Claire understood the point of these donor galas. Every government, especially the British magical government, truly relied on the support of their people, and some citizens went out of their way to provide highly desired monetary support to departments in need. She knew her department had certainly benefited from them, their patrol robes having finally been giving a nice update - merlin, whoever had thought stripes of orange would a good idea...
She understood. And she was more than willing to cooperate. It wasn't too much of a favor to ask her to don fancier attire than usual, a smile that would surely lose its luster from over use, and to sip on expensive champagne that ironically cost a lot for something that was supposed to celebrate receiving much needed funds. She would make small talk, would graciously nod, laugh when it was necessary, and not make too many trips to the bathroom.
But you couldn't make her like it.
Claire was a professional woman, and she did pride herself on that reputation. But it was not the reputation that gave her passion. It was knowing she did a job well done, it was the exhaustion that indicate hard work, it was looking at facts and figures that proved she made a difference. She didn't need rich strangers to tell her she did a good job. She didn't need superiors to condescend and tell her they would watch her career. She didn't need affirmation from anyone else. She just wanted to do her job. And dressing up and playing monkey was, unfortunately, apart of the job.
Barely.
Some people got a kick out of it. Some people fed off of the approval of these donors, off of the shared feeling of 'we are Ministry, we are elite.' She could see it all around her. Tight knit groups of men, laughing at jokes and exchanging cigars. Pairs of women talking with mildly competitive eyes, being a little too lavish in praise of the other's hair.
Usually, Claire had Elsie to rely on at these dreadful affairs. She would pep talk the brunette into acting a bit more normal, though there was always some point in which Claire had to make an excuse and a quick departure. But Elsie was feeling under the weather and had remained at home, opening a glass of wine as Claire left - because red wine was the cure-all be-all in the Norton/Bishop apartment. So Claire was alone. She had seen Jack dipping through the crowd, looking irritable and uninterested in the people around her. Rivah was playing the game well, as usual. And Fred - she had spotted him once or twice. Once talking to a beautiful woman. Another time saying something that caused an uproar from a group of men. But mostly, he slyly maneuvered the crowd, always much too far for a greeting, for any sort of interaction. Not that they needed one. And she tended to avoid him unless she needed to.
But they had made contact. And he had smirked. And she had flicked her eyes skyward, before plunging into it.
The night moved slowly, and she passed between donor to coworker, coworker to donor. She had slipped into a group of lawyers at one point and joined into a civil discussion on the importance of the balance of law enforcement and court attendings. Soon, the group dwindled, leaving Claire alone with two lawyers, a mousier-looking woman by the name of Terry, and a classic, tv-movie of a defense attorney Avariella Hudson. And boy... was she... was she...
familiar.
by Claire Bishop Thu Mar 17, 2016 9:14 am
