selkiesaoirse | (no subject)

Entry tags:

people: mum

(no subject)

Power swap plot

Saoirse had gone to school that morning feeling unstoppable. She'd wished Greta a good day, and said she'd miss her.

She'd said. She'd spoken. It's still such fun that Saoirse can speak without her coat. It feels like Darrow is treating her for being well-behaved, or something. It must be! She's been a good girl, so here's her voice, no coat necessary.

Until she'd gone to school. Some of the children accused her of lying about not being able to speak. They'd been very mean about it, and very soon, most of the children had started in, until she'd had to go sit in the nurse's room for the rest of the day because she'd been deemed 'too disruptive' by the teacher.

When she comes home that afternoon, her feet are heavy, her head and shoulders drooped. Cu rushes to greet her, but slows to a stop and licks her tear-stained face. Saoirse just gently pushes his snout away.

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Greta doesn't think she'll ever get over the sound of Saoirse's voice. In fact, she'd given serious consideration to the idea of just calling the girl in 'sick' so she could have another full day with her. With all the awkward power shifting that's happened, she doubts the administration would have pressed for details. She could have taken Saoirse around the city and listened to everything she had to say about everything, and she would have loved every second of it.

But she's wary of the precedents that would set -- lying to her teachers, skipping lessons on little more than a whim -- so she sends her off to school like usual. Not that there's anything usual about Saoirse saying goodbye, or that she'll miss her. Greta ends up needing a few minutes to compose herself before she can head off to the Gardens for work.

Anticipating the girl's return takes up so much of her focus that she has little to spare for imagining how Saoirse's day at school might be going. If she had, it might have occurred to her that things might not go entirely well. As things are, no such thing occurs to her until she sees Saoirse standing in the doorway, the very picture of dejection, with the dogs sniffing carefully at her tear-streaked face.

The cheerful greeting Greta would have given her is scrapped, exchanged for a more subdued, "Saoirse?" Several different emotions leak into her tone -- suspicion, surprise, preemptive indignation -- but none can truly come to the fore until she knows what's happened. She wades through the dogs until she reaches the girl, then crouches by her side. "Hey," she says gently, a word she's picked up after countless soothings at the Gardens. "What's all this?" She brushes her hand against Saoirse's cheek.

Saoirse sniffles and scrubs her sleeve against her face, then leans against Greta when she's close enough.

"A boy at school said I was faking it," she mumbles. Her voice is wet and thick, almost unintelligible against Greta's shoulder. "I wasn't faking it, but he said I was, and no one believes me!"

Greta wraps her arms around Saoirse in a warm hug, serving the dual purpose of comforting her and keeping her too close to see the thunderous expression on Greta's face. The idea that Saoirse would have faked her muteness is so absurd that she had assumed that no one would have entertained the thought.

But that's asking too much of a room full of seven-year-olds.

"Of course you weren't faking it. Everyone should have known that," she says firmly, rubbing Saoirse's back. "What did your teacher say?"

"She told them not to be rude," she answers, and hiccups a little when she sniffs again. "And that she's sure I wasn't faking it. But they didn't care." She shakes her head, petting Cu's head when he nuzzles closer to reassure her. "They just did it quieter."

Greta tsks quietly. At least Saoirse's teacher had the right idea, though that does put something of a damper on her burgeoning plan to call the school and find someone to snap at. There's only so much the teachers can do, she knows, and this is one of those rare moments where she almost wishes it was still socially acceptable to box someone's ears. That might put a stop to such nonsense. Saoirse is too much smaller than her peers for Greta to suggest a good sock to the nose during recess, either, even if it's no less than what some of her classmates might deserve.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. That sounds awful." She holds her close for a few more moments, then leans back a bit and strokes back Saoirse's hair. "I don't suppose they got bored of it, eventually...?" Judging by the state of her, she'd guess not.

"A bit," she admits. She rubs the heel of her hand against her eye and then wiped the tears off on her pants. They'd stopped during their lessons, and eventually during recess, but on the bus ride home, they'd started up again. Only Adam, another small lad from Saoirse's footie team, had sat by her and said he believed her.

"Well, that's something." Greta still sounds distinctly unimpressed with Saoirse's schoolmates, but dealing with the more immediate aftermath of their teasing is more important than trying to sort them all out from a distance.

So she presses a kiss to Saoirse's forehead, and gives her arms a bracing rub. "Let's get you out of all your snow things, and I'll make you some cocoa. How does that sound?"

"Yes, please," she mumbles. She shucks her coat and indulges in pouting against Cu so he can nuzzle and love on her whole allowing Greta to do the rest.

Greta hangs up her coat and helps her out of her boots, and tries not to smile at the way she slumps against Cu. Saoirse's usually a good tempered child, and while she has her moments of stubbornness, sustained pouting is a rare thing. It shouldn't surprise her that Saoirse throws herself into a properly bad mood with the same enthusiasm as she would footy practice, but it does, and Greta has to resolutely remind herself not to find it cute. There isn't anything cute about being teased on and off all day.

And god knows what tomorrow holds. Her classmates might have got over it by then, or they might start right back up. And, presuming this doesn't last forever, what will happen when she goes back to being mute again?

A call to the school is definitely in order. For now, all her focus is on cheering Saoirse up a bit. There isn't much to be done about what's already happened, and pressing for details might make things worse, so Greta decides to just try and take her mind off things.

"D'you want to snuggle up on the couch?" she asks. "We could have our cocoa over there." She normally tries to avoid stain-leaving beverages on the furniture, but this seems like an occasion for rule-bending.

Saoirse isn't stupid. Although it's not a rule, exactly, she knows that drinks aren't allowed on the couch. But snuggling sounds so good right now.

She nods, with another quiet "Yes, please," as the last of her winter stuff is taken off. She lifts first one foot, then the other, to fix her socks, which tried to escape into the toes of her boots when Greta slid them off her feet. Then she rubs the cuff if her shirtsleeve against her cheeks to get the gritty tears feeling off of her skin.

"I'm sorry, Greta," she says after a moment, "if I worried you."

Greta is about to rise to her feet when the apology registers, and then she settles back down, brow furrowed. The last thing she wants is for Saoirse to feel like she can't tell her things like this -- or that she shouldn't be troubling her. Even if her options are limited, as far as helping the situation goes, she'd still rather know this sort of thing is going on than be cheerfully oblivious.

"Listen," she tells her, her tone gentle, but firm. "You've done nothing wrong, and you've no cause to apologize." She seeks out Saoirse's gaze, wanting to make sure she understands, and smiles faintly once she's caught it. "Besides," she adds, giving the girl's cheek a fond pat, "it's my job to worry about you. It's what mothers do."

Saoirse feels her cheeks warm, and she can't help a small smile as she leans in to snuggle her. She likes how that sounds. Mother. Greta's her mum, now, after all. It says so on all the papers, and Saoirse even has her last name, too.

She sniffles a little more and clutches her arms around her neck.

"Thanks, Mum," she mumbles into her shoulder.

Hearing Saoirse call her Mum is something she'd secretly wished for, but would never have dared to expect. Even if Saoirse had always had a voice, she wouldn't have held her breath waiting for that one word. She had a mum. Maybe she'd never met her, but between her father and brother, there's a strong enough memory to count for something. It would've been presumptuous to just... expect all that to shift over to her, like a hand-me-down dress. She hesitates to even refer to herself as Saoirse's mother, at least directly and within Saoirse's earshot, though it gives her a little thrill when other people do it.

That little thrill doesn't even begin to compare to the rush of feeling Saoirse's words inspire, and Greta lets out a startled breath, a gasp in reverse, before scooping her right up off the ground. She can't speak for a few moments, can only press a kiss to Saoirse's temple and hold her tight.

"You are very welcome," she finally manages.

She carries Saoirse into the living room and gently deposits her onto the couch, where there are a few soft blankets within easy reach. Her cheeks are a little pinker than usual, her eyes a bit overbright, but she's managed to mostly keep her composure. "Right," she says, "you get cozy, and I'll go make that cocoa."

Saoirse nods and, feeling a bit better after fussing and cuddling, she runs to the couch. She's gotten better at climbing up onto it; it's not enormous, but she's still small for her age. Her feet barely hang off the cushions, so she curls up against the arm and pulls the blanket off the back to wrap around herself.

Cu settles on the floor in front of her cushion, just like he always does, and Sadie rests her chin on the cushion beside her. She's fairly certain the dog wants to get up, but soon enough, she actually leaves to go see what Greta's up to in the kitchen.

Greta does briefly consider making the microwaved stuff, simply because it's quicker. But Saoirse deserves proper cocoa after the day she's had, so she makes it over the stove. Sadie wanders in to check her progress, and gets a murmured, "Not for you, Sadie," for her troubles. The dog knows what that means, but she still lies down on the floor philosophically, in case things should change.

By the time Greta's finished, she has a mug full of cocoa topped with marshmallows, whipped cream, and a sprinkling of cinnamon (Sadie, for her patience, is rewarded with a marshmallow). "Here you are," she says, presenting it to Saoirse with a flourish before settling herself on the couch beside her.

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