"Here is fine, thank you." Caerwyn says to the cab driver as they near the Westborough Dorm. She steps out as the cab pulls over, turning to offer the driver a tip through the window before slipping between parked cars to the sidewalk. She clutches a letter of acceptance from the University of Corbeau's College of Computer Sciences and Engineering in her hand.
"Aurë entuluva..." She murmurs to herself, glancing around the crowded, busy streets, her thoughts carrying her to the paths she once walked in the Mistvale, the great primordial forest that once covered these lands.
The registration took some doing and no small amount of phone calls. No, its not a typo. Yes, miss, that is correct. Three thousand two hundred and sixty-four years, by your calendars at least. She'd had to handle so many helpful clerks calling to correct discrepancies in her application.
It wasn't like she was a stranger to this sort of scrutiny. She'd spent years before this bouncing between offices and courts while seeking citizenship in West Rhodenia. Elves are a rarity nowadays, and as much as she insisted she was born here, it was no surprise the clerks couldn't find a birth certificate for someone that predated most of humanity's recorded history. It's not as if the elves of the Mistvale could've ever predicted humans' obsession with paperwork. They couldn't predict a lot of things, perhaps things would've turned out differently if they could.
She steps inside the lobby, only to be met with a cacophony of voices. Must they be so loud? She winces internally. The room is packed with families wrangling baggage and paperwork. Children raising children, she muses. She'd never had any herself, but had mentored many elves in her duties as a lorekeeper long ago.
"It's not in this purse!? Is it in one of your bags?" A girl asks her mother.
"It's your ID, Elizabeth. It has to be somewhere. Check your pockets again." Her mother replies, looking frazzled while what she presumed was the father checked bags.
She moves past them to the front desk, drawing only a few stares. She offers her ID to the clerk, a young woman with short cropped blue hair. Clara, going by her nametag, looks it over for a long moment, brow furrowed. She glances back at Caerwyn, her eyes widening as she notices the pointed ears. She swallows, turning to check the room assignment on her computer, choosing not to comment. Soon enough she fetches the key and offers it back with the ID. "You're in room 301, miss, with أنت. The elevator's just down the hall there."
"Thank you," Caerwyn offers a polite smile, turning to leave the crowded lobby, slipping past meandering humans and stray luggage before stepping into the elevator. Her stomach flutters as the lift begins to move. Such ingenuity, for as short sighted as they could be the humans could do wonders. Of course, she once possessed magic that could do much the same, but with the weave fading from the world most of her spells fizzled nowadays. It was why she sought new skills in the first place.
She steps off the elevator, heading to her room. Opening the door, she pauses, seeing someone already there. "Hello?"
