Lucy often thought it was strange; how, even after years in the orphanage, she’d never felt like she had a home. The other children mocked and mistreated her, shunning her away because of her “weird” ability. The overseers would hit and isolate her -she still bore the scars on her arms and back to remind her of all the beatings and “disciplines” she’d received at their hands. A place where children were supposed to be safe had felt like nothing but a violent prison to her.
And yet this new life that Fitzgerald had offered her… it felt right. A group of people she’d only barely just met, felt more like her real family than anyone in the orphanage ever had. Perhaps it was because they were all ability-users; a sense of companionship sprouting forth from the fact that they shared this supernatural gift.
Perhaps it was just because all of them were just as broken inside.
She didn’t know much about her colleagues yet; only what she’d heard from Fitzgerald the day each one was recruited (Lucy herself was the second earliest member, preceded only by Louisa), or what little she’d been told by some of them. Yet once, she’d glimpsed the lines upon lines of scars that trailed up Margaret’s arm, before the latter quickly pulled the sleeve of her dress back down again in an attempt to hide them. She’d seen kind old Herman often take out an old tattered photograph from his breast pocket and look at it as if it was the most sacred thing in the world, unshed tears shining at the corners of his eyes. Her own room was right next to Nathaniel’s and, well -she’d heard him cry and shout in his sleep more than once, though she always pretended she didn’t, and she’d been unable to discern the reason behind his nightmares. And then there was the way Edgar always looked over his shoulder and jolted at the slightest sound, terror striking his eyes even under those messy bangs… well, Lucy had a pretty good idea of what might have happened to him to excuse that behaviour.
Sometimes, she wondered what Fitzgerald had seen in all of them, all of those broken and tattered souls, that spurred him on to take them in. He often told them they were the strongest and that’s why he’d chosen them, but Lucy knew this couldn’t be true, not in all cases; and it certainly wouldn’t explain some of the actions he’d taken to ensure his employees’ comfort.
Deep down, Lucy knew Fitzgerald cared. Maybe he didn’t show it outright as much as he ought to; hell, perhaps he himself wasn’t even aware of it. But it was the truth, one truth that even Louisa herself had admitted she supported and, well; if there was one person in the Guild Lucy would trust without a second thought, it would be the nervous strategist.
They were a group of such misfits, clashing personalities and unbelievable tempers that nobody would have been able to predict they’d actually be able to get along and work as an actual team. Yet they had; much faster than anyone would have expected, too.
And if asked, Lucy would without a doubt call them her own little family.