Madeleine Gray (burnlyrical) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2013-05-28 23:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-09-26, madeleine, star |
the story ends, as stories do; reality steps into view
Who: Madeleine & Star
Where: The mall
When: Late afternoon
Madeleine stared. Leaning forward with both hands resting on the handle of her umbrella, it was the hard, comfortable stare of someone who knew she was looking at something she mostly certainly did not and could never possibly even begin to like. For someone who was pregnant (and, just now, almost trying to forget about it), she held children in high contempt. They were frequently loud, often filthy with something sticky, usually obnoxious and invariably irritating. It was probably a better idea to stop glaring at them while they had at least one parent around, however. Her glare returned to the shelves of clothing. Of course, her elitist disdain and general horror regarding just what she was looking at meant that she was never going to purchase anything from this store, but none of that changed the fact she had gained weight. Enough to steer her away from some of the more snugly fitting items of clothing she owned. They still fit her well enough to wear, but not well enough to wear and still feel as though they looked as they should -- because they probably didn’t and she just dared anybody to try and tell her otherwise. Zaviar had to have noticed and she knew her mother was thinking it even if she wasn’t saying it; she needed to go shopping.
Thus far all she had managed was lingerie.
In fairness, that always made her feel better and besides, she needed new bras. Well, she did. And soon she would probably need even more, but that was well beside the point -- this was about making her feel better. Also about avoiding the weather, her familiar and her mother simultaneously. She was fairly sure the latter two could keep each other company perfectly well. Slinging her shopping bags over one arm and swinging her handbag with the other, Madeleine strode out of the shop with an almost inaudible huff, her eyes narrowing in search of a coffee shop. Or something. A seat at an empty bench was the best the wretched place had to offer.
Crossing her legs absent-mindedly, she pondered the merits of calling Antonin to bring her a decaf. It would never work in a month of Sundays, but it might be amusing for all of thirty seconds.