@solisrising wanted a Freshman Miranda starter.
On the initial tour, Miranda had not suspected it would be so... busy. Of course, she had come when it was only the staff — this was how it was supposed to be conducted. Come when it is quiet, when no one will see. It is vital, to observe all of the fine details in such a manner, before any potential issues can arise in-situ. Take note of everything, nothing can be missed, anything might mean the difference between success and failure, life and death, approval or accusations of treason. She could not be afforded distractions or anything else that might turn her attention away from the grave, singular task at hand.
Daddy had given this to her, after all. Not Laudanda. Not Amanda. It may have almost passed for favor, and it was favor that Miranda was sure she could attain. Just had to remain focused, had to do what was asked with her and come back to the Merkingdom just as assured as she had left. Certainly it wouldn’t take any longer than that, Daddy was fickle about these things. Already he had come back and forth on the idea so much, discussing it with advisors and with Laudanda’s people and with the entire Court of War and with every Low Royal who was important enough to hold some sway over this conversation — so while extensions were still a possibility, Miranda was sure it would not take any longer.
( Miranda. The name still disgusted her, the syllables poured over her tongue like poisoned meat, forming dense chunks beneath her tongue and embedded between her teeth that she couldn’t fish out. It was nothing compared to Slz'Exkii, to the name given to her by right of her birth. To announce her Title, grand and perfect, as Crown Princess Miranda Vanderbilt of the Grand and Illustrious Merkingdom, of all things, was truly just insult, made for her to look like an uncouth fool.
The courts had to be pulling something over on her, assigning her a name that whimpered instead of roared, but it was much too late for that. She’d have to settle, for now. Just until she could return home. One year. That was all she had to endure. )
And she would endure this. Miranda would endure her first day within this terrible, awful place, and she would endure it fine. Her tutors had taught her well. If she could withstand feeling like every single nerve-ending in her body was self-immolating and melting through her skin to boil her alive, then she could endure these terrible, horrible hallways that really could NOT have been able to hold this many people, could they?? No, that was impossible. It was just impossible.
She had her guards. That was a relief, even if they were the terrible replacements for her actual guard staff that she had back at the palace. Serfs, she had also been instructed to call them. It served some reassurance that she had overseen their creation and been able to fine-tune it herself, but... They were uncanny, and new, and really Miranda would have just preferred to have her old guard of fellow merfolk. It was simply much easier, and so much more appealing to be seen next to them, no matter how many customization options she had been handed.
It did make parting the sea of people easier — even as it itched at the back of Miranda’s brain. They were too close to her. She didn’t like how close they were to her, she didn’t like that they weren’t getting out of her way. But a few harsh shoves from beefed-up shark-people would make anyone get the idea sooner or later, and she was making progress.
She was making progress. Miranda could do this. The halls were all confusing and new and she barely remembered where she had been on the tour through the people and the talking and the crowding around her — she was looking for her locker, she had been given one, and she just couldn’t figure out where the horrible thing was supposed to be — but that was fine. She had done worse. She would do even worse than this in the future. This was survivable. She was stronger than this. She was better than this horrible, horrible place. There was supposed to be a number placard on top, but she could barely see them, but that was fine. Just move to the side ( shove more people away, force them away from her, she didn’t want to be touched ) and check again. Getting warmer. Getting colder. Moving back and forth, trying to find the thing.
There was only so much time she had, after all, before she was expected to meet for the arranged Home Room, and she had to figure it out soon. Miranda could not fail. She simply would not let herself fail. She would find this locker, she would orient herself, and she would be back on track.
And, just as foretold, just as Miranda knew she would do because she could never be wrong, she had finally found the accursed thing. It was horridly small, but it’s placement was pleasant enough, next to a window. Less pleasant was someone else standing in front of it. That too could be remedied. Miranda was sent here to be an ambassador for the Merkingdom, to make connections for her own people, and so connections would be made.
“You are relieved of this position. Move elsewhere before I shall have you forcibly escorted.” Her accent was thick, making her words curl in the air, twist and dance as if listening to a song that no one else could hear, half-sung. If it were not for the stern gaze in her slit pupils, that steady assurance that no one, absolutely no one, could doubt nor question her, then surely it was the guards clustered around her back to make her command all the more unwavering.
That is, if Miranda were not still four-foot-eight-inches tall, and bright pink in color.
