Post by Megara Lucille Grant on Jul 1, 2019 14:21:13 GMT -5
She normally didn’t visit these kind of places, thinking herself too old, but here she was with her gaggle of younger friends. She wasn’t angry at getting dragged out tonight; in fact, she welcomed it. She was sure her roommate was also glad she was out drinking instead of doing so on their couch. The whiskey seemed to go down smoother here, which although normally a good thing, was dangerous for someone with such a low alcohol tolerance. The shot she was given upon entering already had her buzzing. She was sure Faith would be laughing at her now, leaning against the bar with an Old Fashioned in her hand. Megara had taken an ironic liking to them in the wake of her thirty-first birthday. An old drink for an old woman. She knew she didn’t look her age, had been told on multiple occasions that her face was still youthful, but it didn’t make her feel much better. She knew her age even if others didn’t. The fact that all of her friends were at least six years younger than her was making her feel it, especially. There were times she thought they made her feel young, but then the next morning would remind her that she was no spring chicken anymore. So why did she continue this way, knowing what the next morning would bring? Some might call it a quarter-life crisis, seeing as the woman rarely drank before, and she now found herself frequenting a bottle and doing things she would have never dreamed of doing. Who could honestly blame her, though? After all the muggleborns had to endure in the past couple years? She used that as an excuse, she knew. She was able to handle the muggleborn registration surprisingly well for a time. The snapping of her wand made her teary, but she wasn’t defined by a stick of wood. It was the loss of her magic, and therefore her livelihood, that sent her spiraling.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t still be doing these things with the muggleborn regime having recently come to an end. But without magic, it didn’t matter. They might as well still be holding her hostage, holing her up in Kolna, taking her identity with them. There was no light at the end of her tunnel like there was others. Without her animagus ability or the magic necessary to brew her potions, it wasn’t like she could return to her old life. Meg’s entire life had been built around magic since the age of eleven. Now she might as well be a regular muggle like her parents, leading a boring muggle life. She had toyed with the idea of buying a new wand, now that they were no longer banned from having them, thinking it might make her feel a little better. She knew it wouldn’t, though. Not when she couldn’t use it. She might as well go out into the woods and find a nice stick, for all the good it would do her. What an actual joke. Megara released a deep sigh before taking a light sip of her drink. She didn’t want to wallow in her self-pity. She just found it difficult to do much of anything else.
The friends she had arrived with had abandoned her to go onto the dancefloor, leaving her at the bar to watch them as she herself didn’t dance. Meg often felt like the “mom friend” of the group, the responsible party, because of her advanced age. It did provide a wealth of entertainment though. She laughed to herself as one of her friends dismissed a man in a rather unladylike fashion, before she lost sight of her completely in the crowd. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and she was unsure if it was due to the alcohol or the close proximity to other human beings. Either way she found herself dismissing the ability to care. She was here in an attempt to not care about anything, anyway. Another sip closer to forgetting, as was the goal. She finally pushed herself away from the bar, tiptoeing around the edge of the dancefloor to the lounge seating on the other side. Megara dropped herself into one of the sleek couches, fully aware that she looked like she didn’t belong here. Normally something that would raise her anxiety, but not anymore. At least, not at the moment – not with the whiskey running through her veins. But it did give her the idea to finally remove her cardigan. Reveal the thin, patterned dress that she wore underneath. From this position, her bright green eyes could take in just about everything in the building. Meg glanced around, eyes darting quickly from person to person as she stayed the ever quiet observer. There wasn’t much of anything that really held her attention, at least until she settled on a young man walking in her direction. Wondering what he could possibly want, she took another long sip of her drink.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t still be doing these things with the muggleborn regime having recently come to an end. But without magic, it didn’t matter. They might as well still be holding her hostage, holing her up in Kolna, taking her identity with them. There was no light at the end of her tunnel like there was others. Without her animagus ability or the magic necessary to brew her potions, it wasn’t like she could return to her old life. Meg’s entire life had been built around magic since the age of eleven. Now she might as well be a regular muggle like her parents, leading a boring muggle life. She had toyed with the idea of buying a new wand, now that they were no longer banned from having them, thinking it might make her feel a little better. She knew it wouldn’t, though. Not when she couldn’t use it. She might as well go out into the woods and find a nice stick, for all the good it would do her. What an actual joke. Megara released a deep sigh before taking a light sip of her drink. She didn’t want to wallow in her self-pity. She just found it difficult to do much of anything else.
The friends she had arrived with had abandoned her to go onto the dancefloor, leaving her at the bar to watch them as she herself didn’t dance. Meg often felt like the “mom friend” of the group, the responsible party, because of her advanced age. It did provide a wealth of entertainment though. She laughed to herself as one of her friends dismissed a man in a rather unladylike fashion, before she lost sight of her completely in the crowd. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and she was unsure if it was due to the alcohol or the close proximity to other human beings. Either way she found herself dismissing the ability to care. She was here in an attempt to not care about anything, anyway. Another sip closer to forgetting, as was the goal. She finally pushed herself away from the bar, tiptoeing around the edge of the dancefloor to the lounge seating on the other side. Megara dropped herself into one of the sleek couches, fully aware that she looked like she didn’t belong here. Normally something that would raise her anxiety, but not anymore. At least, not at the moment – not with the whiskey running through her veins. But it did give her the idea to finally remove her cardigan. Reveal the thin, patterned dress that she wore underneath. From this position, her bright green eyes could take in just about everything in the building. Meg glanced around, eyes darting quickly from person to person as she stayed the ever quiet observer. There wasn’t much of anything that really held her attention, at least until she settled on a young man walking in her direction. Wondering what he could possibly want, she took another long sip of her drink.