Post by lysandra malfoy on Sept 28, 2008 2:43:48 GMT -8
The night was quickly fading, and the street that had just hours ago had boasted a glamorous night life of intoxicated club goers was shrinking away from the dawn light, ashamed of the drunken stragglers and smell of vomit lingering on its cobblestones.
Slouched on the curb was Lysandra Malfoy, her dirty blonde hair lank and smelling vaguely of tobacco as she leaned drunkenly against her newfound companion, picked up somewhere between the Vipertooth lounge and that odd place with the techno dance music that sounded vaguely Swedish…or maybe French?
“You see, it - it never used to be like this Andrè.”
“Andrew.”
“…I like Andrè better. See tha’ bar on the corner there? Tha’ used to be the most exclusive club on this damn street. And we had our own V.I.P lounge. I tell ya, with the Zabinis as friends we could have flown to the moon, first class all the way. Maybe tha’s where they all are t’night. Drinking dirty martinis on the moon. They got no use for someone like me anymore. Someone with responsibilities."
She spat the last word like a curse.
Unfortunately for Andrè/Andrew, Lysandra could be a horribly maudlin drunk at times.
“Let’sss…lets go to the beach. The beach in St. Tropez!”
She could also be wildly impulsive.
Clambering to her feet and teetering precariously on sky-high heels, she blinked owlishly for a moment and then dragged her companion up with her, intent on walking to St. Tropez if need be. Or…on second thought, perhaps just to that all-hours restaurant on the corner there.
With considerable effort (Lysandra’s companion suffering a bitter hangover and Lysandra herself still hopelessly drunk), the two managed to navigate their way inside, to a little table covered in cheap checkered plastic cloth.
“Jus’ two potions please. No food”, Andrè/Andrew mumbled, and the waiter quickly presented them with two orders of the only potion an all night eatery could be expected to stock.
“Arrowroot, sage, lily spores and gillywater. You’ll both be feeling much more human in a moment, I’m sure.”
“Wa’s so good about being human?” Lysandra piped up before downing the hangover cure with one gulp and a grimace.
Almost instantly came the rush of unpleasant icy cold, and then the slow ease back into lucidity which left her toes tingling and her cheeks flushed.
When the checkers in the table cloth stopped dancing before her eyes she lookup up to find Andrè/Andrew already gone.
“Oh, fantastic.” She murmured in a much more familiar, un-slurred aristocratic drawl; dropping her forehead to her hands as the waiter placed the bill at her table. Now the pressing question was, how the bloody hell could she scrounge together a few sickles and apparate back to the manor before her family noticed she was gone?