WHO: Millicent and Roger WHEN: Monday Morning WHERE: Millicent's bedroom (HAH) WHAT: So she's not dead? RATING: TBD language
Millicent's clothes lay in clumps around the room. There was the soggy black robes she had worn to the giant disaster of a wedding and then there was the clothing she'd worn when she'd finally made her way home and had needed a drink or ten to unwind. Luckily the pile that was to follow next was still on her body. A falcons shirt and stretchy pants that were only created for comfort. Just the way Millicent preferred her clothing. Comfort and function only. Fashion was a damn waste of time.
It was after 11 and Millicent still wasn't up. That was unlike her. She preferred to be up and doing shit by at least 8. Depending on the alcohol content of the night before. But here it was... 11 am and she was still stuffed under the covers of her bed, her childhood bed mind you, enjoying a second cup of coffee and a danish brought up by the house elf.
She didn't exactly have a valid reason for lingering. It wasn't injury. She'd escaped the blast at the ministry with little to no injury. Slight burns that were easily treated and more easily just left to heal as she preferred. Millicent hated a healer fussing over her and shoving stupid potions down her throat. Scars just added character anyhow. She wasn't injured... but she was... out of sorts. Blowing up their own little friends... it was just like the Order. What the hell were they fighting for anymore. The trash that was enslaved or imprisoned was there for a reason. Just like they would have done to her if they'd been the victors. It was the way of the world and why they couldn't accept that it was beyond her. But all it did remind her of was the fact that in their reckless abandon to win some winless battle they'd let children like her brother pick up a wand.
Millicent tossed her danish aside, it landed atop the pile of soggy Ministry robes and she grunted... well there was a lost danish. She sat up with the intent to call for Dropsy to bring her the prophet and to check on the horses when she heard a sound in the hallway. Was the house elf fucking psychic? Or was- Millicent pulled her wand out from under her pillow and gripped it tightly as she slid her bare feet from the bed and slowly padded toward the door.
Ear pressed to the wall next to the door she waited, someone was out there and she hoped it was just the damn house elf.