To being an 'us' for once Who: Echo and Kiara Where: Ann Arbor Museum When: Afternoon
Kiara was sick of the sun. True, she was a siren and not a vampire, but ninety percent of her real clientele preferred to operate at night and she had been picking up on that habit of theirs slowly but surely since she had shoved herself into the blood market. Which meant that she was happier and more alert at night, and yet the job that required her to use at least a portion of her brain was the one that happened during the day. Goddamn appearances, she swore to herself as she tapped her pen against the clipboard she was carrying around. She was supposed to be taking an inventory but what was the point? They were a museum, not a store, and there should not be anything missing. But if there was then she was not going to let it ruin her day unless it came out of the far-too-small section that she was able to stir a damn up about. "Nothing is going to be missing," she said out loud. Part of her was daring someone to talk back, but alas she was temporarily alone. Not even her miserable excuse of a superior was there. Too bad because she was definitely of the mindframe that he was just giving her busy work to keep her from getting under his feet. Like she even did! Left to her own devices, Kiara was more content to just take up the space in her office while searching for pieces of art that could make the museum better than it was. Or returning phonecalls and emails from potential clients. Either way, she was getting paid for it. Why did he even expect her to -
"Oye!" Kiara's voice rose suddenly when she saw a child reaching up to touch one of the paintings. Immediately the siren was there, eyes narrowed in a glare while her hand hovered just that far from the space where the boy's hand had frozen. A little boy. God knew she hated the creatures when they were small every bit as much as when they were grown. Maybe more because they did her no good. "You be keeping your grubby little hands off o' the art, you hear?" His bottom lip started to tremble, eyes suddenly full of tears, and Kiara made no attempt to hide her irritated sigh when he started to cry. And it only got worse when no mother or father materialized from thin air to soothe his little injured pride. Kiara started to swear when she turned away only to find a little fist curled in the fabric of her shirt. "Fine." She grabbed his wrist and all-but dragged him into the next room. "Who does this belong to?"
A woman with the same light brown hair came rushing over, making all sorts of noises that Kiara found unnecessary as she scooped the boy up and dabbed at his eyes, asking what had happened. "He tried touching the paintings and I stopped him. No I didn't touch a hair on his head. But you'd best be teaching him how to keep those filthy things to himself." She motioned at his hands before she glanced down at her shirt and the smudge of darkness where his hand had tangled in. "Bloody children." No, she was not staying to listen to anything else that was said because she did not care. She just wanted to - 'You'd never know that you're a mother yourself.' Eilir shared as she fluttered down onto her shoulder. 'Who dealt with screaming brats.'
"That's different," Kiara retorted as she started for the Gaelic room, ignoring the other things on the list she had been given. She was done putting up with the more popular exhibits as of right that moment. "She was a girl and she'd never have done that. I'd have smacked her hand for it myself." Behind her she could hear the faint sounds of that woman talking at someone and she just had this feeling that it was another employee. Great, she was going to have to put up with someone talking to her about her manners with other people. Just what she needed.
'Why do you work here if you don't even like people?' Kiara would have ignored that question, the butterfly had a direct line into her brain, but the butterfly started to beat her wings against her ear. That creature knew exactly how to be the most irritating little thing on the planet. She could have competed with sticky-handed children. "The art, Eilir, it's for the art." And a cover.