Authors Note: New Story! Yay! I thought to myself 'Whasup, you should probably finish at least one of your other stories before starting this one,' but apparently I didn't listen to a word I said, because here I am. And, also, are there foster homes/orphanages in Britain? Are they at all like what I describe below? If there aren't and they aren't...well...let's say the system changed because alien invasions...and...stuff, an influx of orphans perhaps.
Adelaide Brooke sat upon her bed, a strict and rigid thing with a metal frame and hard mattress, she swung her dangling feet as the heavy door leading to her block was opened, adult voices drifting through. She looked to the side, sharing a glance with the boy who slept on the next bed, he shook his head and smiled vaguely. He gestured with an incline of his head back towards the door. Adelaide turned in time to see three people enter.
A woman, a man, and Mrs. Harris.
The woman was tall, not incredibly thin or devastatingly beautiful, but generally attractive anyway. Her skin was porcelain, her voice rough and loud, and her hair dark red.
The man was tall, not very handsome or fit, but looked charming anyway. His skin was a light brown, his hair a curly black, and his eyes shined with kindness, kindness that was growing scarcer and scarcer in the world.
They wore expensive clothes, but the woman kept running her fingers over her jacket, her eyes glimmering with astonishment, like she'd never worn a jacket as soft. The man shrugged his shoulders and bunched his sleeves, like it had been years since he'd worn a shirt that fit and was still getting used to it. They walked unquestioned, yet still carried themselves with an agitated confidence, as if waiting for someone to ask them why they were there. The woman especially, with her protectively hunched shoulders and steely glances, looked like someone who would be more at home on the underground then anywhere else.
Mrs. Harris, a diminutive person, looking even shorter when compared to the red haired woman, walked in front of them, glancing back nervously every few moments, "Now of course there are other facilities, if you don't see a child here, there are others in just as much need elsewhere."
The man nodded, raising his arm to encircle the the red heads waist, his palm sliding over her hip. He smiled down at Mrs. Harris, "We understand, thank you."
"This is our ten to fourteen block," Mrs. Harris said, waving her hand over the long gray room.
The woman flipped back her flame colored bangs with a flick of her head, her chin came up, her curious eyes shifting over the empty bed frames, "Not very full, is it?"
Mrs. Harris shook her head, eyes turning downward in the very caricature of defeat, "It's around this age they leave," she sighed. And Adelaide sighed with her, so many of her friends gone, left for something different, something better.
"Leave?" the woman asked, her voice sharp, her eyes narrowing, "How do you mean, leave?"
"It's about this time that they run away, start to think they could do better by themselves."
"How do they go about it though? There are bars on the window, locks on the doors, you keep them here like prisoners," the woman ranted, shrugging out of the mans one armed embrace.
Mrs. Harris took a step back, "When they're at school they sneak away, they don't come back. They go in groups of two or three, and London is so big, we only rarely find them again."
Stuart, the boy with the bed next to Adelaide's, tapped her lightly with one finger, "What you think? They adopting, or just browsing?" he asked bitterly, biting off his words angrily, so much dissapointment for a boy so young. At fourteen Stuart was the oldest in the block, poor, cowardly Stuart, too afraid to run away, and too unlovable to be adopted. Poor Stuart, who was older than his years, poor Stuart, the tallest person in the room.
Adalaide shrugged her narrow shoulders, turning her fair head to observe the three adults again, "They look like nice people," she offered mildly.
"Yeah," Stuart agreed, huffing irritably, "They always look that way."
Mrs. Harris clapped her hands, her tired voice drifting down the block, "Children! Line up!"
Both the man and the woman looked utterly appalled as every single child in the room formed a loose line in front of them, their hopefull, pleading eyes shining up at them. Adelaide looked up and down the line, a thoughtful frown on her youthful face, Stuart stood next to her, his eyes looking steadily and unmoving towards the front.
The woman glared furiously at Mrs. Harris, "You didn't have to make them do that," she looked down at the children, glare softening as she observed their rigid stances, "line up like soldiers. That's not right."
The man grasped the womans shoulder gently, rubbing his thumb over the soft fabric, but didn't say a word.
Mrs. Harris gestured at the silent children, "Kids, dears, please be polite, these are the Temple-Noble's, they're here to get to know you."
"Why?!" Stuart exclaimed, his bitter voice ringing through the silent block. "So they can get our hopes up?" he sneered, glaring at the three adults, nudging Adelaide with his elbow, assuming she was on his side. She didn't correct him.
Mrs. Harris stepped forward, her usually calm face twisting downward, as it usually did when she spoke to Stuart, "If you can't be polite, I'll ask you to wait in the hall, now please Stuart-"
"Polite? Why don't they be polite?" he yelled, nodding towards the other adults, "Why do they come here?! Why do they pretend to love us and then go and adopt a foreign baby?"
"Stuart! Leave this instant! You can wait in the hall!"
"I'm not leaving, this is my room, that's my bed," he pointed at his sad little bed, "why don't you leave!" he screamed, advancing on little Mrs. Harris, forcing her back, glaring down at her.
But the red haired woman came between them, a sneer to match Stuart's on her face, "Oi! Why don't you calm down, eh mate?" she asked, placing a restraining hand on Stuart's chest.
Stuart stilled under her gentle hand, his face an almost amusing mix of surprise and disbelief, but Adelaide knew what was coming next. She knew exactly what poor, cowardly Stuart would do to the woman five inches shorter then himself. She knew and she could do nothing. Adelaide Brooke closed her eyes and was glad she'd only ever have to remember the screams.
DISCLAIMER: Sooooooooo, ol' Steve Moffat eh? Looks like you're pretty happy with ol' Amy Pond, huh? Sooooo, Donna Noble up for grabs at all?