Riley Mauven
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- OOC First Name
- Britt
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- Hornbeam, 12 ¼", Puffskein Fur.
Sitting in the bathtub of her New York apartment it seemed that Riley continued to sink to new lows each day. Eight years had passed since the tragic death of her daughter but still the pain was unbearable to push through sober, so the twenty seven year old had taken to drinking during the day, and the night, nearly all of the time really. In one foul swoop Riley had lost her baby, her boyfriend, and her dream job as a professional quidditch chaser, and that was a wound that wasn't going to heal any time soon. With the years that had passed Riley had also lost Will's apartment, being forced to move out when her ex boyfriend finally decided to sell his home in Paris and move on for good. Luckily she had her experience as a reporter in school and her completed internship to fall back on, finding a job as a reporter for the Daily Prophet had been paying her bills for the last seven years, but she wasn't sure for how much longer the way she was going. To say the young woman lacked job satisfaction and enthusiasm was an understatement, she was sick of schmoozing with clients and running repetitive by lines on quidditch games and prison sentences, which was what made alcohol so appealing. Not only did it numb the pain of her losses but it had also become necessary to consume before she could even make it out of the house. Still frail and unhealthy, Riley leant back into the tub and took a swig from a bottle of red wine to wash down the Chinese takeaways she'd ordered for dinner. Tonight she was expected to interview another quidditch player, run of the mill stuff as a sports reporter, but this promised to be more painful than the rest as she was to speak with a player from the Holyhead Harpies, the team she was dropped from after Beth's death and the decline in her health. Riley was to meet the seeker at the bar down the road, the fact of which had not stopped her from a pre drink, or two. The twenty seven year old no longer felt any shame as she finished the last drop in her bottle of wine and rose from the bath, pushing her small frame up with her hands then tying her hair up into a loose bun. The woman, Stella if she remembered correctly, was everything Riley had hoped - and expected - to be. Young, beautiful, and a key player for the quidditch team it was unsurprising Riley was feeling a little down about the interview. But she pushed on and tried to step delicately out of the tub, only to stumble and instinctively throw her hands out for balance. A lock of hair fell in front of her eyes and Riley reached for a towel, wrapping it around herself and following her nose towards the bedroom. Turning on some music the blonde began to twist and turn her body along with it, running her fingers along the makeup scattered across her vanity before settling on a red lipstick and leaning into the mirror to apply it to her puckered lips.
Once dressed Riley let her damp hair fall to her shoulders and grabbed her keys, she was already late and her reputation at work still on rocky ground. Jogging in heels proved difficult, but she pressed on, arriving at the bar ten minutes late with the wine she'd washed dinner down with beginning to go to her head. Scanning the tables she spotted a lone brunette that matched Stella's description and quickly seated herself at the table, "I'm here!" she announced a little too loudly, remembering she'd forgotten a pad of paper, so quickly turning to a napkin. "Stella, right? I'm Riley" she said, thrusting her hand forward and violently shaking the brunettes hand. "Boy do I need a drink, right? Riley asked, throwing her hand into the air, "Bartender!" she called before asking Stella, "What are you drinking?" completely forgetting she was probably staying sober for the pending quidditch match that the interview was set up for in the first place. Not noticing just how loud she was becoming, or how drunk, Riley ordered two drinks and began chatting to the young woman, pushing thoughts of her sporting career and daughter well to the back of her mind which was now spinning, along with the room. Riley's career as a reporter was already in tatters, she hadn't published a breakthrough story in almost a year and without the passion to seek one out it seemed it wouldn't happen again and as soon as her boss heard how tonights interview had gone she doubted she'd even have a job by morning. She was in desperate need of saving, not only from embarrassment but from herself, but instead of seeking a knight in shining armour she found herself returning to her old habits and scanning the bar for an older man, the kind who kept her company every night of the week. It had been the very reason she'd set up the interview in an upmarket bar, experienced in picking up older men she had learnt quickly where they frequented and what they drank. Afraid of going home alone for years now Riley had drifted from boyfriend to boyfriend, all far older than her and most married. There was something about the near strangers that made her felt safe, she knew any psychologist would tell her her fathers abandonment had created a complex for her, but she'd only admit it was pure and simple, she was lonely and couldn't make rent without them. But so far tonight she'd had no luck, and the thought of going home alone drove her to down the last of her beer, slamming it down onto the table, "Another!" she called, raising her hand and knocking her keys to the ground. She was determined to stay on a high, no matter the cost.
Once dressed Riley let her damp hair fall to her shoulders and grabbed her keys, she was already late and her reputation at work still on rocky ground. Jogging in heels proved difficult, but she pressed on, arriving at the bar ten minutes late with the wine she'd washed dinner down with beginning to go to her head. Scanning the tables she spotted a lone brunette that matched Stella's description and quickly seated herself at the table, "I'm here!" she announced a little too loudly, remembering she'd forgotten a pad of paper, so quickly turning to a napkin. "Stella, right? I'm Riley" she said, thrusting her hand forward and violently shaking the brunettes hand. "Boy do I need a drink, right? Riley asked, throwing her hand into the air, "Bartender!" she called before asking Stella, "What are you drinking?" completely forgetting she was probably staying sober for the pending quidditch match that the interview was set up for in the first place. Not noticing just how loud she was becoming, or how drunk, Riley ordered two drinks and began chatting to the young woman, pushing thoughts of her sporting career and daughter well to the back of her mind which was now spinning, along with the room. Riley's career as a reporter was already in tatters, she hadn't published a breakthrough story in almost a year and without the passion to seek one out it seemed it wouldn't happen again and as soon as her boss heard how tonights interview had gone she doubted she'd even have a job by morning. She was in desperate need of saving, not only from embarrassment but from herself, but instead of seeking a knight in shining armour she found herself returning to her old habits and scanning the bar for an older man, the kind who kept her company every night of the week. It had been the very reason she'd set up the interview in an upmarket bar, experienced in picking up older men she had learnt quickly where they frequented and what they drank. Afraid of going home alone for years now Riley had drifted from boyfriend to boyfriend, all far older than her and most married. There was something about the near strangers that made her felt safe, she knew any psychologist would tell her her fathers abandonment had created a complex for her, but she'd only admit it was pure and simple, she was lonely and couldn't make rent without them. But so far tonight she'd had no luck, and the thought of going home alone drove her to down the last of her beer, slamming it down onto the table, "Another!" she called, raising her hand and knocking her keys to the ground. She was determined to stay on a high, no matter the cost.