left on his plate, 29's was swirl after swirl of colored frosting from the dessert. If you looked at it a bit cross eyed, upside down, and drunk, you could probably see Van Gogh's Starry Night. Probably.
Nearby clatter shook L from his amateur art critique.
"Dammit, not again! William, how do you misplace a kid that's almost half your size-? Emily, oh Emilyyyyy come out come out wherever you are-!"
"First off, I'm at least three times taller. Second, sod off Bonnie. You sound like a yodeling shepard. Thirdly, Emily is probably near the cake. You know how much she likes colors." The trio moved on, continuing to bicker as they walked further away from their intended target.
The whole time, the girl did not lift her eyes from the Starry Night that she was demolishing with her hands.
"Should we call them over?" L asked, reaching into his pocket for a sugar cube. He's been prepared ever since he met her at the college.
29 shrugged, finally free from his hold, "Nah."