"Adopt Ruuna?"
Even the orphanage's church mice failed to hear the abbess' quiet confusion. Sightreading a reaction was just as impossible (hence the coif). But the implication of Abbess Oakley conversing just outside the cloister, rather than in it, on a breezy Sunday? Only a newcomer couldn't read the room.
"Ruuna… is a sweet girl. But adopting h- adopting anyone requires that we come to know your character, standing, and finances." Still nobody could hear her, but Abbess Oakley continued to whisper diplomacy as she turned her face to catch courtyard godrays. "Ruuna is doing well here. Much better than how she was doing when we first… when she first… stumbled in. Our staff is competent, and…"
A small congregation of worn cassocks and aging nuns rapsed in the corner of the Gardens. They were explaining, à la lullaby, how to plant petunias to five sleepy girls. Oakley quickly undertook the signum crucis, hazel eyes humbly diverting to study a blade of grass growing on the cloister's edge. But before the abbess could turn around and prostrate herself before God—there was a sound. A smile made air.
"Woa!"
Wonder came from none other than Ruuna, arms outstretched, hands grabbing the air. Despite (probably) overhearing all of that grown-up nonsense—or perhaps in spite of it—Ruuna continued to play a one-way game of tag with a coy, fluorescent butterfly. The Kitsune's orphanage uniform fluttered about her tail with the same chaos theory guiding the fluttering insect. Save for an irritated nun, nobody paid her conscious mind. At most, some shielded their eyes from the golden glint of sun refracting off her tail.
An inhale; a quivering lip. Ruuna happened to bounce between the abbess and interested party, butterfly nesting on a dainty nose as a proud smile stared up—up! to address God. Two bright ears twitched in time with the butterfly's wings; a snowy arm trembled out of Oakley's habit to stroke the Kitsune's locks.
"Good afternoonie, Abbess Oakley!" The bright voice returned. The cherub's face it came from reloaded with a giggle—the butterfly had tickled her—and shot more joy into the world. "Who are you speaking with?" She whipped her head to look at the curious figure's legs. She thumbed some fabric between her fingers, and only then moved her sky blue eyes up and up till she reached a the tower's pupils. Ruuna's head tilted; the butterfly flew off, but the girl's curiosity was fixated on the figure above.
