Apparently Kieran and Austin have agreed on some form of action against the NeoSpartans that involves Kieran distracting a girl while Austin secretly does something. I actually feel a little bad for the girl in this scene, even if she is working for the bad guys. She can't be half bad herself...
Kieran is about to raise his eyebrows at Austin, but discovers that Austin has already ducked out of sight. As casually as he can, Kieran slogs up to the desk, planting his hands firmly and lazily onto the counter.
“I need a print-out of my records,” he tells the pretty blonde-haired girl behind the counter as he takes note of the exact time.
“Ok,” she replies. “Do you have any ID with you?”
“No, I left my wallet at home.”
“At home?... Alright,” the girl replies, “but I'll have to get your password and ID number and signature to compare to the information on record. Although,” she glances at him, “with the bill revision next month, that option is being done away with. Starting on the first, we'll need to see three pieces of government issue picture ID before you can access any of your records.”
“It'll improve personal security and privacy,” she explains. “Your name?”
“Kieran Paupanekis,” he says, instantly regretting giving the girl that information. So much for Cree boys not leaving a trail.
“How do you spell that?” she asks.
“Kieran,” he says amicably. “Like a double E Keegan, but with an I instead of the first E, and an R instead of the G. So it's not really a double E, then, and none of the C-I-A-R-A-N stuff. I'm not Gaelic.”
“K-E-I-R-A-N?” the girl double-checks.
“I'm sorry?” he says.
“Did you say K-E-I-R-A-N?”
“No, no, no,” he tsks. “That's like the female Keira with an N on the end. I'm male. But even if I weren't, it's supposed to be I before E, except after C, remember?” He's quite proud of himself for remembering that rhyme, even if half the time it wasn't true. His mom taught it to him.
“Oh,” the girl says, clearly a little flustered. “Then K-I-E-R-A-N?”
“I think so,” he says. “Did you spell it like 'pier' with a K, then add A-N?”
“'Pier' as in 'dock' or as in looking at something?”
“As in a scrutinizing gaze,” Kieran says, staring into her eyes.
“No,” the girl replies. “I spelled it with an I. So it's K-E-E-R-A-N?”
“No, it is with an I.”
“I said with an I.”
“You spelled it with two E's.”
“After you told me it was peer as in gaze!” The girl is obviously getting frustrated now.
“No, peer as in gaze is wrong! It's pier as in dock, wharf, jetty. But with a K and without a P. Plus the A-N.”
“Ok, so K as in kitten, I as in iguana, E as in envelope, N as in noon, R as in ridiculous, A as in -”
“Anaphylactic fit?” Kieran offers.
“A as in anaphylactic fit,” the girl repeats, “and N as in nincompoop.”
“Hang on,” Kieran says. He pauses, looks up, and waves his finger around in the air a bit as if he's writing his name on an invisible canvas.
The girl raises her eyebrows.
“Yes,” he finally states. “Yes, that is correct. K-I-E-R-A-N.” Wow. If the police ever ask this girl what his name is, there won't be any chance she'll get it wrong, now.
“Awesome,” the girl says, trying to remain friendly. She's well trained and very patient. “And your last name?”
Kieran suppresses a smirk. “Paupanekis.” He could almost swear that the girl just paled.
“Perhaps you should write it down for me,” the girl says with a smile.
“Good idea,” he replies, taking the pen and paper the girl hands him. He writes in cursive, making each vowel indistinguishable, with the exception of the I, of course, which he does not dot. Sloppy writing is an art form, he decides. Even chickens couldn't scratch this mess.
She takes the paper and furrows her brow a little as she reads it. Taking her best guess, she plunks something into the computer.
“Is that two A's there?” she asks about the A-U.
“There are two A's, but not in a row,” says Kieran. “Do you know any English words that have two A's in a row?”
“But your name isn't English, is it?” the girl retorts.
“Yet it does use English letters.”
“As do Kierkegaard and Haagen Dazs, and they both have double A's.”
“Well, I'm not Scandinavian, either.”
“I don't care what you are, just tell me how to spell your name!” the girl finally snaps. “P, then what?”
“I wrote it for you!”
“Well, I can't read it!”
Kieran begins to feel badly for her. He'll have to find some way to make it up to her later. “P,” he says.
“P,” the girl repeats.
“A,” he says.
“A,” she repeats.
“Yes, it sounds like Pieu from Pepe Le Pieu when you spell it out letter by letter.”
“But it's not spelled like Pepe Le Pieu.”
“No, just sounds like it.”
“P-A-U, then what?” the girl prompts coldly.
“Another P. It's like the Papua from Papua New Guinea if you added a P and spelled it back-”
“Shut it,” the girl says. “P-A-U-P...”
She sighs. “Then what?”
“Paupanekis. P-A-U, then P-A-N.”
“As in pot.”
“No, as in nincompoop, to use your word.”
“Yes!” she exclaims. “You spell pan with an N at the end. But pan is also a word, like a shallow pot!”
“Oh, that kind of pot,” says Kieran. “I didn't make the connection.”
“Hardly surprising,” mutters the girl.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Kieran says.
“Nothing,” the girl chimes, eeking false friendliness. “P-A-U, P-A-N... sounds musical.”
“Hey, yeah,” he agrees with her, “musical. I like musicals. Your voice is musical, too.”
“The sound of me screeching is not.”
Kieran flashes her his most charming grin. “Ok, then. So we've got to the N. Next is an E.”
“Then spell kiss, but subtract the last S.”
He smiles flirtatiously at her.
“Pervert,” she mutters.
“That's it,” he says.
“P-A-U-P-A-N-E-E-K-I-S,” she repeats.
“No,” he says, evoking a growl and a subdued spasm from the pretty secretary. “No,” he repeats, “there's only one E. Where'd you get the second one from?”
“You said E twice.”
“I was agreeing with you. You sounded like you needed reassurance that you were doing it right.”
“I don't need reassurance, I need you to spell your name!”
“Fine! Spell it again, and I'll tell you if it's right.”
“P-A-U-P-A-N-E-K-I-S,” she spouts, almost faster than Kieran can himself. This will definitely not be good if the police are to be asking about him.
“Yes,” he says. “That is correct. You see, I knew you could do it.”
“You don't have any records to be printed,” she reports, giving him a glare so dark that he thinks it will surely bring a few noble bystanders to her aid.
“I don't?” he says. “I'm sure I do. This is the NeoSpartan Alberta Registry, isn't it?”
“Yes,” she says.
“Maybe I'm still listed under my father's name,” he says. “Can you look up my father's name?”
“You can't access your father's information unless he fills out the forms necessary to give you permission.”
Kieran shrugs. “I don't want to access my father's information. I want to access mine.”
“You can't access your information if it's locked in with your father's.”
“But everyone in the government and the military can look at my information. Why can't I? I have a right to my documentation.”
“No,” the girl says.
“'No', you're agreeing with me, or 'no', you're denying me?”
“I'm denying you,” she says, all traces of patience gone.
Kieran glances at his watch... it's tight...
“No,” she repeats.
“If I get my dad on my cell, and he gives you his password, can I look at my information then?”
“What does 'hasn't filled out the forms' mean to you? And how can I check his signature if all I've got is a telephone call?” Her voice is shrill.
“We've got camera phones. We can send you a picture.”
“Are you insane?” the girl says, pushing herself away from the computer. “The answer is no!”
“You're saying no, I'm not insane, or no, we can't send you a picture?”
“Goodbye!” she shrieks, standing up and waving her arms. “Next! Please!”
Austin has been quick and is standing across the room, so Kieran shrugs and walks away. He is seriously going to have to do something sweet for that girl. He feels positively nasty.
“Well?” he says as he approaches Austin.
“Very well,” says Austin. “Let's split.”
*****I gotta say, Kieran is spelling trouble for himself later on...
“I don't care what you say about me. Just be sure to spell my name wrong.” Barbra Streisand