Scarlet

After eating, I leave to go to Allen’s office, separating from the others. And once I arrive, I knock on the door, quickly getting an answer in the form of Allen saying, “Come in.”

So I open the door and walk in, finding both Allen and Cynthia sitting on one of his sofas, leaving the other one directly across the table from it open.

“Sit,” Allen says, waving his hand at the other sofa. And I do so.

Then silence fills the office for several seconds as the three of us stare at each other.

Eventually Allen breaks it by beginning, “I understand that you didn’t have much of anything to do with your latest near death situation.” My eyebrows rise slightly in surprise at the understanding I can clearly hear in his voice, unlike the anger of the last time we had a talk. “So Cynthia and I have talked it over, and we would like to bring your jacket to my father to work on instead of having me working on it directly.”

I stare at them for a few seconds before muttering, “Wait, really?”

Won’t that cost a fortune? Bringing the thing to the original creator of magi-tech? The one who brought about changes to society as a whole, turning the world from a hellhole to what it is today?

A bit less of a hellhole. Well, except for Tier 3 cities, which are still using old world technology without any magi-tech beyond the shields around the important buildings, the sparse bunkers, and the city as a whole.

“Yes,” he continues before seemingly hesitating and then adding, “and we would like to pay for it as well.”

My brows furrow at this.

I know they care about me. And I know they just want to help. But…

“Will you please let us?” Cynthia asks, a pleading look on her face.

A few seconds pass in silence.

I lean forwards resting my forehead on my palms with my elbows on my knees.

Should I?

“It’s up to you,” Tar answers my rhetorical question.

I’ve always hated accepting handouts, believing that everything I do should be earned by myself. That if I accept more from their family then I’ll become reliant on them in some way. And that thought terrifies me. Just the idea that I might become reliant on them when they could abandon me just like my birth parents did.

But…

I look up to see their pleading gazes, and I’m pretty sure that if Belle were here she’d be looking at me the exact same way.

They really are like my family, even if I refuse to call them mom or dad. They are like my parents and are the only parents I’ve ever known.

“Why do you refuse to call them mom or dad then?” Tar asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Because it’s not factually true. It’s not exact. Mom or dad means that they are the ones who gave birth to me, simple as that. And they aren’t, even if I may view them as a mother and father figure.

“That’s… an odd way to look at things,” Tar says, sounding slightly confused now, “is it really so bad to not be exact in this? To bend the rules you seem to have set in place just a little?”

Tar actually appears in between me, Allen, and Cynthia as he says this, startling all three of us.

I grimace before eventually groaning and leaning back against the sofa again while resting my arm on my forehead and closing my eyes.

Damn it. Stars damn it.

Once can’t hurt, I guess.

I lower my head while opening my eyes again before whispering, “Okay, mom, dad. Just this once.”

Both of their eyes shoot wide open, and they jump from their seats, making me flinch at the suddenness of it.

“Scarlet!” “Sweetheart!!!”

I purposefully look away from them, taking a particular interest in a nice picture engraved on the ceiling.

“Can you call me that again?” I hear Cynthia ask, sounding as if she’s almost in tears.

It is a very nice picture.

Very nice.

I vaguely hear Tar chuckling in my head.

After a second I hear Cynthia beginning to approach me, and I immediately look down again while holding my arms out and saying, “Woah, woah, no hugs. Not ready for that.”

She looks slightly disappointed but goes back to her seat, sitting down at the same time as Allen.

“Anyways Allen,” he looks a tiny bit disappointed by my manner of calling him, albeit with a lot of hope that wasn’t there before that I’ll likely call him dad again in the future. Which I can see happening, but now’s too early still. “Do you know when my jacket will be done? And if it’ll be done before the next Demonic Assault?”

Both Allen and Cynthia grow serious again as Allen answers, “We’re not sure. It might be, or it might not. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

I nod my head before quietly muttering, “Thank you.”

The two smile and answer as if in sync, “Of course.”

A few more seconds pass in silence.

“About adoption…” Cynthia prods, actually saying the word out loud this time. But I still shake my head.

“It’s too early,” I answer them, shocking the two with my subtle admission to a future agreement to it. “Maybe when I’m a Class III Guardian and people won’t be looking down on me for being an orphan anymore.”

Allen begins to open his mouth and say something about others not daring to do that, but I raise a hand and interrupt him, “You know very well that your brother would do just that.” He goes silent at this, so I tilt my head and press on, “Didn’t he try the same thing when you went and created an orphanage? He tried to take your position as CEO and remove you from the company, even if his plan failed. So adopting an orphan, even if said orphan is a Class I Guardian, would just fuel the fire more. But when I’m Class III, no one will likely even remember that I was an orphan.”

Neither of them have anything to say to that.

“Was that talk why you called me in here?” I ask while relaxing slightly on the sofa. And this seems to snap the two out of the stupor my previous words had put them in.

“Actually,” Allen starts while leaning forward in his sofa and resting his elbows on his legs, “we wanted to talk about you joining a team.”

I blink in surprise.

What?