August 29th, 2022 The Spaceport @russovito
As was often the case lately, ever since the port’s construction to be exact, Amala found herself spending her midday break wandering the corridors of the Spaceport. She enjoyed coming here-- all the hustle and bustle of people, of fresh faces that’ve seen so much more than she could ever hope to imagine. Between the new people and the new technology they brought with them, there was always something new to experience here. And with a new title to help get her into the new additions as they were completed, Amala could explore any corridor she pleased.
Like this one: A beautifully lit hallway lined with single-door rooms that likely had the corridors windows within them. She’s sure of it. What hallways didn’t have windows? The shell and sand paint job added enough warmth to soften the oddly cold Collective minimalism-- though it did feel a bit boring, without the shades of green and flowering foliage dotting the structure like every other building in the city.
She was about to attempt to peer inside one of the rooms, the little plaque next to the door still blank, but footsteps and a low murmur of voices caught her attention. Amala looked back and saw a distracted Gloria Gallo with two of her aids packed in close. Her face fell, even winced, as she registered the gravely sound of the clearly frustrated councilwoman.
Deciding that she was in no mood have Gloria’s ruin her stroll, Amala made a snap decision: with near comical quickness, she practically lunged for the closest door and pushed it open, ducking inside as quickly and quietly as she could. She hangs her head with a slight shame as the door softly clicks, closing behind her.
Seas, that was childish. She thought, her teeth capturing her bottom lip. It was a nervous habit she’d adopted as a child, when deep in thought or stressed- much like now.
What if Gloria had seen her? Flinging herself inside the first door she could find like she did. A blur of orange and yellow. She wasn’t sure which would be more embarrassing: simply being caught in the act, or the tongue lashing she’d get as a result. She’d hear about it for weeks from her peers. Maybe months. Amala’s head continued to hang as she lifted a hand to her temple.