I've Arrived

[Maria Bagshot]

"I've arrived!" Maria called out, dumping her carpet bag on the floor of her sister's hallway. It was the only piece of luggage she carried. It made quick getaways a simple task. But it was not just any carpet bag. It was bewitched with shaman magic, not that it's velvet appearance gave any clue to it's properties. It was bigger on the inside, of course. But it's capacity was so large it would make Mary Poppins' eyes twirl. She could fit sixteen mahogany armoires inside, and in fact, she had. Her extensive wardrobe had to go somewhere. There were many a piece of clothing lost in it's insides, that had no hope of seeing the light of day again.

"Are you going to keep your dear old sister waiting?" she asked of the air, disappointed at the lack of organisation. Where was the welcoming staff and surprise party? Well, not that she'd given any warning whatsoever of her arrival. The last owl she'd sent to her sibling gave word of her adventures in South America in an extremely detailed nine word note scribbled on the back of a page torn from an alchemy almanac. It read - "In Argentina. Anthony Alastair is here. I think. Maria x". Of course, the spritz of spiced perfume on the "envelope" made up for her blunder. Right?

"Brandy would be nice.." she muttered as she surveyed the mundane furnishings.

@Martha Skeeter

  

[Martha Skeeter]

The front door slamming shut gave Martha very little cause for alarm and she barely looked up from her book. She lived, after all, in a household that was used to more blundering boys than it was the delicate feminine touch and moments after she heard the noise she began listening a little harder to see which of her boys was paying her an impromptu visit. The voice that she heard made her forget her book altogether though and a wide, disbelieving smile spread across her face as she left the iron bench in her garden for the cool shade inside and the promise of her sister.

“Maria?!”

Sure enough her sister stood in all her ostentatious glory in the hall, looking at her for all the world as though she should have been expected. Had she forgotten Maria’s imminent arrival? As far as she could recall the last she had heard from her sister had involved to do with Argentina and somebody called…Albert was it? Merlin knew really, she did tend to have a parade of men! But she was sure she hadn't been informed - not that it mattered a single jot!

“I didn’t know you were coming!”

  

[Maria Bagshot]

"Mariah!" she corrected shrilly, the response automatic. The scowl faded instantly at the sight of the "fairer" sister emerging from the garden. "Martha dear! Nonsense I'm family. Family needn't give notice." She squealed in the soppiest voice she could muster. Gripping her sister's hands, she kissed both her cheeks, a custom she had become most familiar with over the years. The large fur around her neck bridged the gap between them and purred happily at the intimacy. "Oh! He likes you.." She chuckled heartily, casting the neck scarf around her sister. "Keep it. I've twelve more of the same."

Pleasantries exchanged, Maria brushed through the air, passing into the next room, her eyes glinting through the open doorway to the garden. It all looked the same since last she was there. Or at least, from her perspective it was. "How have you been darling? Max still the same stoic dementor he's always been?" Her gaze continued darting around the room, the drinks cabinet her target.

  

[Martha Skeeter]

Martha tried not to laugh, truly she did, and had Max actually been in the room she might have been able to maintain her composure and even soothe his ego, but instead she followed behind Maria – Mariah – as she felt she had been doing for most her life. Reaching up she stroked a hand tentatively over the head of the scarf and was rewarded with a soft purr.

“I don’t know where you find these things,” Martha muttered to herself, well aware that Maria was a good few paces ahead of her and likely already seeking out the- Ah yes, the drinks. Oh well, Max wouldn’t notice if a little was gone and she could always replace it.

“Fine, thank you.” She smirked. “And yes Max is the same as ever,” unable to resist she wrapped her arms around her sister from behind, squeezing her tight and leaning her head on her shoulder, a childish gesture perhaps but one she felt entitled to with her only sister who she saw so seldom. “I'd say you have that much in common dear.”

  

[Maria Bagshot]

"Ah," her fingers flared as she found a decanter and some crystal glasses. Removing the cap with dexterity, the glass made no sound in the grip of such an experienced hand. Lifting the receptacle to her face, she sniffed. Whiskey. She shrugged. It would do. She sniffed a second time. It was British. A third time. 18..3...7. Oh, vintage. It was a good year. She'd barely begun pouring when she was ensnared in a vice-like grip. The tension released as soon as she realised it was affectionate. Indulging her, she leant to one side, giving room for her chin on her shoulder. With her free hand she stroked her sister's arm as if hurrying the gesture as well as returning the feeling. She loved her sister dearly but she was particularly parched. However, at mention of her brother-in-law, she escaped with a jab to a sweet spot on Martha's hip. It was a spot she jabbed often as a child.

"We are nothing alike," she waved her finger before filling her glass and creeping to the other side of the drinks table, as if to deter any more traps. "In fact, he and I are... you.. the idea that.." Unable to find a witty response, she offered a guttural growl of indignation.

"Where are the children?" she avoided. "How many of them are there now?" Arching an eyebrow, her drink bubbled with a light snigger as she attempted her first sip.

  

[Martha Skeeter]

Her sister had never been the subtlest of women and so Martha was far from surprised when she found herself rubbing a hand over her hipbone, soothing away the sharp pain growing there. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t resist a small smile – oh yes, Maria was definitely unchanged. Reaching for a glass of her own – it couldn’t hurt could it? She looked at the clock and was pleased to see that the hands were rather more gathered on the right hand side which meant she could justify it to herself.

Taking the glass in hand she poured a considerably less extravagant measure and tried not to laugh at her sister dodging being hugged again.

“Oh five or six,” she said airily, waving her free hand around, mirth dancing in her eyes. “I forget sometimes and I think most of them are at work or Hogwarts at the moment, although Tony could be doing absolutely anything and I wouldn’t know.”

She sipped her drink and felt it burn, dismissing the sensible part of her brain that reminded her of the rash she came out in when she drank spirits.

“Have you seen him at all darling,” she implored. “You were quite close to where he is weren’t you?”

  

[Maria Bagshot]

Five or six? She shuddered. The idea of bearing children was sickening to her. She didn't exactly blame her sister for it. If she wanted to, then Maria wasn't going to stop her but the dream of the two of them gallivanting around the continent was a bitter one for her. An unrealised possibility. It was the world or a family, and on that choice, they differed. Still, someone had to have children or there wouldn't be any people left.

The sight of her sister with a glass in her hand amused and excited her. Pouting, she raised her brows, mocking her playfully as if it was an impossible occurrence indeed. Could it be she'd mellowed in Maria's absence?

"Tony?" she mouthed to herself in silence. The name wasn't familiar to her. Well, it rung a bell somewhere but she'd couldn't place a face to the name. It was only as she inquired to his current status that Maria snapped her fingers, the face landing in her mind. "Oh, yes. Close.. close.." she muttered vaguely. "He's fine. He's fine."

She downed half her drink. "In fact I saw him quite often. Sporting a new trimming to his hair, last I saw." She waved her fingers around her head as if painting the hairstyle on top of her own. "Rather fetching."

  

[Martha Skeeter]

The last time she had seen Tony – other than a photograph he had sent of himself waving from in front of a statue that was three times his size and Martha found rather unnerving – had been during the World Cup and that had been nearly two years ago now! Goodness, he could look entirely different these days and she might not know him, so any description Maria might give, even if it was as vague as usual, made her eyes water.

“I’m glad to hear he’s up to your standards of style dear,” she sipped her drink to cover the flash of sorrow in her eyes. When her sister had first gone away she had missed her terribly, but Max and the thought of her first child had gotten her through; the loss of Tony still cut her deeply every day and no insistence on her husband’s part that he was making a life for himself stopped her from longing to hold him tight.

“Did you find more wonders this time?” She reached up to stroke the scarf once again, smirking at it sniffing her hand affectionately. Only her sister could find an item of clothing for a pet! “You were certainly gone long enough to discover a lost civilisation or two.”

On the other hand she had a feeling that her sister was considerably more likely to have discovered so many people of interest that she had lost track of time!

  

[Maria Bagshot]

She shrugged, missing her sister's melancholy. "Far better than what he had before, regardless."

Topping up her drink, she slinked over toward what looked to be the comfiest chair available and settled herself in a rather ungraceful thump. Sighing with heavy breath, she tapped the base of her left boot which proceeded to untie itself and slip off her bare foot. "Ah, well, that would be telling." She teased, her fingers rubbing the arch of her foot with glee. High altitude flying always made her feet swell.

"Vienna was heaven. How those muggles think that place floats on water without magic, I'll never know. They eat slugs and snails there, you know? Foul little things. Caviar isn't all that better but it's expensive so I eat it regardless. You can really taste the sickles. That and champagne. Has to be with champagne or it just doesn't taste the same." She blurted out in one breath before pausing to sip her drink. "Perfection? Now that's Milan. The Spanish are so... hospitable." She smirked, remembering a certain gentleman. Her eyes looked around the room once more before landing back at her sister, a little pity in her gaze.

"You really ought to get out of the house, Mooshy."

  

[Mortimer Skeeter]

Morty got invited to drop by and meet the auntie, hope that's cool with you Lauren!

He'd left a pair of shoes at the family house after staying for dinner sometime, and given he only had about two pairs of shoes and one pair had gotten dirty, Morty had thought he'd better retrieve them when he could.

Stopping by unannounced was not unusual, and he tramped in, presuming that his mother was somewhere around; she usually was. The house was as nice and welcoming as ever, and he headed for the stairs, though hadn't yet climbed them when he heard voices - one of whose was certainly his mother's - coming from the room across the hall. If she had company over he was perfectly happy not to interrupt, but he thought he'd heard Tony's name! If it was indeed someone who'd seen his brother, it couldn't hurt to meet them, could it?

He skirted past the open doorway, only planning on leaning in to say hello at first, but as he loitered there, waiting for mother to catch his eye or notice him there, her company - a woman who looked vaguely familiar, though Morty could not connect a name to the face - said something that caused him to snicker, despite himself. "Hello," Morty added brightly. "Mooshy?" He raised his eyebrows, wondering who he could possibly be interrupting.

  

[Martha Skeeter]

Despite the fact that she didn’t expect her children to announce themselves before they arrived – they were, of course, always welcome home – Martha still jumped when Morty appeared seemingly out of nowhere. And of course he would arrive at exactly the right moment to leave her with pink cheeks and the sense that she shouldn’t have poured herself a brandy. She felt like she was misbehaving which was ludicrous when one considered that she was much better behaved than Maria-

“Oh, darling, come in, come in. I think it’s about time you finally met your aunt Mariah.”

Taking his arm she turned to where her sister sat, looking rather like an ostentatious decoration against the simple décor she and Max preferred, and felt as though she was presenting him for inspection. Which she supposed she was on some level: she had decided to marry rather than travel, to be wife and mother rather than adventurer, and in her heart she longed for Maria to approve of her children, of her life, of what she had chosen.

“This is Mortimer,” she looked up at him proudly. “He works for the Ministry.”

  

[Maria Bagshot]

"Good Gringotts!" she exclaimed at the sight of the handsome young man. So that's why Maxwell was nowhere to be found. The promiscuous witch looked toward her sister with surprise, envy and pride. This man was much younger than most of Maria's targets.

"Aunt?" she asked, almost disappointed. Ah, this was one of the brood. He was far more clean cut and presentable than his younger brother. It all made sense now. Maria sighed with relief. Her sister hadn't outdone her. She could rest on her successes. She smirked at the image of Martha stood beside him. The height difference was amusing. He was extremely tall.

She inwardly shuddered at the mention of his name but showed no sign of it. Martha certainly had a talent. "Morty," she shortened, to make it bearable, her hand hovering in the air. "Look at you. Your mother has clearly done well with you. Delightful to meet you. Refill my glass, won't you dear." She wiggled the empty tumbler in his direction, a sickly sweet expression on her face.

"So then," she shifted in her seat, rearranging the thick rouge robes that hung about her. "Any ladies in your life?"

  

[Mortimer Skeeter]

He hadn't thought the woman sat in the room with her looked quite like his mother's usual crowd, but something about her certainly looked familiar. It was all explained though - save perhaps his mother's almost guilty look! - when she clasped his arm and introduce her company as his aunt! His mother's sister, evidently. Perhaps he'd met her when he was younger, but he certainly didn't have very many memories of her; as far as he knew, she'd long since been out of the country, and he knew more of her from his mother's mouth than of her in person.

"Aunt Mariah," he echoed brightly, in greeting. "Excellent to meet you, too." Morty grinned a little awkwardly as she examined him for a moment, in that typical way of relatives. He surveyed Aunt Mariah somewhat in return, picking out the resemblances he could to her sister, but ultimately more intrigued by her outfit.

"'Course," Morty offered good-humouredly, obligingly taking the glass to refill it, casting a raised-eyebrowed look at his mother as he turned away to do so. Glancing over his shoulder at his aunt as she spoke again, he barked out a laugh. "None of to speak of, no," he answered with another easy grin, rather sure it would be a more embarrassing conversation were he to have had a girl to speak of. (Not that he was nearly old enough to be courting anyone, so if he were to mention any girls they would not be marriageable kind.) But there they were; his mother and her sister Mariah were not entirely unlike each other!

Part of him was tempted to inquire after the potential existence of an uncle in return, but he decided against it, merely filling his aunt's glass and, decanter still in hand, offering an amused aside to his mother. "Any more for you?"