Post by Carey Brighton H5 on Jul 30, 2007 8:13:05 GMT
There were few things that Carey Brighton didn’t enjoy doing. Shopping was definitely one of them. She wasn’t like most teenage girls that way. She really couldn’t stand looking at clothes for hours and hours and trying them on in dressing rooms. Carey much preferred making her own clothes if possible (and it was usually most always possible). Besides, it wasn’t like she had grown much since her third year anyway, so all her clothes she could still wear. However, her mother did think it was necessary to drag her along on the numerous shopping trips she took and although Carey hated it – she knew her place. Thus, she landed in Madame Malkin’s in Diagon Alley, reading a book while she tried not to laugh at her mother’s pickiness toward the poor old witch, “No, no. That colour is horrendous against my skin tone, I want something lighter. A crème, perhaps?” Madame Malkin turned and scowled so Angela Brighton couldn’t see, but Carey caught it and sent the shop owner a sweet smile before pretending to be engulfed in her book once more. She knew her mother was tough to deal with, but under the pretentious stuck up snob mask there was a kind and caring woman… that only made an appearance once a month or so. “She’s got her nose so high up in the air,” Carey’s sister Mallory often told her, “she can’t even see Father who’s standing right in front of her.” Carey had always tried so hard not to giggle at that, but it was always so difficult. Mal had a way of saying things in such an exaggerated way. Her mother wasn’t that snobbish… was she?
“No, no, no! That’s too dark, Malkin! Honestly, if you can’t find me a decent tint I’m going to take my business elsewhere!” OK… so maybe she was. Carey closed her book and slipped it inside her mother’s handbag before standing from the chair, deciding it was time to intervene. “Ah, Carey, darling, tell Madame Malkin that this colour is far too dark for my skin tone, will you?” Angela sent her daughter a poignant look, but Carey pretended not to catch it and said in an innocent tone of voice, “Well, actually Mother, I think it looks rather nice against your skin. But… might I suggest a different fabric? A silk perhaps instead of a velvet? You’re always complaining about how you’re so hot underneath your velvet robes.” Angela looked flustered a moment and Carey felt as if the whole shop was holding its breath. When her mother smiled, there was a great gust of wind from the other side of her and Carey knew Madame Malkin was happy that Angela seemed to like that idea; “I like it. Do as she says, Malkin, and then ring us up. I want to get some decent shopping out of this day yet.” Madame Malkin waved her wand and several yards of green silk fabric wove around them to the back where Carey knew they would be cut up for robes later on. Now, Angela rounded on her daughter as she knew it would happen; “I wish you would let me buy you some decent robes other than your school ones, dear. You walking around in muggle attire really does nothing for our image.” Carey did her best to sustain a heavy sigh. She had heard this lecture many a time before and she honestly was ready to heave her mother through the window if she were able to.
Carey was used to this. She was used to hearing about how what she did, what she wore, who she was seen with, and where she was seen reflected on the Brighton family name – and honestly? She was rather sick of it. But would she say something about it? Of course not, because she wasn’t raised that way. She loved her family and she loved making her parents happy, it just so happened that the only way to make them happy was to be the perfect pureblooded daughter. “I know, Mother, I just don’t like wizarding robes very much. They’re rather flashy and overbearing. Besides, I’m saving us quite a bit of money by making my own clothes or buying muggle clothes because they are significantly less than these…” Carey indicated the floating fabrics that were still making their way into the back; all her mother’s. Angela sighed, clearly defeated, and nodded as she stepped off the stool. Carey looked her mother over. 5’6”, brunette, dark skin tone; she was like an older version of Carey. She was gorgeous and sophisticated and Carey knew she should admire her mother, but she didn’t… not really. Her mother was weak and dependent upon her father. She had been all of their marriage. Carey knew it was because of the rags to riches story they spun all the time. Angela had known nothing of money until she married David, and now that she knew of it? She couldn’t bear to be without it.
Madame Malkin returned with a small piece of parchment floating behind her and a quill writing down their address as Angela prattled it off in that tone of annoyance she used whenever she thought someone of a status below her should know something already. Carey merely crossed her arms and looked down at her feet, waiting patiently for her mother to declare they were finished and leave the shop. Finally, the moment came and Carey said goodbye to Madame Malkin as her mother ushered her out the door. They burst into the sunlit day and Carey breathed in the fresh air, closing her eyes and enjoying the sun. “Come on, Carey, we shan’t dawdle.” The moment was ruined by her mother tugging on her arm toward their next destination which just so happened to be Florean Fortescue’s. Her mother always made a point to stop at the ice cream parlor, but Carey never ordered ice cream. She didn’t have much of a taste for the stuff. Her excuse was that it was too cold, but in truth… it just didn’t seem very appealing to her. So, as her mother ordered her usual, Carey wandered outside and took a seat at one of the tables with an umbrella, looking around at all the passersby. Students her age, younger, and older all rushed past. They were laughing and chattering excitedly. Carey sighed morosely and propped her head up by her elbow which was in turn resting on the top of the table. She had spent most of her summer holidays reading, attending dinner parties, and pretending to get along with so and so’s daughter. She would have liked to spend her holidays with friends, but she hadn’t been given that option. Carey was never given that option.
“No, no, no! That’s too dark, Malkin! Honestly, if you can’t find me a decent tint I’m going to take my business elsewhere!” OK… so maybe she was. Carey closed her book and slipped it inside her mother’s handbag before standing from the chair, deciding it was time to intervene. “Ah, Carey, darling, tell Madame Malkin that this colour is far too dark for my skin tone, will you?” Angela sent her daughter a poignant look, but Carey pretended not to catch it and said in an innocent tone of voice, “Well, actually Mother, I think it looks rather nice against your skin. But… might I suggest a different fabric? A silk perhaps instead of a velvet? You’re always complaining about how you’re so hot underneath your velvet robes.” Angela looked flustered a moment and Carey felt as if the whole shop was holding its breath. When her mother smiled, there was a great gust of wind from the other side of her and Carey knew Madame Malkin was happy that Angela seemed to like that idea; “I like it. Do as she says, Malkin, and then ring us up. I want to get some decent shopping out of this day yet.” Madame Malkin waved her wand and several yards of green silk fabric wove around them to the back where Carey knew they would be cut up for robes later on. Now, Angela rounded on her daughter as she knew it would happen; “I wish you would let me buy you some decent robes other than your school ones, dear. You walking around in muggle attire really does nothing for our image.” Carey did her best to sustain a heavy sigh. She had heard this lecture many a time before and she honestly was ready to heave her mother through the window if she were able to.
Carey was used to this. She was used to hearing about how what she did, what she wore, who she was seen with, and where she was seen reflected on the Brighton family name – and honestly? She was rather sick of it. But would she say something about it? Of course not, because she wasn’t raised that way. She loved her family and she loved making her parents happy, it just so happened that the only way to make them happy was to be the perfect pureblooded daughter. “I know, Mother, I just don’t like wizarding robes very much. They’re rather flashy and overbearing. Besides, I’m saving us quite a bit of money by making my own clothes or buying muggle clothes because they are significantly less than these…” Carey indicated the floating fabrics that were still making their way into the back; all her mother’s. Angela sighed, clearly defeated, and nodded as she stepped off the stool. Carey looked her mother over. 5’6”, brunette, dark skin tone; she was like an older version of Carey. She was gorgeous and sophisticated and Carey knew she should admire her mother, but she didn’t… not really. Her mother was weak and dependent upon her father. She had been all of their marriage. Carey knew it was because of the rags to riches story they spun all the time. Angela had known nothing of money until she married David, and now that she knew of it? She couldn’t bear to be without it.
Madame Malkin returned with a small piece of parchment floating behind her and a quill writing down their address as Angela prattled it off in that tone of annoyance she used whenever she thought someone of a status below her should know something already. Carey merely crossed her arms and looked down at her feet, waiting patiently for her mother to declare they were finished and leave the shop. Finally, the moment came and Carey said goodbye to Madame Malkin as her mother ushered her out the door. They burst into the sunlit day and Carey breathed in the fresh air, closing her eyes and enjoying the sun. “Come on, Carey, we shan’t dawdle.” The moment was ruined by her mother tugging on her arm toward their next destination which just so happened to be Florean Fortescue’s. Her mother always made a point to stop at the ice cream parlor, but Carey never ordered ice cream. She didn’t have much of a taste for the stuff. Her excuse was that it was too cold, but in truth… it just didn’t seem very appealing to her. So, as her mother ordered her usual, Carey wandered outside and took a seat at one of the tables with an umbrella, looking around at all the passersby. Students her age, younger, and older all rushed past. They were laughing and chattering excitedly. Carey sighed morosely and propped her head up by her elbow which was in turn resting on the top of the table. She had spent most of her summer holidays reading, attending dinner parties, and pretending to get along with so and so’s daughter. She would have liked to spend her holidays with friends, but she hadn’t been given that option. Carey was never given that option.
