[paris] who run this motha [tracey]

january 2001

This was it. Émilie Côté was about to make her first friend. Well, not her first friend. Her first non-school, non-work, non-France-related, grown up friend. She had plenty of friends from school, yes, but not many that she still kept in contact with. The people at work were nice enough, but that’s only because she was the witch with the coffee cart and every Ministry person seemed to still need their caffeine fix, even if it was subpar espresso (even by coffee cart standards). And since she had only ever left France two or three times, Émilie was just a bit more than extremely nervous.
 
She had met her new potential BFF (as she liked to call her) like she met so many people these days: from behind the coffee cart. Unfortunately, her ash blonde hair was a frizzy mess from the steam, she had milk foam stuck unknowingly in her eyebrow, and the rest of her definitely didn’t look the best it could considering she had been “hard” at work since four that morning. Émilie remembered it like it was yesterday. Mainly because it had happened yesterday. Tracey was in the lobby for one Ministry reason or another and needed coffee, just like everyone else lined up at the cart. But Tracey was put together like Émilie wished she was put together. The former Papillonlisse probably needed a better job than manning the coffee cart to look so professional, but that was not Émilie's first thought when she saw her.

The most important thing: Tracey's lipstick. it was the perfect shade of reddish violet that Émilie only wished she could pull off. She hadn't necessarily let herself go the past year, but she definitely hadn't been stepping it up in the appearance department by any means. She hadn't purchased any new makeup since the breakup and only restarted wearing any a few months ago; however, she wasn't quite up to the level that the young woman had previously been. Her hair was another story; frizzy, split ends, just looking more ashy than blonde. She had been meaning to restock on hair potions and invest in a good haircut, but all of these things required money. And to get money, Émilie needed to be better at her job. It was a vicious, vicious cycle.

"That lip color is amaaazing on you," the girl cooed as she made change for her newest customer, and by the time she had handed Tracey her drink (it only took two tries to get right this time), they had settled on a time and place to meet and possibly shop the following day. Émilie was now at the time and place: half past two at a wine bar down the street from the muggle side of the Ministry entrance. To say Émilie was excited would be an understatement. She had showed up to the bar half an hour early and secured a table inside, near the heat. She also secured two glasses of white wine, both for herself. It wasn't too difficult to finish them both before Tracey arrived as the nerves definitely helped her drinking vigor. She wasn't drunk, but she was noticeably less nervous, which in the long run, would be the best for both Émilie and Tracey.

She wasn't really sure what to expect. They hadn't really gotten much farther in planning than wine, but hopefully that would be enough to cement the friendship. Émilie needed a good motivation to get her life pretty again.

@Tracey Davis 

Tracey stared at her closet, her mouth opened unattractively as she eyed her options for the day. She didn’t know why she was the way she was, but she needed to have the perfect outfit to go shopping for more perfect oufits. Work clothes were work clothes. As long as they were study, protective, clean and emphasized the curve of her butt, she didn’t much care about them. But every thing else? She wanted it to be perfect. She had three pair of white shoes, almost the exact same style, but there was a bit of it that was different than the others. And she’d needed all three. Clothes that she outgrew or that were seasons old, she donated to people who needed them. Her closet changed so often that sometimes she forgot what was in there.

Finally she just decided on something warm and cozy. Even though it was Paris, the lovely city was still dealing with winter. Her hair was pulled up in a tidy bun, and she dabbed on a moisturizing lip gloss. She was excited, sincerely. She was excited about the idea of making a friend who didnt wanted to focus on how bad the war had been. She loved her friends, but everyone was trying to move on. Tracey had so much baggage on her own plate, and continued to weigh herself down with other’s emotional turmoil. Could she at least have a friend who would share the burden? Or at least distract it away. Emilie was such a sweetheart, and her eyebrows were to die for.

Her mother, when she was sane and could remember anything had told her a few things. One of the most important, if not the shallowest statements that she’d ever heard Leonora whisper was the trust level that you could put into someone who didn’t take care of themselves. It’d amused her greatly, and it pushed Tracey to make sure that everyone saw that polished side of her. It wasn’t quite true of course, as Tracey trusted her father, and he was a hermit and did hermit things, but she wanted to give off the idea of confidence.

It took two steps, and Tracey was in Paris. She was a little late, but that was fine. The wool capelet floated behind her as she strode up to the meeting place, and she saw the blonde hair through the window. Tracey slid into the chair, and beamed at Emilie. Was she a little nervous? A little. Maybe. It was always hard making new friends. The slightly accented French spilled from full lips, and she grinned.

“I see you’ve got the party started without me. Let me catch up.” And she ordered something pink and bubbly, and grinned.

Oh gosh. Émilie's hand flew up to her mouth as she hiccuped, a little squeak escaping from her lips. Oops. Her gaze darted from right to left, making sure that no one had noticed. Or if anyone had, they weren't going to draw any attention to it. Good enough. She moved her hand to her hair, absentmindedly running her fingers through the loose waves. With her free hand, she scooted her empty wine glass away from her, silently signaling to the masses that she needed a refill, and she needed it fast.

But Tracey arrived before her alcohol did, and Émilie immediately felt self conscious about her own outfit as she took in what her new bestie was wearing. She had picked out her very best sweater set in her favorite shade of purple and paired it with a pair of white wool trousers. Tracey looked so grown up and so put together and Émilie looked like a schoolgirl mess. Ugh. But, hopefully that would all be remedied today! Émilie was going to use the Christmas money she ought to have been saving for a new place to live to buy some new clothes instead. She had to! She needed to look fancy to be fancy.

She giggled, just narrowly avoiding a giant snort laughter. It probably wasn't Émilie's brightest idea to have two large glasses of wine on an empty stomach, but then again, she didn't have a lot of bright ideas. "I was making sure it was good to drink," she said with a smile before also placing an order for the same pink and bubbly wine that Tracey had ordered. Her nerves were definitely showing, but hopefully she would be able to drink just the right amount that Tracey would think she was more tipsy than nervous. Fingers crossed!

What was she supposed to say? How do you start a friendship? Émilie hadn't tried to do this in years. Actually, she had never gone out of her way to make friends. In school, she was practically forced to talk to people in class, and she sort of inherited her boyfriend's friends whenever they became an item. She had always been good at talking to people, but she had never really cared if they really and truly liked her. Welp, this was definitely harder than it needed to be.

"Your cape is awesome." That's what she finally came up with? The witty thing she could say to get this friendship started? Good lord. Thankfully, the waiter returned with two glasses of a pretty pink wine, and Émilie was saved. She took a quick sip, the bubbles tickling her nose. She set her glass down and held it with both hands. "So," she said after a few seconds, "I've never been to England. Is it any good?" As soon as she said that, everything that she had been hearing about the British wizards lately suddenly filled her mind. Things weren't good. Maybe Tracey could just pretend that Émilie wasn't asking about specifics, but was instead incredibly nervous and had absolutely no clue what she was doing.