”Where are you going, Filhota?” The middle-aged woman with prematurely-graying hair asked, looking up from the day’s issue of New York Ghost.
”To a job interview.” Her daughter replied as an enchanted hair brush finished brushing her hair.
”What kind of job?” Maria continued, the Ghost and its daily drivel forgotten.
”Stable and paying?” Alícia replied in jest.
”Yes, but what kind?” The elder Correia pressed on.
”Don’t know, I think it said something about a pole and stilettos, I wasn’t really paying attention.” The younger one shrugged.
”Alícia!” The older woman exclaimed as if scolding her daughter for avoiding her question, not quite managing to hide the eyeroll and smile.
”It’s an entry-level job at a family venture. They mostly deal in hospitality.” The young woman lied, telling herself she wasn’t lying to her mother. Technically she wasn’t, as if that made it any better.
”Hospitality? Like a hotel?” Three things were certain in life: Death, taxes and the persistence of a bored person’s questioning.
”Not quite. I have to go, I’ll get some Pastel on the way back. Até mais!” She tried to end the conversation on a savory note before transforming into a crow and flying out of an open window.
When Alícia received the instructions about where she was supposed to meet Robert Zucco, her first thought was “Must be one hell of a silencing charm on that place if it’s next to Hell’s Kitchen.” Unfortunately, it turned out to refer to a part of New York, not the famous No-Maj - or Muggle, geographically speaking - chef’s restaurant. What a shame, go her hopes up for a good lunch. The crow circled the nearby blocks a few times before diving into an out of sight alleyway. A crow went in the top, a woman came out the side. Before long the sound of cuban heels against the floor heralded Alícia’s arrival to the speakeasy, still with a bit of time to spare by her count. Tall for her nation’s average, clad in a Slytherin green shirt and black jeans, what the No-Majs would call ‘business casual’, and carrying herself as if she naturally belonged there, and technically she did - she had been instructed to be there after all.
She grabbed the drinks menu and turned around to lean against the bar, ostensibly browsing the drinks selection while surveying the patrons. It took her about a minute to see him: Back of the room, tall and generally matching the description. She set down the menu and headed out, eyes fixed on an empty table a few rows beyond Bobby the entire time before making an abrupt stop by his booth. ”Mr. Zucco?” Alícia asked with a polite smile.
”To a job interview.” Her daughter replied as an enchanted hair brush finished brushing her hair.
”What kind of job?” Maria continued, the Ghost and its daily drivel forgotten.
”Stable and paying?” Alícia replied in jest.
”Yes, but what kind?” The elder Correia pressed on.
”Don’t know, I think it said something about a pole and stilettos, I wasn’t really paying attention.” The younger one shrugged.
”Alícia!” The older woman exclaimed as if scolding her daughter for avoiding her question, not quite managing to hide the eyeroll and smile.
”It’s an entry-level job at a family venture. They mostly deal in hospitality.” The young woman lied, telling herself she wasn’t lying to her mother. Technically she wasn’t, as if that made it any better.
”Hospitality? Like a hotel?” Three things were certain in life: Death, taxes and the persistence of a bored person’s questioning.
”Not quite. I have to go, I’ll get some Pastel on the way back. Até mais!” She tried to end the conversation on a savory note before transforming into a crow and flying out of an open window.
When Alícia received the instructions about where she was supposed to meet Robert Zucco, her first thought was “Must be one hell of a silencing charm on that place if it’s next to Hell’s Kitchen.” Unfortunately, it turned out to refer to a part of New York, not the famous No-Maj - or Muggle, geographically speaking - chef’s restaurant. What a shame, go her hopes up for a good lunch. The crow circled the nearby blocks a few times before diving into an out of sight alleyway. A crow went in the top, a woman came out the side. Before long the sound of cuban heels against the floor heralded Alícia’s arrival to the speakeasy, still with a bit of time to spare by her count. Tall for her nation’s average, clad in a Slytherin green shirt and black jeans, what the No-Majs would call ‘business casual’, and carrying herself as if she naturally belonged there, and technically she did - she had been instructed to be there after all.
She grabbed the drinks menu and turned around to lean against the bar, ostensibly browsing the drinks selection while surveying the patrons. It took her about a minute to see him: Back of the room, tall and generally matching the description. She set down the menu and headed out, eyes fixed on an empty table a few rows beyond Bobby the entire time before making an abrupt stop by his booth. ”Mr. Zucco?” Alícia asked with a polite smile.