Ophiuchus Black scoffed, looking at him with the same amount of distaste she held when Fernley challenged her to skull a cup of dirty dishwater. She looked him up and down before spitting out at him. "Try again tomorrow, bucko."
"I mean technically...
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CHAPTER 6; RESISTANCE TO FEAR - "You say you want your freedom, Well, who am I to keep you down?" - Dreams Fleetwood Mac -
The best part about Christmas was the way Ophiuchus was able to blend into the background, at least in her opinion that was the best way. Her complexion was so pale she could blend into the snow if need be. The Black family household was often full to the brim with people and family members. Some she'd met maybe twice in her entire life. It seemed to her that new distant relatives popped up every two months.
Yet here she was, in a stupid dress her mother forced her to wear on Christmas Eve. At least it was black. However, blending in was not working in her favour this year. Word must travel fast because every person who had stepped in the threshold attempted to make conversation with her that always looped back to 'fighting for the right side.'
They were only a mere couple hours into the event when she had decided she'd had enough. She ripped a thick coat off the rack next to the exit before trudging out into the night. It was quite ironic to her that her family claimed to hate muggles with every fiber of their being yet they were just about the only wizards where they lived.
Sighing, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself to provide the tiniest extra bit of warmth. The snow was falling gently which melted the second they touched her skin. They definitely did not help with the whole keeping warm factor. Just down the road, she noticed a warm yellow light coming from a shop. Deciding that anything was better than continuing to walk in the god-awful weather, she pushed open the door.
There were a couple of people inside the small place, holding what she assumed must be cups of tea. Up the front of the shop, there was a blackboard with a menu written on it. The mention of coffee, long blacks, flat whites, and americanos had her furrowing her brows. They must be some weird muggle thing that only muggles like, so she sat down at a table and when a waitress came to ask what she wanted she panicked and said a flat white because it was the first thing that sprang to her mind.
What an awful mistake that was. Comparable to Polyjuice Potion in Ophiuchus's opinion. A scowl as bitter as the coffee she just drank adorned her features and she decided not to touch it again. Huffing, she rested her head into her hand and scanned the quaint, empty store. There were two other people besides her. Of course, everyone would be at home with their families on Christmas Eve, everyone except her clearly.
In the centre of the table, there was a jar with a stupidly wide collection of teaspoons. Tipping the whole lot out, she studied the tops of them as they all seemed to hold a small image of somewhere around the world and the edges of the spoon held all sorts of intricate detail. Ophiuchus grabbed two and clanged them together, making her laugh the tiniest bit at the noise.
