The police force had dropped Ed off and instructed him in polite, if suspicious, tones to wait in line like the rest of the 'anomalies'. Ed thought it was a pretty nice way of saying 'freaks'. But then, most of the people he had met before the police had picked him up wandering the streets had been either painfully proper or completely unwilling to speak to him. The plaza had been crowded with onlookers -- most shuffling by hastily with noses in the air, trying not to appear is if they were watching the strange proceedings too closely
( ... )
The case worker pronounced the foreign name slowly and deliberately, it was clear that while he had some experience with the type of name, it was still not an easy task for him to sound out properly. Slipping over a small piece of paper toward Ed, he replied curtly. "Spell it here, please. Do you speak English, Elric-san
( ... )
Ed looked lost for a moment, and then spotted the pens in the cup at the end of the desk. He snagged one, and printed his name for the man as carefully as he could.
He was a bit leery of explaining himself, because when he rolled the story over in his head it seemed entirely improbable -- even from a place where alchemy was the norm. He'd dealt with the suspicious looks from his colleagues in rocketry, so he had stopped telling his stories like he had lived them.
"I do know English as well," he said. And German, but he didn't say it. The Nazi party had been vicious, and he didn't know whether or not they had existed in this future. He remembered Japan, remembered Tokyo, from the maps in his father's studies.
"The year I remember last in -- in the place similar to this -- was 1925. But the calendar for my home world would have listed the year as 1919. My home was part of a country run by a military dictatorship that had no issues with conscription or starting wars to acquire land."
The pristine clean, suited worker took note of everything Ed said in the computer, and also noted off how neat Ed was, a brief description of his clothing, any odors Ed might have been giving off, and the insignias on his clothing.
"I see. Where did you learn English? Do you speak any other languages? As you speak, I'm going to just ask you to stand, and get a good look at your clothing. Please just go on as normal."
Finding the insignia on the back of Ed's jacket, the worker sketched it quickly and sat back at his desk, scanning it into the computer.
Had it been hours? days? She wasn't sure anymore and the officer that was escorting her didn't seem to be too interested in her. Vaguely she wondered what aspect would she have after walking aimlessly through the hostile streets of a crammed city, with no clue as to what was happening now. Her only try to approach someone for information had ended in a hard knee inside her ribs, and by the time she had awokened again she was inside a car, heading to the city hall
( ... )
The case worker smiled softly, and bowed his head gently. This name he was familiar with. Japanese, this girl was, even if she didn't look it.
"I see, Ayanami-san. And how old are you? What year of school are you in? Your native language is Japanese, correct?"
Slight build, Japanese school uniform on. Shocking colored eyes and hair, but it might have been dye and contacts. Still, she seemed very meek, so it was unlikely. It wouldn't be the first time that this man had seen strange hair and eye colors.
She hesitated slightly, thinking back on her reflection in front of the darkened bookstore, after she had woken but before she'd been beatened. Although she was wearing her highschool uniform, she didn't look like 14 anymore but didn't know how much time had passed between her last memories and now.
"Last thing I remember, I was fourteen. My school education went up to second year of secondary school and Japanese is my native language. I've lived in Japan all my life."
The case worker noted all of this information down in the computer. "Fourteen. So you should be in your third year of junior high. When is your birthday?"
It was interesting that she hadn't even started her third year of junior high yet, and yet was fourteen. More questioning was definitely needed here.
Blink, blink... After 10 years of waiting he finally got in! Good thing all his stuff ended up in the proverbal hammer space... He'd been frisked, poked, prodded, stared at, and lead along like a helpless cow. Then again could one seriously blame people? Soma had gotten used to the treatment since he was very small due to his natural hair and skin tones. That and the fact that he walked around like a new age lord/pimp. Take the pimp coat and someone was getting pimp slapped.
He was lead to a small office space his mind whispering: Whack-a-human. Causing him to want to see if Excalibur was still accessible, rock and all.
When the man spoke he shrugged, and leaned against the entrance having not been invited to sit down. He bowed slightly then shrugged again. "Out of curiosity is there a reason why my visa has gone 'poof'? Last time I checked I was still a transfer student."
(OOC: Soma is a student exchange victim back in his own home.))
He did not want to be there. He did not want to be there. Really. There had been a big man with huge teeth and a woman who had shot tentacles out of her fingertips that he'd had to deal with.
The caseworker pushed his glasses up his nose and stared at the man in front of him. Really. He'd seen his coworkers with other average, mundane men and women. Did he have to get all of the crazies?
It wasn't fair.
"Um," he said. This wasn't what he was expecting when he had graduated with a degree in Immigration Law. "Um. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir. We've theorized that this is an entirely different world from whichever one you may have originally come from."
"Ahh I see..." He nodded processing that information. No matter how screwy it was, to be certain, but at least he couldn't get yelled at for disobeying orders or anything this time!
"Well in that case," he took a seat and leaned back as he thought about the important stuff. "Well if your Japan is anything like my Japan... I know four different languages, Japanese and English among them. I'm over 20 years old, and while I 'was' in collage back home, I personally have no desire to have twice the school loans dumped on me thank you very much. Anything else you need to know? Oh... and my name is 'Cruz, Soma'."
He pushed his glasses up his nose again, then stared at Soma Cruz dumbly for a moment before scribbling the information down on the form.
“Again, my apologies, but you’ll have to speak to one of the members of the education department, as that is a separate sector. But we’re here to get you as integrated as possible into our society.”
He made a few notes in the margins of the paper. Rude foreigner. “I can give you the number to the education agency when we finish and they will assist you.”
This particular case worker was old, crotchety, perverted, and not in the mood for the nonsense of gorram freaks coming into his gorram country. If his old job hadn't fired him for patting that ONE SINGLE hottie on the behind, he would not even be here trying to make back up his pension, he'd be travelling in Okinawa somewhere, on his gorram retirement! So yes. He was PISSED OFF
( ... )
Court Mage? Royalty. These freaks just kept getting weirder and weirder. Especially fluffy fucking hair, too, all foreign and overly pretentious. He hated pretentious people. All of them deserved to be stamped and sealed and shipped off to be placed in nice padded rooms in OTHER COUNTRIES.
He thought calmly of taking a trip to Hawaii. A couple of Mai Tais by the beach with a few leggy young Japanese girls with nice plump rears. He REALLY should have been rolling like a fat fox in his pension fund. But no, here he was bowing and scraping for this namby-pamby 'royal family court mage' whatever-the-fuck.
"No formal education? I see. Mage? That means magic. What can you do?"
Ed was glad to be out of the police car. The officer attending had been glowering at him suspiciously in the mirror the whole way through, and the trip had been made in sullen silence.
He stood on the pavement outside the City Hall and looked at the line with distaste. It had taken him hours to get in the first time, and he didn't feel like going back inside just because of his automail. Ed didn't see why the doctor couldn't have just made a note of it in his medical file and sent it off with some lackey for processing.
But at least the psychological evaluation had gone well.
Not too far up along the line he saw a tall, tidy-looking man about his age handing supplies to a girl with bright blue hair, and Ed watched him intently for a few minutes before looking down at his feet.
He refolded his coat, rubbed his shoulder, and wondered if they would let him skip the line this time through.
Ed jerked, surprised, and looked up. He hadn't expected anyone to speak to him, and gave the offered items a long look before taking them.
He was hungry, and it looked better than the shit that the other volunteers were handing out.
Stalling, he bit into the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully while giving the other man a measuring look. It was good and the guy looked nice enough. He was hot, tired, and could have used a shower, though, and in no mood to put up with anyone who was even the slightest condescending. But the line was long and there had been no one else who had voluntarily been pleasant.
"Thanks. I could use some," he said in English, though he couldn't quite keep his accent from slipping through, thick and guttural, in places. Belatedly, thinking it would be polite, said, “Name’s Edward Elric.”
He juggled the sandwich and bottle into the crook of his left arm and stuck his other hand out in greeting.
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He was a bit leery of explaining himself, because when he rolled the story over in his head it seemed entirely improbable -- even from a place where alchemy was the norm. He'd dealt with the suspicious looks from his colleagues in rocketry, so he had stopped telling his stories like he had lived them.
"I do know English as well," he said. And German, but he didn't say it. The Nazi party had been vicious, and he didn't know whether or not they had existed in this future. He remembered Japan, remembered Tokyo, from the maps in his father's studies.
"The year I remember last in -- in the place similar to this -- was 1925. But the calendar for my home world would have listed the year as 1919. My home was part of a country run by a military dictatorship that had no issues with conscription or starting wars to acquire land."
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"I see. Where did you learn English? Do you speak any other languages? As you speak, I'm going to just ask you to stand, and get a good look at your clothing. Please just go on as normal."
Finding the insignia on the back of Ed's jacket, the worker sketched it quickly and sat back at his desk, scanning it into the computer.
"What does this sign mean?"
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"I see, Ayanami-san. And how old are you? What year of school are you in? Your native language is Japanese, correct?"
Slight build, Japanese school uniform on. Shocking colored eyes and hair, but it might have been dye and contacts. Still, she seemed very meek, so it was unlikely. It wouldn't be the first time that this man had seen strange hair and eye colors.
Reply
"Last thing I remember, I was fourteen. My school education went up to second year of secondary school and Japanese is my native language. I've lived in Japan all my life."
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It was interesting that she hadn't even started her third year of junior high yet, and yet was fourteen. More questioning was definitely needed here.
Reply
He was lead to a small office space his mind whispering: Whack-a-human.
Causing him to want to see if Excalibur was still accessible, rock and all.
When the man spoke he shrugged, and leaned against the entrance having not been invited to sit down. He bowed slightly then shrugged again. "Out of curiosity is there a reason why my visa has gone 'poof'? Last time I checked I was still a transfer student."
(OOC: Soma is a student exchange victim back in his own home.))
Reply
The caseworker pushed his glasses up his nose and stared at the man in front of him. Really. He'd seen his coworkers with other average, mundane men and women. Did he have to get all of the crazies?
It wasn't fair.
"Um," he said. This wasn't what he was expecting when he had graduated with a degree in Immigration Law. "Um. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir. We've theorized that this is an entirely different world from whichever one you may have originally come from."
Reply
"Well in that case," he took a seat and leaned back as he thought about the important stuff. "Well if your Japan is anything like my Japan... I know four different languages, Japanese and English among them. I'm over 20 years old, and while I 'was' in collage back home, I personally have no desire to have twice the school loans dumped on me thank you very much. Anything else you need to know? Oh... and my name is 'Cruz, Soma'."
(OOC: He's doing the traditional surname first.)
Reply
“Again, my apologies, but you’ll have to speak to one of the members of the education department, as that is a separate sector. But we’re here to get you as integrated as possible into our society.”
He made a few notes in the margins of the paper. Rude foreigner. “I can give you the number to the education agency when we finish and they will assist you.”
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
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(The comment has been removed)
He thought calmly of taking a trip to Hawaii. A couple of Mai Tais by the beach with a few leggy young Japanese girls with nice plump rears. He REALLY should have been rolling like a fat fox in his pension fund. But no, here he was bowing and scraping for this namby-pamby 'royal family court mage' whatever-the-fuck.
"No formal education? I see. Mage? That means magic. What can you do?"
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
He stood on the pavement outside the City Hall and looked at the line with distaste. It had taken him hours to get in the first time, and he didn't feel like going back inside just because of his automail. Ed didn't see why the doctor couldn't have just made a note of it in his medical file and sent it off with some lackey for processing.
But at least the psychological evaluation had gone well.
Not too far up along the line he saw a tall, tidy-looking man about his age handing supplies to a girl with bright blue hair, and Ed watched him intently for a few minutes before looking down at his feet.
He refolded his coat, rubbed his shoulder, and wondered if they would let him skip the line this time through.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
He was hungry, and it looked better than the shit that the other volunteers were handing out.
Stalling, he bit into the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully while giving the other man a measuring look. It was good and the guy looked nice enough. He was hot, tired, and could have used a shower, though, and in no mood to put up with anyone who was even the slightest condescending. But the line was long and there had been no one else who had voluntarily been pleasant.
"Thanks. I could use some," he said in English, though he couldn't quite keep his accent from slipping through, thick and guttural, in places. Belatedly, thinking it would be polite, said, “Name’s Edward Elric.”
He juggled the sandwich and bottle into the crook of his left arm and stuck his other hand out in greeting.
Reply
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