Subject: Helene has heard of a maid position by word of mouth, and happily goes to inquire about it! Where: At the Laurent Residence. Who: Helene Marie Byron, and Aime and Antoine Laurent. Warnings: So far, so good. Open to: Aime and Antoine Laurent. (Unsure if anyone else lives there, or..?)
Before the afternoon, Helene had been terribly distraught. To the point that she'd almost burst into tears. The burden of being not only "alone" in the world, but as a result most of the time lonely, coupled with her struggle to keep money in her pockets (which were developing holes from reaching for nothing), was beginning to make her personality more paranoid than it had the capacity of maintaining. No one really paid mind to her when she'd hurriedly made her way down the street through the bustle of afternoon errands, but she felt as if everyone were watching her. Once realizing that that was a silly thing to think, instead, her sense of overexposure hardened into the moonstone of alienation. The crowd made her feel more by herself, as if she were in a vast yellow desert with only the company of a glossy genie bottle poking up from underneath the miles, and miles of sand. And after imagining what wishes she'd make, she'd felt... better.
Helene was able to afford a new coat that had been keeping her warm as of late in the freeze of the shadowy midnights. The merchant seemed kind and content enough to sell it to her cheaper than she might have for someone else, and Helene was so thankful for it that she'd brought her back a pastry later, with money she'd earned from scrubbing floors at a pub.
She just felt too busy. Girls her age belonged on adventures with white horses, and fairy Godmothers. Not feeling so exhausted all the time. Where was her fairy Godmother?
But when she overheard some young girls chatting about a job opening down the street in the afternoon, her eyes widened and although her mouth was agape to ask more questions.. she began to walk into the direction they mentioned. Hoping to get there before anyone else might take her place.
And so, with her navy-colored and unpolished silver buttons, her flat mary janes almost made a gallop in a streamline to the front door of the Laurent Residence. It took a long while to get there; long enough for her to feel even happier. Helene cleared her throat, smoothed out her coat and curls, and knock-knock-knocked.