@nottheoretical
mungo’s fundraiser, ministry’s atrium
Cho has never done many drastic things in life. She’s always been straight-laced, a stickler for rules and protocols. Never been one for grand ideas and grand gestures and grandiosity. She has ambitions, sure, but her ambitions are personal and carefully curated and approved by her parents and family and close friends. It isn’t in her blood to leave jobs. Especially not one as cushy and secure as a Healer position at Mungo’s. Let alone leave it for a flurry of uncertainty like job-hopping and gigs. Let alone to work at Theodore Nott’s apothecary where she has just inflicted property damage on her first day.
She shudders, thinking back to the layer of cold, hard-as-metal, scorched potion spill now covering the walls of the brewing room that she has only managed to scrap half off of. And Miles Bletchley’s loud, high-pitched laughter when he saw the potion blast. He knew she’s no good at magical plants with no healing properties and yet he asked her to help him throw in an ingredient into a potion he was brewing because he was busy, not specificing what it looks like.
All in all, her first day was a disaster.
The fact that she has to attend the fundraiser of her former employer after that? Just brutal.
Also the fact that her current employer is also here, at the fundraiser? And she can see him just a few metres away from the fountain? Fate is really throwing her the shorter end of the stick here.
Cho sighs and puts her hands together in prayer, resolving to get everything over with now instead of later when Bletchley ultimately rats her out to Theodore Nott and fires her. So she saunters over to where Theodore Nott is standing.
“Theodore Nott,” she greets him, unsure of what to call him or how to address him, “Nott? Mr. Nott? How should I address you again?” She shrugs, “Lovely to see you here. Supporting a cause.” She gestures vaguely to the fountain, its water gleaming gold from the Galleons thrown in. She makes a mental note to throw some in herself. Everyone knows Mungo’s badly needs it.
“Say, has Bletchley sent you an Owl in the last hour?” she asks him, slightly cautiously, remorsefully, “About what happened at apothecary today?”