"Well She Doesn't Look Like One." Serra Sneered, Looking Down At The Ferret. "Normal Would Be A Cat.

"I am indeed. I do apologise for not sending a letter ahead of my arrival, but it was all rather sudden." Her parents had taught her better manners than that but she had been quite impatient and had decided to just stop by instead of bothering to send a letter and then wait for a reply. This was more efficient.

"I had an idea for this dark dress, perhaps navy or even black, big skirt and some sort of sparkling fabric that looked like the night sky." She could picture it in her head already.

There was joy within her features, a smile lighting up her eyes when she spotted the other witch. Oh, their shared history had turned into a rather wonderful little thing. The last she’d seen the other the blonde had made sure to confirm said internship. And what a joy it had been. “You’re back in London. Look at that.” Leta pointed toward the back of the shop as she motioned for the shop clerk to tend to the rest of the show room.

“Come on, tell me about that dress of yours. And about Paris. And everything else one needs to know. I’ll make sure to fit it in somehow, even if it may take a moment.” Leta Rosier felt no hostility toward the other witch. In fact, whatever games had been played by others were entirely up to them. They had walked separate paths and eventually they had become on; and the seamstress was more than happy with it. - @serraborgin

"I really don't see how you could've missed me." Serra exclaimed doubtful, looking at the other witch. In her mind she was noticed everywhere she went and by everyone. It was her impeccable style and her looks that brought her the attention she believed to deserve. If there was one thing she wasn't lacking it was self confidence. "You know what. I'll be gracious and I'll accept your apology. You should watch where you're going next time."

( open interaction !! )

esther's heels clicked softly against the polished floor of st. mungo's as she made her way through the corridor, her raven-black hair neatly braided and her green eyes sharp. a stack of parchments was clutched to her chest, the top sheet revealing complex potion formulas. as she rounded the corner, she nearly collided with another person. with practiced grace, she steadied herself, her free hand instinctively reaching for her wand before she caught herself.

"my apologies," she said, her voice cool and controlled. "i should have been more careful." her gaze swept over the individual, assessing them quickly.

She stayed until she saw the expression of horror on Charity's face. That made it oh so worth it. With satisfaction she thought that the blonde got what she deserved. Her high didn't last long as Charity followed her into the hallway, a crowd forming due to their argument. People couldn't help but be nosey. "You are trying to take what's mine! You're the used goods." She scoffed, shaking her head. "I am not desperate! He likes me! Not you!" The retourt came automatically, fully believing her own words. Never having been in a physical fight before she hadn't expected Charity to punch her, much less in the face. A scream of pain left her lips as her eyes started to well up with tears. "Salazar! What is wrong with you? You're crazy! You ruined my face!" Serra started to panic, barely seeing where she was walking due to the tears, trying to make her way to the hospital wing when she ran into a chest, the smell familiar. Malcolm. What was he doing here? He couldn't see her like this! Her voice whiny and barely comprehensible to due to the crying. "Don't look at me!"

She was very much used to being called names, insults didn't hit that hard these days for she'd learned that biting back was immensely more fun. Serra was the kind of person who believed herself to be above others, as though they were better just for the sake of it, and the witch had called her ugly many times, so when the new insults flowed from her lips, it did Charity no harm. It wasn't so until she looked up and saw her hair in the mirror, the last straw as she'd take no more mistreating on her part, not when she held the upper hand this time. The witch followed the other into the hallway, her voice loud for everyone to hear. "Wow, cheap, easy, desperate. Darling, are you sure you're not referring to yourself? Easy to get flustered, cheap enough to want used goods and desperate to go back to someone who's clearly not into you." She took a step further, grabbing Serra by the arm and forcing her to turn around and face her. "You're thinking he went for the ugly one, right? Let me help you then, become the ugly one instead." She mused, a smile flashing on her lips right in time as her fist came in touch with her nose, a nice strong blow.

A little slow on the uptake, Serra needed some time to process what was actually going on, stuck in the deluded fantasy that this couldn't possibly be happening right now. It couldn't be some bad joke as no one had that terrible of a sense of humor, but that left one option: Malcolm actually cheating on her. Why he would ever do that made no sense to her, she knew he liked her, showing her off proudly and showering her with attention. "It's complicated? It's complicated?!" Her voice grew louder, anger and frustration obvious. He didn't deny it. He called Charity crazy, yes, but he didn't call her a liar. That distinction was important to her. Her world turned upside down again, stuck in a nightmare version of the present. Her boyfriend cheated on her and then submitted her to public humiliation. "You were gonna tell me? When? After you slept with me too?" Tears built up in her eyes again. This was truly the worst day of her whole fifteen years of life. "We're done. I'm breaking up with you." Turning to Charity she didn't bother hiding the hatred in her eyes rolling her eyes when she talked about them deserving each other. She deserved better than this and she wasn't going to let him keep playing her for a fool. "Yeah I don't want him anymore. Have fun with my leftovers. I know that's why you wanted him in the first place. Can't be like me so you try taking what's mine. Well you got him. Congratulations."

Malcolm was drowning in a self-made hell. He focused on Serra, her nose clearly destroyed, while desperately trying to extricate himself from the chaos he'd ignited. Charity, a ghost from his disastrous final year, stood opposite. The engagement contract, a desperate, callus-forming grasp at a solution, had trapped him. He needed Serra to leave him, to buy time to dismantle that contract—time and resources he didn't have within these cursed castle walls. His solution, a twisted logic, had been to engineer a breakup, something more dramatic than a simple "it's over." He'd known Serra wouldn't accept the truth. So, he'd manipulated, leading him to a hidden alcove with Charity. He hadn't intended to sleep with her, that intimacy reserved for Serra. But things spiraled, and now, here he was.

He struggled to rein in his panic, to find some semblance of sense, but a blinding pain erupted in his jaw. "You're fucking crazy,-" he said, too distracted now by his own pain that his hand clutched at that he didn't even hear her at first. Shit. Malcolm was glaring over Serra at Charity, and the raw ache in Serra's tone softened his own anger. "It's-it's complicated-I was going to tell you-"

"Thank you. London certainly has seen better days now that I have returned." While the Nott name was one familiar to her, she did not spend much time with the other witch so Serra concluded her to hold no significant importance to herself. "Clearly you were the wrong person to talk to. My apologies."

Pandora was grabbing a few items needed for the shop that when she heard a voice talking, she turned to make sure it was her being talked to. "Welcome back?" She knew of Serra Borgin, younger than her, but not by too much. The witch had also heard about what happened with Alara Selwyn, but chose to stay out of it. It was not her business. "I don't know how you want me to answer that."

"Mr. Lestrange. It is an honor to have you here tonight." Her parents had instilled good manners into her at an early age, especially to those pureblood families they deemed worth it. The Lestrange family was an honorable one, an influential one. "Thank you, that is very kind of you." And true, obviously. She knew how good she looked. It was a fact. "Oh, that is quite lovely. Thank you." It would suit the powder blue dress she had gotten last week. "I am, very much so. What about you?"

Rabastan was indifferent to Serra. He barely knew the girl, and did not especially care to rectify that social distance. Still, he was here at her parents' invitation, so it was only polite to wish her a 'happy birthday'.

"Miss Borgin," he greeted, taking a moment to note her appearance. That dress certainly stood out. No doubt it had been her aim. He smiled, offering her a glass of champagne. "Happy birthday. You look very lovely. Alecto and I brought you a gift. We left it with your parents when we arrived." It was a small thing; an antique carryall, solid gold and decorated with pearls, containing a mirror, powder, comb, lipstick, etc. "Are you enjoying your evening?"

status: for @rsrevan, @miraxselwyn location: borgin manor

Serra was in an excellent mood tonight, tipsy on attention and gifts, as well as several glasses of champagne. It was her birthday and she'd been showered with presents left and right. Her parents were being particularly generous this year, which while she noticed she didn't comment on. Perhaps they wanted to make sure she didn't have any wayward plans of following into her idiotic cousin's footsteps. As if. A cautionary tale more so than a role model she'd always been to Serra. Floating around in her pink dress she smiled when she spotted a familiar face. "Welcome. Have you had the champagne yet? It is quite delicious."

"I care. I'd much rather receive a letter from an owl that looks well looked after, than some raggedy ugly one." She didn't see what seemed to hard for him to understand, it was completely logical to her. "First impressions carry a lot of weight Mr. Avery."

“Who the fuck would care what your owl looks like?” Clyde asked, baffled. Was everyone else really this vain, or was it just Serra? The Minister didn’t care what his owls looked like, but the Minister was also an idiot. Merlin did she actually have a point? “Wouldn’t the letter itself leave more of an impression?”

I dont ever have to make sense cause im cute

"That is good, I am glad to hear it." Serra said, without lying for the sake of politeness. She did not wish ill upon him, the ending of their liasion much more amicable than the one she had with Malcolm. "I have enjoyed Paris very much I must admit, I did not expect to have to be back in London so soon, but my parents insisted." She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. Defying them was not an option. Her eyes shined with excitement when she took in the diamond bracelet. It was gorgeous, more understated than expected but she understood his reasoning once he explained it. It made sense, that way she could wear it every day without it becoming stale.

"I like it. Thank you. You chose well. Did Leta help you with it or did you choose it yourself?" She trusted the other witch's taste.

Antonin’s brow furrowed as if recounting recent events.  He laughed.  “I have been busy, but well enough, I appreciate you asking, but know you’d much rather talk about your adventures.  Paris seems to have agreed with you.  I’m sure you didn’t come back just to celebrate your birthday, you must have something juicy to gossip about.”   He gave Serra a soft smile still toying with the small box almost tucking it away.  “I bet you were born with a sparkle in your eyes weren’t you?  A token.“  He relented, opening the box to show her a diamond bracelet.  The stones were a good size and cut enough to add to an outfit without drawing focus from it. “Something for every occasion. I’m sure you could pull off anything sparkly enough, but why give a gift whose only use is to fill a box.”