Morningstar Manor

"No, sweetheart, it's honestly quite alright," Celeste stood outside Antique Apparel, cigarette in hand, on her mobile.

"You just concentrate on getting better, we'll cope just fine. I know Luci and Regan will be glad for the extra hours." She smiled, though she was still looking a little worried and distracted.

"Let me know when the cast comes off, and we can see about getting you back to work on a lighter schedule. You take care now. Bye!" She hung up, sighing in frustration. Not anyone's fault, of course, but having a member of staff off work for weeks with a broken leg wasn't exactly the easiest thing to deal with.

Sitting down on the edge of the window, Celeste lifted her cigarette to her lips, shivering a little in the breeze as she looked across the Square.

(might be sporadic, a bit headachey, but I'm bored and cranky so in need of distraction. :))

Dog days. That's what they called them in August, those burning hot days that melted your brains and set you into craziness. It was only July, but those dog days were coming, and Jonathan Vision smiled to himself as he thought about what this year might bring.

He slid his tongue along his teeth, but absently, sitting on a stone bench with one leg crossed and a thin cigar in one hand -- he wasn't smoking it, not at the moment, but the smoke curled around his head and sometimes slipped from his nostrils anyway.

He waited for someone to come and sit by him; to pass by and offer their name, a greeting.

Basically, he waited.

He had all the time in the world, after all. Didn't he?

[ooc: warnings for probable smut]

After a phonecall late afternoon, Celeste had rushed back up to her apartment, checking that it was suitable for entertaining Jude. It was, thankfully, and she had enough ingredients in the fridge that she hadn't even had to pop out to buy anything for dinner. It was simple enough that she had plenty of time to make sure that she was looking utterly fabulous in an aqua dress, simple gold jewellery and black shoes to complete the outfit.

Checking her lipstick in the mirror, she lit a cigarette, standing by her open window as she waited for Jude to arrive.

Sunday afternoon had Celeste leaving work early, trusting in her staff to close up by themselves. She deserved to take some time to herself, after all. And that time, today, was going to be spent in the gardens of the manor, coffee and cigarette in hand, a magazine open in her lap. Celeste wasn't paying much attention to the magazine mind you, instead looking up at the sun, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Her high factor sunscreen would ensure she didn't burn or tan, but she still liked to feel the warmth from time to time.

Kris had been passing the florists and had been drawn in by the wonderful heady scent. Now he was crossing the Square with his purchases - a bunch of brilliant orange tiger lilies and a cactus of hilariously suggestive shape - and was debating what to drop of where. Celeste seemed like a good sport but would she appreciate a wang shaped cactus? Demitri on the other hand would probably find it as funny as he did.

Sometimes being sophisticated was such hard work that Kris gave it a miss.

###

Ylva was in Riverwalk Park with her lunch and a book. She was possibly a little too close to the Manor for comfort but the park was full of blondes today, she'd blend in.

She crossed long tanned legs, settled her sunglasses more firmly on her nose and turned a page.

###

The roof garden was open again, if a little sparse of plants, and Nick was on his knees unpacking the crate that had been left for the Manor by the Sexton family. At least this time there had been family. So often, he'd heard, they had carefully packed the lost life away into boxes and crates, had sent the furniture to auction for charity and had packed everything away. Rooms and rooms full of memories and nobody to appreciate them.

But this was another matter, he thought, as he uncovered the piece of relief sculpture and the discreet little plaque he was supposed to mount near it.

###

Allan lay flat on his back in the garden, with his eyes closed and his arms spread out. The un shone down and he was warm and drowsy and full of lunch and thinking hard about his latest bronze. It was back and he was halfway through finishing it and he was worried that Deacon and Charlie wouldn't like it. It hadn't turned out the way he'd intended at all.

But he'd worry about that later. For now he was warm - and might go to sleep.

Antique Apparel was up and running beautifully, and Celeste was beginning to trust her staff enough that she'd decided to take the morning away from the shop to catch up on a little paperwork, work out her staff schedule for the next week.

And so, 10 o'clock found her ensconced in a corner of the Mocha, wearing a pretty floral tea dress and peeptoe sandals, a frappuchino at her elbow as she sat with schedules spread out across her table, her diary splayed open to the page with her staff's availability.

She was very easily distractable, and happy for company.

It was a wonderful sunny afternoon, and the Square was full of people. Among them:

• Urquhart, who was sitting by his red door with a bottle of beer, watching football on a little portable TV set.
• Cindy, who was wheeling herself across the entire Square, followed by Axminster, who was slouching along lazily.
• Ricky, who was sitting on the steps of the angel statue and smoking a cigarette. Or something.
• Chandika, who was standing at the window of the new vintage clothes shop, looking eagerly at everything.
• Andras, who was sitting in the Auberge, drinking an iced coffee and watching football on his iPad.
• Sibyl, who was taking a wheelbarrow full of what looked like old horse-blankets from the disreputable antiques shop towards the Manor.

Jude was in his apartment sprawled out on the couch in a moment of leisure when it occured to him that he hadn't gotten around to calling Celeste yet.

"Can you keep it down, please?" he said to his girls who had went hunting and come home with something to eat. He didn't know if it was an animal or a small human or what, but there was blood all over the floor. "And clean that shit up when you're done." 

He pulled out his phone, searched for her number and sat waiting patiently while the phone rang.

One of the advantages of Antique Apparel being so close to the Manor, was being able to get home sharp after closing up. Celeste had done her hair and makeup in the salon downstairs, changing last thing before she shut the shop. She was hoping Kris appreciated the outfit, at least. A dark purple silk dress with a tight pencil skirt, seamed stockings and black peeptoes. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, a purple flower the same colour as the dress holding her hair away from her face.

Checking her lipstick in her compact, she walked into the lobby of Morningstar, looking around for Kris.

"No, absolutely not. Champagne, orange juice for those who don't indulge. That's it." Celeste tipped her head back, sighing in frustration. "I don't see why I should be running a free bar, I'm trying to open a shop, not run a nightclub." She rolled her eyes at the voice on the other end of the phone, locking the shop door behind her, tutting in annoyance as her bag tried to slip out from where it was wedged between her arm and her side.

"Fine, if you want there to be scotch and martinis, you can provide the alcohol, precious." She snapped the phone shut, slipping it into her bag as she turned, heading for the nearest place she could pick up a bottle of red wine. God knew she needed it, after the day she'd had.

It was evening, sunny and warm, and Celeste looked just as primped and pressed as she had when she left her flat that morning. It was her job, after all. She was dressed simply today, in a navy floral tea dress and patent navy mary-jane pumps. She had her coat slung over her arm, and shopping bags swung from her arm as she walked.

Pausing outside a coffee shop, she glanced at the menu for a moment, before sitting down at a table outside and drawing a sterling silver cigarette case from her handbag.

Celeste walked through Morningstar's lobby and headed straight for the Mocha needing to warm herself up a little, the wind still a little too biting to be comfortable despite the sun. She was dressed in a vintage navy blue dress from the late 40s, her short jacket matching. Even her luggage matched - deep blue leather case on wheels, a smaller carry case balanced on top.

Removing her gloves and unwrapping the fur stole from around her neck, she walked up to the counter, ordering a cinnamon latte and a slice of cake. She was going to order it to go, but it had been a while since she'd people watched, after all. Sitting down in the window, she picked up a magazine, half-reading it and half-watching the inhabitants of Morningstar go about their business.

She'd been away for so long that she barely recognised the faces that passed - and after all, she hadn't spent much time in the Manor, even when she did live there full-time. Nonetheless, it was good to be back, and Celeste was hopeful that there would still be one or two familiar faces. That darling photographer, perhaps...what was his name again...Andrew? Andras, that was it.