a million dreams [tgs klance au]

come alive (pt. 2)

https://pm1.narvii.com/6983/96369806c20d12fb2654903179b0eb2498b64eacr1-1900-1200v2_hq.jpg

"Hello, Mrs. Holt," I said politely. My hat was in my hand, my fingers clutching the wide brim. The woman, a middle-aged mother with crow's-feet by her eyes and a tired expression, regarded me wearily.

"Mr. Shirogane. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to see your daughter please." I paused, then added, "I'm a friend of hers."

Mrs. Holt look surprised and I wondered if she was more bemused by the fact that her daughter had a friend coming over or that the friend was me. "Katie?" she asked for confirmation. I nodded. Stepping aside from the doorway, she invited me in.

The inside of the house was filled with spare parts and electronics but, somehow, it was impeccably neat. The soft whir of technology, sporadically interrupted with beeps and blips, filled the air.

Mrs. Holt led me through the maze of devices to what looked like a kitchen. It reminded me of the Weasley kitchen in Harry Potter- busily in motion without the help of the residents of the house. But instead of magic, everything was part of what seemed like a giant Rube Goldberg chain-reaction contraption.

It was busy and crowded but seemed efficient as Mrs. Holt maneuvered through the levers of a machine that was placing plates in the dishwasher (which looked like it had been modified itself) and grabbed a steaming cup of coffee from yet another machine. It was gloriously digitized but looked like a fragile balance of systems that could crumble if you touched the wrong button.

I leaned against the wall and accepted the mug of coffee from Mrs. Holt. "Did Katie make this?" I wondered aloud.

"Parts of it," Mrs. Holt replied vaguely. "She and her brother are constantly adding and tweaking it, but it started off as a simple toast-butterer built by my husband when we moved here.

"Wow..." I said quietly.

Mrs. Holt crouched down to the floorboards of the kitchen and knocked three times. "Katie, come up here!" she called at the floor. I blinked, a little confused.

But then, beneath my feet, I heard the clamor and clash of something falling, then thudding footsteps. The floorboards just in front of Mrs. Holt shifted, then lifted in a seamless trapdoor and a fluffy poof of hazelnut hair popped out from the hatch. "Breakfast?"

Mrs. Holt shook her head and gestured towards me. The poof of hair turned and I recognized Katie under her work goggles and the smears of soot on her cheeks. She squinted, then tilted her head to the side curiously. "Who're you?" she asked bluntly.

"Katie!" Mrs. Holt chided lightly.
I held up a hand to her, excusing it.

"It's alright, Mrs. Holt."

Katie was still expecting an answer. Slowly, I eased down to sit on the floor, leveling out our slope so I could look at the teenager head-on. "I have a job for you if you're interested."

Katie didn't seem to care.

"I want you to come perform in my show."

That seemed to be the turning point. Katie shrugged, "I'm a street performer."

I frowned. "You get maybe a buck an hour, kid."

"I get along just fine, thanks," she snapped snarkily. She reached up above her head and promptly closed the trapdoor. I leaned forward, clutching the coffee shop. Time for the persuasion.

"I see a girl- a woman, standing in the middle of the ring, surrounded by her amazing inventions. The crowd is cheering- they didn't know a street performer had so much talent. They'd seen her before but never like this. She's sensational. Her inventions and her mind are an inspiration to engineers and pilots alike."