The new year had brought a lot of changes this year. One of them being an almost clean cut from the world her parents had brought her up in. By moving across town, by not having contact with them, by spending all her free time with Juda, Whitney had had a clean break from high society. No more events, fundraisers and parties. No more fancy dinners or callas. Actually she hadn’t worn anything fancy or high end in.. months. Which had resulted in a major fashion crisis when she had agreed to meet Elektra for coffee. Was she supposed to dress up? If she didn’t, wouldn’t that be awkward? Or raise a ton of questions? The only place Whitney found herself dressing up for, but in a great deal of moderation, was work. Her wardrobe had changed, and yet she had tried to add subtle accessories so that it would not be frowned upon. High heels or boots, some subtle and easy wearing jewelry. But the second she was off, she left Manhattan. She’d even started meeting her friends in Brooklyn, arguing that they didn’t know how great it was there. Well, unless they like Carmen or Jeb was already familiar with living over the bridge. After half an hour spent dragging out her entire bag, which hardly fit beneath the bed anymore, she decided that screw it, she would just put on a frilly dress and tights, to go with her brown leather boots, and it would be fine. Taking one of the busses uptown, Whitney felt rather content. No her life was not perfect, not free of complications, but of late t had been pretty great. Setting aside her cold war with her mother and worried though infrequent calls from her father, the newly turned twenty one year old was coming into her own. Starting to feel as if she knew who she was, where she was going, what life might have to offer. Unlike before she didn’t find herself scared and alone. She had plenty of people who supported her even if her parents wouldn’t, and who understood why she was making certain choices for herself. Having that, the understanding, the unyielding support, allowed her to grow and thrive, feel less incompetent, less like a weakness and a target. Jumping off the bus, she walked the last few blocks to the cafe, a light smile grazing her lips as her gaze fell on the familiar shape of Elektra. It was no surprise that she was excited and near chipper, as always. Hugging her friend back Whit smiled politely at the older woman. “Hi! Its nice to meet you Mrs Cassidy.” She shook her hand with a firm grasp, unable not to smile and give nod along as she of course knew her parents and was pleased to met the youngest Diamond in the bunch. The fact that there was little contact involved between parents and daughter was of course nothing that needed to be shared, and she simply played along as best she could, though it did demand she mind her manners and language a bit more carefully. It felt a tad unnatural to speak the way the upper class spoke about their families. Painting a rose red picture and bragging of the smallest of accomplishments. Not that Whitney was, or that Mrs Cassidy was asking her to, but that was usually how the conversation went. When it was time for Elektra’s mom to depart, she waved, her eyes then returning to her friend. «She’s such a sweetheart. And you talk like her, its like you guys are emulating one another. She seems really great Elektra, it was nice to finally meet her.» Whitney nodded a bit as she talked, her tone warm. Briefly her thoughts were turned to her own mother, and the hurt and frustration that kept brewing between them. She quickly shoved the feelings away though, not wanting to dwell on them. Not now. Returning to the living, Whit quickly glanced around them, her mind set on the task of finding a place immediately. “Uhm, I don’t really have any preferences you know but we could do Italian? Some pasta?” She suggested, her smile widening at Elektra’s admittance. When was she not up at 5 am? A small blush appeared automatically at the compliment and the insinuation. Whitney had no poker face, was very bad at any type of concealment, and Elektra was incredibly perceptive. Meaning there really was no use trying to hide or not disclose how she was doing. A part of her was actually pretty excited to tell. Yet she still had to be careful. Walls had ears. “Thank you, uhh its from this little thrift store in Brooklyn. I moved there around Christmas and its just been really good getting a change of scenery and being a bit on my own, away from the upper east side scene. So no, you’re not wrong. But you have to tell me how you’ve been too! How did christmas and New years go?”
Elektra’s mother was far from anonymous in the upper-class scene of the New York. Sure, people knew her father, and they knew the surname and the company that was named after it – but it wasn’t what made her mother who she was. A soft-spoken, graceful woman with a heart of gold, Celia started from scratch and built herself into the woman she was today, not once letting her husband’s name or family wealth affect who she was and how she was defined. Perhaps if it were anyone else, they wouldn’t have been able to handle the pressure the elitist world of New York’s finest put on anyone who wasn’t exactly like them – but Celia was the kind of woman whom even the most bitter members of society couldn’t really dislike, and she not once tried to hide her origin, but rather wore it gracefully as a proof that one didn’t have to be born in this world to be a part of it. Celia saw people, not family names or bank account numbers, and when she greeted Whitney she was greeting Elektra’s friend, regardless of what her surname happened to be, and Elektra wondered if that’s where everything she was today stemmed from – her mother’s empathy, her unrelenting desire to help and a fondness for people. “She is, isn’t she?”, Elektra said distractedly, eyes on the elegant black town car until it tuned corner and she finally looked at Whitney, “I do? Huh.” But the manner in which El voiced the thought could only mean that she was very much aware of it, and it was very much intentional, even though over the years it had become a habit. “Well, I shall take that as a compliment. I learned everything from her. I mean my father was a great man, very caring, and there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t have done for us. But when they first took me in I sort of stuck to her side all the time, especially the first few months – she has that warm aura about her that not even I can rationalise or explain. But I guess some things aren’t really explicable with cold hard science, no matter how empirical I love being.” It sounded innocent enough, this explanation, but El knew that it wasn’t just about a daughter worshipping her new mother – after she was rescued from that damned place, El was left without identity. She used to be a number in the system, irrelevant, disposable – but Celia was the one who gave her identity, told her she was irreplaceable, and this was the very foundation of her being – kindness, and love. Elektra moved to interlock her arm with Whitney’s and led her down the street in the vague direction of the restaurant she had in mind. It was a beautiful day, relatively warm and with winter sun pale and high up in the sky, “You know she’s a journalist, right? That’s what she was when she met my dad. When I was a kid, fourteen, fifteen maybe, I really wanted to pursue a career in journalism.”, a smile played in the corners of El’s lips, thoughtful and almost child-like – for a moment she could stop being Elektra the strategist or Elektra the CEO and just be a 26-year-old girl talking about silly childhood dreams, “At one point, I was in so many clubs I was forced to drop out of some – book club, drama club, school newspapers… But I figured after a while that journalism wasn’t really my thing, I liked fiction, and oh I loved Hellenic works, but I needed something that was challenging, you know? I feel like people are the only thing I’ve ever wanted to study.” It was easy talking to Whitney like this, and even when she was technically still in therapy, El would interrupt the sessions with little chit chats to put her at ease, let her know that her intentions were always to help, best she could, and that she was more than just a case file to her. “Italian it shall be. There is a Tuscany-esque restaurant just a block away – mom went there with her girlfriends just last week, she said it makes you feel like you’re there.”, she smirked then, nudging Whitney gently with her eyebrow raised teasingly, “And the wine’s amazing, though as far as I know, you’re not legal?” The blush that coloured Whitney’s cheek didn’t go unnoticed by Elektra, nothing ever did, but her only comment was a knowing smile as she innocently looked around at the shop windows of high-end stores they strolled by. “Well, even though my whole career revolves around making people feel less uncomfortable, I’m going to have to break the rule here to do my duty as a friend and ask if by any chance, that blush and that pretty new necklace might be connected with someone?” And even though El gave her a side look and her lips slanted slightly in a knowing smirk (because she was more than familiar with those kind of blushes), she was quick to pat Whit’s hand and reassure her, “Don’t worry, I’m only joking. I know how sweet it is to keep a veil of mystery around that sort of thing. But I do demand you take me to see that thrift store one day. I need some bohemian-looking pieces, the whole ‘clean-cut business’ thing is getting kind of repetitive and boring at this point.” They had been walking for a while, and Elektra steered Whitney around the corner where the tall glass doors stood that would lead them inside and into the little restaurant, rustically Italian but with a modern, elegant twist. “You know that’s quite a bombshell you dropped on me right there.”, Elektra huffed a little laugh, as she shrugged off the red raincoat she had been wearing and headed for the small, sweet table in the corner that was situated near a pastel-pink Vespa. “Oh god, I’ve always wanted one of these.”, her voice attained an excited, youthful note as she ran her fingers over the soft, worn leather of the seat and her eyes were almost dreamy when she looked back at Whitney, “Wouldn’t it be nice, to just go to Florence and live in a little apartment in the city centre and just admire beauty all day? Sorry. I interrupted you.”, she smiled apologetically, resuming her seat and arranging her hands on the table before she leaned in, an excited glint in her green eyes, “So. Upper East side just lost one of its prettiest girls, it’s taken a pretty big hit. But Brooklyn’s doing well. How’s it treating you? Where are you staying? I’ll tell you about my Christmas later, and an army of crazy European cousins, but I feel like I’ve fallen out of the loop with you in the past few months, and obviously you feel good – so it must be great. Do tell.”
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