Unmannerly

[Samuel Phillips]

Sam rarely felt the urge to travel these days. Fully content with his home in France, the thought of leaving never crossed his mind any more. His home was all his, a private little corner of the world close to the people he loved. It was a place he felt entirely comfortable being himself. He seldom received invites to parties outside of France, so when he got an invitation to brunch in London he couldn't refuse. Leaving was a queer thought indeed, and despite every urge he had to stay home this was an opportunity he could not pass up. He always thought these parties were pointless. They were so dull, full of small talking pretentious men that had nothing better to besides talk about themselves over champagne. Albeit he was one of them, at least he was aware how pretentious he could be. Everyone else in the room seemed to turn a blind eye to it all. From the beginning he knew what he was getting into when he wanted to be a professional artist, and parties like these caused him to regret the decision entirely. Before art was his career it was first and foremost his hobby. He only chose to make a career out of it because he failed to see himself doing anything else. Art was a passion of his that would never change, and it would always be a means for him to express himself. The only thing that had changed about art was the process of everything. Lately he had been making art not out of inspiration, but instead out of obligation. It was the business side of things that affected it so much.

He left the party verging on noon, excusing himself to find a cafe so he didn't stay a minute longer than he needed to. If he gritted his teeth any longer he was sure his brain would implode. They were the most elitist, exclusive group of people he had ever met and he hated having to waste his time tolerating them. He knew if it weren't for their little group he would still be a 'starving artist', but that failed to convince him it was all worth it. Many others would kill to be invited in his place, and at this point he was happy to let them take it. Dealing with those people alone was enough to turn his hair grey. By now he desperately needed a cup of coffee. Noon hadn't even passed and he felt exhausted, like those people had sucked the life out of him. He was usually so finicky when choosing a cafe, however today he made an exception. In a careless huff he darted into the first place he saw, slightly surprised at how empty it was this time of day. Assuming the place would be packed in a few minutes, he quickly made his way towards the counter and ordered. After spending the past few hours around other people's egos he just wanted to get this over with and apparate back home.

He eventually noticed the scarf draped on the counter and cringed. As if neon green and pink weren't terrible enough alone, they had to be combined with a print too? On any regular day he would have ignored the hideous thing and gone on his merry way. Today however, his sense of entitlement got the better of him. He felt like it was his duty to call out this abomination, never mind how rude it would be. With a quick scan of the room he found the girl immediately and approached her table, coffee in one hand and scarf in the other. "Ya'll need jesus." He tossed the scarf in front of her. "That thing belongs to the devil." He didn't know much about the magical part of London, so he naturally assumed she was muggle and knew what he was talking about. He sat down across from her, taking every liberty to help her realise the bad fashion choices she was making. He was fully aware how rude he was acting towards someone he barely knew, but he was in a bad mood and didn't really care. Being polite wasn't on his list of priorities right now.

ooc: so rusty. i'm sorry.​

 

[Clementine Mitchell]

Clementine Mitchell lived with her Grandmother. A woman completely devoid of any sort of compassion in any form, especially the kind of compassion one would expect for ones grandchild. However after the amount of time she had spent there, Clementine was more then prepared for the rude and cruel things her Grandmother came out with. Melinda was spiteful, hateful, hurtful and a whole bunch of other things, that made her a terrible person to have to deal with at any one point in time. However, Clementine still loved her Grandmother even with all she had been put through. To be honest, Clementine tried to spend as much time as was possible away from her Grandmother, she spent a lot of time with her service so that she could escape the woman and stay somewhere where she wasn't being ridiculed ever five minutes or having to listen to her Grandmother telling her what a terrible man her father was. Not only did she not believe it, she knew it was ridiculous as she was always sure her Grandmother was warped when it came to her father. Clementine was a muggleborn, and this angered her Grandmother because she despised anything she considered to not be normal, and simply blamed her father for the magic. However Clementine has studied her family history and she is now almost entirely certain that it was the culmination of the two family lines together that produced her magic, otherwise why would she suddenly be the one to have magic and not her mother or even her Grandmother? It just made more sense to her that her reasoning was true.

In an attempt to get into her Grandmother's good books, Clementine had spent four years of her life after graduating from Hogwarts in University studying a business management degree, except she had never actually gone to seek a job in that area once her Grandmother still refused to accept her. She wasn't sure what else she was supposed to do to get the woman to accept her. Instead, Clementine decided that she didn't want to go home straight after her job was finished. It was just after noon and she had just finished a four hour stint watching the children of a hard working family. The mother had gotten off of work early and sent Clementine home, though she had agreed to pay Clementine the full amount they had agreed on. This made her happy as she didn't earn much anyway and because her Grandmother had effectively cut off her inheritance, she had to find some way of supporting herself. A small cafe was in her sights today as she walked down the street, texting her Grandmother that she would not be home for several more hours. Better yet, she told the woman that she had been asked to stay for some overtime. Her Grandmother had no idea of her finances anyway so she wasn't likely to know if she was getting paid more or less then she was supposed to at any given time anyway; it was basically foolproof.

Clementine walked up to the counter of her favourite cafe and ordered and herbal tea. She wasn't a coffee drinker really and in fact she basically hated the smell. Melinda drank tea as well and it was one of the only things that she and Clementine seemed to have in common at all. As much as it upset Clementine, her Grandmother seemingly rather would have liked it if she would just disappeared, but Clementine was determined, she would have her way at some point. As she was waiting, Clementine slipped her scarf from around her neck and slung it across the counter to rub the raw skin. She had been wearing it for hours on end as she had started the nannying gig about sixteen hours ago and so she hadn't had a change of clothes since then. Sometimes she would babysit someones kids for weeks on end and in those instances she would have a change of clothes with her, usually an entire wardrobe of her own. Some families kept asking for her more then once and with those jobs she usually kept a wardrobe at their houses permanently, she usually also had a room of her own as well, not that it was really that surprising. Clementine recieved her tea and moved over to a table where she could drink it quietly and just relax.

Soon she was interrupted by the sound of a voice and someone apparently insulting something. She looked up only to see a good looking guy tossing a scarf onto the table. It took her a second to realise that this was actually her scarf and her hand immediately moved up to her neck. She had completely forgotten all about it and had left it on the counter. Laughing slightly she stuffed the scarf into her bag, noticing that he had decided to just sit in the seat across from her. Clementine raised an eyebrow as she took a sip of her tea and wondered what he was doing. "What if I was waiting for someone? Would you move?" She asked, crossing her legs. She wasn't really sure what their guys deal was, but it was weird that he would just sit down randomly. Was he normally this rude or was it just for her benefit. "Are you normally this rude, or is it just for my benefit?" She then remembered that he had flatly insulted her scarf and so pulled it back out of her bag and tossed it onto the middle of the table, "and what's wrong with that scarf?" Clementine didn't mind it one way or the other. It was just something she wore out of habit. The weather was normally chilly and her neck was one of her more sensitive parts of her body, of course she would want to keep it safe.
​

 

[Samuel Phillips]

It was obvious Samuel had a terrible morning. His bad mood mixed in with this strangers ignorance towards their poor fashion choices really made him act like an ******* today. As if he weren't enough of an ******* to begin with. He had to approach her, insult her and impose his thoughts onto her while she drank her tea. Normally an ugly scarf wouldn't have been such a big deal, but any distraction from the dreadful brunch he gritted his teeth through was distraction enough. "Oh, you're not waiting for anybody." Samuel dismissed her statement and took a sip from his coffee. He may have been completely wrong in assuming she was here alone, yet from a first glance she didn't seem like the social type. He lent forward on the table and propped his head up with his hand. There was no denying he thought this distraction was delightful, absolutely delightful because after a terrible few hours, he of all people had been given an opportunity to teach this girl better. Judging by her current attire and ignorance towards that abomination of a scarf, this girl's personality and fashion sense seemed like a blank canvas, his for the molding and he knew he was being an extremely shallow prick for bringing it up but it felt like a duty more than anything. If it wasn't his responsibility to take her under his wing, whose was it? "I'm here to stay. You couldn't get rid of me if you tried." Samuel had taken it upon himself to show this girl the error of her ways for everybody elses sake and he refused to leave until she accepted his help.

"I'm always rude." He took the liberty of responding to her every word before the girl cut to the chase and threw the scarf back onto the table between them. With a sigh, he looked towards the girl, choosing to ignore the scarf for a moment so he could leisurely sip his coffee. This was really what he needed; a warm cup of coffee to wake him up and alternately calm him down. He still had every intention to attempt to show her the error of her ways but he was only human, every now and then he could procrastinate if he wanted to. After a fleeting moment of the familiar taste on his tongue he pointed at the scarf and continued the conversation. "Everything's wrong with it." To Samuel it was obvious. The scarf clashed with itself, and by extension, everything she was wearing. As far as he was concerned, only an idiot would go for an outfit this far out of the box. Even a daring fashionista knew enough about colour co-ordination to avoid such a catastrophe. Samuel was never one to be daring with colour, or prints for that matter. His wardrobe was mostly monochrome. So in any case he knew nothing about colour co-ordination and would have dismissed this girl's outfit as personal expression. Although there was something about her, something that screamed to him for help even if he didn't know it yet. "First of all, it's printed." He began listing everything he believed was wrong with the thing, if that was even possible. "Secondly, it's vomit neon mixed with pink." Pointing out the obvious was something he needed to do, if this girl had no idea what she was doing. "Lastly, it clashes with everything else you're wearing." He gestured towards her blouse before raising his eyebrows, assuming she was beginning to understand his point.

He paused momentarily to gauge her reaction before continuing his rant. At this point the whole concept seemed ridiculous to him. The more he thought, mused, tried to change her opinion the more angry he grew and by now this was hardly a surprise. "It's just." He ran a hand through his hair with an exasperated sigh. "Your hair, make up, everything is presentable." Again, he was stating the obvious, but he was using the obvious to make his point. "You clearly had to look in a mirror to get ready, but you dress as if you don't own a mirror." He nodded before leaning back in his chair, sipping his coffee as though he were finished yet there was one question he had left for the girl. "Why?" The only thought that continued to circle his mind through all of this, was the reason this girl made poor choices, and tried to defend them so harshly. She was pretty and had so much potential, yet drowned it with the ugliest clothing he'd seen and unless he was given a genuine reason he wouldn't restrict himself from being rude to her. This little ordeal he introduced himself into was shallow, and probably a waste of time. But his shallowness met with a bad mood and a stranger that had no idea how to dress was a poisonous mix and he just couldn't help himself.

ooc: blah. i'm sorry again​