A Martini Kind of Morning

"Vodka martini -" the elegant designer virgin-white bodycon dress that clung to the curvaceous brunette's silhouette gently creasing at her waist as she subtly shifted in her seat, on the end stool before a glittering bar, boasting beautiful crystal toppers nestled between the lips of obscenely expensive bottles of alcohol. The same stool which she had immediately decided would be "hers" upon  sauntering into Eli's not five minutes before placing her pointed order with the barkeep, an upscale resteraunt renowned for its elitest sophistication.

Senona, for the first time since her arrival in Diagon Alley, felt right at home.

"Oh, is it not still morning?" her fraternal duplicate retorted, sarcastically interrupting Senona, as if to deter her from proceeding in buying the alcoholic drink. Is she feigning ignorance? The thought occurred to Sousa's twin. Had she truly forgotten that an attempt to tell her counterpart to do anything would be met only with Senona's competitive personality?

You are only going to make it worse.

The thought had occurred to her.

With an expression that impersonated a return to this beforementioned reality, Sousa made a second attempt at her previous statement, always the witty one, rewording it to exclude any implications of a suggestion made towards her smirking sister, "Since when do you even drink?" Awww. Senona lamented, how adorable, when she tries to be clever. Sousa already knew the answer, if it could even be labeled as such, that would be given in reort for her question -

"- since forever," a single pair of words, and two answers materialized, the fractured sentence spoken both through quiet, controlled (yet, seemingly effortless) laughter and a contrasting, far more exacerbated inflection; one which would not have seemed entirely out of place amongst several irritated, "yeah, yeah, yeah"s and the rolling of Sousa's own pair of matching brown irises. Senona's companion stood gracefully from her seat beside her, smoothing out the surface of her own attire, not all that different from her sister's, with a carefully placed sweeping of her manicured hands, as though her body would explode from the luxurious attire if she ran her digits too swiftly down the satin dress. Both sisters forever the embodiment of poise and elegance while out in public, or surveyed by the prying public eye.

"We agreed to meet Mother at eleven," Sousa reiterated, reminding Senona of their original intentions in their appearance in the Wizarding World's beloved strip, or shopping destination, Diagon Alley; one  of United Kingdome 'hotspots' with which the pair of Brazillian-Romanian born women were truly - if not far too familiar, due to location of their shared mother's parlor. A rare occasion, as the sisters were, otherwise, utterly lost in Brittian; a truth which continued to be a popular topic of conversation with Sousa and Senona for  sarcastically inquiring locals upon the inevitable discovery of their heavy accents, or foreign dialect.

Sousa knew that Mother (her name was spat, laden with disdain and pronounced with a generous portion of bile - always - as of late, whenever the title invaded Senona's thoughts - despite her extensive efforts to avoid such a 'guest star'). I never was particularly fond of Diagon Alley, Senona bitterly noted as her sister rose from her seat beside her; a cesspool - an opinion which she had only quite recently acquired. "Wait..." Breaking from her casually amused facade as she took a dainty sip from the Martini that the barkeep had exchanged for an extravagant price tag; several, neatly folded bills slid across the bar's surface reluctantly, of what few remained from the Brânduşa heir's "inheritance". This, sill insignificant in comparison to the obscene number that the young woman had grown so used to unfolding from her clutch on a daily basis in recent years. She paid for several drinks it occurred to her companion, burdened by unspoken concern.

Evidently, the gentleman who had done the mixing was quite experienced in his career choice if the preparation of the drink were any representation of his abilities. This first taste was but the beginning of Ms.Brânduşa's morning. Sousa shifted her weight to her left leg in a blatant betrayal of her impatience with her sister; a grand gesture of emotion when regarding the pair of poised, impersonal women - which Senona intentionally ignored, "Você sabe que eu só estou brincando, Sousa. Ir ver mãe. Divirta-se. Estou bem."

Sousa's expression softened as the woman moved one of the hands that had smoothed her dress to rest gently on Senona's shoulder, which her sister made no move to deflect, "Vos amo. Eu não deve ser longo."

Senona did not turn to watch Sousa leave, but rather, gracefully moved from her own place before the beautiful bar instead whilst the ten-inch heels of her sister's shoes - Those are my heels, aren't they? - clicked against the fine dining room floor as Sousa slowly waltzed through the building, still almost entirely empty, save Eli's still-waking employees on this particular morning. Nona supposed that not everyone had begun their drinking as early as she this morning. "Vos amo," Senona replied before Sousa stepped out onto the cobblestone street, Such poorly paved roads for designer heels, the women noted simultaneously.

"Eu vou te trazer de volta algo!"

The bar, once more, fell silent, save the whispers of employees in sleepy preparation for the upcoming business day. "I will be moving to the patio. Please bring me another when I have finished with this one," Senona moved, gliding smoothly with the rhythmic sway of her hips and the faint clink of the Martini glass rejoining her lips to gently kiss her teeth; an unmolested white as pure as the color of the dress that conformed to her body. "Yes, ma'am," The barkeep had politely, and procedurally responded. But his words had fallen on disinterested ears as his customer, left alone in Eli's elegant restaurant, moved to the lay herself out beneath one of the patio's large umbrella's, mind presently swimming with thoughts of the mother that Sousa had run off to seen. Or rather, the wealth that Senona's relationship with this so-called parental figurehead had previously entailed - when she had cared to maintain such degrading things. For not yet one month had passed since Senona's damning decision to no longer idly permit her continued "grooming" into the "proper young lady" and heir to his throne that Mr. Brânduşa and his faithful bitch had so desired of her.

But, alas, this was precisely what the beverages were intended for, and the morning would not be sullied by such tedious thoughts. What little warmth remained of the Summer Sun's rays bathed the charming patio where Senona lay, ever aware of every subtle alignment of her form. The last days before Autumn's introduction remained, just cool enough to avoid anything so unacceptable as sweat born between her skin and the satin of her fitted dress (an unsightly issue common of the passed summer months) - the white of which reflected the amber light exquisitely. Senona utterly refused to allow such negativity to spoil this stunning morning spent with the remains of her fatally wounded wealth, in the form of such expertly prepared and exceptionally decadent Martinis. "Another, please. And the finest entre on your menu." No reply came but the hurried clatter of baking pans (that whatever it was that she had ordered would undoubtably be cooked in) from the employees in the kitchen. Senona had always had a particular flare for such Swan Songs. After all, it would not be long before she knew wealth once more, of her own making.

Patience, she pointedly snapped the olive in the empty drink beneath her teeth, her confident smirk returning - this time, to stay as she extended her legs across her casual seat on the patio, crossing her ankles to confidently, and prominently display the designer heels on her feet whilst she awaited the new bill and her second Martini.