Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was first light out, that hazy veil between morning and night, and a thick curtain of fog blanketed the ground outside Alexandre and Sylvia's house, as it did most mornings. It was only just five and already the house was awake. Sylvia sat in her bed writing, the remnants of breakfast beside her, as Alexandre prepared Grigorii to go out. He hurriedly pulled an infant's nightgown over Grigorii's head, not worrying at the fact it was a poor fit or that it made Grigorii indistinguishable from a girl. It was an appropriately modest cover for going out in public.

Alexandre did not tell Sylvia where he was going or what his intentions were. He merely said, "I am taking him for a walk," and Sylvia politely nodded, thinking perhaps it would be a good occasion for bonding. He took the monitor with him, of course, but Dr. Madison was due for a visit at six. Alexandre hoped to be heading back by then, but he had no capacity for optimism, having learned better than to entertain such fancy young in life.

At Alexandre's command, Grigorii followed him down the stairs and out the door, but there the arrangement failed. Outside Grigorii was uncertain, and Alexandre could hear Grigorii falling behind with each of the his grand, sweeping steps. It was such a problem that within a minute the attempt was abandoned and Alexandre scooped up Grigorii and carried him to the trees. There, hidden in the mists, was the gate between the house and the Neighborhood, nothing more than a gap between two trees. Stepping over it the universe changed and the air became clearer. Grigorii could still see the fog-encircled house over Alexandre's shoulder. It was soon gone, replaced by the rows of neighbors' houses, and then the tree-lined path between the dimensional seams that served as an expressway through the Neighborhood. They came out at the Bridge, passed someone they did not know going the other way, and then they were through over the Bridge to Gaia.

~~~

It was, Alexandre was forced to concede some hours later, a rather large failure. His search for regional authorities had sent him from one town to the other, and then back again, only to be told the regional authorities could not help him. "I'm sorry," said a woman identified as a moderator, "but there's really nothing we can do about giving up children. Your best bet might be in one of the roleplay subforums, or maybe some sort of Breedables sale. We don't have any orphanages." Three more moderators and an administrator said much the same thing. Alexandre was disheartened and tired. He was surrounded by thousands upon thousands of people, a noisy throng that never seemed to let up, and for a man who valued his personal space and privacy, it was not enjoyable.

His normally excellent sense of direction failed him. In the midst of it he let the throng carry him and Grigorii and before he knew it they were in another location entirely. Alexandre stopped for directions but the instructions were vague and unhelpful. "Just click two maps over," and "That's to the east, or is it west? Which way is which?" Grigorii fell asleep on his shoulder and Alexandre did not care or notice.

He found a bench in a well-trafficked area and set Grigorii down on it. The little green-haired boy woke, and Alexandre pressed him gently to stay put. Then he turned around and left.

It was not in Grigorii's nature to be so obedient when he felt compelled to follow Alexandre, but he could not get down from the bench quick enough. He managed to dangle one foot and then looked around, unable to find Alexandre, so he pulled the foot back up and curled, pulling the soft nightgown down over his ankles. The material stretched and then pulled back to its original position. The white of his diaper showed between his legs. He stood up, the slats of the bench hard on his soft feet, and looked for Alexandre.

Alexandre had moved so far that Grigorii had no hope of finding him, but close enough that he could stay and watch. He waited.

Ten thousand people must have passed between them, but none even paused to look at Grigorii. It was as if they could not see the boy. Alexandre watched Grigorii move through various states of distress, bordering on tears, but never outright wailing. The time went by until Alexandre could stand by and wait no longer. He crossed back to the bench, cape billowing out behind him. Grigorii was beyond emotion by the time Alexandre returned and so stared blankly, a dazed and unreadable expression on his little face.

Sighing inwardly, Alexandre turned and sat in a practiced motion, his cape falling perfectly behind him on the bench, and set his head in his hands, watching the people go by before him. For a long moment, Grigorii stood there, hurt. Finally he sat down beside Alexandre. A moment later he lay down, his head cushioned in his arm, his feet resting on the edge of Alexandre's cape.

Alexandre's head raised and he turned to look at Asimov, eyes cold and jaw tight. "Be quiet," he said, in a cold tone that suggested this was a certifiable order and not merely some request. His headache was bad enough from the crowd without some kid yammering in his ear. "I don't know him."

On Alexandre's other side Grigorii stirred and sat up again, bleary-eyed. He looked at Asimov with some remnant of curiosity: he was too tired to manage more than that, at least for now. Each scream of Asimov's pulled him one step closer to alertness. He did not seem to notice Alexandre's lie, or if he did he was simply unsurprised by it.

Grigorii did not immediately answer, looking elsewhere. He was still unaccustomed to talking despite Sylvia's urging. It felt strange to force breath through his lungs and make sounds when before he had felt no breath at all. He rather wished Sylvia were here now to help him.

"House Atreides?" repeatedly Alexandre, darkly serious. He studied Asimov and Xavier without seeming to.

Alexandre formulated no opinion about this stranger, since there wasn't much to base anything on. Nothing telling about the face, nothing distinctive about the mannerisms. A person who possessed little carriage, worn at the edges by his life's journey, but ultimately unremarkable. The same could not be said of Alexandre: one look at the captain's dark, austere features and the fierceness in his eyes and you knew this was a man with a mission, willing to go to the ends of the universe if that was what it took. Every inch of him possessed a rigid bearing. He was not a man who easily relaxed.

Even when he rested his elbows on his knees and his sharp chin in his left hand he did not give an impression of informality. He maintained a taut efficacy, like a spring tightly coiled, filled not with careful contemplation but with a brimming vitality tightly controlled by a strong, even overwhelming discipline. He said with a dark sigh, "This is a free country, I believe." The same could not be said for Smodrina.

Grigorii, not really scared, but not really comfortable either, wedged himself at the spot where Alexandre's back met the bench. His fingers found and curled around the stiff fabric of Alexandre's cape, pulling slightly against the bench where Alexandre was sitting of the cape. Though Alexandre noticed Grigorii's actions, he made absolutely no sign of it. He did not even blink or flick his eyes in Grigorii's direction.

Xavier's frustration, now there was something worth noting. Alexandre twirled his fingers though the curly hair at the nape of his neck, something Sylvia did as well when they were in bed together. "I also have residence elsewhere," he said cryptically, waiting to see if Xavier would open up with more information without prompting.

Grigorii glanced at Asimov through the slats, finally managing to force air through his windpipes. "Ha... lum." Failure, not really a word at all. He tried again. "Hallo." Then he turned away, looking up at Alexandre for guidance but found none offered. His eyes darted back to Asimov, the fingers gripping Alexandre's cape loosening just a little.

Grigorii took in this information with all apparent seriousness, though he was under the impression that babies came from Sylvia and grew inside her. He chose not to contradict Asimov's statement right this moment, mostly because he was not sure how to. He had never contradicted anyone so far in his life.

"How curious," said Alexandre, neglecting to mention that he himself lived in a similar sort of place with nineteenth-century neighbors, or that he himself was from the twenty-seventh. If he were generous, he could have mentioned that it was his first visit to Gaia, but he was only ever generous as a captain to his crew, never as an individual in conversation. He did find cause to ask another question. "Did you have some business here on Gaia?" And if he might return Xavier to that business, all the better. He did have the matter of Grigorii still to deal with. It was not likely to be resolved while Asimov and Xavier were present.

"Shylvie--"

"Grigorii!" said Alexandre sharply. He had been following Asimov and Grigorii's convesation without seeming to. He proceeded in Russian to admonish Grigorii, "(It is not your place to tell them of your family.)"

Grigorii fell silent, both because he could only understand Russian and not speak it, and because he was surprised to have Alexandre refer to him as part of the family. Alexandre was surprised as well but hid it, noting it as an uncharacteristic slip of the tongue. He had, after all, spent several months actively trying to accustom himself to the thought of having a family. It was simply a mash of thoughts and nothing more.

"(Keep your knowledge close to your heart,)" finished Alexandre more gently in French, something his mother had been fond of saying. It was her private code for her profession and the secret of Alexandre's parentage: keep the strictest confidence. Alexandre applied it to everything in his life. The switch to French served to further reassure Grigorii because it reminded him of Sylvia.

Immediately Alexandre addressed Asimov. "Parlez-vous français? (From where did you learn it?)" Then, in Russian, "(And do you also speak this?)" He was quite keen on hearing the answers, piercing gaze holding tightly on Asimov.