To Earthland...and Beyond [Job]

“Am I really doing this…?” Freya muttered under her breath in utter shock at the sight of how many people were lined up to get the passport, purple orbs unblinking, standing stiffly. Violet hair braided on one side, the youthful girl was dressed in the same way she was dressed everyday, although youthful was nothing that her true form could be described as. Maybe in her appearance, but nothing else. She was easily seven hundred human years old. Almost, anyway. Heaving a long sigh as impatience got to her, she folded her arms and thought she might as well hold her breath and get it done. The lifelines of every individual she walked past registered in her mind. There was a girl who had only three days left, even though she appeared to look ten at most. A smug smirk crept onto her face as she pushed through the crowd so she did not have to wait. Freya really did not care at all, whether people were getting angry at her for skipping their line, or just shoving them as she did. Some people were saying things such as, ‘Hey! Who do you think you are?!’ and the like, annoying her a bit, but without a look back at the person, she would keep pushing. It was a sea of people, not to forget smelly, sweaty people, mostly older humans who came to register for their entire family, making it ten times even slower for the rest of those who had lined up.

If she chose to look at them, they would probably all run away, attracting attention and bringing all the fuss to her. She was not ready to be exposed yet, and by that she meant, not ready to reveal herself. She probably would not be ready for a very long time, seeing how there was so much to be learnt about the human world. Raking at her parted fringe with gloved fingers, Freya set one hand on the counter, catching the attention of the lady behind a dirty glass window. “Passport,” she said, voice cold and distant. The shock in the woman’s eyes were incredibly amusing, it took everything she had in her not to burst out in a fit of hysterics. Clearing her throat, the gloomy teenager waited patiently as the woman flipped through a thousand pages of whatever books, and rummaged through a bunch of drawers behind her. Once she was done with whatever she needed to prepare, she came back to sit in front of the counter, asking for her name. “Freya Bishop,” was the short, blunt answer that caused the woman to nod vigorously and mark down something, stamping on the little booklet that she was working on, and at long last it was ready. The ‘passport’. Accepting it in her hands, Freya nodded at the woman and turned to walk away, casually taking one quiet step after another, away from the office and back to the inn she was staying for tonight.