Post by Moira O'Brien on Jul 18, 2009 9:47:52 GMT -5
-Open to anyone.
When Moira was a small child, the best day of every month was the third Thursday. She wasn’t sure how it had been decided properly, but on the third Thursday of the month, her father would come back from his work with two chocolate bars tucked in his pocket, and share them out between them, both of them grinning at each other across the tiny bench in the caravan, as though it was a conspiracy they were sharing, a great secret, rather than the crumbling, cheap chocolate.
Now, she could not help but stare around herself and smile the same silly, secretive grin she always had with her father, as though once again they were the only two people in the world who had worked out the existence of chocolate. The sweets in this store were more varied and expensive than Moira and her father ever shared, but Moira could feel already herself picking out a parcel, getting ready to send it to her father. She knew what day she would send it, too. The third Thursday of the month. Moira had always had a good head for dates.
She walked around the shop, gaping as she tried to count all the different kinds of chocolate. Taking a bar from the shelf, she smiled and watched the title change from black, to white, large to small. It was magic she knew, but her muggle father would be impressed for sure, and so she fumbled with the few galleons she had, pulling them from her trench coat, just making sure she had enough. She was dressed warmly, several layers of clothing on and a long red scarf draped lazily around her neck. Accompanied were a pair of black boots she had brought in Dublin, only a couple of weeks before she arrived in Britain. Her hair was pinned up today, for sometimes she got tired of dealing with her curls, and only a small amount of make-up was applied.
Chocolate in one hand, Moira continued around the store, making sure she saw everything before leaving. She hoped that she would soon know her new home like the back of her hand. Ireland had always been special to her, and she hoped she had made the right decision by leaving so soon. She continued having doubts about it but perhaps, when she started her new job, she would think differently. She missed her old friends. Ava, Emily and Caera, had always understood Moira in every way. Her strange taste in clothes, her love of potions and the way she always had to attempt something new. They had assumed her moving to Britain, was just another challenge, something she wanted to discover for herself. Moira still didn’t know for sure, if it was anything. She hoped it was though and perhaps, that was what it would come down to in the end. Hope.
Shaking her head, she moved towards another part of the shop, grinning as she spotted similar chocolates to the ones she and her father had used to buy. It probably wouldn’t taste the same but they looked shockingly alike, minus the moving title and colourful pictures and she knew she had to send this bar along as well. Sadly it was on a higher shelf and Moira, who wasn’t particularly tall, couldn’t reach it. Turning behind and checking that no one was here to witness what was most likely to be an embarrassing event; Moira began jumping, her hands reaching wildly above her. She felt like a child again, desperate to get her hands on the prize and perhaps her thoughts were too into it, as only moments later, a sudden shower of chocolates fell to the ground. She was knocked to the ground by a particularly heavy box of chocolates and she sat up almost immediately, rubbing a spot on her head where she’d been hit. She looked around and grimaced when she saw several empty boxes around her, tipped on their sides with overflowing chocolates. How she’d managed to knock down that many, she didn’t know but it didn’t take long to stop worrying about that. The tinkling of a doorbell and Moira sat straighter, her cheeks turning a quick shade of red as she realised how foolish she’d been.
When Moira was a small child, the best day of every month was the third Thursday. She wasn’t sure how it had been decided properly, but on the third Thursday of the month, her father would come back from his work with two chocolate bars tucked in his pocket, and share them out between them, both of them grinning at each other across the tiny bench in the caravan, as though it was a conspiracy they were sharing, a great secret, rather than the crumbling, cheap chocolate.
Now, she could not help but stare around herself and smile the same silly, secretive grin she always had with her father, as though once again they were the only two people in the world who had worked out the existence of chocolate. The sweets in this store were more varied and expensive than Moira and her father ever shared, but Moira could feel already herself picking out a parcel, getting ready to send it to her father. She knew what day she would send it, too. The third Thursday of the month. Moira had always had a good head for dates.
She walked around the shop, gaping as she tried to count all the different kinds of chocolate. Taking a bar from the shelf, she smiled and watched the title change from black, to white, large to small. It was magic she knew, but her muggle father would be impressed for sure, and so she fumbled with the few galleons she had, pulling them from her trench coat, just making sure she had enough. She was dressed warmly, several layers of clothing on and a long red scarf draped lazily around her neck. Accompanied were a pair of black boots she had brought in Dublin, only a couple of weeks before she arrived in Britain. Her hair was pinned up today, for sometimes she got tired of dealing with her curls, and only a small amount of make-up was applied.
Chocolate in one hand, Moira continued around the store, making sure she saw everything before leaving. She hoped that she would soon know her new home like the back of her hand. Ireland had always been special to her, and she hoped she had made the right decision by leaving so soon. She continued having doubts about it but perhaps, when she started her new job, she would think differently. She missed her old friends. Ava, Emily and Caera, had always understood Moira in every way. Her strange taste in clothes, her love of potions and the way she always had to attempt something new. They had assumed her moving to Britain, was just another challenge, something she wanted to discover for herself. Moira still didn’t know for sure, if it was anything. She hoped it was though and perhaps, that was what it would come down to in the end. Hope.
Shaking her head, she moved towards another part of the shop, grinning as she spotted similar chocolates to the ones she and her father had used to buy. It probably wouldn’t taste the same but they looked shockingly alike, minus the moving title and colourful pictures and she knew she had to send this bar along as well. Sadly it was on a higher shelf and Moira, who wasn’t particularly tall, couldn’t reach it. Turning behind and checking that no one was here to witness what was most likely to be an embarrassing event; Moira began jumping, her hands reaching wildly above her. She felt like a child again, desperate to get her hands on the prize and perhaps her thoughts were too into it, as only moments later, a sudden shower of chocolates fell to the ground. She was knocked to the ground by a particularly heavy box of chocolates and she sat up almost immediately, rubbing a spot on her head where she’d been hit. She looked around and grimaced when she saw several empty boxes around her, tipped on their sides with overflowing chocolates. How she’d managed to knock down that many, she didn’t know but it didn’t take long to stop worrying about that. The tinkling of a doorbell and Moira sat straighter, her cheeks turning a quick shade of red as she realised how foolish she’d been.