( The feed starts with a wobble, Clarice ignoring the swoop of fear and nausea that washes through her to tighten her grip on her phone. )Hi.
( She smiles, and it looks easy even though it's not. She's made no effort to hide her mutation, unnaturally green eyes bright in the light of her apartment, pink mark over one of them. The only thing that isn't obvious are her ears, and the fact that she can rip holes in space. But she's trying to look approachable. She's sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back to the couch. Her free hand moves restlessly, seems to be petting something off camera as she gears up to speak. )Um, my name's Clarice. I got here a couple of months ago, and I figured now would be a good time to say hey and maybe ask some questions.
( Blowing out a breath. She can do this. ) I've noticed that some of us - the displaced - are a little young, and it got me wondering if anyone had set up something to make sure they're being properly cared for? Not like a foster home, because we've all been given beds and sh --. Stuff.
( Motherfucker. ) But more for emotional support? One of those big brother-slash-big sister schemes. Making sure they're safe, or uh, that they're eating proper food instead of candy bars. Or even just to talk. Because it's hard enough for anyone ending up here, but I know
I would have been freaked out as a kid.
( Another pause, and then --. ) Actually, I've been through the whole world turned upside down high school thing, so even if there's
not and anyone wants to talk about it, or just have someone to rant to? My phone's always on me. And if
I'm not good enough then there's always Zingo.
( She angles the camera now to take in the dog sitting at her side. ) Who is definitely a good judge of character and requires so many hugs. You'd be doing me a favour. My arm's getting sore.
( There, she's done, she's made it through the broadcast and can now panic a little off-screen. ) Okay, thanks!