HOW STRANGE IT IS TO SEE a physical key after so many years of being surrounded by technology that could lock && unlock with the press of a hand. She recalls them being common back home – but the more she dwells on the memory, the more she decides that she would..Truthfully rather not. Each instance she can remember that involved a physical iron key – they typically either involved her mother or her time in the Outer Rim. It was amazing how something so mundane could dredge up such terrible memories. Metanoia dips her head in polite acknowledgement before stepping inside onto the grounds of the Academy.
❝ Tea would be lovely, thank you. ❞ There is a beat of hesitation in response to the offer; she has never enjoyed close company – not unless with her fellow Knights. ( Or her siblings, long lost to the past. ) But ultimately, she murmurs another word of gratitude as she ducks down a little to step under the cover of the umbrella as they walk.
As Amity speaks, the Knight finds her attention drawn upwards – admiring the structure of the building as she listens. It is admirable, she thinks, to have converted this old place into something like this. Somewhere so infamous, turned into something so..Almost homey. She wonders if either of the Huxes were aware – had been, in Brendol’s case – of if either of them ever cared. ❝ You have done a great thing, keeping track of those that needed it in such a CHAOTIC time. ❞
The hope that bubbles in her chest is like ACID – she has brought it on herself. She knows her brother would likely have never come here. Why would he ? Why would any of her family ? And yet – that flicker of hope remains. Setting herself up for her own disappointment; && all she can do is allow it to happen as she follows after Amity into the academy building.
❝ My name..My name is Mavorick. ❞ It’s..Strange, almost foreign on her own tongue, to hear her given name after so long.
Upkeep is difficult for such a large building; the community helps to keep the place afloat, but credits are always tight. The stairs that were so shiny and sturdy in the days of the Empire have begun to crumble, just as the regime itself inevitably had. They’ll hold for some years yet -- hopefully by that time, she’ll have a way to repair them, even if it’s by herself. She’s certainly rebuilt enough of the Academy herself over the years to feel confident in repairing more of it. Up the stairs they go, and Amity closes the umbrella as they cross the threshold, shaking the excess water off onto the absorbent carpeting. Her rain boots come off at the door, settled next to the umbrella holder. She slips the umbrella into its holder, and gestures down the hallway -- the once harsh, fluorescent glow has been replaced by softer, more natural lighting, and the sharp, clean lines are broken up by plant life. Flowers adorn tables, hanging vines crawl down the walls at equal intervals along the walls.
“Mavorick.” Amity states the name, committing it to memory; it’s one thing she’s always been good at, matching faces to names. It’s part of why the children respond so positively to her, she knows -- every child wants to be remembered. No one likes being forgotten.
She would know. Being relegated to the kitchens in hopes of being forgotten by Brendol -- she never wants anyone to feel that way, not if she can help it.
“A lovely name. The sitting room is this way.”
The sitting room is an open room that used to have a a large desk, a worker and guards, the signs of Imperial bureaucracy. Now, all of that has been cleared away; instead, there are two couches, a small number of armchairs, and a fireplace -- a summer project that some of the children had gleefully helped her with. A warm fire heats the room, a droid tending to it. She gestures to the chairs and immediately grabs the kettle, and the tin of tea she keeps in the sitting room. A spoonful of tea goes into a silk bag, and is slipped into the kettle, before she pours clean water into it, and sets it upon the fire.
“I just...don’t want anyone to be lost, or forgotten. It breaks my heart to see children separated from the ones who love them.” She turns, brushing her braided hair over her shoulder, the red strands catching the firelight. “So...who do you love, that you came all the way out here looking for them?”
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