“Powder Room” Architectural Digest 1977.

The piercing dichotomy of wanting to socialize and be part of society, while also wanting to disassociate yourself from people and all the chaos in the world.

lilyeliora​:

Lily watched Harper introduce herself to the various cats, and it reminded Lily of when she’d first gotten Chess. At barely 11, Lily had taken the whole affair very seriously. She’d visited the local shelter several times looking for, as she put it, her cat. It had been difficult, there had been several animals who tempted her, tiny sweet kittens and stately older cats, but none of them had felt just right. She still remembered the day she’d met Chess. He’d been a newborn kitten, mewling with his eyes still closed. Abandoned by his mother, the shelter’s owner had said, he’d need someone special to take care of him, and Lily had just known. Of course, now she knew that she’d gotten lucky, that Chess had grown up into the perfect cat for her, but she still believed in that knowing.

While Harper was talking to the shopkeeper, Lily looked over the cats Harper had already checked out. The “highly energetic though a little possessive” tag made her chuckle, because it reminded her of Chess. The tabby with white paws was a handsome fellow, but Lily wasn’t surprised Harper had passed on “calm and independent.” She couldn’t keep herself from attempting to get his attention, holding out her hand and clicking her tongue. She prided herself on being something of a cat whisperer, and after a few moments he rewarded her with a cursory sniff of her hand. She scratched his chin and then left him be. Her hopes rose as Harper seemed to connect with a small grey cat, only to be dashed by the shopkeeper’s words.

Lily would never consider herself someone who was good at reading people, but she was. More accurately, she had a sort of instinctive understanding of people’s emotional needs, so when Harper walked away, Lily didn’t follow. She gave the woman a few moments to collect herself and waited patiently for her to return. While she was waiting, Lily checked the labels of the other cats to see if there was another one similar to the small grey cat in personality. When Harper came back, Lily smiled encouragingly. “So we know now that you want a friendly and affectionate cat, that’s a step in the right direction. I looked at a few of the labels, I think you should introduce yourself to her next.” Lily pointed to a cat with bright eyes whose label read, “sweet and clever.”

-

Standing in the midst of the cat supplies, the variety of the offerings impressed Harper; it was like there was something for each cat. That means there’s a cat for you, she told herself, but manage your expectations the voice in her head nagged.

She soon returned to Lily and the cats, ready to jump back in. She was going to find the cat that was right for her. Maybe it would be today— she hoped it would be— but she wasn’t going to force it if it didn’t feel right.

Harper tilted her head slightly at Lily; “Thank you” she replied, hoping to convey how touched she was that the young woman had continued looking while she took a moment to recompose herself. Her gaze followed Lily’s outstretched hand until she was met with beautiful blue eyes blinking back at her.

With butterflies of anticipation, she made her way towards the cage; second row from the bottom, second to last column on the right. She saw the label that Lily had indicated, “sweet and clever.”

“Hi there” Harper found herself cooing to the cat as she reached out a hand for her to sniff, “You’re such a pretty kitty!” She didn’t know much about cat breeds, but this cat appeared to be some sort of siamese-balinese type mix; fur that was mainly whitish cream colored, with bluish-grey points and tabby markings on her head, legs, and tail.

The butterflies in her stomach intensified and the voice inside her head returned. Don’t get attached, it chanted like a mantra. But as the cat sniffed and then nuzzled forehead first into her hand, Harper couldn’t help but crack a smile, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Slowly withdrawing her hand and starting to turn back to Lily, her head whipped back around when she felt a tap on her hand. Sure enough, a single paw rested on her hand, and the cat let out a cheerful meow.

Returning her hand to its position just inside the cage, Harper turned her head over her shoulder to Lily, and motioned her over with her free hand.

“I think she likes me?!” she half-asked, half-stated, voice full of cautious optimism.

gretchen-whoisleft​:

always a bridesmaid // gretchen and harper

Gretchen stood perched on a platform in the center of London’s Gladrags Wizardwear storefront, but neither the many mirrors propped up around the room—best to see every angle with, trifolds of glass catching the fading afternoon light outside and bouncing it around the room—nor the glass of complimentary champagne in her hand could distract her from pouting. 

In almost twenty-three years of life, she’d had her fair share of setbacks and well-justified tantrums. There was a lot to be said, too, for this ‘not being the end of the world’ and ‘not holding a candle to the war, which was far more important and was more deserving of her time.’ 

But even as a young adult and—in her estimation—a war hero in the making, Gretchen could not make peace with the fact that her mother was remarrying. 

The sting was not helped by the bridesmaid dress she was currently trying on for size, stuck with pins and clips and an uncomfortable, borrowed pair of shoes—to get a sense of how the material would drape, if it had been made out of a material nice enough to do any draping at all—and feeling ugly in a way that Gretchen Ollivander never did, and only a supremely cursed, outdated dress could inspire. 

The beleaguered tailor had realized that the only way to get Gretchen to stand still through the already-overlong fitting was to ply her with more free champagne than the shop’s policy typically allowed. Assuming they were the only two in the store, Gretchen called out to her, frowning and trying to nudge her cleavage into something that even bordered on visible. 

“I know it needs to be tasteful because it’s a wedding and all, but are you sure we can’t take some more material out of the chest?” she asked – voice carrying, encouraged by the champagne. “And I do still think it would look better in white. The bride shouldn’t get to claim it for this one; she already has three children, nobody has any misconceptions about her history.” 

-

Harper had only been in Gladrags for a few minutes, keeping her head down as she browsed, looking to see if anything new had arrived in the past few days since she’d last been in, while she waited for the tailor to be ready for her. She’d planned on entering the shop with a witty remark to the woman about her favorite— or at least, her most frequent— customer arriving. But as Harper moved to open the door, she caught a glimpse of a pout, mostly shrouded in blonde hair and a ton of dress material, and promptly decided to enter as unnoticed as possible. Whatever was going on, she knew it was best to keep her intrigue from being too obvious. Luckily, the blonde woman was far too caught up in her own misery (and champagne) to notice.

When she heard the woman’s voice call out to the tailor, however, Harper’s head snapped up and she abandoned her previous strategy, instead walking towards the room’s central platform. “Gretchen Ollivander, as I live and breathe” she started, breaking into a smile, “It’s been far too long since I’ve heard from you.”

For a moment, Harper wanted to reach out and hug Gretchen, internally very taken aback by the thought crossing her mind. She thought, with a pang, that maybe it was a sign of just how isolated she was, but quickly banished that train of thought from her mind.

Piecing together the situation she continued on, responding to Grechen’s remark to the tailor, “But no, you cannot wear white to your mother’s wedding, even though it would be, um… a small step in the right direction for this dress”

Both of the young women laughed and Gretchen lifted her hand holding the champagne flute, toasting to the sentiment. “So, when’s this wedding?” Harper asked, settling herself into a chair off to the side of the tri-folded mirrors.

Aesthetic - Cancer Sun, Capricorn Moon, Virgo rising. 

Tennis Court- Lorde

safiyeece​:

closed starter for harper baddock

There were not many people in the world that Safiye trusted, even conditionally. It was a rare occasion to see her let her guard down, if not completely, but when it did happen, it was almost always in the company of Harper Baddock. Harper and safiye had orbited the same sun of High Society all their lives. When they both made it to Hogwarts, and Safiye was a little more removed from her parents’ influence, they’d given into the gravity of their worlds and become friends. It was an odd sort of friendship, where neither woman trusted the other implicitly yet both trusted the other more than anyone else, but it suited Safiye just fine.

So tonight found her in one of the many lavish suites in one of Harper’s many lavish hotels, one or two glasses of wine further in than she might have been in different company. It had been a near unbearable day where Safiye had entertained not one but two potential suitors, truly ambitious on her mother’s part, followed by a very long charity board meeting Rohesia had insisted Safiye attend in her stead. Following such a day Safiye found herself even more fascinated by the idea of Harper’s job than usual. “Tell me about work, what did you do today?”

@the-harperbaddock​

-

Harper, like Safiye, wasn’t one to trust others. Maybe that’s one of the reasons they got along so well-- this was just one of the ways they understood each other. Despite the fact that they both kept their secrets and played their cards close to their chests, they were each other’s biggest confidant. Maybe, Harper had once mused to herself, it’s not despite the fact, but because of it. Because we both know we have secrets, and we care about and respect each other enough not to pry. 

The two girls had danced around each other in their circles of higher society until their worlds finally collided at Hogwarts. They met early on, after getting a rare poor grade on a herbology assignment. Both girls ended up in the bathroom attempting to regain their composure. They commiserated over a shared dislike for getting their hands dirty with plants, over the absurdity of receiving a low mark in herbology— of all classes— and made plans to study together going forward. Soon after, they discovered a host of other commonalities they had to bond over.

Over seven years of friendship led them to their current position; lounging around one of the luxury suites at one of Harper’s hotels, almost through their second bottle of wine. Safiye told Harper of the two potential suitors she met today, and the young women all but staged a dramatic reenactment; roasting the men with mocking voices and over-exaggerated hand gestures while dissolving into fits of laughter.

When Safiye asked Harper about her day, Harper quirked her mouth in thought, before curling her lips into a smirk and describing the encounter she had at the front desk of this very hotel a few hours earlier. 

She was in the back, when an attendant came and informed her that there was a woman insisting that she “must talk to whoever is in charge right this minute, about a very pressing matter,” The pressing matter, it turned out, was said woman’s commentary on the lobby’s current floral arrangements. “I am not a fan of these spring-toned hues,” Harper recounted, imitating the woman’s grating, high-pitched, and nasally voice, “Winter colors are far better suited to my complexion” To Safiye’s amusement, Harper continued on with her voices, giving the (abbreviated) version of the half an hour long back and forth that went on between herself and the woman, where the former attempted to reason with and explain to the latter that it was June— not traditionally a time for winter hues. “But here’s the kicker” she said to Safiye, pausing for effect, “I asked for her room number to send a complementary high tea tray, AND SHE TELLS ME SHE ISN’T EVEN STAYING HERE, JUST WALKING THROUGH.” With this conclusion, Harper dramatically collapsed onto the bed, throwing her head into her hands.

“So,” Harper continued, as she poured both girls more wine, “was the charity meeting you were-” she cleared her throat knowingly, “so kind to grace with your presence any type of productive, or was it the usual shit?”