1st.Entry.
Parvati slammed the door to the small apartment behind her, irritation ringing along with her keys. "Fil'zee, primeteev meat-eaters." The green-haired woman's nose curled with disgust, tossing the jangling keys onto a doilied end-table. Saying that had become almost a ritual, as she passed the small outdoor chinatown market on the way back to the apartment she had acquired a few months ago. The smell of meat cooking in so many ways, the noise of oil and fire searing and burning another creature-- it nearly made the alien sick. It used to, definitely-- she would throw up at least three times as she shambled through the stalls the first month she had lived here, and now it only made her nauseous. It amazed her, how her people could adapt to even the most intolerable smells and actions, and still maintain their dignity as Home Planetians. She was a proud woman, of herself and her species.
Parvati reached into the hood of her fur-rimmed coat, yanked Uttara rather forcefully out. He hooted in mild displeasure. The alien eyed him over carefully, making sure he was yet undamaged or malfunctioning. After all, he was by far her most useful and valuable asset-- an all-purpose bio-tool. Uttara was one in a million-- even among his bio-tool peers, having been designed specifically for Parvati, and made to blend in naturally among Earth's mammal wildlife. He had the look of a meerkat (mostly), and, withholding the slight problem the bioengi's had as far as skin and follicle pigment, and the Home Planetian touch of an antennae ending in a fuzzy poof, the animal could've probably withstood light examination without any serious repercussions. Despite the attempted dirty brown color natural to rodent-life on Gaia, Uttara had ended up with a light green colored skin (quite common and natural on Home Planet), and the brown fur had splotches and tips of the same green.
Parvati was mildly shocked that they managed the brown at all. Not that her world didn't have brown-- not at all. It just wasn't a very common color-- similar to bright Fuschia on ours.
Anyway, after surveying no visible damage, she dropped the creature on the floor, and made her way to the small circular table in the kitchen, light lace tablecloth draped over on two sides. Parvati reached into her bag, and pulled out the mass of letters that had collected in the mailbox for around two weeks-- the green-haired girl only recalled what the little metal chamber was for when it was filled enough for letters to begin sticking out of the slot. She tossed them into the trash, one by one, looking at all of the little uniform letter-type written on the front. Silly humans. Their language seems so soft written down. The woman paused as she came to a letter far down in the pile, the words on the front different than the others-- handwritten, curls and circles, and the lines gaining depth and growing thinner at different parts of the letters.
"Eet's arrmost pretty." Parvati sighed and flipped it over and looked at the folds of the creamy paper. She went to toss it, as well, but as she did, she noticed something different, in the addressee. It said 'Parvati'. It was actually for her. She had never received a letter before, not on this planet-- and especially not when she was squatting in a recently deceased asian woman's apartment. The woman was shocked, and leaned against the nearby wall as she sat down on the floor. Human letters were made of tree, right? Meshed up and mixed together, and flattened and cut to be scrawled on...
Uttara's claws clicked across the tile as he made his way back to Parvati, now reading the torn-open letter. She traced out symbols in her own language on the margin of the paper, and sounded out most, if not all, of the words. She knew the basics of writing english, but reading it was very difficult for her.
Parvati made sense of most of it, and reached into her purse to get the marker she kept. It was odd-- she really didn't want to fill out a form, especially not with her writing skills, but... the alien felt she had to. Maybe it was a sense of gratitude, for having received the letter in the first place-- that had to be it. She twisted her body around, laying the paper as flat on the floor as the alien possibly could, and began writing back, in large, child-like letters.
