miriamkaufmann:
She’d lost her jacket a while ago, but she didn’t remember ever taking it off. Still, Miriam kept to the areas with the most people, wanting to huddle like a penguin in order to keep warm. It had been the hardest transition in coming to Yates. She’d seen snow at ski slopes but had never had to travel to class in it. The only perk was she had an excuse to buy a whole new winter wardrobe. Not too upset about misplacing her pink faux fur coat, she was mingling with everyone she knew, and even those she didn’t, easily distracted by all the costumes students were wearing. It was how she reacted to an everyone costume party – always enjoying what creative spin people put on their costumes. She smiled widely as she recognized Maggie’s voice, throwing her arms up in a sort of celebration at being found. “Me neither, but that makes it fun. I’m just pretending I know everyone to make it easier.” She gestured toward the bar, back and to her left, having passed it a few times as she made her rounds. “We have to get cocktails. I think with the promise of future good fortune, we could get someone to make us drinks. We need to choose wisely, so we end up with something fancy.” She followed Maggie’s eyes to the two making out. “Try telling that to them,” she said with a laugh. “I guess tonight is a time for putting old grudges in the past. I think we should applaud them for reconciling, but the middle of the arboretum might not be the best place for it.”
Maggie’s dress trailed along the ground, a dangerous tripping hazard for anyone who neared her as she got closer to Miriam, standing next to the girl closely in search of protection from the crowd. “Cocktails, yes. Or at this point I’d settle for straight vodka,” she complained, dangerously sober at this point, tearing her eyes away from the cuddled up couple. A laugh left her lips, shaking her head at the idea. “Maybe somewhere a little more private. Wouldn’t want Hera to see,” she joked, raising an eyebrow, nodding her head towards the bar. She glided along to it in long strides, picking up her hem so as not to dirty it too much. Maggie was not one for dressing up. Even a dress under a thick jacket felt fancy enough for her, feeling entirely exposed in its delicate lace. The cold enhanced the feeling of vulnerability. “Howdy, barkeep,” she greeted the poor freshman scurrying about to fetch drinks, leaning an elbow on the bar top conspiratorially. “Would you fetch two fine maidens a glass each of your finest sidecars? Make ‘em extra dirty,” she drawled out to the boy shifting on his feet, who clearly had no idea what she was talking about. She sighed, taking her elbow off. “You got any grenadine? Put it in some ginger ale with vodka. A Dirty Shirley,” she instructed him, the kid clearly never having made anything more complicated than a vodka soda. “Mir, you think these gardens are haunted?” She asked her friend, turning suddenly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “They certainly seem so to me.”
