Realistic or Modern The Truth is Relative

[PunkPrince]

Marilyn lay on her back in bed. She had hardly gotten any sleep the night before. She'd spent the night tossing and turning. She felt the woman next to her snuggle closer to her side. At least Tammie seemed to be sleeping well. One of them would have some energy for the day. Good. Marilyn rested her arm across Tammie, gently rubbing her girlfriend's shoulders.

She was mostly just trying to keep from having an anxiety attack over today, and Tammie helped. Her daughter was coming to stay with her. She had lived with her adoptive parents for her entire life, they were dead, and now she was to stay with Marilyn. Marilyn hadn't seen the kid in years, though she had longed to. And now that she was to see the girl again, she wasn't sure she was ready to.

The last Marilyn and Tammie had seen her, she'd only been about two, but the girl's foster parents had allowed her to visit every day. Marilyn had loved that kid, but knew she couldn't care for her. It wasn't like they'd been some picture perfect nuclear family. Marilyn had come out as transgender to her parents, they'd kicked her out. Having no money and no job, she'd been forced into prostitution to keep herself live. Her pansexuality had meant she was open to basically anyone. Women were rare, but she did see them on occasion. An hour of nervous fumbling with a woman she had hardly known for ten dollars and a loaf of bread had brought the girl into existence.

Her mother had given her up, and if she could have, Marilyn would have taken her. She'd known better. The girl deserved to be raised by somebody stable and well equipped to do so, not a transgender prostitute stuck in a motel room who was constantly having her life threatened by people who were not so open to the way that she was. So she'd let the child go.

She had a box of letters in her closet written to the girl over the years. Most of them never sent. Mostly out of fear of what her daughter might think of her. The few she had sent had been sent back to her unopened. The letters were filled with nervous apologetic ramblings and expression of love for the girl she hadn't watched grow up, splatters of ink from her pens and scribbled out sentences. She missed that kid so much.

Tammie stirred beside her and sat up. "Hey," Tammie said softly, leaning over to kiss Marilyn's cheek. She pulled Marilyn up into a sitting position and gently stroked her hair. "You look awful, honey. Didn't you sleep?"
"No," Marilyn mumbled. "I'm freaking out. I couldn't sleep. It's been so long. I don't know what's gonna happen when I see her again. I feel so bad. I practically abandoned her. I know she doesn't know it, but I feel horrible. I just...I wish I could've kept her."

"You did what was best," Tammie said gently. "You didn't abandon her. You weren't allowed to talk to her. You did what you could. She grew up best because you gave her up. What if she had stayed and something had happened to us? Or her? What then? We weren't exactly stable in the way we lived. It wasn't a good way for anyone to grow up. I loved her too, and I wish we could have kept her and raised her together. You'll have her back soon enough. I know you're nervous, I am too. But we're all she's got right now."

Tammie stood up and began to dress herself. "I'll go downstairs and make breakfast while you get yourself ready. Take your time. Try to calm down and then come down whenever you're ready, Kitten." She pecked Marilyn on the lips and then she was gone.

Once she had showered, Marilyn stood in the bathroom looking at her reflection in the mirror. She ran her fingers gingerly over her face, which she had just finished shaving. It was smooth. For now at least. Her hormones had redistributed her body fat–given her hips and a more feminine figure, and she had slowly begun to develop small breasts. Tammie, who had been on hormones for much longer, had larger breasts and a feminine figure. She just about passed by this point. Hormones had not, much to their displeasure, eliminated their body hair. It had made it thinner, but the only way to be rid of it was laser hair removal. It had not changed Marilyn's broad shoulders, nor affected her height–nearly six feet tall–and it had not changed her voice. It had never been particularly masculine, but it had always had a bit of a boyish huskiness to it.

She thought about what Tammie had said as she did her makeup. Deep down she knew her lover was right. She'd done what was best. But God damn it did she miss that kid. All those letters in her closet were proof. She wrote a new one every few days. She had never gotten to have any real contact with Claire after she'd left. The most she'd been allowed was to send small packets of the girls favorite candy. She did it on holidays, and the girl's birthday of course. She wished she could have afforded to buy her real presents.

Tammie was in the kitchen making french toast on the stove. It was Marilyn's favorite, and she hoped that maybe the meal would help destress the other woman a bit. She knew Marilyn had missed Claire. After the girl had been adopted Marilyn had spent about a week and a half alternating between sobbing and sleeping. Tammie had had to coax her into eating, and even then it was always only just a few nibbles.

Tammie looked up as she heard a knock on the door. She was hesitant to answer. She didn't know much about the girl, and the girl knew nothing about her. Tammie wasn't even sure if Claire knew she and Marilyn were trans. Stepping away from the stove, she walked over to the door and opened it, smiling as she saw the girl standing there. "Hi," she greeted. "You must be Claire." She stepped aside to let the girl in. "I'm Tammie. Marilyn is upstairs getting ready. Come in."

 

[Clairikins]

You know that feeling you get after a long day of school? When you finally get a break from the long day and get to sit in your room or really just anywhere quiet? There's that buzz, that constant stream of sound that just won't go away no matter what you do, only time can fix it. It turns out it doesn't only happen at the end of a long day; it can be the intro to the longest two weeks of a young girl's life.

She was in class when it happened, lunch break, specifically. She was sitting on a desk and talking to some of the other students about... that part of the memory escapes her now, but she can still vividly recall laughing when the woman came into the room and called her name. She didn't even notice it at first, someone nudged her leg and pointed it out to her. To make matters worse she didn't even think it was anything serious; she had been taken out of lunch before to do tests or homework, generally just to get caught up with the other students, it only ever took a few minutes at the most... she left her lunch in the classroom.

When she gets to the room, there are three adults sitting there in total: the woman who normally gave her her tests, a man in a business suit, and a woman sitting right next to her wearing a sweater who looked like the typical aunt. Poor Claire, she was completely clueless at the time to what it was, still smiling from whatever conversation was being had before. The woman on the other side of the desk even went to the trouble to gently take her hands in her own, and that got her attention. "Claire." the words are even still etched in her mind, and are set to stay there forever, "Your parents... have passed away." The buzzing came and she didn't hear anything else after that, her eyes got foggy and hard to see, it took until the aunt-like woman wiped them for the girl to realize she was crying.

There's no telling if it would have been better if she hadn't known the details, but in the days that followed she got the full story that she had missed the first time: her parents were artists, examining and drawing/painting the scenery off of a cliff when some... when some guy showed up and tried to rob them. If everything had gone well, then her parents would still be alive, but the gun went off accidentally. When the paramedics finally arrived on the scene it was too late, but at least the two died in each others' arms.


It took some time to pack up her things, Debrah, the woman in the sweater, helped her out a lot... basically did it all for her. A number of her things had to be sent away, just a backpack left for the last day before she would finally move again. Moving, that's all it was, a coping mechanism that could only be short-lived: Claire just thought of it as moving once again, except that this time there would be strangers living with her... that's what college is like, right? She's just going off to college... at age twelve. She will get to have her own television now, another room to get used to, and all of her toys will be there to meet her, just like another move.

By the day of the move, she might as well be old enough for college; every day felt like months, Claire basically being a puppet the entire time, only doing as she was led to do, unable to eat unless she was fed, only clutching a small plush pony and a soft blanket to her chest, both figures of a cartoon show she used to watch with her parents. The car ride was silent, the woman knowing that trying to talk to the stoic girl was a fruitless task, and they finally pull up to the house, both of them getting out and walking to the door. Claire has on a simple white dress with a soft pink trim and a white headdress similar to something one would wear for a wedding, light blue shoes with a small heel on her feet, and a pink backpack with the essentials (toothbrush and the like) and a change of clothing inside, still clutching the plush and the blanket firmly to her chest and looking in a general downwards direction.

Claire lets out a small sound as an introduction that sounded something like a faint "huh", but it could have just been a breath. She only steps inside when the social worker nudges her. She had been there herself, of course, to make sure that the two would be suitable parents for the young girl, so she doesn't stay long, just giving the young girl one more hug before leaving. Claire continues to stand in the entryway, still just as much a puppet as she had been for the past fortnight.

 

[PunkPrince]

“You can come in if you like,” Tammie said, stepping to the side. “I don’t bite, I promise.”

Marilyn was standing in her bedroom doorway, fully dressed with her hair still just slightly damp. She could see them, but they couldn't see her. She had to go down there. She couldn't just hide in her room forever. And she really did want to see her daughter again. God, she'd gotten so tall. Even from a distance she could see that the two of them looked alike, particularly in the face. Marilyn took a deep breath before slipping out of her bedroom and walking down the stairs.

"Hi," she greeted, smiling at Claire as she spoke. "Sorry it took me so long. It’s nice to see you again." What she really wanted to do was hug the girl, shout, "I've missed you!" and never let her go. She didn't though. It took all her willpower not to.
Tammie grinned at her. "There you are," she said. "I thought you'd run off." Tammie moved to stand next to Marilyn. She was the smaller of the pair.

"Are you hungry?" Tammie asked Claire. "I made french toast. It's not as good as the stuff Marilyn can make, but I don't think it's bad." Without waiting for an answer she bounced off into the kitchen. Marilyn laughed softly and gave Claire a smile before following Tammie.

Tammie had moved the pieces of french toast onto three seperate plates. She put the plates on the table and pulled the syrup out of the cabinet. Once they were all sitting around the table Marilyn looked over at Claire again. "Is there anything you want to know about us?" she asked. "Or anything you want to tell us about yourself?"

 

[Clairikins]

Claire doesn't look up at Tammie as the woman tries to talk to her, or at Marilyn as she came down to greet her. She is, at the very least, able to make it to the table, still clutching her possessions to her chest and wincing when she sees the sticky syrup; that stuff would be just about impossible to get off, after all. She reaches out with her left hand, placing her finger on her plate and pulling it closer toward herself, taking the piece of french toast in her hand and making a small bite out of the corner before setting it back. There she continues to stare at her food for a very long time as the others talk; the buzzing in her head has gone down so she can hear them, but she still doesn't know what she's supposed to say as she sits awkwardly on a chair with a bag on her back.

Breakfast carries on, Claire is hungry, but unwilling to eat anymore. If she is going to stay here for a few months, her mind thinking that she's just going to move and be with new people again soon enough anyway, she might as well say something, it's not like it'll matter in the long run. "My parents..." she buries her face into her blanket, but she doesn't cry again, instead her face simply growing red as she remembers all the good times they all had together, but maybe there was a bad memory or two to cling to? something to make them sound slightly worse than they were? "They would take me to amusement parks and make me ride the big, scary, rides. I never liked it." She continues to stare into her blanket as she talks, unwilling to look up at the two strangers, her stomach growing but still not willing to give the energy to eat the food in front of her.

 

[PunkPrince]

"You can sit down your things if you want," Marilyn suggested softly. "No one's going to take them, I promise." She watched the girl take a small bite of food before placing it back onto her plate. Marilyn suppressed a sighed. She hated to see Claire so sad. She wished her seeing the girl was under better circumstances. Even if the girl never knew the true nature of their relationship, all Marilyn really wanted was to see her happy. Her heart ached to see the girl in so much pain.

At least it seemed that the couple that had adopted her had taken good care of her. Marilyn's greatest fear was that she had made a mistake in Claire's placement, constantly worrying that her new parents might not treat her well after all, despite all the evidence pointing to the contrary. The girl was silent when questioned, burying her face in the blanket in her arms. Her face went red, and eventually, in a very small voice, she mentioned how her parents used to make her ride scary amusement park rides.

"I didn't like big amusement park rides when I was your age either," Marilyn told her softly. "I had a terrible fear of heights." She heard the girl's stomach growling, and was about to say something else when Tammie spoke up.

"You don't have to eat all your food if you want to. But I can hear your stomach growling. "At least eat one slice," she coaxed. "It's not good for you to go hungry. Trust me, I know from experience. Once you eat we can show you your room and leave you be to get settled, if you'd like."

 

[Clairikins]

Claire gives a tiny nod, picking up the toast again to take another bite out of it and taking her sweet time to chew.
She finally speaks again once she's about halfway through the piece: "Water, please?" her voice still quiet, putting the toast down and looking around, trying to see if there was some way to get it for herself like she was used to, but the whole place is just so much different than her old home, and this time she wasn't told where the glasses were or if the tap water was even safe to drink.
She stands up, clutching her soft things to her chest as she begins walking to the kitchen area, wanting to try to do this for herself. Her parents had made sure to keep some glasses in a drawer for her so she could always reach them without risk of injury, but the same can't be said for everywhere; these women were tall, after all, they were probably used to keeping things up high just because it's easier for them.

 

[PunkPrince]

The girl silently began to eat some of her food, and after a couple of minutes, she spoke again and asked for water. "Sure," Marilyn said, standing up and reaching into a cabinet for a glass. She dropped a few ice cubes into the glass and filled it with water from the sink before passing it to Claire. "Here."

The group ate in silence for a few minutes more, and once they had finished, Tammie stood up. "Come on," she said. "I'll show you your bedroom. You can put your things away and get settled." She collected the empty dishes from around the table and set them in the sink before heading up the staircase. Marilyn stood up to follow her, gently nudging Claire as she passed her.

She followed Tammie down the hallway to the bedroom they had prepared for Claire. "This is your room," Tammie told her. "I hope its okay. We weren't exactly sure what you liked, but the social worker mentioned you liked lighter colors. If you want we can go out sometime in the next couple days and get some stuff to make it more to your tastes."

 

[Clairikins]

Claire sits down, the glass in her hands. She sips from it between bites, holding it in both of her hands with her small collection being held against her body by her arms, taking more small bites until the one piece of toast is all done. "Don't throw it out." she mutters as her plate is collected, it's bad to waste food, after all, even if she doesn't want it at the moment.

Claire looks around once she gets into the room, walking into it curiously and letting her bare feet -she wasn't wearing socks and took off her shoes when she came into the building- rub against the carpet. She sets her blanket, plush, and backpack down on the bed, looking around and finding boxes of her things in the closet. It's just moving, after all, nothing special about that, just have to get everything all set up once again and get used to a new school... and new parents.

Claire pulls her blanket onto the floor and pulls a box down next to it, kneeling on her blanket as she opens the box, using her nails to get through the tape, tugging it off with her experience, pulling everything out one object at a time and putting it away: The desk has her school & writing supplies, the dresser with the mirror has various folded clothing with accessories in the top two drawers, and the standing dresser has more clothes and a supply of toys. It takes her a long time to slowly put everything away piece by piece, moving her plush to stand at the mirror so it can watch her, the girl not saying anything of her own accord for the entire time, seemingly lost in thought as she gets used to her new home.

 

[PunkPrince]

“We’ll leave you to get settled,” Marilyn said. “We’ll be downstairs if you need anything. You can look around if you like. This is your home now too, after all.” And then she turned and followed Tammie back down the stairs and into the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder as she left.

Marilyn set to work wrapping up the leftover french toast, sighing as she set the leftovers in the fridge. "I hope she's okay up there," Marilyn said. "I hate seeing her so sad."
"You'd be sad too if both of your parents were dead," Tammie told her. "And as far as Claire knows, they are." Marilyn turned to look at Tammie, and they were quiet for a few moments.
"Okay, maybe not your parents," Tammie said. "But you'd be upset if something happened to your brother. Claire will be okay. We just have to give her time, that's all."

"I know,"Marilyn said. "I just wish she were here under better circumstances. I wish I hadn't had to go ten years without seeing her. I hate seeing her look at me like I'm a stranger. I want to help her. I just wish I knew how."

 

[Clairikins]

Once the young girl finally has everything put away nice and neat she turns out the lights and lies on the bed, trying to have a nap to settle the wrath that has been going through her mind lately, but the light coming in from her curtains and her own empty stomach make it impossible. After lying down for a few minutes she finally gets up and walks downstairs, clutching her blanket to her chest and letting it drag on the floor a little, threatening to trip her if she let it.

She walks into the kitchen, stepping right up to the fridge before freezing in place: this was more like staying at a friend's place or with some distant relative instead of just being at home, was she even allowed to just get food? What if they get angry at her for trying? She has to try to be good if she wants to stay, or at least if she wants to keep them from being upset with her.

"Food..." she mutters, still staring at the fridge. With all the time she had spent putting everything away, it was time for lunch anyway, and she barely even ate breakfast.

 

[PunkPrince]

Tammie had settled at the end of the couch, her nose buried in a book. Marilyn sat next to her, sprawled out across the remainder of the sofa with her head in Tammie's lap. The television played softly in the background, though neither of them were really acknowledging the show. Marilyn sat up as she heard soft footsteps pattering against the wooden staircase. Claire came into view, though she didn't acknowledge either of them, if she even noticed them at all.

The girl shuffled into the kitchen, and Marilyn found her staring at the refrigerator. "Hey," she greeted. "Hungry?" She glanced at the clock. It was nearing lunch time by now. She hadn't even noticed.

Marilyn stepped toward the fridge and pulled it open. "Hm..." she murmured, gazing at its contents uninspired. She looked down at the girl again. "Any suggestions? I don't have any ideas. What kind of things do you like? I could probably whip something up."

 

[Clairikins]

Claire steps to stand beside Marilyn, looking up and down the fridge, trying to examine everything inside of it. "Hmm..." she pokes at a few select parts, "Sauce, cheese, vegetables. If we had a crust we could make a pizza, or is that a dinner thing?" she looks up at the woman as she lowers her arm, making something as a family is always fun, and if the three of them are supposed to be a family now, then why shouldn't they try to act like one? "Apple juice? Yummy!" she practically squees as she pulls the blanket closer to herself, trying to put on a happy face while around these two; it made them unhappy to see her unhappy, so maybe they'll be happy if she pretends to be happy.

 

[PunkPrince]

"Pizza is an every meal thing," Tammie said as she strode into the kitchen. Marilyn pulled the ingredients from the fridge and looked back over at Claire.
"I could probably make some crust," Marilyn said. "I'm sure we have the ingredients for it." She began rummaging through the cabinets and pulling things out. Tammie leaned into the fridge and pulled out the apple juice before pouring Claire a glass and passing it to her.

Marilyn smiled as Claire squealed in delight at the apple juice. It seemed like they'd found at least one small thing that could cheer the girl up after all.

 

[Clairikins]

Claire takes a sip of the juice before setting it on the counter. "I'll be right back, don't get started without me~" she hurries upstairs where she stays for a few minutes.
When she finally comes back down, she has an apron and her hair is tied back with pink, blue, and white bands, each about six inches apart, keeping her hair behind her and at least mostly out of whatever food she might work on. She carries her pony as she walks down, setting it on the table to 'watch' the kitchen. "Okay. I'm ready."

Under supervision she pulls out a cutting board to chop up some vegetables and pre-cooked meats, putting them in small piles and taking care to not let herself get hurt by the knife or to get herself too dirty either, but of course she's more than willing to help with anything she can!