Society Girl (An Alastor x African-American Reader)

Dressed In Your Weekday Stress

"Whew, all done..." You said, stretching your arms above your head with your aching fingers locked together, sighing in relief as the tension of your muscles slowly left your body before you slumped in your chair and turned your gaze towards the clock that read 12:00pm.

A grateful smile bloomed on your face. 12:00pm was the beginning of your half an hour lunch break and since you had to hurry-scurry out of the house to make it to work on time, you were practically starving. As good as work coffee was at your job, it could never replace the beautiful substance that was food.

Lucky for you, it wouldn't be that far of a walk to obtain it either.

A childhood friend of yours named Tiana worked at a little cafe about five minutes down the street. She made and served the best beignets your taste buds had ever been blessed with, not to mention it did her some good to have someone to talk to while she worked. 

Usually, you would pack your own lunch with leftovers from whatever you had cooked from the night before, or with a sandwich and some type of fruit. You didn't eat out to many places, either because you couldn't afford it or because you figured you could save the money for something more important, but you never hesitated going down to Tiana's place.

Or leaving an extra tip for her.

With a nod of your head in personal confirmation, you scooped up your finished papers and delivered them to your boss, you asked if you could take your break while you were there and he allowed it.

Your black polished heels 'clicked' and 'clacked' against the pavement, as the Spring breeze played with your skirts. You became lost in thought as you made the slow travel to the cafe.

New Orleans may not have been the only home you ever knew, but it sure was the most lively. Everything was always moving, never sleeping or staying still for too long as people traveled from place to place. It was always fascinating to you how different your part of town and other people's part of town was so different.

Being raised in the Vieux Carré, or French Quarter, most of your life, had a big impact on your childhood. Since your family were immigrants to the state, it took a while for all of you to adapt to such differences. The French Quarter consisted of a ghetto-like working class that were the slums of Louisiana, and most inhabitants there spoke French just as much as English.

Both of your parents had difficulty learning it, but your mother was the first to catch on. She learned by listening carefully to the conversations that her Madam's would have while she washed clothes or polished the floors. It took her months to firmly grasp it and she almost gave up on it at one point, but her stubbornness wouldn't allow it. It took her months of mumbling to herself, constant repetition, and alot of mistakes until, soon enough, she could speak just as fluently as her Madam's could, and did her best to teach you and your daddy how to speak it properly as well. 

Eventually you two did learn, your father being better at it than you while you spoke it in broken sentences. It was far from perfect, but it was enough for you to ask basic questions and get around.

Downriver from the French Quarters, lived the working-class whites. These members were mostly men who worked in the porting business and handled the important products like sugar and of course cotton. 

Lastly, the social elites lived in the large homes on St. Charles and in the Garden District. This was around the place where you and your mother worked. It paid just a bit more than working in the colored mills and was definitely safer for you two as well. Lord knows you would rather know your Mama was safe polishing ball room floors on towels rather than to be putting herself in danger trying to work on those death machines they call mills.