WHO Baby!Havana (Linden Smithe). Her mother (Astrid Smithe). Helen Fox. Alexandra Rose. Mentions the Bostonians. A few NPCS. WHAT Backstory. Nearly 2400 words of it, bitches.
TUSCON, ARIZONA. JULY 29TH, 1996, 3:34PM. There was no logical reason for it to be raining. Not in this part of the country. Not at this time of the year. It seemed to Astrid that the only possible reason for it to be raining was the occasion. Gripping the steering wheel of her car, she turned into the parking lot. She let the car idle for a long moment before she turned it off, inhaling deeply and brushing the tears from her eyes before she craned her neck around to look into the back seat. Her daughter was still safely nestled between a blanket and her stuffed elephant, which she refused to call anything besides Loxodonta Africana despite her mother’s pleas. A proper name for everything, and everything to be called by its proper name.
“Baby?” She asked, and the child looked up at her briefly, loathingly, and then turned her attentions back to the book in her lap, as if to say ‘be quiet, Mother. I’m reading’. Astrid closed her eyes again and smoothed her hair before stepping out of the car.
Even though it was raining it was still stiflingly hot. The pavement was sticky and slick, and everything smelled strongly of wet concrete. Astrid opened her umbrella so that her daughter could step out of the car in such a fashion that neither her book nor her elephant got wet. As they walked towards the sleek building labeled ROSSUM, the girl didn’t even bother to look up from her book. When they entered the lobby, they were greeted fondly.
“Mrs. Smithe,” The receptionist said kindly, her bright eyes sparkling with delight. The child had been a hit with the scientific types upon their last visit, and Rossum was the kind of company to employ only scientific types, even for menial labor. Astrid knew that the receptionist, a kind girl by the name of Emily, was also an intern for Rossum. She studied biochemistry and loved Jane Austen.
During their last visit, Astrid had sat in the waiting room for nearly ten hours while the doctors evaluated her daughter.
“How are you, Linden?” Emily asked, but the girl did not respond to the question. Not directly. She set the book down on the counter.
“Thank you for letting me borrow your book.” Linden said, her hand still resting on the cover of the worn copy of Sense and Sensibility.
“Did you like it?” Emily asked. Linden shook her head and adjusted the way Loxodonta’s ears fell around his face.
“If I wanted to know what life was like in regency England, I would live there.” Linden said softly, and Astrid smiled apologetically as she tugged on her daughter’s hand.
“We’re late for our appointment,” Astrid reminded the child, whose back straightened noticeably when she became aware of this fact. Linden didn’t like to be late. A proper time for everything. Everything happened in time.
They walked down the still unfamiliar halls of the building. Astrid wasn’t confidant in her navigation, but Linden raised no objections; she would raise objections if they had taken a wrong turn. She eventually came to the door of the lab which belonged to the young, attractive doctor who had examined Linden last time she had been here. Despite her tardiness, Linden hesitated before crossing the threshold.
The doctor smiled when they entered the room, and the intern looked up in interest as well. He was new, Astrid thought, and looked to be overly curious in Linden. Astrid took an immediate disliking to the intern; he wasn’t her sort of person. The doctor set down a clip board and approached the mother and daughter. Linden pressed herself into her mother’s skirts.
“Hello, Linden. We’ve been so anxious to see you again.” The doctor said to the small girl. If the intern wasn’t Astrid’s type, this doctor certainly wasn’t Linden’s. The young girl had made her opinions on the doctor very clear after their last visit. She hadn’t said anything. Linden wasn’t a particularly verbal child, but it had been very clear.
“Say hello to your doctor, Linden.” Astrid insisted, tugging on her child’s hand. Linden leered up at the scientists, her small fingers tightening murderously around the stuffed elephant’s neck. “Linden,” Astrid prompted gently, nudging her child with a motion of her hip. The girl stumbled away from the safety of her mother’s skirts, and, looking up at the doctor, spoke with a steely resolve.