Unpacking, [Open - 20/01]

[Naira Ewing]

“All right, and I think it’s all set up... ha!”

The sound of her father’s triumph caused Naira to turn in his direction. She frowned. All he had apparently done was set up the computer. To Naira, though, that was not the most important thing for her.

Her mother perhaps had a better grip on things. While her husband, Michael, fiddled away with wires, Zaramama (Zara for short) was helping her daughter unpack the many bags that had filled the trunk of their car.

“Is that all the clothes?” Zara asked, facing the open wardrobe. An assortment of skirts, trousers, tops and coats were all there, neatly pressed and tidily hanging off of hangers. A formal dress, safely encased in its plastic bag, hung from a hook on the inside of one of the doors; on the other hung a mirror.

“Looks like it, Mum,” Naira said, returning to stacking books in the bookshelf as Michael’s belt started singing shrilly. As Naira shook her head, and reached into the box for the next book, Michael answered his cellphone, mentioning something about ‘being busy, and helping his eldest settle in to her new school’.

“Naira, open the door to let in some fresh air, will you?”

“Yes, Mum.” Zara was already onto her end of the situation, opening the window, carefully avoiding her absently wandering husband. As the curtains began to flutter, Michael appeared to be adjusting his schedule.

Neither Naira nor Zara were surprised at that. Growing up with Michael Ewing as a father, Naira and her siblings were used to the random phone calls cutting in on their time with him, phone calls saying he would be late for dinner, or phone calls from wherever in the country he happened to be.

With all the phone calls made, it was a good thing then they had a very good call plan.

Although Naira was not technically a shy person, she was still a little hesitant to open the door, revealing everything to anyone who was passing by. This was the first time she was around ‘people like her’, and it was only natural to feel a little nervous. Up until her parents had reached nearly the end of the driveway – and Naira had seen a boy leap six feet straight up into the air – it was easy to pretend that this was just going to be a small boarding school of sorts. Like for musicians.

As she opened the door, Naira swore her hands were shaking. But that did not explain the minor tremors than ran through the door, especially after she let go. It was a small earthquake, definitely noticeable now to anyone in the direct area.

“Naira, stop that!” Zara’s voice was firm, a direct order.

Naira turned to see her father, flat on his behind. “Stop laughing!” he said, although Naira was not sure if he was talking to her mother (who was quietly chortling), or the person on the other end of the phone.

“Sorry, Mum,” she said simply, completely turning so her back was to the open door.

[Brenton Chaucer]

The new arrivals certainly were enough to get his mind off of the things that had been happening for the past few months. No longer did his mind dwell on his failed marriage. No longer did ponder what happened, at least not as much as he was before. His mind however did not venture far when it came to his children. They were always there yanking at his attention more often than anything else. If nothing else, they were the most important thing in his life. The three of them were more important than his career as a professor, money, or even his ex wife. Soon though, Elizabeth would be with him and he only hoped that the other two would come along soon enough.

...But for then, there were other children that needed him at the moment.

Brenton gave a fleeting glance to the clay pot that was in his hands. Already he had burried the seeds in the soil and it was like he could feel the life that resided there. It was like an energy just pulsing beneath his fingers and he wanted to do nothing more than beckon it out of it's hiding place. He did no such thing though. Merely, Bren gave it a small crooked smile as he walked down the hall towards a new student's room.

Rumble.

"What on bloody earth was that?" Brenton muttered to himself as he stopped for a moment. Was that normal in Austrailia? It was the first time he had ever been there...

He wasn't that far off and he could see someone standing in a doorway a few paces up.

"Well, good afternoon!" Bren said as he came up behind the girl still clinging to the small pot in his hand.

[Naira Ewing]

At the sound of the voice, Naira turned back in the direction of the hallway. That was one of the reasons why she had not been keen to open the door; who knew who might come calling?

In this case, it appeared to be a man around her father’s age (maybe a few years younger), and she only had to look up a few inches to see a pair of bright blue eyes. This had to be one of the mentors that she had heard about. However, beyond the existence of such people, Naira had no idea who this man was.

She stood there in silence for a few brief moments. What exactly was she supposed to say to him? Fortunately, her father seemed to take charge, stepping forward as if this were one of his meetings, and not his daughter’s settling in.

“Michael Ewing,” he said, snapping his phone shut in his left hand while extending his right. “This is my wife, Zara, and our daughter, Naira.” In his suit (complete with tie), he looked every inch the executive as he gestured to his wife, a tall slender woman with skin a few shades darker than her daughter’s. While it would have been obvious that Naira and Zara were related, her father seemed more distant with regards to genes – his blond hair (only slightly greying), blue eyes and fair skin bore absolutely no resemblance to his eldest daughter.

“You must be one of the people taking care of my little girl,” he continued, not noticing the face that Naira was making behind him. Off he went, as usual.

Michael would keep the new arrival busy for a few moments, she was sure; Naira took the time to continue unpacking more items. Pulling up a chair to the cupboard, she stepped up onto it, and took the items her mother handed her. Standing on a chair or bed was about the limit for Naira; any higher, and she would begin to panic.

Below, Naira could hear her mother’s voice, and she turned slightly to smile at the stranger. She would not bother to try and interrupt her father right now. Besides, it seemed as though her mother had a handle on things.

“I spoke with someone from here – a woman – and from the sound of things, this is going to be a good place for her.” Naira smiled; her mother, the perfect diplomat. Ever calm, but stronger than her father. Naira liked to think that she had inherited that strength, that quiet steadiness.

Items away now, Naira stepped forward and dropped from the chair. There was the soft sound of a thump as her feet hit the floor, but the waves of unsteadiness that emanated from that point were definitely not expected. Combined with a gentle rumbling that lasted a few seconds, it was definitely easy to pin-point it as an earthquake of sorts.

And the epi-centre? Right where Naira was standing.

It was then that Naira decided to break the silence. “Sorry,” she said, sounding very awkward – exactly like a teenage girl in a new place, which is the truth. “I usually have better control. Honest.” She shrugged her shoulders, as if the fact that she had just caused a shallow tremor was not that big a deal. “Nerves, I think.”

[Brenton Chaucer]

And sadly, instead of getting an answer for the girl, the father snapped his cell phone shut and spoke first. Of course, it was always nice to meet the parents however, he would be having little to no connection with them once everything was started.

“Brenton Chaucer.” Now was that time to put on the professional game face. The one he had to wear on that first day of classes while he was handing out the syllabi or when he was having a meeting with other professors at the University. In the end of course his stern façade was always stripped away to a much lighter side. There was only so much seriousness he could take before being a ham was inevitable.

Brenton took the man’s hand and gave both Zara and Naira a nod of his head before he looked back at Michael.

“I will be one of the many,” Brenton assured with a smile as his eyes flickered back towards Naira. She continued to unpack her things as though he weren’t there. Perhaps she was shy was all? “I assure you that all of us are quite capable of taking good care of the children.”

“Oh?” Brenton asked turning towards Zara as she spoke to him. Smiling a bit, he looked back towards the plant in his hand. “I wager you spoke with Ana Renard, the founder of the institute.” He was quite sure that Camilla didn’t take calls like that, did she?

“It’s true though. I do wish there had been something such as this when I grew into my abilities.” Not that he couldn’t hide it then. It had been relatively easy however, he would have loved to take comfort in the fact that there were others out there like him.

Thump

A small shake. Brenton glanced over at the girl as she apologized.

“At least you’re not sprouting daisies, yes?” He asked grinning at her, “And speaking of which…” He held the pot out to her and he still had that feeling to coax the little plant out of the dirt.

“Think of it as a dorm warming gift… a little something to keep you company.”

[Naira Ewing]

Naira had continued to observe – from a respectable distance – as her father dominated the conversation that should have been taking place between Naira and the newcomer – Brenton Chaucer. He seemed nice, so that was a good start.

But now that she had... shaken things up a little, it was time for her to speak up more.

“Sprouting daisies?” Did this comment have something to do with what Brenton could do? She assumed that he had to have powers – otherwise why would he be a teacher, or mentor, or whatever at a place like this? – so did he have something to do with plants? He probably could not make earthquakes, as Naira did.

But he had brought her a gift. That was always nice, and the room could use a little brightening. Naira had been thinking of arranging some crystals and the like around; maybe she could hang a prism from the window and let light pass through it.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the offered pot with a smile. “Plants and I get along okay-ish.” Except for the fact that they could break stones, plants were nice. “Stones are my best friends, though,” she added, gesturing with one hand to the large turquoise teardrop in the centre of her necklace. “We work together.”