Misdeliveries & Misbelief [Open]

The predicament in which Ella found herself today should, in theory, have been easily resolved. After all, she had only woken up that morning to find a mysterious brown parcel lying on her welcome mat just after the owl post had come in.

Given that she hadn't ordered the package- and given that it was the holiday season and someone undoubtedly must have- she'd decided to be a Good Samaritan and pop by the post office where they would quickly understand and take the item off her hands, reuniting it easily and efficiently with its true recipient.

Except not. Apparently, unlike this young woman, the owl postal service didn't run on common sense and good intentions. It ran- as the clerk was so keen to remind her- on galleons. Any return costs, no matter how necessary, would have to come out of her own pocket. And now the round, ruddy-faced woman behind the counter was trying rather pathetically to reason with her instead of just taking the bloody package back.

Of course, by 'reasoning', what they'd really been doing was going round in circles for the last five minutes.

“Have you tried popping ‘round your neighbour's? The owls might’ve got the wrong house in the fog. They sometimes do, you know.”

The woman's chin tilted, eyes widened knowingly. Ella gauged that she must have been trying for 'helpful', but all that came across was 'patronising'.

“I live in the middle of nowhere, lady, I have no neighbours.”

"Are you sure?"

Was she-? Ella's eye twitched, her brows creeping together in disbelief.

"Oh no, hang on, I think I've spent two years missing an entire blinkin' house at the end of the street."

The woman simply blinked owlishly at her. Ella's eyes flicked down to her name tag before meeting its owner's and leaning forward.

“Listen, Martha. This package is not my responsibility. I don’t want it and I’m not paying to send it back.” She pushed the parcel across as she spoke, setting her forearms mutinously on the counter and injecting the same firmness into her words.

All she got for her efforts was a suddenly quite nasty look and an upturned nose.

“Well you must have ordered it and forgotten, then, because our owls don’t make mistakes.”

The woman’s- Martha’s- tone took on a curiously snooty note at this last part, for someone who’d not five seconds ago made the suggestion herself that the owls had gotten lost.

Ella would have said as much if she hadn’t had it to here with the entire situation- nay, the entire owl postal service. This was why muggles had their world in order. They didn't have to waste their time standing around arguing about the intricacies of owl eyesight, of all things.  

She reached across resolutely for the package, undoing the string and unfolding the brown paper until the contents were visible, ignoring Martha’s spluttering protests. The tea-set, really quite impressively hideous, peeked out in tones of lilac, pastel pink and mustard yellow, the brassy edges glinting.

Ella turned to the person closest to her and pointed at the garish ceramic seeking- demanding- a second opinion.

“Excuse me- sorry- do I look like the sort of person who’d buy something like this?”

Her visit into the dreadfully cold country had stretched a bit longer than she had expected. Christmas had come and she had apparated home for two days to spend the holiday with her parents. She had returned and continued to hound the Ministry about her brother, being taken through the ins and outs of the crime scene where they found her brother, sorting through his apartment and taking care of his accounts. All of those terribly glamorous things no one ever talked about when death was considered.

It was a very legal process. She had to get his Gringotts account signed over into her name, which took back and forth as it was. Then there was clearing out his things from his job, and packing up his things, finding storage for the boxes and finding all of the things named in the will to transfer into his vault. She had hardly known Skyler in his adult life, but her adult life was becoming nothing but her late brother. Every day was dedicated to following the orders of his will and following the procedures that followed death.

It wasn't until February that it struck her she still had a bit of a life to live, and that while a nice landlord might accept a flighty tenant, they certainly wouldn't accept a tenant who couldn't pay. She had to afford her room, had to eat enough to have the strength to get up the next day and start the whole circus again. And here she was, without a connection or meaningful job experience. So she did what every dreamer did when they were out of choices.

She became a waitress.

The job at the little cafe wasn't horrible. She'd had worse uniforms and her boss was pleasant enough. Working in Diagon was helpful as well, as it kept her right in the center of the magical community. Today, during her lunch break, she found a letter waiting for her in the back. Her response to her parents, along with the copies if the will she had made for her next letter, were quickly rolled up and prepared. Her shift ended and she trudged down the street, smelling like strawberry scones and coffee, headed towards the post office.

She stepped in and immediately, her ears were barraged with the irritated tones of a somehow familiar voice. Sloane didn't know who could have a voice she would recognize in this country, so she stepped forward with a sense of curiosity eating at her, nearing the person in line who seemed to be having a fit about-

Oh.

Sloane drew back for a second, her eyebrows flying upwards as Ella Woods rounded on her. She glanced down at the thing Ella was flailing at and tilted her head, lifting one of her eyebrows.

"If I remember, you're not so concerned about the containers hot liquid comes in."