The Before Side of Noon (Open, Casual)

Mirana looked up as she walked, running a hand through her locks of blonde hair, the sun shining behind her as the girl walked into the cafe. She was smiling as she did so, and yet the smile was one that most people wouldn't expect a girl of her age to sport at ten in the morning. Mirana Van Leurweck, though, was what you would call a morning person--school had yet to start at NYU, and she was just doing her best to laze the last of her free days away like most Manhattanites.

Or atleast, that's what she was trying to make it look like.

Though her days were filled with running from this place to that, lounging around the penthouse she shared (loosely speaking) with her parents, or doing whatever might come to mind, she was only up as early as she was to get away from what came at night. Because at night, where the old Mirana would've stayed up till the wee hours with friends, going to all the gala events, parties, and after-parties she could, the new one struggled. Because now, at night, was when the dreams came, and Mirana hated the dreams. No, no, it wasn't that, she hated the feelings they brought out---feelings of loss, emptiness, sometimes of anger and hurt, and regret. Regret was the biggest one. With an absolute passion, she hated the feeling of regret. And even though she could feel the dream she'd had last night creeping around in her bones, Mirana pushed it away and sealed it in a little box that was not to return till she fell into dreamland, and that was a whole day away.


As she walked into the cafe, the sun shone behind her, casting an almost ethereal light upon her, making the golden-blonde locks of her hair appear even more so as they shifted around her shoulders, the long tresses moving freely. A blue dress clung to the curves of her hips and thighs, ending low enough just to be considered appropriate and then some, but she was guilty of wanting to show enough leg. As she ordered, though she happily pretended (as she wasn't in the mood to snap at anyone today; though, she wasn't the type to anyways, it was nice to keep the temptation away) it was the large statement necklace with the main piece settled right below her breasts that the barista was staring at, she knew it was not. Taking her cold, tropical flavoured tea to the table with her, she sat down and ran a hand through her hair, blue eyes glancing at her phone a moment as she set the small white clutch down at the table. As soon as she looked up at her phone, however, she spotted someone. This someone was another woman, another blonde, and, in an odd coincidence, was wearing sunglasses Mirana had at home, somewhere. But, around here, that was expected; it was the Upper East Side, after all.

Leaning back in the seat, she gave a soft, relieved sigh. Lately, cries of "Mirana!" and "Miss Van Leurweck!" were common-place as she walked, and today it seemed that ten in the morning was too early for shutterbugs. Why all the commotion, you ask? Well, no less than two weeks ago, Mirana had been chosen to do an ad---from a picture the modeling agency had on file from last year, when Mirana decided to go and get a few headshots done because most of the other girls (and a couple guys) were doing it as well. Of course, it was no big thing, a young and beautiful socialite doing modeling was about as common as a business man. However, the big thing was just whom and what the ad was for. Mirana, a wealthy and not entirely unknown but not famous patrician had been chosen to do an ad for a Gucci fragrance, based solely on her beauty alone---that had been what made it explode. Pretty soon the ad was all over, and Mirana was beyond honoured, yet the constant pictures were getting old. Old, but not completely unwanted--everyone liked a little attention now and again.

However, now was not one of those times. With a small stretch, the leggy blonde picked up her still half-full coffee cup to go ask for a refill, lost in thoughts (some of which she was successfully pushing down and away), only pulled out of them when she bumped into a nearby table, spilling the remainder of her tea all over it.

In New York, especially in Manhattan, there wasn't much of a chance to get a "thank you", "please", or "I'm sorry" out on the streets--sure, you'd hear them in the household, maybe, and in business places, but in the general hustle and bustle of things, it wasn't unusual for one to just walk by. Though one might expect Mirana to simply walk by, she tried to make it a habit to say the little things. Of course, most often they were muttered as she passed by, but at least she was one of the few that actually bothered to let it pass their lips in the first place.

About to do the same when she spilled the coffee, the word didn't even have time to fully pass her lips. "Sorr-" she began cut off when the other woman jumped out of her chair and thrashed around, making Mirana's eyes widen and back up a little. This was quite the reaction, even for New York. Looking towards where she'd been heading, someone had taken her place anyways, so she turned back and grabbed another napkin as if to help. "I'm really, really sorry..." she said again, watching as the woman's attempt failed.

Meeting her eyes, the other blonde gaped at her, and Mirana simply shook her head at her question. "I-I mean, I'm sure they cost alot, but I can't imagine the..." she stopped herself and shook her head again, this time in a judgement of herself. Putting the napkin down onto the table, she sighed a bit, figuring that she might as well make up for the mistake. "I'll pay for the dry-cleaning, or whatever it is you've got to do. I really am sorry about this." she said, giving an apologetic smile.

"Wow...uh, sure, I can." she said, giving a smile and turning around to take a spot back in line. "Thank God that's all she's asking for." she thought to herself, moving towards the line that'd relatively grown in size, but only by a few. She stood there, looking as normal as anybody else. (Granted, she was a bit taller than most girls her age.) "I get chewed out and I'm the one buying someone coffee..." she thought, but only for a moment. The blonde woman took in a breath and closed her eyes, forcing down the flare of anger that'd shown up, forcing down the negative thoughts about this woman that she was having---Mirana could tell by the tone, now that she thought about it, that the jeans weren't hers. "Either that, or she's just...." No, no. A model. She had to have been a model; that wasn't uncommon here in New York.

By the time she was up to the counter, Mirana realized that she hadn't asked the other woman what kind of coffee it was that she wanted. "Well, hopefully she'll like whatever I get..." the thought fleetingly stayed in her head as the barista asked what she'd like. Her order, perhaps unexpectedly, was simple; a plain black coffee with cream and sugar. Mirana was more of a tea-drinker anyhow, but what New York youth of today wasn't just a tad addicted to coffee? Waiting at the side until it was done, Mirana picked up the order as soon as it came up, having bought herself another coffee for the hell of it. "Order up." Mirana said with a bright smile as she approached the other blonde woman again, setting the cardboard holder onto the table and taking the seat across from her.

"I don't think I caught your name, did I?" she asked, looking out the window for a few moments before looking back to the other woman to wait for her answer, and give her her own name. "Mine's Mirana, it's nice to meet you." Mirana smiled, tilting her head slightly.

Mirana felt her eyes widening when she heard the name. Smiling a bit, she wondered if the sudden suspicion was true or not---the woman's voice had sounded pretty familiar, but she didn't know if she was the radio host or not. It wasn't really that she was a morning person, she just was no longer a night person, and morning was the only other thing. A part of her wouldn't admit consciously that she enjoyed the dreams in a way, but that, at the moment, was neither here nor there. Mirana kept her suspicions quiet and didn't mention them. "Ah, it was nothing." she replied to the thanks, giving a shrug of her shoulders.

"It's a bit late for that apology..." she thought, but soon squashed the thought down--at least the other woman was having the politeness to apologize. And, besides, this was New York, and if New Yorkers knew about anything, it was bitchiness.

Turning her blue eyes up to the woman from where they'd been (focused on her coffee a moment, stirring it as a few less-than-nice thoughts about the barista that'd made it flittered through her mind. He could've at least stirred it up a couple times.), she responded with a small smile and moved her head to take a glance out the window.

"Oh, ya know...the night." she replied, giving a smile that seemed, if one was observant slightly off. In fact, if someone was observant enough they could probably sense the off-ness in her entire persona sometimes. It's not say it was fake, but Mirana wasn't as nice as even she tried to believe she was.

"And you? Besides the modeling, I suppose. You are a model, aren't you?" she added the question on at the end, not wanting Siobhan to think she had assumed that she was a model just because of how she freaked out over the jeans.