"That's very responsible of them." Roxanne manages to say it without sounding sarcastic at all. "And you did wonderfully." 

Roxanne turns, and looks Miranda in the eye. "I know this must be upsetting for you, but - it's possible we won't find your parents by tonight. And - even if we do, the police are going to have to ask them some questions about how you got lost like that, and make sure they know how to keep you safe and take good care of you. In the meantime, a police station isn't a very nice place for a little girl and you certainly can't sleep here, so we're going to be trying to find a nice family who can take you for a few days while we sort all of this out. Do you understand?" 

"I guess that makes sense. I know you'll do your best to find them." Innocent trusting stoic little smile while she tries to figure out if she can ask about getting replacement legal documents and decides it would be too sus on a couple different axes. She'll ask the foster parents once she's had time to "come to grips" with the "fact" that her "parents" are probably "dead".

Roxanne pats her shoulder. "We'll try very hard, I promise. I have to make some phone calls now. Why don't I find you some toys and you can amuse yourself for a few minutes?" This seems like a six-year-old who can play self-sufficiently. 

The toys, once Roxanne finds them, are mostly intended for smaller children; there's a battered old marble run and some Duplo. 

Miranda is so not above fucking around with a marble run. It's probably germy as all get-out and she'll need to wash her hands afterwards but that shouldn't be too difficult. In the meantime, she contemplates her situation.

Sticking her mind in a different but similar body with her memories partially edited seems complicated enough that there should be an intelligence behind it, but she has no idea what the intelligence's goals could possibly be. She should be on the lookout for quest hooks, other people who have been through a similar process, etc but also she won't be too surprised if there aren't any. She can't think of any historical events between 2010 and 202something that she should be preventing other than covid and she has no idea how to start on that other than "do things and hope the butterfly effects reach China". If there's a greater point, any intelligence capable of sending her here at all is capable of dropping hints. If this was all just an unusually complicated negative space wedgie, well, so it goes in a sufficiently large cosmos.

Also, all things considered, she can't really be mad at the hypothetical aliens for turning her into a kid. Being homeless and undocumented as an adult would in fact suck even worse. Maybe the plot hook or whatever is going to happen in fifteen years and the aliens or whatever are giving her time to get acclimated. Maybe not. It's all maddeningly uncertain and there definitely used to be people she could have talked to about it.

She's probably going to have to get braces again at some point. Fuck braces. 

As far as she can tell from poking her knowledge of various subjects she was a software engineer. She should find a computer at some point and check that she is in fact good at programming and decide whether she wants to steer for that or take this chance to respec into something else (biology? law? physics of negative space wedgies in particular?).

(To any external observers she's completely engrossed in the marble run until the next time someone says her name or touches her. If it's the latter she'll jump concerningly.)

Roxanne calls her name before heading over. "Miranda, how are you doing? You'll tell us if you need the toilet, right? - by the way, it's going to be a bit of a wait, but we think we've found a lovely lady to take care of you for now. Her name is Evelyn and she lives in a nice big house about fifteen minutes from here. She's divorced but she has a son, Jeremy - he's a big boy, nearly a grownup - and she's very excited to meet you. She's going to drive over and pick you up as soon as she's ready, it shouldn't be longer than a couple of hours. Are you going to need breakfast?" 

"It sounds like this is a convenient time to use the restroom, so I should do that. And then I could go for breakfast if you have food on hand." All of the everything has her lizard brain underconfident in the future availability of food and it's making her want food more than is logical. Or she's just wrong about how hungry small children are.

The police station doesn't have a kitchen, so Roxanne sends someone across the street to get her McDonalds. A breakfast sandwich, skipping the bacon because Miranda did say her family preferred not to eat meat, and a milkshake. It wouldn't be a good diet long-term but the kid needs food, there isn't another restaurant nearby enough, and she's had such a night and deserves a treat. 

Eating the food, especially the eggs, entails a big fight with her own brain but she was expecting this, so she wins the fight and eats it all. Being visibly a strict vegan would be immensely sus. She can talk meal plans with Evelyn later.

The milkshake tastes amazing and she pointlessly resents this. A lot of the tasty meat substitutes she's used to probably haven't even been invented yet and she pointlessly resents that too. Maybe she'll do biochem or food science in this timeline and help invent vat meat, that would kick ass.

And about forty-five minutes later, a middle-aged blonde woman arrives, car keys in her hand and purse swinging from her arm, looking slightly harried. She sees Miranda, and makes a beeline for her. She sits down cross-legged on the slightly grubby floor beside Miranda and smiles reassuringly at her. 

"That's a nice marble run. And you must be Miranda, right? I'm Evelyn, and you're going to be coming to stay at my house for a couple of days while the police look for your parents and - try to figure out what makes sense to do next. Please try not to worry. I've looked after loads of children before, but for right now you have me all to yourself - well, and except for Jeremy, my son, but he's in his last year at high school and he's not home much."

Pause. "Do you have any questions right now, or is there anything worrying you? I know this must all be very strange, but - you can talk to me."

(Not that she expects Miranda to take her up on that offer, even if her initial read is right and this tiny child is keeping a lot of things close to her chest. Children almost never open up at first. It's Evelyn's job to give Miranda a home that feels comfortable and safe, and slowly earn her trust.) 

Friendly normal human smile and attempt at eye contact! "It's good to meet you, Evelyn. I have loads of logistics questions--and questions about you--but this isn't really the ideal time or place, is it? Thanks for coming to pick me up on short notice." This tiny child is keeping so many things close to her chest. She will say more when Evelyn is a bit more of a known quantity and there aren't cops listening.

"Logistics questions"! What a phrase for a kindergarten-aged little girl to know and use! "Of course. Let's get going, then. We're going to go in my car, it's not far. I'd like to take you shopping soon, at least pick up a change of clothes - Roxanne said you don't have anything on you except what you're wearing - but I have some spares in the meantime, and I think we should stay in today. You're going to be assigned a social worker, hopefully, and they'll come visit and introduce themselves." 

Evelyn's car is an elderly Subaru, with a few scratches and dents on the exterior, that gives off ineffable soccer mom vibes. The inside is impressively clean; she ends up dealing with enough spills and various bodily fluids that she's made a habit of having it professionally cleaned at the end of every placement, and there are seat covers with a flowery pattern, as well as a booster seat in blue plastic covered with stickers. 

Evelyn is apparently also germ-conscious. She offers Miranda a squirt of hand sanitizer. "We'll wash up properly once we get to the house."

She carefully doesn't say 'home'. It absolutely won't feel like that to Miranda, and might upset her, though on reflection it doesn't sound like she had much of a home before either. She's such an enigma - polite and well-spoken, with the vocabulary and poise of a much older child, and yet apparently the child of seriously neglectful parents who surely weren't themselves highly educated or they could do better than odd jobs. 

She nods at the suggestion of new clothes, cheerfully accepts the hand sanitizer (how fortunate to get a foster parent who agrees with her about hygiene!) and buckles herself into the car seat. 

Once they're rolling, she asks in a friendly, casual-conversation sort of way, "Can you tell me a bit about--well, your parenting philosophy? How you make decisions, how you relate to foster kids, that sort of thing?" On a scale of one to Umbridge how authoritarian are you when nobody with power is looking.

Evelyn blinks rapidly a few times, not quite succeeding at hiding her nonplussed expression. What has this kid been reading???? Because she almost certainly can read, and has been, her vocabulary is excellent. Does she read parenting books for fun?

(Does she know that her parents were neglectful? Did it bother her? Or was she happy to be allowed to run around unsupervised, and is worried now that Evelyn will set limits she doesn't want to follow? ...Evelyn can worry about that possibility if and when it occurs, she's not going to borrow trouble when Miranda has been nothing but polite and lovely so far.) 

She spends a moment considering how to answer, but doesn't let the silence stretch out long enough to be an obvious hesitation.

"It may not be what you're used to," she says, keeping your own tone casual as well. "But please don't worry about breaking the rules by accident and getting in trouble - I'm not going to be upset with you for not being able to read my mind. I'll explain all of the house rules - it's not very many, but fostering is a bit different from other parenting, and I have duties to make sure everyone is safe - and your social worker is happy with me, of course. We can go over all the house rules once we're there, but the basics - we don't go into anyone else's bedroom unless they're there and giving permission. I'll never come into your bedroom without knocking, though I will have to come sometimes in to clean." It's part of her fostering agency's "safer caring" policy. "We always give each other privacy in the bathroom - you'll have your own, Jeremy and I both have en-suites. I don't have hard rules about how long showers can be, but if another child is placed with me, then we'll need to talk about sharing." 

She tries to think what else this precocious tiny child might be feeling unsure about. "Other than that, I would say 'the obvious' but I'm aware that families are different, and this is just how we do things." Evelyn always tries very carefully not to sound like she's criticizing a child's birth family, which is usually upsetting to them even if the parenting they had at home was objectively terrible. "In my house, we don't use bad language, and we never hit. We don't eat food in our rooms, and we don't steal food or anything else - if you need something, tell me, I have an allowance from Social Services to buy you what you need while you're living with me." She meets Miranda's eyes in the rearview mirror, smiles reassuringly. "And I'm sure this won't come up, because you will be a good girl, but if children break the rules, there are consequences. I take away television and computer time, which in my household is a privilege and not a right, but I will never take things that belong to you, or punish you physically. If you aren't sure of whether something is breaking a rule, ask me, I'm never going to be angry because you asked a question." 

She hesitates. 

"Also, this might be a bit different from what you're used to with your family, but in my household, six is far too young to be going places alone. I'll never leave you home alone; if I need to duck out for meetings, I'll have another foster carer watch you, or I may need to bring you to their house. You can play in the yard by yourself, as long as I'm home and I know you're there, but you mustn't wander off. If you want to go somewhere, I'm always happy to take you in the car." She smiles. "It's not that I don't trust you to be responsible, but it's a rule I have to follow, because your social worker needs to know that I'm keeping you safe." And hopefully that won't be a problem. She is, again, not going to borrow trouble in advance. 

This is all perfectly reasonable from Evelyn's perspective and even if it wasn't Evelyn is probably heavily constrained by the government, but even without memories Miranda knows that she is used to being a free citizen who can do whatever she likes as long as she follows the law, harms no-one, and keeps her commitments, and it itches. She will simply have to win Evelyn's trust with conspicuous yet natural and unforced displays of intelligence and wisdom. And of course the passage of time will bring greater freedoms and legal rights and money-making opportunities and all the other good things in life. 

On the bright side: computer time. The lack of a smartphone feels like going around with one eye shut. She will return to the embrace of the all-seeing network and also get some kind of development environment and do the one form of art that costs only the price of electricity.

"It is indeed not what I'm used to, and in particular I'll have to put some effort into not swearing, but I don't have a principled objection to any of those rules and I understand that your options aren't unlimited."

"Mmm."

Evelyn drives for a couple of minutes in silence and then, once they've escaped the trafficky section of downtown and are back out in the quieter suburb streets, meets Miranda's eyes in the rearview mirror again. "I'd like to get to know you a bit better. I want you to be happy in my house, even though I know it's not home. What sorts of activities do you enjoy?" 

"Reading. Art, especially embroidery. I want to learn computer programming. Museums and zoos seem cool? I don't really know what things are in your budget." She should probably list some kind of physical activity, both for the conspicuous displaying of normative behaviour and also because this is legitimately a great opportunity to cultivate physical fitness in a new and malleable body, but for some reason the physical activities that come to mind as potentially enjoyable are all combat sports and that's not conspicuously normative at all. Oh hey, rock climbing is a thing. Is it a thing her fake identity has heard of, though? It's probably expensive. She'll be on the lookout for opportunities to become informed of its existence and in the meantime she can just be the total lack of jock she naturally is.

Evelyn beams at her. "Programming! Goodness, that's not one I've heard before, you must be a very clever girl. And those are some lovely hobbies. I actually have some embroidery floss, though I'm afraid I've been very bad at finishing any embroidery projects. We can certainly visit some museums on the weekend, though, and we can drive out to the animal refuge if you like animals. Are you reading chapter books? Roxanne said that you were homeschooled. I have a big bookshelf and you're welcome to it. Reading is such a nice hobby, and it's good for your brain." And she will maaaaaaaybe carefully put away the romance novels and other books that aren't appropriate for a six-year-old; she has a suspicion this particular six-year-old has not particularly had her reading material curated for age-appropriateness. Hopefully they can address that calmly and not have a fight over it. 

(She's already making the mental note that if Miranda stays with her longer term, which is certainly a possibility, then she will have to be in school. And that seems like something there might end up being a fight over. She reminds herself, again, not to borrow trouble before it arrives.) 

"That all sounds awesome and I look forward to seeing your bookshelf! I'm a big fan of nonfiction." She's also a big fan of fiction, but she doesn't want to raise questions about why a six-year-old is seeking out adult SF and the more realistic kind of historical novel. Also nonfiction is a better prophylactic for chronic intellectual understimulation. Even in the absolute best-case scenario she's going to have to do enough high school to put on college applications, and probably a lot more school than that. Something to raise later.

"Wow! You really are a clever girl. I'll see what I can do for children's nonfiction, but we might have to make a trip for the library. I'm sure you don't want to be stuck reading my cookbooks."

And she doesn't want to press Miranda too hard yet to talk about her parents, but she'll go fishing just a little bit. "Are your parents big readers too? Did you have books?" 

There's a moment of disorienting near-awareness, like her memories are trapped behind a wall and fighting to get out, and then it fades again. "Yes, I've had a lot of access to books." Is this the right time to say the thing she's been rehearsing? No, not yet, it can't be unsaid and she wants to say it face to face, not through a mirror.

"I'm very glad to hear it. So many children I've looked after didn't have books at home, but they're such a nice way to explore your imagination. I remember I absolutely loved the Nancy Drew series when I was little, and I would daydream and pretend I was a detective too. Have you read Nancy Drew? I have all of the books." And they're appropriate for children, and there are a lot of them, hopefully enough to keep even a precocious reader amused for a while until they can make a library trip.  

It's mostly not fishing - Evelyn is trying not to get too eager about detective-working her way to figuring this kid out - but she does find herself wondering if one reason Miranda likes to read so much is because it provides an escape from an unpleasant home life. 

"- And we're here," she adds, pulling into the driveway. Evelyn's neighborhood is quiet at this time of day. It's low-density with clean streets, parked cars in driveways, and lots of green, not at all like the Sketchville atmosphere of downtown Reno. Her house is a newish looking two-story construction that radiates the essence of American suburbia; it's identical in design and layout to its neighbors, but painted a distinctive and cheerful yellow. The lawn next to hers is beautifully manicured, but Evelyn's own lawn is a bit long and unkempt, a few spots yellowing where she hasn't been on top of watering it. It's also cluttered. Theres a large plastic play structure - very large, relative to Miranda's current size - and bright plastic toys for various ages scattered around the lawn. 

Evelyn releases the central locking (she always has it on when she's driving a new child home, even if they seem well-behaved and not likely to try to open the door while the car is moving.) She helps Miranda get unbuckled, but lets her scramble down from the booster seat on her own rather than lifting her out. The porch light is on a motion sensor, and flicks on when Evelyn unlocks the door.

Inside, the house feels homey and very much lived in. The front-hall interior has an elderly welcome mat, its nap almost worn away in the center. There's also a wooden bench, the kind with a top that flips up to reveal a storage compartment, and a coat tree and shoe-rack and a closet full of currently-unnecessary spare raincoats and cold weather gear, thrifted over the years and suitable to fit children of various sizes. A sample of what must be Evelyn's previous foster children is shown in a row of photographs above the closet. They're of all ages, from teenagers to infants. A boy with a scruff of light brown hair and Evelyn's blue eyes appears in many of them, passing through a progression of ages. 

"Shoes off, please," Evelyn says lightly, sitting down to untie her own laces. "If you like to wear slippers indoors, I should have a pair in about your size, and we can do a big shop at Walmart tomorrow and get you your own." 

"I haven't read the Nancy Drew books; I should check those out." She suspects she'll find them boring, but she needs to review her memories of Doyle and Christie for Adult Content and other implications before she's willing to admit to reading them. 

The house looks nice. Having painted it a nontraditional color is a good sign about Evelyn's tolerance for the unconventional, much like her lack of comment on Miranda's hair. 

"I'm fine in just socks," she says, toeing off her shoes. Not having shoes is uncomfortable, but the discomfort is a mix of unfamiliarity and a sense of being marginally less prepared for sudden unspecified shenanigans, neither of which will be helped by slippers. Calm down, lizard brain, there isn't going to be shenanigans of the sort that shoes would help with. Last time she got isekai'd she materialized new shoes anyway. "Your house is lovely. Can I see your book collection? And the bedroom I'm going to be in and the kitchen and where the bathroom is and actually I guess I'm asking for a tour."  She chuckles at herself.

"Of course! Let's have a walk around and I'll show you everything. I imagine it's very different from what you're used to." Pause, then she goes on, her voice very light and casual. "Have you stayed in a house before, that you can remember? Maybe with family friends, or maybe your parents used to have a house or apartment when you were littler?" 

Evelyn is definitely not relaxed, yet. She knows she doesn't have a good handle on Miranda, yet; the child is an enigma wrapped in galaxy print. Most new foster children have a 'honeymoon period', when they're still feeling out their new environment and on their best behavior; ironically, it's once they feel comfortable and safe that they start to push the rules and see how much they can get away with. Knowing as little as she does about Miranda's past, she has no idea what behavior to expect to pop up later. 

But, she reminds herself, there's nothing here she can rush. And in the moment, Miranda is very pleasant company, polite and easy to be around. 

House! She shows Miranda the garage, which can be accessed through a door behind the coatroom. It hasn't held a car in years, and is now entirely relegated to storage space, one wall with floor-to-ceiling metal shelves and neatly labeled Rubbermaid boxes, the other holding larger items that aren't actively in use but that Evelyn, who is well aware she has some pack-rat tendencies, didn't want to get rid of. There's an office chair that Evelyn recently replaced with a fancier one that was on sale last Boxing Day, a treadmill and a stationary bike, from Evelyn's past attempts to get in better shape, and a set of hand weights - the light ones, not the heavier ones that Jeremy has in his room. There's also a shelf of power tools, and cans of paint, and some solvents that she prefers not to keep in the house proper. Evelyn tells Miranda very firmly and seriously, looking her in the eye, that she isn't to come in here alone, because both the power tools and the weights are dangerous. (They're also stored on high shelves, deliberately out of reach of little hands, and with a younger child she would additionally child-lock the door, but that's hardly going to keep Miranda out, and Miranda seems trustworthy to follow instructions.)

The house has two main floors and an attic, though the attic is also unfinished and not currently accessible except through a weird hatch in the ceiling of Evelyn's closet. (She doesn't intend to mention this to Miranda; attics are way too tempting for a certain personality of child, and she isn't sure Miranda doesn't have that must-explore-everything-or-else trait.) Downstairs, once they move on from the coat room, there's a big combined lounge/playroom, with a television and lots of boxes of toys, a small study where Evelyn keeps her desktop computer and files (she warns Miranda that this room will be locked at night, as she keeps her confidential fostering logs in the file cabinet) and a big spacious kitchen-dining room with windows and sliding doors looking out on the backyard, which is also large and well equipped with toys, not to mention a tire swing. 

Upstairs is pretty much just bedrooms, four of them. Evelyn's master bedroom is at the front of the house, where she has a view of the yard and driveway; she'll hear if a teenage foster child comes back late, or if one of the previous serial absconders she's looked after tries to make a break for it. Jeremy's bedroom, originally nearly as large as Evelyn's but smaller now since they renovated and put in the second en-suite bathroom, is at the back of the house, where he has the most peace and quiet to focus on studying.

Along the stretch of hallway in between, going from the front of the house to the back, there's a bathroom (reasonably large, equipped with an enormous jacuzzi bathtub set up with an accessibility grab bar) the two spare bedrooms, and then a closet. The bedrooms are much smaller, having formerly been one large bedroom that Evelyn had subdivided when she decided to start fostering. Each has room for a single bed against one wall (arranged so the beds are on opposite walls, after Evelyn learned the hard way that some kids would try to annoy their sibling or fellow foster child by kicking the shared wall), a bookshelf, and a toybox. One is painted a lovely azure blue and the other is pale pink, though Evelyn has spent the last two years mulling on whether to repaint; her brilliant idea to have a boy's room and a girl's room, so she would be prepared in either case, felt a lot less clever when she ended up with a sibling group of three sisters, and also when she was reminded that not all girls like to be stereotyped as being into "girly" things. 

The pink room also has a wardrobe, white with some flowers stamped on as a decoration; the blue room has a chest of drawers decorated with mildly tacky rocketship stickers, and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling as well as a solar system mobile. There are books ranging from baby board books to thin chapter books clearly aimed at elementary schoolers. There are lots of stuffed animals and, for the pink room, some rather worse-for-wear Barbies sharing a plastic bucket. The blue room has more Lego and a remote-controlled toy car. 

Evelyn stands in the hallway, looking between them. "As I'm sure you can tell, I had some preconceptions about what boys and girls like when I had these decorated. The pink room is where I usually put girls, but you seem like someone who might be interested in space, and you're welcome to have the blue room if you prefer it. Up to you." 

She will agree to stay out of all the areas she's not welcome in. It doesn't even feel like an imposition on her dignity; she's a guest in Evelyn's house and staying out of certain rooms is an entirely legitimate request for a host to make. She compliments various features of the house that it honestly occurs to her to compliment, while vetting all of her utterances in advance for being consistent with an impoverished background. What little she can deduce from her sense of aesthetics suggests she's used to wealth but not extreme wealth; this seems like a normal kind of house for someone to have.

"I would indeed prefer the blue bedroom, thank you! It looks awesome." Fuck yeah Heck yeah, Legos and space decor, what a piece of luck. And of course it's fine if Evelyn gends as long as she doesn't expect Miranda to gend too much. Possibly it's the sudden prepubescence talking but she really doesn't feel inclined to gend.

"So what's next on the agenda?" She's almost feeling ready to say the thing but maybe one or two more logistics tasks worth of procrastination first.

She sounds like she's in a business meeting. It's actually pretty adorable, coming from a tiny kid, but what kinds of books is she reading? Business management books??? 

"Hmm. It's about eleven, so I was planning to make lunch in a few hours, but you can have a snack if you're hungry now. And like I said, we'll have to stay in today, but there are lots of activities we could get out." Evelyn looks thoughtfully at her. "Are you a Scrabble fan? I love Scrabble, but I think you might just flatten me at it!"