iinkheart:
The Parkinsons conducted business as they did anything: well. Pansy personally preferred her methods cutthroat and ruthless, taking what was needed and leaving her charismatic mother to smooth over the edges. It may have been a tad graceless, maybe – nobody got anywhere without getting their hands a little dirty, after all – but it worked. And it was thrilling. Above all, it was the thrill that had pulled Pansy Parkinson into the profession. The adrenaline that came with a race to the finish, the supreme satisfaction of closing a hard deal, and the sweet gratification of defeating a worthy opponent ― that was what made it exciting. And Pansy Parkinson lived for the excitement.
And the Greengrass family was perfect at providing it. Their business ethic defined them as worthy opponents; fierce, unrelenting and fearless. For Pansy, it was an equal pleasure to both interact with and defeat them. She could even stomach suffering defeat every once in a while, for while Pansy Parkinson would never be a loser, at least losing to a Greengrass was no insult. They were evenly matched, a satisfying competitor. They did not disappoint.
Meeting with Astoria Greengrass had its own uncertain charm, of course. She was definitely no Daphne. It was not that Pansy didn’t enjoy the company of her bright, outspoken friend, but the younger Greengrass sister carried a trait that Pansy couldn’t help but admire: subtlety. Oh, she was as sharp as the admirably symmetrical wings of her eyeliner; there was no doubt at all of that. But Astoria Greengrass was sharp the way lightning was sharp: the aftermath of her striking down your house was nothing short of a destructive clean sweep, the devastation clear to see and followed by the sonic boom of thunder, yet you never really saw her coming until she crackled across your horizon.
It was this that made Astoria in particular a truly worthy opponent. From the perfectly lined lines on that lipstick ( it may have been Yves Saint Laurent, for Pansy had a similar colour and it looked beautiful painting the woman’s mouth scarlet ) to the very toes of her pristine high heels ( and the perfect sleek curves that bridged the inches between the two ), Astoria Greengrass was a force to be reckoned with, one that Pansy enjoyed immensely. She matched well with Pansy’s own cutthroat sentimentalities; a woman who was beautiful and dangerous all at once.
She would never admit to something as trite as a faint pulse stuttering into motion at the exchange, but Pansy could not deny that the sweet, ominous smile that Greengrass flashed her carried a dangerous thread that appealed to her. Her own answering expression was just as pointed, a smile both softly amused and astutely sharp.
“As do you, darling. That ensemble is positively gorgeous. Have a seat.” Retaking her seat and pointedly crossing long, bronzed legs, Pansy passed her companion the proffered wine before flipping her menu open and sipping on hers. Her attention remained rapt on her companion, but the woman concealed it behind lazy perusal of the menu: a strategic tactic. “Of course, the loss was a disappointment, certainly, but you know us. Nothing gets us down for much. How is your darling mother, by the way? It seems ages since we’ve met last for afternoon tea.”
It amused Astoria, sometimes, to wonder about how others perceived the two women. Exquisitely dressed with not a hair out of place nor a single smudge on their war paint, the women were certainly turning heads ( for their designer red lipstick and sharp as a blade winged eyeliner could be described as nothing but battle armour -- their sword and shield, the restaurant their battlefield. ) Astoria wondered, did they notice the undercurrent of their exchange, the sharp electricity turning social niceties into hidden barbs? Did they pick up on the pretences and ponder why, or assume the women dressed to the nines drinking expensive wine at a fancy restaurant were just that -- two women on a date, dressed to the nines drinking expensive wine at a fancy restaurant? Perhaps they noticed the subtle way Astoria’s gaze flickered to Pansy’s distractingly long legs as she took her seat, or maybe they noticed nothing at all. People watching was a hobby easily indulged by her line of work; a perk she never failed to take advantage of.
As she was doing right now.
Lifting her gaze from Pansy’s all too bronzed legs and the curve of her ankles in heels Astoria knew could bring grown men to their knees, Astoria focused her attention on the menu in her hands. Pansy was doing the same, though both women knew that neither was truly studying the menu. From the angle in which she was sitting, it was easy to watch Pansy out of her periphery. To be obvious about their true attention would go against the unspoken rules of decorum that dictated their world as rivals. Being rivals with Pansy Parkinson was like being locked in a game of cat and mouse, except they were both cats circling the same mouse, round and round until one of them faltered. Astoria had one the last round, but victories were never final and Astoria couldn’t afford to lower her guard.
It was what made having Pansy Parkinson, and indeed her family in general, so gratifying to have as a rival. A mind is like a sword, it needs a whetstone in order to keep it sharp. Pansy was that whetstone. Every encounter with Pansy had Astoria dancing on her toes, pushing her to be better, brighter and more. Astoria was good, maybe one would even go so far as to call her great. In another world, that might have been enough. But not in this world. It was part of the challenge Astoria loved so much, and she knew the feeling was mutual.
“You’re too kind,” Astoria replied with a gracious smile, smoothing down the trousers of her dark blue pantsuit that cut off just above her ankles. She’d worn it especially. “I’ve always thought blue was my colour, don’t you agree?” Putting down her menu, Astoria followed her companion’s example and brought her glass of wine to her lips, taking a cultured sip before giving Pansy a conciliatory smile. “Naturally. I’d expect nothing less from a Parkinson, you, no less, with your reputation. Ah, Mother. Pouring herself congratulatory champagne, as per usual. She would love to have you both over -- it has been far too long, and she does adore entertaining especially for you. Does Tuesday work for you? I’m sure Daphne is dying to see you.”












