The Before Side of Noon (Open, Casual)

[SIOBHAN "NYX" SHAW]

The cafe was quiet. That was the reason Siobhan had picked it. At only ten am, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and she had desperately needed somewhere quiet to get a cup of coffee. Once she’d paid for it, she’d slumped down at one of the tables, sunglasses still in place, even if she was inside. It was far too bright and her eyes far too sensitive to brave the world without them.

Photographers, she decided, were cruel, sadistic pricks.

When she’d signed on to model blue jeans, she’d thought it would be some indoor set with hay bales and plaid shirts. Instead, it had been a closed off park at SIX AM, with designer boots and a top that showed off more than she thought was necessary to sell jeans. She could have dealt with the get up, but as the shoot drug on, the park became sunny and hot. The photographer had apparently wanted to “Catch the dawn” and now he was catching mid-morning, too. She still had no idea what he was on about there. She’d seen dawn – there was nothing special about it that couldn’t be reproduced by selective lighting in a closed set. To make matters worse, he wanted to “Catch the afternoon” also, so she was expected back in the park in a few hours. She couldn’t even go home and catch a nap, but she had wandered a few blocks so she wouldn’t have to look at the park. The place was just as evil as the photographer, after all.

She huffed at the thought, taking a long sip from the sweetened coffee in front of her. The sugar would help her wake up, or so she hoped. If life were fair, she would still be sleeping. It had been a long time since Siobhan Shaw had last seen the before side of noon. She really wasn’t missing much.

Slumping down a bit more, she stretched so that she was limply hanging on one side of the table, nursing her coffee, and glad that she had shelled out the extra twenty-some-odd dollars for the non-spill, reusable coffee cup. At this rate, it was going to be a long day and she could use all the help she could get. Besides, if she spilled coffee on the jeans – she hadn’t bothered to change – there would be hell to pay.

She made a conscious effort not to think about the shoot, the photographer, or the time of the day, and she even ignored how the cafe was filling up with people. Instead she closed her eyes behind her sunglasses and tried to just relax. Tense models made for tense photographers, which meant for much longer shoots, after all.

[MIRANA VAN LEURWECK]

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.

[SIOBHAN "NYX" SHAW]

Siobhan was nearly relaxed when she felt the table jolt. She blinked herself back to awareness, gripping her coffee cup securely. It took a moment before she finally glanced at the blonde who had bumped into her private not-quite-napping area. She was used to this – it was New York, after all. Everyone bustled and pushed their way through life until they got where they wanted to go. Unlike Canada, no one ever apologised, either, so Siobhan didn’t hold out for an apology. She was about to disregard the entire thing and go back to her lounging when her leg hurt.

Photographers were evil, but scalding hot coffee hitting her leg was just cruel.

Jumping back, she nearly knocked over her chair, hissing in pain. She gripped the area around the burn, trying to cut off the pain. “Son of a...How were you even drinking that? Christ...”

And once the pain faded a bit, panic set in.

“Oh no. No no no no no...” she babbled, gaping at the wet patch on her jeans. That was the problem – they technically weren’t her jeans. Until the shoot was over, they were the company’s property. And even then, if they wanted them back, she’d have to either give them back, or buy them. She didn’t even like the jeans.

She reached into her bag, pulling out the bottle of water and the towel she kept on her. She quickly poured the water on the towel and started blotting at the spill. She vaguely remembered her maid scolding her about that. She was raised scrubbing oil and grease out of her father’s clothing, and then her older brother’s. She didn’t get how blotting worked, but she was willing to try. The maid did manage to get her laundry much cleaner than she managed to, after all. But after a few minutes, it was clear that she was going to get nowhere with a bottle of water and a towel.

“I...” she gaped at the other woman.

It was a accident. It wasn’t on purpose. It still didn’t make her feel any better to think like that. She was not going to snap and rage at this woman, even though nothing would have made her happier right then.

“Do you have any idea what just happened?”

[MIRANA VAN LEURWECK]

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.

[SIOBHAN "NYX" SHAW]

"Sorr-I'm really, really sorry... I-I mean, I'm sure they cost a lot, but I can't imagine the...I'll pay for the dry-cleaning, or whatever it is you've got to do. I really am sorry about this."

Listening to the other woman, Siobhan couldn’t help but sigh. Now she’d gone and been what she always hated – a raging bitch for no good reason. She was being ridiculous and now this girl was sputtering like nothing else. It was just coffee and the other woman had been more than nice about apologising. Had it been later in the day, she would have been fine. Mornings just threw her off so terribly that it wasn’t even funny. She just had to calm down and start acting like an adult now, even if she was not functioning like a human being.

“It’s fine. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Siobhan replied, sitting back down, making sure she was clear of the mess.

And it would be fine. She had to believe that. There were a hundred and eighty shots taken already. The Photographer had “caught the dawn”. If there was a meltdown, she’d figure it out later. It wasn’t worth it to get so upset over a cup of coffee and some lousy jeans.

“Don’t worry about the dry cleaning...it’s really not worth it.”

In a few weeks, they’d be the newest designer fad in stores. She glared at the ugly things, thinking they were probably better with the coffee stains. Perhaps she’d pitch that to the company. She reached for where her own cup had tipped in the excitement and groaned quietly when she felt it was empty.

“Tell you what – if you want to make it up to me, buy me another cup of coffee and we’ll call it even.”

[MIRANA VAN LEURWECK]

"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.

[SIOBHAN "NYX" SHAW]

"Wow...uh, sure, I can."

Siobhan watched as the other woman went towards the counter and blinked. That rarely worked, well, unless it was a man, that is. She really felt bad then. Siobhan took a moment to wipe the table down, figuring that she was going to sit, be polite, and figure out this mess, so the table had better not still be pooling with coffee.

"Order up!”

Siobhan looked up at where the girl had come back and set a cup of coffee down in front of her with a bright smile and a chirpy disposition. Ah, a morning person. She should have known.

"I don't think I caught your name, did I? Mine's Mirana, it's nice to meet you."

“Hi, Mirana,” she replied, thinking that was a unique name. “I’m Siobhan Shaw.”

Her last name was advertised all over the city, seeing as how communications companies were in constant competition. However, her full name often showed up in magazines and news papers, so it was probable that Mirana knew her. If not, well, she always liked meeting new people.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she added, picking up the cup and toasting her companion slightly. “I apologise, it’s been a very long morning. I hope I didn’t come across too bitchy.”

Oh, she knew she had. It wasn’t a good thing, not in the slightest, and making up for it now wasn’t easy. However, no one in New York could say that Siobhan Shaw didn’t try to make everyone feel comfortable...eventually.

“So, Mirana, what brings you out so early?”

[MIRANA VAN LEURWECK]

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.

[SIOBHAN "NYX" SHAW]

Siobhan was lost in her coffee. It was lovely to drink one that she didn’t have to pay for, after all. If this little outing had proved anything, it was that she needed to go home and take a nap as soon as possible.

"Oh, ya know...the night."

Siobhan glanced up, wondering what the hell she was on about. The other woman seemed a bit vacant, looking out the window the way she was. The smile...It raised the little hairs on the back of her neck. She suddenly suspected that this was someone she shouldn’t have interacted with, petite blonde or not.

"And you? Besides the modeling, I suppose. You are a model, aren't you?"

“Occasionally,” she replied, trying not to look like she was put off at all. “I only do it for charity these days.”

That much was true. She always donated the funds, even if she did owe Hector a large sum of money – thank you, Jameson. This was something for The Shaw Foundation. It would help feed the hungry, rather than paying off part of the debt. She could sleep soundly with that in mind.

“I usually host an all-night radio show,” she offered. “How about yourself? What keeps you busy?”

It was always safer to keep the conversation off herself, after all. She’d done too much talking today, as it was. The way she’d spoken after the coffee was spilled was proof enough of that. She knew she hadn’t made a friend, but from the look of the other woman...well, some things happened the way they did for a reason.