𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 orion black dies of a
blood curse and scared for her
status in a world of death eaters,
walburga black insists her son joins
her for a holiday away.
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── IN WHICH ARRANGEMENTS ARE MADE
. . .
MELINA DIDN'T REALLY REMEMBER what had happened the night before. Or at least Regulus believed she didn't, because she gave no indictation she held any recollection of bumping into him in the dead of night before stumbling up to her own room and crashing, hoping to sleep off the alcohol running through her veins. However, it was apparent that whilst she might not remember her encounter with Regulus, she certainly was aware of how much she had drunk.
Because she was currently sat at the breakfast table, curled up on the chair with her knees pulled tight to her chest, something of a sweater thrown over what was clearly her dress from last night and had a pair of sunglasses reflecting the dishes before her in the lenses. Her mother, however, knew all too well about the stumbling into the house at an unmentionable hour and had woken her quite early.
Her mother was mumbling comments to her. Something about 'never again'... or 'at the very least, not when we have guests', and about picking up fresh pastries and helping her with breakfast. Melina seemed indifferent to Odette's demands, a bite of fette biscottate dipped in coffee following.
She grinned at him when Walburga urged him to eat some of the fruit from the platter before him, watched as her father came to the table smelling of cigarettes and listened to her mother berate him for it - apparently, the postman had been smoking when the man picked up his paper - and she held up her fork every time her mother passed so as to convince someone else to eat her apricots.
Much to Walburga's distaste, and much to Regulus's surprise (as he often found himself unable to perform such a task on the morning ensuing a night of drinking), Melina had brought a book to breakfast. Curiously, as Regulus found himself watching the girl sat across from him quite often, she often took out a short pencil from behind her ear and made notes in the margin. Of what, he didn't know as it was particularly hard for him to read Italian upside down, but as he watched her, he found himself most invested in her routine.
First, a sip of her juice - it was, after all, something to replenish her shot nerves. Then, coffee-dipped rusk, a habit she had clearly picked up from her father who was doing the same several seats down. Once or twice, she then used the disguise of her sunglasses to look around the table before slipping a precious few drops of alcohol from a flask into her hot drink and sipping that - it was something of a hangover cure, no matter how incompatible it may seem. She finished the routine was a scribble of a few notes and a bite of fruit.
When he had finished, as had Walburga, she stood up instantly to excuse herself before coming back to help with the plates. He watched, as he was most interested, as she disappeared around the corner whilst pulling something out of the top of her jumper; yet another remedy to no doubt solve her headache. She then returned, when the owner of the house had placed her hand over her son's chest to ensure he remained at the table as it was cleared, and aided her parents in tidying up.
