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Millicent Bulstrode (reinventingmils) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"I still can't wrap my head around some of the technology we use in the office," Mils said over her shoulder as she opened the bottle of peach wine she'd been saving all week. "And I swear that little weasel over in Berlin is..." She flipped her hand dismissively, lips pursing in thought. "But I wouldn't take an oath on it." Sendin Dora's floating gently over to her, Mils sent a tiny message-bubble down to the kitchen to let Mebby know they were ready for their starters.

As she let herself down into the plush corner of the settee, she took a more-than-dainty sip, and shook back her hair. "Life has conspired, and work keeps us busy. Such is the life of working women," she trilled lightly, apeing her sister's most recent comment. Which still stung, thank you. Maybe she was working, but at least it was at a place where no one would be surprised to see a Daughter of the Twenty-Eight. I.E. had a distinctive clientèle, and she could hold her head up with ease, thank you.

Mebby appeared, holding a tray of smoked salmon canapés and asparagus in phyllo, and Mils watched unseeing as Dora began to fill her plate. "I don't even know where to start, to be honest."