“Those are such lovely names,” Florence decided with a pleased ‘ooh.’ “I think miss Jade here is right. Whoever left this poor child must have cared enough to leave us a little clue as to her birth name. Isn't that right, sweet thing?"
She murmured fondly at the child and touched its face gently.
"Why just leave a letter, though, eh?" piped up the boy. "Why not just leave a note saying, 'ere's my baby's name. There, done."
"Aye, they could've done just that,” Noven said with a chuckle. “But they didn't. So use that ratty little head 'o yours, Tommy boy. I know it's good for somethin' other than schemin' with yer old lady."
"She's not my old lady,” Thomas hissed. “If yer so smart, Nov, why don't you tell us the secret then, eh?"
Mirian smiled to herself, but said nothing; she was just as aware as ever that she was a stranger here, and the familiarity of their ribbing was amusing enough to be content watching from the sidelines.
"Whoever left the baby doesn't want it to have its birth name," Noven replied. "They left a little reminder, sure,” the cook continued. “But that was a mistake if you ask me. Too much sentiment can do that to a person."
Mirian nodded. That, at least, was something she knew to be true; it was Sunberth, after all, and to remain fixed on emotion bordered on a death sentence. Sunberth was a hard city, made of scabs and scars and broken nails, and one had to focus on the present if they expected to survive.
And that was something that the baby’s parents seemed to understand full well.
"They...whoever couldn't keep the baby no more..." Thomas murmured, "wanted her to 'ave a new name. Fer a new life. But they loved her enuff to leave somefin' of theirs. Of the family they never got to be."
The boy caught on fast. This was the Orphanage, after all; leaving children to be cared for by someone else was not exactly a temporary decision. Some parents did it out of apathy, true, but there were the few that did it out of real love, believing for some reason that their little one would have a better chance at life if they weren’t in it. But it wasn’t always easy to tell which was which, even with tokens of affection left behind for the children to grow up wondering about. If Mirian had to guess, she’d have said that the child’s abandonment was probably an act of compassion, or else the girl’s parents would not have left so valuable a trinket behind.
Mirian hadn’t grown up with the crushing weight of the unknown, but she had been in Sunberth long enough to see what it could do to people. She had known both of her parents, at least when she was younger, and she was well aware of exactly why they weren’t with her now. It didn’t cause her sorrow or regret or any musings on might-have-beens; those thoughts were useless and took up more energy than they were worth, and so she did her best to lock them away where they didn’t pull and twist at her consciousness and take her focus away from the present. There was no one to help her situation but her, and ruminations on the past were pointless. This was Sunberth.
Mirian was shaken from her thoughts as Noven shifted and began to move towards her, holding up the golden R. Mirian tilted her head, somewhat perplexed.
"Well, since you found the babe first,” he said. “I suppose the honor belongs to you, Jade. What should the child be named?"
Mirian blinked at him. Then she blinked at the pendant. Then back at him. She opened her mouth, closed it, looked around as if there was someone else he might be talking to, then pointed to herself.
“Me?” Was he serious? He wanted her to name the baby?
Florence and Thomas looked at her with something bordering on anticipation, and Mirian realized with a jolt that all three of them fully expected her to do as he had said.
They wanted her to name this little girl.
Grasping the gravity of the situation, Mirian plucked the pendant from Noven’s hand and held it close to her face for examination. It was simple, a bit curvy but not extravagantly so. Not a lot to go on, but better than nothing at all; Mirian let the shape of the letter guide her mind, wandering as it willed until it came at last to something that felt right.
“... How about Ronan?” It wasn’t exactly the most feminine of names, but it was strong. The little girl had little in the world beyond what was freely given to her, and that was not something that would last long. She could use a strong name.
She murmured fondly at the child and touched its face gently.
"Why just leave a letter, though, eh?" piped up the boy. "Why not just leave a note saying, 'ere's my baby's name. There, done."
"Aye, they could've done just that,” Noven said with a chuckle. “But they didn't. So use that ratty little head 'o yours, Tommy boy. I know it's good for somethin' other than schemin' with yer old lady."
"She's not my old lady,” Thomas hissed. “If yer so smart, Nov, why don't you tell us the secret then, eh?"
Mirian smiled to herself, but said nothing; she was just as aware as ever that she was a stranger here, and the familiarity of their ribbing was amusing enough to be content watching from the sidelines.
"Whoever left the baby doesn't want it to have its birth name," Noven replied. "They left a little reminder, sure,” the cook continued. “But that was a mistake if you ask me. Too much sentiment can do that to a person."
Mirian nodded. That, at least, was something she knew to be true; it was Sunberth, after all, and to remain fixed on emotion bordered on a death sentence. Sunberth was a hard city, made of scabs and scars and broken nails, and one had to focus on the present if they expected to survive.
And that was something that the baby’s parents seemed to understand full well.
"They...whoever couldn't keep the baby no more..." Thomas murmured, "wanted her to 'ave a new name. Fer a new life. But they loved her enuff to leave somefin' of theirs. Of the family they never got to be."
The boy caught on fast. This was the Orphanage, after all; leaving children to be cared for by someone else was not exactly a temporary decision. Some parents did it out of apathy, true, but there were the few that did it out of real love, believing for some reason that their little one would have a better chance at life if they weren’t in it. But it wasn’t always easy to tell which was which, even with tokens of affection left behind for the children to grow up wondering about. If Mirian had to guess, she’d have said that the child’s abandonment was probably an act of compassion, or else the girl’s parents would not have left so valuable a trinket behind.
Mirian hadn’t grown up with the crushing weight of the unknown, but she had been in Sunberth long enough to see what it could do to people. She had known both of her parents, at least when she was younger, and she was well aware of exactly why they weren’t with her now. It didn’t cause her sorrow or regret or any musings on might-have-beens; those thoughts were useless and took up more energy than they were worth, and so she did her best to lock them away where they didn’t pull and twist at her consciousness and take her focus away from the present. There was no one to help her situation but her, and ruminations on the past were pointless. This was Sunberth.
Mirian was shaken from her thoughts as Noven shifted and began to move towards her, holding up the golden R. Mirian tilted her head, somewhat perplexed.
"Well, since you found the babe first,” he said. “I suppose the honor belongs to you, Jade. What should the child be named?"
Mirian blinked at him. Then she blinked at the pendant. Then back at him. She opened her mouth, closed it, looked around as if there was someone else he might be talking to, then pointed to herself.
“Me?” Was he serious? He wanted her to name the baby?
Florence and Thomas looked at her with something bordering on anticipation, and Mirian realized with a jolt that all three of them fully expected her to do as he had said.
They wanted her to name this little girl.
Grasping the gravity of the situation, Mirian plucked the pendant from Noven’s hand and held it close to her face for examination. It was simple, a bit curvy but not extravagantly so. Not a lot to go on, but better than nothing at all; Mirian let the shape of the letter guide her mind, wandering as it willed until it came at last to something that felt right.
“... How about Ronan?” It wasn’t exactly the most feminine of names, but it was strong. The little girl had little in the world beyond what was freely given to her, and that was not something that would last long. She could use a strong name.
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