[Adelie]

It's rare she gets a day off, really; it shouldn't be. For someone ostensibly self-employed, the decision of vacation should be one chosen with full agency, employed as frequently as necessary.

In reality, it's nothing like the hype. There's no federally mandated vacation days, no weekends; there's no one else to pick up the pieces when things fall apart, so you're caught running from emergency to emergency, scraping together what remains of your house of cards before the next breeze comes.

And when your fires are literal fires, and when the consequences of your irresponsibilities are literal disasters - well, it's rare she gets a day off, really; it is.

[Adelie]

Today is a good day, by many metrics - the sun's warm, the sky blue and marked with faint shreds of cloud like celestial scrawlings, the dead are not walking the earth. There's only one other person in line at the ice cream shop; most days the line extends out the door.

The boy at the counter smiles at her as she stands on tiptoe to make her order - two scoops of sweet osmanthus tea, with crushed rose petals and matcha powder on top - and she hates it. It's the kind of patronizing smile that some self-aggrandizing teenager, newly out of high school and full of personal esteem, might give to a child; in the twist of his lips and the quirk of his gaze she can clearly read the Oh, you're so well-spoken for your age.

[Adelie]

It's not what he says. Surprising - she'd think by now she'd have a better grasp of people's patterns. 'Happy Easter,' he tells her, handing her the cup of ice cream. 'Are your parents taking you to the egg hunt today?'

The mere mention of parents rankles.

She surprises herself, instead; maybe it's the day off, maybe it's the delicate tang of chamomile and peaches and ice as she takes a bite. 'I didn't know about that,' she says, saccharine as the ice cream on her tongue. 'Where is it?'

[Adelie]

Down the street, over two blocks, on the left.

She'd thanked him for the directions - always good to be polite, after all - but they weren't really necessary. The park is evident, an open clearing amidst a forest of glass skyscrapers.

A few parents mill about aimlessly on the grass; she's early. Intentionally, of course. She's not here to look for eggs like some child, no matter what it might look like. Licking the last of her ice cream off her spoon, she looks for the person with what seems to be the most authority and approaches him.

[Adelie]

He's tall. It annoys her.

'Excuse me,' she asks, polite as she can muster. She has to crane her head to meet his eyes, and the sun behind him renders him little more than a silhouette outlined in blinding glare. It's hard to tell if he's noticed her or not. 'I'd like to help out with the egg hunt, please.'

'The egg hunt isn't starting for another hour, kid,' he tells her. That's annoying, too.

She bites her lip, bites back an unkind remark or a curse. 'I'm here to help hide the eggs,' she explains. 'Not to look for them.'

[Adelie]

The man doesn't seem to know what to do with that; maybe it's not common for a child - or someone who resembles a child, the distinction must be made clear for her sake - to ask to hide eggs for the egg hunt. 'If you hide the eggs, you can't look for them,' he tells her. 'That's cheating. An unfair advantage.'

He draws out the vowels in unfair like it's some obscure linguistic beast. She draws out the thought that she really doesn't like him. 'I just want to help hide the eggs,' she repeats. 'I won't look for them.'

He falls silent, and she tilts herself slightly forward, trying to catch a better angle to see his face. It's not promising.

[Adelie]

Standoffs are not uncommon. You threaten one person, they threaten you back; the two of you stand there, awkwardly trying to determine which of you is serious and which of you is just trying to bluff it out. It doesn't really matter, though; she wins.

She gazes at him with all the obstinance of a six-year-old. If he wants to believe she's a kid, she'll use that to her advantage.

'Hiding eggs is for the adults, okay?' he says. Not very convincing, even to himself.

'Oh, Nicholas,' says another adult, attracted by the conversation. 'Just let the little girl hide the eggs. She's not going to do any harm, right?'

She nods vigorously. She might be a little girl, but she's victorious.

[Adelie]

It's less exciting than she anticipated, honestly - but it's hard to say what she was expecting in the first place, anyways.

Egg hunt. You hide the eggs, others find the eggs - that's really all it entails. Sometimes the eggs hold candy or toys; sometimes they're not special at all.

You can't even get too creative hiding the eggs. She learns that, burrowing an egg deep into the dark recesses of a recycling bin; one of the adults comes over and asks her Why are you putting the egg in the trash? and it seems They'll never think to look there! wasn't an acceptable answer.

For all that's said about adults lacking creativity - it seems children are the same way.

[Adelie]

It's nice, though. Peeking inside one of the eggs before she lobs it under a conveniently located rosebush, she spots a little bundle of coconut and chocolate and fruit gummies, wrapped in plastic and ribbon. It's enough to make her want to participate in the egg hunt as well, but that bridge seems to be burnt.

Some kid will be happy when they find that one; she hopes they appreciate peach pingunes as much as she does.

As they finish hiding the last eggs, there's a few candies that didn't make it into a plastic eggshell; the woman packing the eggs takes one for herself and offers the others to the rest of the volunteers. She takes one, biting off its little sugar-y head, and watches the children file onto the field.

[Adelie]

They scatter across the grass like locusts on a field of crops.

For an egg hunt, some of the eggs are barely huntable - it's just a contest of speed as the children rush to those visible to the naked eye. She's proud, somewhat, that hers take a little longer to discover; the one nestled under the water fountain is first to be found, while the one she perched in the delicate crook of a tree branch survives almost to the end.

It's nostalgic, almost. For a moment, she wants to be young again.

It's rare she gets a day off, really; but when she does, she tries to enjoy it.