@mericmulciber !
date: early spring of 1979 location: the black family manor
it’s an art form, the way andromeda flits and flutters about with well-mannered grace in a room filled to the brim with the very same people she would rather not associate with. appearances are everything, however -- this was a lesson ingrained in her from a young age, taught to perfect a fake smile and present herself with polite decorum regardless of the thoughts and feelings brewing beneath the surface. so she does just that, making rounds through the guests ( criminals, miscreants, deatheaters -- the kind of company her family hailed as honourable and respectable, the kind of company that made disgust sink her stomach and held her down like a ball and chain ) when she would much rather be anywhere else but in the thick of the party.
a glass of champagne is held between deft fingers as she takes carefully placed steps through the ballroom, sipping every so often in a vague attempt to mellow her spirit and to keep her skin from crawling even more than it already did.
figure approaches in time for her to halfway drain her glass, a brow raised upon recognition of who it is -- mulciber, whom she knows only by extension of dearest bella. “ i do believe you’ve come upon the wrong sister, ” soft chuckle tumbles from equally soft lips, contrast to the tongue-in-cheek comments to bracket it, “ and in any event you might ask, no, i am not aware of bella’s whereabouts. ”