TWO
She ran away.
"Wasser? Saft?" Carol (Carol!) asks and doesn't wait for an answer before dragging her into a convenience store, going straight to the back where they have refrigerated drinks.
She ran away with Carol (Carol!).
"Apfelsaft? Orangensaft?" It figures that Carol (Carol!) doesn't remember that she prefers grape juice, but it's not like Carol (Carol!) ever paid attention. That's not a surprise; it doesn't matter. What's important is that she…
She ran away from her—from her m—she ran away from school. She knows that's bad. She'll be in trouble when (she tries not to, but part of her thinks if) they find her.
A few minutes ago (or maybe more, she doesn't know, everything moved so fast), she had been reading at school, waiting for her mo—waiting for Ma—waiting to be picked up. Now she's somewhere else, her wrist bruising under Carol's grip (Carol!)
She ran away with Carol (Carol!). She has to keep repeating that, because otherwise everything slips away from her. It doesn't make sense. Why did she even go with Carol (Carol!)? What had she been thinking?
"This is a mistake," she says aloud to make it real, except she says it in German, somehow, despite not speaking it for ages. Das ist ein Fehler. Miss Darahim would've smiled to hear it; Carol doesn't even turn around. Carol's hungry gaze is on the rows and rows of cold drinks. The drinks here—more soda and tea flavors than she'd thought possible or even pa-la-ta-ble—are still a novelty. A distraction. "This is a mistake," she forcefully repeats. "We have to go back."
"Later." There's the dismissive Carol she tries—tried—not to remember. Is Carol like that with her—guardians? She thinks back, sort of remembers a woman's voice talking about Carol, and wonders what Carol's life is like now. Then, she tries to squash down her curiosity. She doesn't-doesn't-doesn't care.
On her tip-toes, head craning upward, Carol absently says, "When you get lost, the right thing to do is stay where you are until you're found."
That makes something in her chest squeeze. At least Carol said that in Japanese. "We're not lost. You—we—ran away," she mutters. "We have to go back." But, looking out the window of the store, she realizes that they are lost, if Carol really doesn't know where they are.
Her par—they're looking for her, right? She ran away, but she didn't mean it, she didn't!
"My, you've certainly grown since the last time I saw you, munchkins," someone says, making her forget her panic about being lost (abandoned). Instead, she starts to panic that a stranger is talking to her, to them. Someone blurry, though she recognizes through the blurriness that the person talking is tall and wearing a really big hat. "Tell me you remember me, Wunderkinder."
Child prodigies. No one's ever called her and Carol that. No one, except, maybe in a vague memory: "Meine Wunderkinder, so süß!"
Elfnein blinks rapidly, her breaths slow, and she hears her papa's loud laugh and a younger Carol's boasts echo in her head. She knows that word in that voice. She knows this person. She takes a proper look; she's seen that bold red smile with that hat and that coat before, in black instead of tan brown. She remembers warmth. Bright, happy laughter. This person is—
"Tante Ryouko?" Carol demands, peering intently into the stranger's dark eyes behind dark sunglasses. Papa had called them 'Pilotenbrille,' and scolded Tante Ryouko for using them indoors. How long ago was that? (She also wonders how far back the brain can remember, makes a note to ask her d—makes a note to look it up later.)
More importantly: Tante Ryouko, in Japan? Here? Right now? It's impossible, impossible like Carol in Japan, here, right now.
"Call me Finé, darlings," the cool woman, Tante Ryouko, says. "'Ryouko' is such a boring name for a personality like mine, don't you think?"
She's still stuck on here, right now, but she dutifully echoes Carol's, "Yes, Aunt Finé." It's easy to say, easier than 'Tante Ryouko' would have been. This person is her, their, godmother.
It's impossible, but she's here, right now, with Carol and Aunt Finé.
"Good children!" Aunt Finé smirks, which falls away to a sad look. "You were little more than toddlers when I saw you last, but Izak never failed to send me pictures. Naturally, I took notice when they stopped coming. I would've come sooner for both of you if I could have." Aunt Finé pats their shoulders in obvious regret.
Her chest hurts. She… doesn't know why.
"He sent pictures?" Carol asks with a shine in her eyes.
She looks away from Carol. It's too much. Everything is weird. Uncomfortable. She wants her paren—
"Plenty! He regularly corresponded, despite my ever-changing domicile and atrocious reply record." Aunt Finé sighs, crosses her arms. "He was such a clever and diligent man. The world is… emptier without his mind."
"Papa was important, wasn't he?" Carol boasts, puffing up like she used to do.
"Invaluable!"
He was? Abruptly, she sees a chance to talk about Papa and learn about who he was and what his work was. Papa had always been making phone calls, rushing to lectures, running endless experiments, finding new places to live; she remembers him moving, constantly. She knows Papa was smart: everyone they met had said so. She doesn't, however, know who Papa was.
Who was her father?
It's a question that has an answer. It's a question that won't hurt her (like Carol hurt her).
That's why, when she realizes that they've somehow left the store, she doesn't stop. She just walks a little closer to Aunt Finé. Part of her wants her p—wants a hand to hold, but mostly she wants to know more.
She wants to know.
(It's easier.)
a/n:
I hope everyone's having/has had a good time during these winter holidays. There's an hour left in 2017 for me so I wanted to upload this to end the year on a strong note (for me, not necessarily for Elfnein, heh).
