Suite 507, Wednesday night
Jan. 5th, 2006 12:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nadiathesaintIt took Nadia all of, oh, about two minutes to unpack, and most of that was figuring out where she wanted to put "everything". Everything consisted of an extra pair of jeans, four shirts, a week's worth of underwear, still in the "six in one" plastic wrapper (and oh, but didn't it sound wonderful not to have to carefully wash her clothes every evening), a brand new diskman and headphones, two CDs, unopened, a box of condoms (which her parole officer had insisted on, and which got pitched into a desk drawer; the Argentinian goverment apparently assumed that all the street kids were sex fiends and drug addicts and while Nadia was by no means a virgin, she wasn't out to sleep with everyone in sight and even with Cesar she'd only occasionally dropped acid and smoked a lot of pot), a thread-bare, battered towel, a hat and gloves with the price tags still on, two notebooks, and an unopened pack of bic pens.
One of the notebooks was for class. The other, a much smaller one bound in leather that tied closed, was her "present" from her parole officer. Part of the deal was that Nadia would keep a daily journal, which she'd hand off to the parole officer any time she asked, so they could keep track of her wellbeing and make sure she was sticking to the terms of her "release".
Nadia had never kept a diary or journal before, and she was tempted to write the whole thing in old KGB code she remembered from her early days with "el bastardo". That would only get her kicked back to Argentina, though.
The question was, what to write? How could she possibly try to describe her day at Fandom High without people thinking she really was a drug addict? She ripped open the pack of pens, stared at the empty first page of the journal, then threw her pen across the room, wrapped her green army jacket around herself and, on a whim, pulled the fluffy blue blanket Lily had given her across her shoulders. She leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Screw privacy. She let the blanket fall to the floor and grabbed the CDs and the diskman. She'd just have to go exploring.
Almost as an afterthought, she carefully picked up the blanket and spread it out on the lower bunk before heading out the door.
One of the notebooks was for class. The other, a much smaller one bound in leather that tied closed, was her "present" from her parole officer. Part of the deal was that Nadia would keep a daily journal, which she'd hand off to the parole officer any time she asked, so they could keep track of her wellbeing and make sure she was sticking to the terms of her "release".
Nadia had never kept a diary or journal before, and she was tempted to write the whole thing in old KGB code she remembered from her early days with "el bastardo". That would only get her kicked back to Argentina, though.
The question was, what to write? How could she possibly try to describe her day at Fandom High without people thinking she really was a drug addict? She ripped open the pack of pens, stared at the empty first page of the journal, then threw her pen across the room, wrapped her green army jacket around herself and, on a whim, pulled the fluffy blue blanket Lily had given her across her shoulders. She leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Screw privacy. She let the blanket fall to the floor and grabbed the CDs and the diskman. She'd just have to go exploring.
Almost as an afterthought, she carefully picked up the blanket and spread it out on the lower bunk before heading out the door.
