|
Mikaela Mäkinen's Aparment Owned by: Mikaela Mäkinen
|
|
The Flat
| |||||||||
|
|
Roleplay[]
Mika and Vilja[]
「 Mikaela Mäkinen 」Narcissist • Hacker • Influencer
26
Witch
Hacker
Single
Mika was sitting at the dining table, tapping away at two computers who sat side by side to one another. Ask her what she was doing and she'll tell you she was editing a video but that was a lie. She was doing a side project-some person paid her to find information and they needed a hacker. And Mika needed some extra cash. She wasn't expecting anyone to be here but if anyone did turn up, she'd know the second they stepped foot in her front yard due to the alarms and spells she's placed around her house.
Message Me • {{{2}}}
「 Vilja Mäkinen 」Ravenclaw, Seventh Year • Aspiring Potioneer
Right after her encounter with Tristan, Vilja had returned to the hostel to find her sister's address. It was difficult, because she couldn't remember where she'd placed it, but once she had located it, she'd floo'ed her way to Lincliff City. Shortly after arriving, she'd rented a broom and made her way all the way to the street Mika lived in, stopping right in front of her house. She was agitated - red eyes, shaking hands, puffy cheeks - and needed to see Mika. She needed to remember she was Ajax. She wasn't their mother. She wasn't their sister. She needed her family right now and Mikaela was all she had left. She honestly isn't even sure whether her sister wants to see her, but she has her address so she may as well put it to good use. Reaching the door (and silently praying this is the right house), she knocks quickly and repeatedly. It doesn't occur to her that her sister might already know she's there.
Message Me • 01:35, July 13, 2020 (UTC)
「 Mikaela Mäkinen 」Narcissist • Hacker • Influencer
26
Witch
Hacker
Single
Mika had slid both computers into different drawers by the time Vilja's knuckles touched the wood. She checked her nails, making sure they were perfect and none of the purple colour had been chipped off. Look-she hated seeming overeager. Fashionably late was the way to go, even if it was answering her own door. Then she headed to the front door. She had expected a few things to be the reason that Vilja had visited but she certainly didn't expect Vilja to be on the point of crying-or had she already cried? Mika wasn't sure? Mika was never good with tears? Maybe that's why she never got on with Caera-her first meeting was Caera crying over burnt cupcakes. The last time Mika cried was when she was six and her father stuck a cigarette into her arm to make her go quiet. So crying wasn't Mika's area of expertise. Mika's first question would be are you dying? because obviously that is the only situation to cry but she bit her tongue. "Are they back? Is that why you're..." she trailed off before gesturing to her face. "Or are you giving yourself a facial? I hear tears are very good for your skin." Look-Mika wouldn't judge that tactic too harshly. She wouldn't do it herself, let alone in the middle of a street but she wouldn't judge it. "Come in, I was about to make a cocktail. Which you can't have. Or do you drink?"
Message Me • {{{2}}}
「 Vilja Mäkinen 」Ravenclaw, Seventh Year • Aspiring Potioneer
By the time Mikaela opens the door, Vilja is already regretting showing up. As a matter of fact, she's already turning, ready to bolt out of the house's front yard, when the door opens and she hears Mika's very confused voice. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, red-rimmed eyes widening a little and her nose crinkling slightly and she sniffles. She's trying hard not to cry again. "No! No, they um - no, they're... no, it isn't -" Vilja can't find the energy or thoughts to string together a sentence past that, because technically they are. He is. He is but isn't, because she still lives on as their legacy and it's scaring her shitless. "I'm - I just -" Where is her fucking voice? "Can I - um, you know," Vilja jerks a thumb at the inside of her house, shaking a leg slightly and running a hand through her tangled hair anxiously. Her stomach clenches uneasily, its contents threatening to make a reappearance. She swallows nervously. "Bathroom. Trash can."
Message Me • 00:11, July 15, 2020 (UTC)