CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS
IX
To Confide and Comfort
Gemma Maeve Schreave's dark blue suitcase clicks close. The sun has barely risen past the skyscrapers she can see from her window. Her bed is a chaos thanks to the absolute lack of sleep she got over the course of the last night, and her Cotillion dress still lays on the table in her room. Half of her room looks like it was ransacked. There's probably hairspray in her hair.
In her hand is a little metallic dart. The dartboard isn't in her room, but there is a world map covering the wall, filled with polaroid photos of Gemma Maeve Schreave all over the planet. She throws the dart.
Japan.
That's not a bad idea. She's not been there in a while. It's winter there, sure, but maybe that's the silver lining. She could go skiing; all the equipment she'd need, she could rent there. Then see what she'll do next. Not teaching—one year of that was more than enough. Maybe she can find a job. Maybe travel on to Korea, it'd be great to pick up more of the language.
She grab her suitcase, handbag and backpack, and quietly puts them together. Mum's still asleep, but she's also on the other side of the building. She'd probably not hear her (she hopes). On her phone, she starts looking for plane tickets to Japan. It's an eight hours flight. She can travel in Japan, and then figure out her next plan of actions. And get her mind off things.
(Mainly that.)
The closest flight not fully booked is in the afternoon. Not ideal, but she prefers waiting in the anonymity of the airport over here, in her apartment, where she is Gemma Maeve Schreave and inevitably going to meet her mother. She does not want to do that.
Instead, she writes a message to her mother on a notebook that she leaves on the counter.
Hi mum,
I don't think Illéa is gonna work out for me. I get that you all want me to stay, inheritance or not, but I just don't feel at home or happy here. Yes, this is related to Estelle Mun and all, and no, knowing that it wasn't me isn't going to stop other people from talking and that from affecting me. I'm sorry, but it's just not working out.
Gemma Maeve Schreave
(Thrice, she's crossed out her signature. What is she meant to sign as? Gemma, like her mother calls her, and like the Schreave Real Estate girl that she's meant to be? Maeve, like the self that she wove for herself when she went abroad, when she grew out of being the bratty child? She goes for her full name; it looks too formal for such a short note, but she doesn't know better.)
And so, she makes her way to the airport. She calls a taxi, because she can't just park her own car at the airport for god knows how many years. The taxi driver tries to start up a conversation, asking about what she's planning for Christmas, but Maeve's current plans are 'get into a plane and see'; she's not exactly fond of any attempt on a conversation. She leans against the window with a bitter feeling.
Illéa is her home, even if it doesn't feel that way. Her mum and grandma are here. It's always been her base when travelling and living all over the globe. Illéa is important to her, as foreign as these skyscrapers and buildings feel to her. This is home, she thinks, but that doesn't stop them from talking. Rumours from spreading. She can't put that on the family name. They'll be better off with Julian as primary heir.
When the taxi driver sees the melancholy in her eyes, he stops trying to talk. Maeve is grateful in some way; elsewise, she feels like her watery eyes would give in. They always seem like they will. But they reach the airport, and she doesn't cry.
(Maybe, after last night, she's got no more tears left to cry.)
The only airport of Illéa is also its largest building and property. She remembers hearing that when Schreave Real Estate was not as large as it is now, her grandmother worked hard on obtaining a few properties one or two numbers away from it, expecting an expansion to happen very soon. The properties between the airport and those she obtained were sold for good money, making space for a new runway, and unsurprisingly, the growing tourism industry, the building of the Dominica Theme Park and thee growth in international tourism allowed her to almost demand whatever she wanted; the airport needed the land. Rebecca foresaw the expansion in air traffic, when others didn't expect it. That clever thinking is what Maeve admires in her, among many things.
Sehe enters terminal one, and immediately is met with crowds. Lines almost reach the entrance, and she can't even see the entrance to the security checks from here; there are crowds and crowds of people in the way.
Christmas. Of course. Summer holidays. Even worse. Thanks to Illéa's mixture of cultures, there are many government-mandated holidays (too many, the capitalist in Maeve thinks) and the schools are on summer holidays now too; it's prime season to travel and visit family all over the globe.
She's gonna be lucky if she reaches security control when boarding for her plane starts, at this rate. With suitcases, bag and handbag, she stops—of course, in the middle of the slim free path where passengers and workers alike walk past—to pull out her phone and rebook to First Class. The lines for that have to be a little shorter, she reasons.
Maeve doesn't get that far. She runs into something—someone—and her phone goes flying.
Cassia Earl is just as distracted as Maeve is. "Ahora tienes a dormite. Tu mami te quire mucho!"
The brunette looks up from her phone conversation. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" she exclaims as Maeve moves to pick it up. "Is it cracked? Does it work?" It works, but there's a large crack on the screen nonetheless. "I'll pay for it to be fixed," she immediately offers.
(Yeah, nah, the Fortune 9 is new and expensive. It's barely been on the market, but of course, Gemma has it.)
Only now, Maeve gets a chance to take a look at her. Dark brown eyes, brown hair, olive skin. Full lips, fitter than Maeve will ever be, but wearing comfortable clothes and her passport in her hand. She's probably a fellow traveller, Illéan going by passport and accent.
"I—thanks?" That's surprising, to say the least. Gemma would have walked on, forgotten about her and the phone. The airport is busy, and since when do strangers do that? Gemma wouldn't.
Friendly Airport Stranger takes out a notebook and scribbles an email, name, and phone number on it. "Just call me or let me know if you have a bill. I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."
Maeve laughs a little, "To be fair, I'm standing in the middle of the path." She skims the paper. "… Cassiopeia Earl?"
"Call me Cassia," she smiles. "I just came off the plane from Spain. Jet lag. Sorry"
"Gemma. Maeve. Gemma Maeve. Whatever, my name is long. No worries." She would've done the same—sans the offer to pay. "Spain, huh? Must be cold there, now."
"It's probably about fifteen degrees," Cassia guesses. "Do you happen to know where place to get a taxi is? I swear, I must have missed it. The exit where they stop and wait, I mean?"
"Uhm…" Does she have time to show Cassia? Her phone is cracked, but not broken; Maeve checks if the ticket purchase went through. She has to take a later flight to get a First-Class ticket (which makes her a little guilty, but Gemma had to); she can show Cassia the way to the right exit. They're on the wrong floor.
(It's not been that long since she was here last.)
"Where are you going?" Cassia asks, curious.
"Japan. Tokyo," Maeve replies.
"Visiting family?" Cassia assumes.
Maeve mutters a vague sound. She isn't, but she doesn't need to tell a random stranger that she's essentially a twenty-four years old running away from her family, home and what not because of some gossip attached to her name and because she can't be the person they expect—need—her to be, does she?
"How about you? What were you up to in Spain?"
"I live there. I'm here to visit my mother."
"Cool."
"We haven't spoken in a few years, and I guess, it's to try and mend the relationship…" So, not so cool. "It's really weird to be back here. I grew up here, you know."
"I did too." Maeve looks aside to the escalator. She bits on her lip and sighs.
Cassia's smile is pretty, to say the least, and unlike Maeve who's eyes are fixed on the escalator leading down stairs, she looks through the bright windows and to the blue sky of Illéa. "Illéa a beautiful, but it's so weird to be back."
"Beautiful. Yes."
"Is everything okay?" Cassia frowns. She turns to Maeve, path and possible-other-broken-phones be damned.
No, but what can I do?
"Yeah," she forces a smile. Gemma Maeve Schreave can't burden some random stranger that inevitably doesn't know what's going on in her life and Illéa's elite's life. That's below Maeve.
Cassia doesn't give in. "I doubt that. Do you want to stay here?"
"I guess, no, but I don't have a choice."
"Why not?" Cassia frowns. "Why do you have to go in the first Place?"
"Illéa isn't going to work out for me. I've been away too much." She pauses. "I grew up here too, but I went abroad when I was younger. I've only just come back, and everything is already going downwards. I can't deal with that."
Are you really going to give a stranger your life story, Maeve? You're Gemma Maeve Schreave. Have standards. You can't just talk with some random peasant. What if someone sees you? You're not Noah. You don't do this for charitable cases. What if she's got a criminal record, and people think you're friends?
(The part of Maeve that is the Schreave girl, the heiress, the rich kid has a point, but Maeve needs to talk to someone. That's the thing 'Gemma' wouldn't understand, because to her, Illéa is home. To Maeve, it's just another drama-in-the-making.)
"What's going down?"
Guess I really am, Maeve thinks. It's not like I'll ever see her again.
"Everything."
Cassia hesitates for a moment; she looks for the right words. "What is 'everything'?"
"Too much to summarise."
"Can you tell me anything? One thing—whatever it is?" She smiles. "If you want to, it is. Talking helps. I'm happy to listen."
How do you say that? "There's this radio show that everyone, apparently, likes. Like, a lot. Estelle Mun's Love Report. Someone hacked them a week ago, and went 'Gemma Schreave is coming back'. That's me, Gemma Maeve Schreave. They can't find any clues to who's behind it, and some people say I organised it, whenever the studio, Estelle and what not knew of it or not. For dramatic effect, I guess? I don't know. I didn't do anything. Apparently, everyone loves Estelle Mun and she was frightened. Now, everyone hates me. Everybody I know keeps going on about it."
Cassia nods. "That sounds scary. I've heard of her. It must be terrible, to be unable to do anything."
"It is! Everyone's like 'Gemma, what do you know?', but besides that the police has 'no note-worthy evidence' they can tell me or anyone about, I know nothing! It's like someone is out to destroy my life!"
"It sounds like a witch hunt."
"It is. I'm just waiting for people to show up in front of my house waving torches."
"That alone sounds like a reason why you'd want to disappear from the surface of earth," Cassia agrees. Maeve smiles, too. "Is there more?"
"My cousin—who sucks—has this group chat of friends, and the few friends I've made by now are all part of it. Someone who's not in it asked me if I was in. I don't know—this sounds like the biggest first would problem ever…" She groans. "But it's just… I don't even know why. It hurts. They're my friends, too, but it's like I'm just standing around and tagging along sometimes, while they have all these insiders and secrets going on."
"It's fine!" she insists. "If it makes you upset, then it's a valid problem for your happiness. That's not good."
"It feels really stupid to be upset about that stuff, but for someone who's been the new kid literally every year in her life, it's so weird… People always just let me be part of their groups and all, and now—you know, my friends literally avoid bringing it up in front of me, as if they want to hide its existence from me! It's—of course, they have all the right to not let me be part of it. But I just made friends! I just felt like Illéa could be a place where I feel happy! But no—Now I'm alone again. Yes, they are my friends, but it's like I'm—I don't know. It's like I'm a second-grade friend. I'm there if the main friends aren't available, you know?"
Cassia nods. "And you feel replacable and unwanted."
"Exactly."
"It's so strange. I feel homesick, but I could never say for what or where. Illéa is what I always say where I'm from, but I spend the last decade abroad, at different places. I'm homesick for the idea of having a home!" she groans and leans onto her suitcase. "First world problem, as I said. There are people on the streets, struggling to eat, and I complain about this."
(Maeve doesn't like that. She's seen that. Wealth gap. Third world countries. She shouldn't be worrying about this.)
"You have all the rights in the world to be sad," Cassia reminds her. "You're only human."
"I'm—believe me. It's terrible."
"So, you're heading to Japan to get away from this all? To get a break, I mean?"
"A break of two weeks Illéa." She laughs bitter. "Yeah. To get away from it. All of it."
"You don't sound like you want to leave."
"Because I don't!" Maeve exclaims. "But this isn't working out, and I don't want to deal with this all! I wanna be here, be Illéa's little crown princess again. But I can't. I can't go back to that, I can't be me, I can't be anything!"
"Is there any way you can do both? Not deal with 'this all' and stay?" Cassia asks.
She looks like she's got an idea. Maeve doesn't. That sucks. Yet, no matter how 'I have no idea' Maeve looks at her, Cassia doesn't spit it out. "No, not really."
"Can you not avoid them?"
She laughs out. "Never. Not with society events and all. Social season just started. Literally. Yesterday." She rubs away mascara smudge. "It's a weird thing, I know and—"
"I know," Cassia assures her. "All kinds of events. Evenings—whole nights out. As I said, I grew up in Illéa. My parents went to that stuff all the time."
Oh? Cassia is also one of the rich kids? Great job, Maeve. Talk about 'never seeing her again'. Told you.
How come she doesn't know Maeve's name, then? She mentioned her full name, and Cassia mentioned the Estelle drama… Great. Now she's crying her life out to some girl that'll gossip with everyone. Great. Life is going great. "You know what's going on."
"I used to live here," Cassia reminds her. "I haven't been in Illéa in a few years. I left when I started university. That's a while ago. Medicine takes a while."
"Oh."
"I know it'd be hard. Especially if you have to attend that stuff because of your family."
"Yeah," Maeve mutters bitter. "My dear grandmother is using my inheritance to threaten me into getting a boyfriend. So, avoiding them isn't a thing."
"Does it need to be anyone among the rich people?" Cassia wonders. "Get a 'peasant', so to say?"
"That doesn't—I can't. I'm Gemma Maeve Schreave. I can't just not do that."
(Even Maeve doesn't get how important her family is.)
Cassia nods. "That makes sense. They'd feel played and insulted."
"I just—I mean, I have friends. Sia, Gabby, even Perci. That's great, but the moment I feel comfortable and have friends, Noah and his group chat break everything apart. The moment I think I find a place where I belong, he has to break it apart!" she cries. "It's like—it makes no sense, but I feel like they betrayed me."
(These aren't tears, totally not.)
"That sounds terrible," and Cassia hugs her. She gives good hugs, that's for sure. Very good ones. "To be fair, I'm staying in Illéa for a while, and I don't have contact to anyone here. I can promise that. We can be friends!"
Maeve smiles. "Yeah, I'll take that." Cassia isn't a boyfriend, but she's a friend Maeve can trust. Someone who isn't secretly in a fancy group chat of selected people. Someone, by whom Maeve doesn't feel betrayed.
"Betrayal is an interesting metaphor," Cassia says.
"And…?"
"Just saying. It says a lot about how you feel."
Maeve nods. "It's like—I was so glad to find someone. Sia was so nice at the party, and Gabby is always so sweet. Plus, both have hot brothers. It was a great shot on getting a best friend and a boyfriend with it. And Perci—I know him from primary school. He's so sweet, and he was back then. We were friends. And now they're with Noah. I hate him."
"Noah?"
"My cousin."
"Do you mind me asking why you hate him?"
Maeve doesn't even know that. "I don't know. He's always had friends. Always got along just fine with everyone, without being the best or coolest. I tried my best, but it was never the same. Just—he was always the star of the group. Apparently still is. I was, too, when I went abroad, but of course. Now that I'm back, it's Noah Schreave-is-loved-by-everyone all over."
(Here, Cassia concludes she's jealous.)
"That's—it sounds horrifying."
"Yeah! It is! You give your best, and still, it's always Noah. Is that why you went abroad?"
Maeve shakes her head. "That's another drama. Don't worry about that. It's sorted. It's a long story."
She wipes away the tears. Imagines how terrible her make up must be. People will laugh—that's not good. Not good at all. They can't laugh at her. She's Gemma Maeve Schreave, and people shouldn't ever dare to laugh at her.
They reach the exit, with the yellow taxis waiting outside. Maeve's heart drops. Cassia is gonna leave now. She's gonna fly to Japan and give this all up and start all over, just like she always does.
"Are you going to go?" Cassia asks.
"I don't want to," Maeve knows.
"Then don't. Your cousin shouldn't rule your life."
"He doesn't rule it but…"
"There has to be a way to enjoy Illéa without him. If you leave now, you'll lose your inheritance for sure. If you stay and try to find a way around, you still have a shot! If you leave, you miss hundred percent of your chances."
"Okay, yes, he kind of rules my social life," says Maeve with a sigh. "You're right."
"You're staying?"
"For now. I can always get a new plane ticket—when the airport isn't in pre-Christmas rush." She turns to the taxis. She'll need one to get home. "Where are you heading, again?"
"I booked a room in Waverly until the next semester starts. If I end up staying more, I can find something more permanent then."
"How about we get a taxi to my place, I drop my stuff, and we head on to yours? I have a car here, so no need to pay expensive taxi fees."
Cassia nods. "Sure, why not? Where do you live?"
"Likely—that's the central business district. It's right on the way between here and Waverly, either way."
They catch the first taxi (that briefly eyes them suspiciously; can two college grad-aged girls pay for taxi fair to Likely?), convince him to take them when Maeve indirectly threatens him with her unlimited credit card, and they are on their way. Cassia takes in Illéa's streets just like Maeve did, only a few days ago.
"I still—" Maeve breaks off. She can't bother Cassia now, when she's literally airport-tired and checking out how her hometown has changed.
"Yeah?" Cassia turns to her. It's odd—strange, even suspicious—that she's so willing to help. Maeve doesn't completely trust that. Why would she do that? "What?"
"I still don't feel like I can just go back to Sia and Gabby like that. Their friend group is another. I'm a second-class citizen here."
Cassia nods. "That's alright. You can make them your secondary friends; you keep in touch and all, but you'll find yourself a main friend group!" she beams, almost.
"I'll figure something out, yeah."
The Schreave Apartment Tower is what the name implies; a skyscraper with high quality apartments, often rent out to successful lawyers, business workers and similar that don't make enough to own a penthouse and don't want to live in the suburbs. With how difficult housing in Illéa is, being landlords makes a surprisingly large portion of the Schreaves' work in their hometown.
Maeve is quick to put the suitcases and bags into her room; mum's out, probably off to some doctor's appointment or physiotherapy. She hands Cassia a drink (from the kitchen she's lost in) and goes to look for her car keys. There are a few.
(Given Maeve's absence and Daphne's disability, they have been standing around for a while.)
"Ferrari or Lamborghini?" she asks.
Cassia proves to be a good rich kid. "Bugatti?" she jokes.
"Sure." She pauses. "In my defence, my dad used to collect cars. I wanted red ones, so we have red cars."
Cassia doesn't mind. "Everyone has their hobbies."
And off they are, into the red Bugatti. Cassia gives her the address of the hotel, and with Maeve's top-notch driving skills, they were on their way to Waverly. Waverly, in the north of Illéa, is known for its universities—including the one that Maeve was meant to (and didn't) attend, Illéa University.
"What do your parents do?" she asks.
Cassia replies, "My dad's an astrophysicist and—is that the Science Museum?" She points to one of the buildings by the side. It has said name on its front, and Maeve vaguely remembers visiting it in primary school, but that's all she knows.
"I think so. Wanna stop?"
"Sure, if you don't mind?"
Maeve laughs, "I don't have plans today."
They stop the car on front of the museum where Maeve parks. Cassia is quick to jump out of the car, to step closer to the museum. It's not large or anything, and Maeve remembers being disappointed (there are so much cooler museums in Illéa, one of them being the Andromeda Project headquarter) when they came here.
"I went here when I was a kid."
"EFPA kid, too?" Maeve asks. "I swear, if we shared classes, that's awkward. I remember almost no one from primary school."
Cassia laughs. "I don't either, though. But yes, Elizabeth Feller Preparatory Academy, too." She draws out the name in sarcasm. It's a bit overdone, yeah. Maeve agrees, though her memories from EFPA are sweet. Bitter sweet.
Th ere is only one decent choice of education from primary school for those that can afford it.
"Wanna check it out? How it's changed?" Cassia suggests.
"Sure!" Maeve nods. She's got nothing planned, she reasons, then she might as well go along. Plus, making friends. Socializing. That's important. "We can go sightseeing—if your jetlag allows."
"I slept in the plane. Might spend the night awake, but I'm fine for the day," she assures her. "Let's go!"
And off they are, to a museum that's filled with a few kids. Surprisingly, a science museum focusing on human evolution isn't what Maeve would spend her holidays with. Nonetheless, they walk through the exhibition on the evolution of humans, and r eminiscent of their school time. Cassia had been in Noah's year group, it turns out.
"Oh, I remember that maths teacher!" Cassia laughs when they step out of the museum. "She told us about an underclassman that asked why they can't employ people to do that for them."
"… That was me," Maeve says, and Cassia bursts into laughter. "I now get why that was a bad idea." She stops at her car and opens it. "Where to next? Wanna continue sightseeing?"
"If we're onto it, we should visit the real landmarks!" Cassia says and off they are to checking out Illéa's real sightseeing destinations—the ninety-degree beach where they grab a late lunch and the parliament where Gregory Illéa failed to attempt to declare himself King to the little population Illéa had then, and pass the Illéa Palace where tourist try to get a good photo from the street. (Maeve considers driving in, to say hi to her grandma, but no; she's not in the mood for that now). From there, Maeve wants to suggest going to the harbour, but driving though the busy city takes its time and it's nearing evening. Not that they can't stay out as long as they want, but hey, travelling's tiring.
"Oh, we should check out Andromeda!" Maeve realises.
"The galaxy?" Cassia asks. "Are you hiding a space ship in your car?"
"No, the Andromeda Project. Illéa's unofficial space agency. You heard of it?"
(Maybe, Cassia was just blending out its existence.)
"Oh." Her tone drops harder than the beat drop in Miguel Santiago's latest mix.
Maeve isn't utterly tone deaf (no matter what you might say) and there's something odd for sure. Cassia said that her dad's an astrophysicist. Maeve is far from a science genius, but that sounds like something related to Andromeda. Maybe he had a dispute with the Project? There had been some form of trust scandal a few years ago, but then again, Maeve had been in Paris…
"Not?" she asks.
Cassia leans against the window. "Maria Andersson, the CEO of the Project, is my mother. I'm here to fix our relationship, I guess, but I'm not sure if I want to do that on day one."
"Ah, I see," Maeve says, because she's got no idea what else to say. "What happened?"
"She cheated on my dad when I was seventeen. It was an ugly divorce. When we could, we moved away. My dad still has shares, though. He worked here, until the divorce. It's their brain child. It's not I don't want to—I used to always want to work here—but you know, I could also not." She half-smiles, indecisive. "You know?"
Maeve nods. She knows that story better than most. "Yeah. We can go elsewhere, if you want, but CEOs don't usually do tours, you know. If they really ask for names, we just say we didn't bring our IDs and give a fake one."
"That's true."
Maeve laughs. "Imagine the flex if you say 'oh, yeah, I came to your workplace the other day but couldn't be bothered to meet you'."
"I mean, my mum wanted me to come earlier for that Cotillion, I'm worried—"
"You didn't miss much."
They laugh. "I came late on purpose, because I don't really—I've got a grudge, you know."
"Cheaters suck," Maeve agrees, "he—she's got no excuse."
"Here I am, telling you to stay and work around your problems while I want to avoid mine…" She shakes her head. "Let's go."
And off they are. It's a bit more difficult to access the Andromeda Project grounds, predominantly because half of it is on its own island—like the Dominica Theme Park. If you shoot rockets into space, that's kind of necessary. Otherwise, the population of Illéa would be salty. The only public entrance is at the employee car park. That's where tour starts, not at the world-wide known block at the water.
They sign in, and wait for the next tour, pass through security (the plane-ready girls have no problems), follow the walk-on-your-own tour (also clearly limited in walk space) to the reception area and they wait. Some children look at the for-children made exhibition explaining how space travel works. Cute.
"I always thought this building looked terrible," Maeve admitted. It doesn't. It's a large quarder, split in the middle and has geometric windows all over it. "Space travel? The stars? I didn't expect a glorified box. Now, I appreciate it."
Cassia points towards the water outside. The main building is located right at the water, only a—Project only—where a private pour is located. At the horizon is another island—the launch pad. "My parents used to take me to the launch pad all the time. You have to take a boat there when the water is out. It's a pain, but it allows for additional security."
"They take security more seriously at the Schreave Real Estate office…" Maeve mutters.
"People are more likely to die here, aren't they? If someone was to sabotage the rockets. If the wind was abnormally bad or so on, the coast of Illéa would be in danger."
"That's why it's so far away, isn't it? The island?"
"It was the only one available, but you don't want a rocket launch in the city centre, don't you?"
Cassia could lead the tour itself; even when the tour guide arrives and picks up the bunch of tourists and the two girls starts with an introduction, she keeps whispering remarks to Maeve about things he's missing out, or fun stories.
"Did you know that being located so close to the equator as we are here in Illéa is very beneficial to starting rockets, as we get most of earth's angular momentum?"
"Yes."
(Poor tour guide.)
They walk past exhibitions explaining what Andromeda has done and achieved, that introduce the Andromeda satellites and what not. All in all, nothing ground-breaking and not worth the price, Maeve thinks, but it's more about playing tourist, really.
"For that price, I'd expect more," Maeve mutters to Cassia as they walk past a glass wall showcasing a bunch of engineers working.
"Unless you're interested in space and the actual maths, it doesn't get much fancier outside astronaut training and launches. I used to hang out here all the time because the concept of babysitters was foreign to my parents. I thought it was fun to listen to all the work being done, but I suppose that's not everyone's ideal after noon."
"Such as…?"
"There once was a big discussion about escape velocity, because the budget—gosh, it's always the budget—didn't allow for a vehicle powerful enough to send everything to space. There was a big fiasco about calculating the idea size, to allow everything to get into space, versus costs. We couldn't do whatever we wanted, though, because we had to reach escape velocity—that's the speed necessary to—"
Yeah, Maeve doesn't get that stuff. "… Budget, I can do. The rest sounds like me worrying about my figure."
"It's pretty much that, but with a big rocket," Cassia laughs.
The tour is nice and all, and probably even better for Cassia and her throwbacks of her childhood. They end up in the main building again, free to check out the exhibition again, but elsewise unable to move on—there's the issue of security and all. Can't have a rocket crash into Illéa. You need swipe cards.
(Very very good and totally not stealable security.)
They hang out in the exhibition for a bit—especially when Cassia gets stuck explaining a rocket to a little kid. She likes it, and Maeve doesn't mind. It's better than sitting at home, alone, pondering about the inevitable social death before her.
"Oh, and—there is an incredible chance for us, here today!" the tour guide tells the yet-not-dispersed group. "I have just received word that Dr Maria Andersson, the CEO of the Andromeda Project, is present and happy to answer questions if anyone has them."
The kid does. Cassia does too—how to get out of hits. Maeve can see that in her face.
"Uh, Maeve?" she whispers. "Do we want to make an early exit?"
She nods understanding. "Yeah, except, if your mum looks anything like you and is greeted like a CEO, then she's coming out of our escape entrance—wait, what?" Cassia grabs her hand, and pulls her through a door, just as a couple of talking employees follow up. She doesn't stop there, but pulls her on.
"Hope?" Maeve repeats.
"Excuse me, miss, but you can't just walk in here."
"Hanger B-2, isn't it?" Cassia asks him, putting on a little of a Spanish accent. "If so, yes, I'm right where I am meant to be. Apologise; my—" She hesitates. "—my assistant here lost the key cards and I am on my way to an important project. The Pluto probe, Persephone. The one set to launch this spring. Dr Lucia Martinez, from the University of Barcelona. The dwarf planets out there are my area of expertise, and I am here to advice."
Maeve gathers herself. They're so going to need to buy themselves out of this. She lets Cassia go on with her little lie, because the two employers look to another. Maeve steps closer, to get a close look onto their name badges.
They're interns.
"Dr Martinez," she begins with her best Spanish, "these are interns. Not worth your time."
Cassia readjusts her posture, in an attempt to look arrogant. "Oh, is that so?" She looks at their badges. "Mr Renn, Miss Witts, before you lose your precious internship here over bothering me, I suggest you stop bothering superiors."
"… Girl, you're like younger than me. Did you even finish college?" the first intern says.
"And Isaac Newton developed his theory of gravity at age twenty-three. We can't all be that, can't we? Now, I suggest you get back to your stations. I am—when was it again, the meeting?—very likely already late. Now, hush, I'm sure you have some simulation to watch or coffee to fetch."
Cassia turns around and marches off. Like the apparent assistant, Maeve follows. She turns around, to catch a look at the confused interns. They're definitely going to get into trouble. They'll ask a superior about this Dr Martinez, and that supervisor will tell them that there is no such doctor. Or google her. Same outcome. They'll look at the security cameras and
"I didn't know you speak Spanish," Cassia remarks, while grabing a white lab coat. Her disguise, apparently. Maeve's no spy, she doesn't belong into Juan Santiago's movies!
"I didn't know you're an actress. Or aware of how to escape a top security space research facility."
"I'm not. This is what my mum would do—and there's an exit to the break space that has a little garden. At least there was, when I was last here. From there, we should be able to get to the visitor's path…" Cassia fades off. "It'll be fine."
"Fine?" Maeve huffs. "We're going to be lucky to get out here, and will get a law suit either way. People are going to believe the Estelle story at this rate…"
Cassia doesn't catch that, though. Her optimism? Maeve wants that. The inside of the laboratories of the Andromeda Project are quite a sight, but it's not very amazing when you worry about the incoming lawsuit. Yikes.
"Gemma? Gemma Schreave?" Maeve stops, in front of Rosalind Astor, Poppy's younger sister. The redhead, holding a tablet, looks at the two. "What are you doing here?"
"Uh, hi."
"A friend?"
"The sister of a friend of Perci," Maeve replies, hoping that Cassia will catch what that means. She's not entirely a friend, even if Rosalind had been quite nice. There's a lot pointing to her being a chat member too, predominantly being Poppy's sister.
"Great. You can get us out," Cassia determines. "I'm Cassia. Long story short, we're avoiding my mum whom I don't get along with. She works here, and we did the tour…"
Rosalind nods, confused. "I work here, yes. Dual university degree. Why?"
"If you're in IT, can you delete the security coverage? With Estelle, I really don't want the drama of Andromeda suing us for walking around."
Cassia shakes her head, "My mum wouldn't do that. I'll have to explain, worst case."
"If you're just avoiding your mum and someone actually comes, I can let the security team know. I've got a few buddies there! If anything comes up, I will just let them know, and that I know you," Rosalind immediately suggests. "And, Gemma, I mentioned meeting you to my father. He'd love to meet you, if you—"
"I'm sure you can solve this later," Cassia rushes, "but there's still a chance of my mum coming this way and I really don't want to meet her. Do you mind doing this later? The break area is that way, isn't it? The one with the exit?"
Rosalind looks down, almost disappointed. "Yes, it is. I'll text you or—wait, I don't have your message."
"DM me on Instagram, it's gem-maeve," Maeve tells her, and follows Cassia around a few corners, doors and outside. They reach the guest path, surprise a few confused tourists, and maybe a little too fast return to the exit and Maeve's car.
(Rightly so; Maria Andersson was on her way to said hanger.)
"The coincidence!" Cassia exclaims in the car. "How is it possible for us to almost meet my mum, now out of all times?"
"I don't know. Maybe she's had someone on the look out for you?"
"… I wouldn't put that past her. No contact for seven years, and now she suddenly needs me back. I first thought she had cancer or something, but she would have said that…" Cassia sighs.
Maeve looks down. Cancer. Death. She almost let Rebecca die alone. A great granddaughter, she is. Yikes. Another reason to feel guilty, to that never-ending list. She takes a deep breath—not now. She's having a nice day out with a friend.
"Do you want to head anywhere, or to your hotel?" Maeve asks. "Not that I want to get rid of you, but I'm—I'm a bit shaken."
"Oh, really?" Cassia turns to her. "It's gonna be fine, really! Worst case, I'll need to talk to my mum, but that's it. I'm sorry. I didn't realise it'd upset you."
Maeve twirls her hair. "It's—It's fine. You're right. Your mum won't sue you. I just didn't think about it, and with Estelle—don't worry. Let's get you checked in, will we? I need to prepare some work stuff, I think, too…"
Cassia smiles. "Sure. We should hang out again, though."
"Happy to."
Chapter recap:
Maeve is over Illéa. To her, it's a hopeless idea to stay and try; she books the next plane ticket to Japan, fully intending to do something that is not "be the Schreave heiress she always thought she was". While torn between the Maeve she believed herself to be when living abroad and Gemma Maeve Schreave, the Schreave heiress that Illéa once knew and she's trying to be, she runs into Cassia Earl, the daughter of space research institute Andromeda Project's CEO. Cassia turns out to be a great friend and instead of leaving, Maeve spends the day with her, changing her mind, for now. They visit the Andromeda Project HQ and technically break into it. Fun times.
Next Chapter Teaser: Maeve meets old friends and makes new ones
Author's Note
Meet Cassia, the first OC that was submitted and second-to-last to debut. Ooops. Sorry, Moon. You get the first 'date' in return. Thanks to Pocket for helping me with Spanish! Cassia technically speaks Spain-Spanish, not Latin Spanish, but Pocket was the closest I had to a Spanish translator.
(I fully apologised for any typos or anything, point them out to me, I have to study. What is time to edit. T _ T)
