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Millicent Bulstrode (reinventingmils) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Her grip on her glass faltered, and Millicent swiftly put her tumbler down on the counter, moving as though she were merely doing it to accommodate the added weight of the sangria she was continuing to pour.

Merciful Morgana. The dark hair and the height...she'd thought it was Greg, or even Marcus, and hadn't continued to turn so she could see him full in the face. So stupid, Millicent. Leaping before you even looked. Now she was going to have to talk to him, because she couldn't just walk away after smiling so openly and greeting him the way she had. Like they were friends. Like she was happy to see him after moving to London to be near everyone again.

But she could handle this, she swore silently, tipping the pitcher back up after she'd filled her glass -- a little more than she'd planned, but she was going to need it. Tossing her head lightly, she turned around carefully, best meet-and-greet smile on her face, fingers tightening surreptitiously on the bottom of her tumbler. "Roger! It has!" Her hip against the counter, she let her eyes widen slightly in a "fancy meeting you here" greeting. "What brings you to such a humble party, Mr. International Quidditch Star?"