` valesco { a post first war rpg }

Gabriel :X

2012-02-09T21:54:18Z

"Are you feeling up to visitors?"

The question startled her, drawing Rachel out of her pensive reverie. Time was still getting away from her, so she was unsure how long she had been awake, but the minutes seemed to stretch on and on when she was by herself, easily getting lost in the swirling confusion of her thoughts. They said most of the physical ailments had been attended to, burns, lacerations, broken bones, that sort of thing, but she hardly felt well. The vague but ever-present, all-encompassing soreness and throbbing head were uncomfortable, of course, but there was more that disturbed her. She had the feeling she was missing something, forgetting something, like leaving a pot to boil. But the murkiness was gone. Even if the pain pulsing behind her eyes was just shy of causing them to water, she could see things much clearer now, literally and figuratively. At the very least, Rachel remembered she'd been awake earlier, though couldn't have said what transpired. That, a different nurse had said, was an improvement from before. An unsettling piece of news, but she appeared to be recovering.

Even if she couldn't quite remember from what, but no one was hard-pressed to tell her more than "unfortunate incident" and "totally normal, don't worry." Surprisingly, she wasn't terribly bothered, but that may have been the effect of the overwhelming tiredness and slightly unfocused head.

"There's someone who'd like to see you." The witch in the purple robes looked familiar to her, but she couldn't quite place her. Rachel assumed she'd been one to treat her earlier.

Believing she knew who the visitor was, she had her doubts about such a statement. Really, she just didn't know what she was going to say.

"All right," she said quietly, closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, a man, not who she expected, stood in the doorway. Blinking in quick succession, though regretting the action, her brows tugged together. "Yes?"

valesco @ 2012-02-09T13:16:00

2012-02-09T18:48:36Z

Who: Samantha Cadwallader and Thomas McCormack
What: Cupcake Date
When: Before the raffle!
Where: A delicious cupcake store in an undetermined location

Samantha Cadwallader was extremely nervous at the moment. She really didn’t think it would be such a big deal because he seems somewhat non-chalant about the idea of getting cupcakes together, but she really enjoyed the time that she spent with him in Hogsmeade. Thomas was a really nice guy, she decided, and obviously she wanted things to go well with him. He worked with her sister and if something awkward were to happen, she would hate for that to affect Victoria’s relationship with him.

She fidgeted with her clothing as she did a few last minute touch ups and making sure that everything looked okay before she left the apartment. This was going to be okay...it’s not as if he were a terrible person right? Victoria would never suggest that she spend time with a terrible person. Everything was going to be fine...she just had to remember to breathe.

Thomas would not put it above Odette to have followed him to see if he was going against their enforced diet. He was usually very good at eating healthy and not having any issues with that, but he’d just offered to take Samantha to this bakery, and what could he do? Just sit there and look at them? He knew his captain was going to be annoyed at him and probably have the beaters take target practice at him, but she didn’t need to put her foot down like this when she hadn’t all season.

Plus, it wasn’t every day that he actually wanted to impress a girl. It wasn’t every day there was a girl that was interested in him in that didn’t have him hyperventilating because they were overwhelming or they had issues that dominated any sort of sexual desire he had toward them and---yes. He had called this everything but a date to anyone he bothered to talk to, but Thomas wasn’t dumb and he knew what this was and--what he wanted from it.

Maybe. The thought was terrifying, but. Maybe.

“Hello,” he called, jogging up from behind Samantha, “Sorry--sorry, practice ran late.” Thomas stopped and took a few breaths, smiling widely, “You look very pretty,” he said before he could think about it. But, he didn’t falter and continued to smile.

Sam could feel a light blush creeping onto her cheeks at the compliment. She felt like she was past the age where she should be getting all those ridiculous reactions to these sorts of things but it’d been some time since anyone of worth had popped into her life and--well, she was attempting to put forth some effort here. It was refreshing that he would notice that at all. “I--thank you,” she said softly, offering him a smile.

“How are things?” she asked curiously. “Haven’t seen much of Victoria lately. The team must be keeping everyone busy, eh?” Things at Gringotts were slowly picking up for Samantha as well, so she understood the rushed feeling that Thomas and her sister no doubt went through with things. She had just one week more of training and paperwork to complete before she got to go out in the field, something she was quite excited about. Most of her experience from Canada was in Central America, so it would be interesting to see the different ruins in this part of the world.

She turned her gaze to the display of cupcakes in front of them, still not sure what all the flavors were, but every single one looked delicious. The tiniest detail was thought out and planned, making the display quite impressive to behold. She hoped that they were as good as he said, the place seemed convenient enough to fix any future sweet tooth cravings.

“I’m probably going to be strung up by my ankles if I’m caught out here,” Thomas admitted, running a hand through his hair (and also taking a look around to see if Odette was hiding behind a bush or something), “But---I couldn’t just put the idea of a delicious cupcake in your head and then not treat you to one.”

Though, the true scenario, one he did not think was appropriate to bring up on a first date of sorts, was that not only had he won the woman that he had believed to have been in love with all these years until it was too late (it was a friendly ticket!), but he had been won by the teammate he had been shagging at random intervals because----because they were just bloody---oy, he couldn’t even explain it in his head. Seeing the results made Thomas’ stomach twist and lurch, but seeing Samantha’s comment made him think that maybe she’d put a ticket under his name and he didn’t want to miss out on a chance and---

All these luck and random things did not sit well with Thomas so he had taken things into his own hands. He pulled the door open for Sam and followed her into the bakery, the smell of overwhelmingly good cupcakes filling his nose.

Samantha took in a deep breath when they entered the bakery, and a smile spread across her face. “If these taste as good as they smell, I think I’m going to enjoy this,” she commented as she looked at the descriptions of each cupcake on the wall, trying to scope out what she was going to go with. If Thomas were to ask, Samantha would probably share that she had bought tickets under his name, but she would have been terribly shy over it. She was unable to put her finger on it, but there was something alluring about him.

She turned to look at him, smiling. “Well, I hope it’s worth being strung up by your ankles. Have you ever had the....hot fudge cupcake?” she asked curiously as she looked at the menu. It was between that and a banana split based concoction. There were many times when it was difficult for Samantha to make a finite decision; this was one of them.

He startled as she turned back to him, having been watching her with a smile as she examined all the baked goods. Thomas felt as if Victoria must have been slipping some strange potion into his drinks ever since she came up with the idea of him showing her sister around her new home, as he hadn’t felt this compelled to be around someone like this in ages. Not even just be around, he wanted to...impress Samantha, and as he spent so much of his time feeling unimpressive, it was taking a lot to accomplish this.

But she had such nice looking hair, how could he not stare? Thomas gulped and leaned toward the display, mentally noting how many laps he was going to have to run around the pitch to burn off just the one cupcake. He didn’t want to restrict himself like Odette was trying to force him to do, but he wasn’t going to completely ruin his regiment, either.

“I don’t think you can go wrong with chocolate,” he said with a nod, hoping that the girl behind the counter did not voice any surprise about his different choice of cupcakes. Thomas reached into his pocket to pull out the necessary coins, waiting for Samantha to make her final decision. His pockets were charmed; he hadn’t known what he should really be spending, though he figured he had enough to buy two of each kind in the bakery.

Samantha mulled the thought over in her head for just a bit longer. “Hmmm...I’m feeling a bit adventurous today. I’ll try a banana split cupcake,” she said, smiling kindly at the girl helping them. She tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear nervously. She watched as the girl carefully boxed their cupcakes up and waited for Thomas to square everything away before they left the shop with him.

They started to walk down the street, sorting out the cupcakes as they went. She absent-mindedly stared around her as they walked, taking in the store fronts of the shops they passed. It was an interesting location, to be sure. She looked over at Thomas, waiting until he finished the last bite of cupcake he had taken in (she hated being asked something while her mouth was full, after all). “So do you have any brothers or sisters?” She carefully set to pulling the paper wrapper on her cupcake away before taking a small bite. Goodness, she had to admit, this was really fantastic...

“I have one crazy sister that tries to control my career and life,” Thomas admitted easily, knowing all too well that if it became Catriona’s public knowledge that he might be sort of seeing someone after the debacle of his last real relationship, she would most likely hire private investigators to make sure that Samantha wasn’t a complete nutter like his ex. Which he was severely doubting anyone could reach Regina’s level of madness, but Thomas did not particularly want Samantha to be scrutinized in that way. Not that they were even sort of maybe seeing each other, but. “Do you have any crazies in the Cadwallader brood?”

He felt guilty for a few seconds before taking his first bite of the cupcake, but the incredible flavor and the oozing chocolate completely washed those thoughts away. He would simply run two, three extra laps around the pitch; hopefully Odette would just see it as he was more enthused about working out than actually trying to burn off any calories from this date------outing. Thing.

“This is amazing,” he started to say, putting his hand up to catch the crumbs. Thomas grinned sheepishly as they dropped down to a bench. “This is absolutely worth the extra hour of training I’ll have to do tonight.”

"Oh, not really. I mean, I've got an uncle who's a little odd, but I wouldn't call him crazy. I'm sure we do things that seem odd over here, but that's just differences in culture, eh," she said, smiling as she watched him catch crumbs. "Things are a bit different here than back home, that's for sure. I'm still adjusting to the lack of quodpot over here."

He was very handsome, she thought. He was soft spoken, but it didn't seem like he was shy. She appreciated that; a lot of the professional players she read about had a reputation for being mouthy and full of themselves. That definitely wasn't attractive to Samantha. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before taking another bite.

"It must take a lot of dedication to keep up with a training schedule like that. I think I would end up indulging just for the sake of rebellion!" she replied with a laugh. While it was true that she had to keep up with things a bit just to ensure that she didn't die in a catacomb or tomb, it was a bit different. A cupcake here or there was not going to hurt in the long run.

Rachel

2012-02-08T05:26:32Z

The entire day had been absolutely exhausting, even before he had been disturbed at work with the troubling news that his wife and a family friend had been attacked, and were now at Mungo’s recovering. He had gotten a late start to his day, his secretary had knocked over a couple of files – it was just one of those days where he knew nothing was going to go according to plan. He just never banked on things getting this bad, which was a mistake on his part. Maybe if he always anticipated the worst, he wouldn’t be so surprised, so hurt when things like this happened.

What kind of miserable existence he would have if he thought like that, though. He’d forever be expecting bad things to happen, and his neuroticism would eventually drive him crazy. He needed to find the middle ground between being consistently paranoid, and being hopeful that the worst was over and done with. It was just so hard to do, when the bar kept being set higher and higher.

He was tired emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually – however many ways a human being could be exhausted, Donovan was feeling it. He felt hollow, and wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to sleep properly in his own home that night, knowing what had transpired there only hours ago. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep without Danielle laying there beside him, but the healers said they wanted to observe her over night. Maybe that was for the best – at least he knew she was safe there. He’d likely wind up falling asleep in the chair next to her bed, and would wake up with several kinks in his back and neck, but it was the only way he would be able to get any rest at all.

But before he could do that, there was one more thing he needed to do – he needed to see Rachel, the other woman who had been hurt while she was visiting with Danielle, who just so happened to be Gabriel’s wife. He managed to get something of a second wind, gaining enough energy to rise to his feet and approach the nurse’s desk, asking which room she was in. Danielle still wasn’t conscious, but he told the healers to keep him informed if she woke up, so he could be there. Until then, he moved slowly through the hospital corridors until he reached Rachel’s room. A gentle rap was given on the open door, just so she knew someone was in the doorway. He didn’t see Gabriel, from where he was standing, so he had to assume he only had a limited window of opportunity to speak with Rachel while she was alone.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

He barely even recognized his own voice that night. It felt like it took most of his energy, just to produce intelligible words.

Donovan!

2012-02-07T16:58:58Z

Gabriel had never been in quite a state, and this nurse, who had not done anything more but sit behind the large round desk and do her crosswords, was not helping his state.

"It has been nearly forty-five minutes, how could you possibly not have any more information? What kind of establishment are you running? I need to speak to the Healer-in-Chief, this is not acceptable---"

The nurse put her hand up and stood. Gabriel's mouth shut tightly as he listened to her repeat, once again, that when the healers were done with the spell casting that needed to be done on Rachel and Danielle that they would let them know. 'Dark magic takes time and care, Mr. Corner.' It was always the part of the nurse's spiel that quieted his rage. Dark magic. The war had been over for more than a year, but here he was, in St. Mungo's because of an attack on his wife and his best friend's wife. Dark magic. The seriousness of the situation could not be lifted, it could not be avoided, it could not be denied. Dark magic.

He pushed away from the counter and stalked back to the seats of the waiting room. It was empty save for he and Donovan; the ward for dark magic attacks had been the quietest in St. Mungo's for months, it was as if the healers there didn't know what to do with themselves. Gabriel dropped down into the seat beside Donovan, knowing that his friend was in quite the right state himself. He stared at his friend for a few seconds before clapping his hand on Donovan's shoulder in reassurance.

"They're going to be fine," Gabriel said, though he wasn't sure how believable he sounded.

valesco @ 2012-02-06T23:14:00

2012-02-07T03:28:53Z

WHO: Rachel Corner and Danielle Rookwood
WHAT: Tea time turns into a literal disaster!
WHERE: Rookwood home!
WHEN: This afternoon!
RATING: DM for DARK MAGIC

Of all Gabriel's friends’ wives, Rachel liked Danielle best. Kobe Ackerly was a rather dense child, and while Erin Kirke was by no means unpleasant, the two women had little in common aside from their husbands' friendship and the same House in school. She'd known both her and Danielle in passing during their school years, given that they were only a year senior to her, but it was Danielle she'd felt any kinship toward. For all her lack of a so-called proper upbringing, she still had a certain amount of poise and the unmistakable demeanor of a Ravenclaw. Danielle was quiet, which Rachel appreciated, and an accomplished Healer, which she esteemed, and the Rookwoods were likely her preferred couple to attend a social engagement with being that their temperaments were so close to Gabriel's and her own.

Which was why she had taken it upon herself to do what most people accused her of being too good for, and reach out to the older witch. Rachel may not have been the kindest or most approachable of people, and a warm bedside manner had certainly never been her most remarkable trait during her time at St. Mungo's, but she thought she knew on what level to approach Danielle, and believed at least a tenuous friendship had formed between the two. And while she may have loathed the experiences from the bottom of her soul, had in fact gone through not one but two pregnancies of varying difficulty, so she thought her experience in that area might be of some value now that they too were expecting, although she was reasonably certain Danielle had read every piece of literature, both Wizarding and Muggle, on prenatal care, pregnancy, and child rearing. Still, everybody loved testimonials.

Today, she had come to bequeath a thin stack of painstakingly selected nursery catalogues which then led to a discussion on what child-proofing the rest of their house might involve (over tea), and slowly, like any gathering of one or more high society witches and afternoon tea, to any other number of baby- and not-so-baby related topics. Rachel found that the more time she spent with Danielle, the more personality traits and quirks she found enjoyable; the most recent being how (sometimes unintentionally) humourous Danielle could be.

"I might have looked like a whale at seven months," Rachel was saying, stroking the rim of her cup with her finger, her brow sardonically raised at the memory of one of the Parkinson girls' discovering her delicate condition the first time, the mistake time, "but even with swollen ankles and newly discovered stretch marks, I assured her I was both better-looking and more intelligent, and had I mentioned how I turned down her fiancé's marriage proposal not six months earlier? But I did hope they were happy together."

She shrugged with a little smile. "My motto has always been not to fight fire with fire, but obliterate it." Rachel leaned forward to place the empty cup back on its saucer. "I'm sure you can understand, what with the inevitable hormonal surge."

Rachel was so very intriguing. Danielle listened to the other woman’s stories, trying not to gape, but--they were the kind of gossip she never got and never knew she needed. Danielle had been on many adventures in her life, and was still continuing to go on, but it was remarkable how much like a vicious jungle the pureblood upper class was. She was glad that one of its leading lionesses was one of her friends, even though Danielle was quite sure that she would never receive an invitation to one of these events in her lifetime.

She couldn’t imagine Donovan enjoying his time at these things, which relieved her in some ways. He would not have been happy having to constantly go to these events and socialize with people he believed to be---it would have been dreadful if he had been married to that girl. Danielle couldn’t bear to imagine if she had just shown up a few months later, would she have been able to reunite with Donovan and stop him from walking down the aisle to someone he’d admitted that he didn’t love?

“That girl Donovan was engaged to was disowned,” Danielle blurted, feeling the need to add to the talk, and not go on about some healing appointment she found interesting. Rachel seemed to appreciate those stories, but this didn’t seem like the time. Her eyes widened, unused to spreading stories, especially when she hadn’t even told Donovan that she’d heard the news.

“These two women were going on about it in the cafeteria,” Danielle left out the part that they had only started to talk about Cecilia because they had seen her walk in and began to gab about ‘the halfblood that ruined the poor Rookwood boy’s life,’ “Apparently she met a boy who wasn’t a pureblood and broke off her most recent engagement, but no one knows where she is and it’s simply---I almost feel bad for her.”

Danielle knew she did, but there was the part of her that illogically could not get over the fact that the younger girl, whom she’d never met, could have kept her apart from Donovan forever, who had almost did because he was honorable and did not go back on his word at first. Danielle took in a deep breath, sitting back and placing a hand on her stomach. She only looked as if she had an extra piece of dessert, but it was a strangely comforting position.

Her eyes widened in interest, recalling the few times Gabriel had mentioned the situation to her, and how it had been all puzzling and dramatic, and had piqued her curiosity more than once, since she was familiar with the other family members.

"I simply cannot imagine," Rachel shuddered daintily. If her parents hadn't disowned her for Amissa, nor for Hippocrates Smethwyck, she wasn't entirely sure where the line lay. A Muggle, perhaps. Or, she believed, there was no line at all, for the more mistakes she made, the tighter they'd simply rein her in. As if they would let her run off into the wild of the Wizarding world to do as she pleased. Her glance fell to her ring finger and the band on it, which she worried for just a few seconds before looking back up. At least there had been one right thing they'd pushed her into. It could have turned out much more like Donovan and the other Hooke girl, and that… well, would have been exactly what she had expected, wouldn't it?

"Happily that's all in the past now," she said, re-crossing her ankles and settling back into her chair, taking in the all too familiar hand-on-stomach position. "And you're expecting. I have to say, I was awfully put out that Benjamin was not in fact a girl," or, one might say, put out in general, "but I have to admit he was easier with the morning sickness. Has it lessened for you at all, yet?" Rachel remembered all too well having to run out of the room on more than one occasion for much longer than one trimester, foolish mid-wife.

Very happily in the past, Danielle silently agreed. While hearing the women gossip about her had upset her (an hour in the on-call room tearily writing journal messages to Donovan, upset), Danielle knew that she and Donovan’s futures were set and she need not worry about being broken up any longer.

“I’m not very good at dealing with girls,” Danielle admitted with a slight shrug, “I was very happy with a boy, but a girl would have been just as lovely.” Her cheeks reddened at Rachel’s question about morning sickness, and while she normally would give a short response of ‘yes,’ she felt like this bonding time with someone who could be considered an ‘in-law’ of sorts deserved a bit more. “Oh, yes...we’ve managed to curb the nausea quite some bit with, erm,” her face was pink, so very pink, “with some exercise.”

Her eyebrows lifted, sending Rachel a ‘look’ that she hoped put the point across that she and Donovan had discovered that morning, afternoon, and evening shags were quite productive in alleviating the nausea morning sickness gave her. Whether it was just a very good distraction, she couldn’t tell you, but Danielle was very keen on keeping this practice up for as long as they could. Maybe she’d even write a book about it one day, and cure all pregnant women of the ailment.

“It’s done wonders, and, oh this might be a bit much but during our lunch breaks we---” Danielle was cut off by a crashing sound somewhere in the house. The kitchen, perhaps? She jumped, but she let out a short laugh. “I think the cat’s having a bit too much fun.”

She'd been about to suggest the house-elf favoured remedy of meadowsweet for any lingering sickness a good romp couldn't fix (and was she eager to hear the outwardly-prim Danielle reveal any details about such things) when the disturbance sounded. Nodding at Danielle's explanation, she had yet another reason to turn down her daughter's begging for a kitten of late. Rachel was quite content with the near-mummified Priscilla, who had, she noted with tongue-in-cheek amusement, taken a jealous disliking to princess Amissa, much to the latter's chagrin. But if it meant her house, furniture, and other belongings remained intact, she greatly preferred Amissa's sulking.

A moment passed as she glanced down at the tea service that had been summoned, and in the general direction of the crash which the kitchen was in. "Allow me to take these back and I'll have a look, shall I?" meaning no imperiousness, but being quite unable to stop her natural bent for hostessing, particularly when her own was pregnant. Standing and waving away and protestations Danielle could make, though thinking the Rookwoods could benefit from the services of a house-elf, she deftly levitated the tray and made her way to the kitchen.

The scene caught her off-guard, as shards of broken glass glittered dimly from the nearly every surface within a five-foot radius of the large windows, the center one having been shattered. Furrowing her brow, Rachel stepped gingerly forward and spotted the culprit rolling between the legs of a chair — not a cat, but a dark ball. She pressed her lips together, and shaking her head, Rachel peered out of the windows to look for the offenders. "Are there children on this lane?" she called, carefully walking forward. "Someone's thrown a — "

Just as she'd stepped closer to it, raising her wand to clean up the glass, a peculiar rattling caught her attention. Glancing to the side, the tray floating alongside her was vibrating with such a frenzy that one of the cups tipped onto its side before the whole thing stilled and smashed loudly to the floor. "What in the —"

Danielle couldn’t possibly stay behind while Rachel took the tray and tea. She was very new at playing hostess, but it was her cat, a cat she had insisted upon when Donovan not-so-subtly suggested she spend more time at home and less at the hospital. The woman hurried after her guest, but then slowed her pace when she spotted Dilys, her kitten, on top of the book case, hissing and looking quite petrified. It would have taken a lot for the tiny cat to get up that high, and Danielle entered the kitchen with her wand out and ready. Maybe a bird had gotten into the house? But no, Rachel was saying something about children, or something being thrown--

She jumped at the crashing of the tea tray, one hand going to her stomach as her wand struck out. There was glass everywhere which confused her greatly, and she shared a worried glance with Rachel before the object of their concern. The little black ball rolled out from under the table and for a split second Danielle wondered how hard someone could have thrown or hit it that the ball was still moving, but then wisps that cracked the air with each movement started fuming out and it became obvious that it was hexed.

“Get out, get out!” Danielle shouted at Rachel, trying to banish the ball but feeling as if her wand was just a heavy stick. Nothing was coming out of it, no sparks, it was as if the dark magic seeping from the orb was stopping her magic. It felt unnatural, but she put her wand in her pocket and reached for a broomstick to try and swat the offending ball away. The moment the bristles touched the ball the black fumes crackled and wrapped itself quickly up the staff of the broom and before she could react they twisted around her hand and wrist. Danielle cried out as a searing pain burnt her skin with each lash and she dropped the broomstick, managing to cut it off before it went too far up her arm.

She backed away quickly, looking at Rachel for help as the black, dark magic began to go along the cracks of the tiled floor.

The moment the tray had fallen, Rachel knew there was something very wrong in the kitchen. What it was, she could not have said, but there was no reason for her flawless to the point of second-nature charm casting to fail, or why, after glancing at Danielle a moment later, when she tried to clean up the glass, nothing happened. That's when Danielle's cry snapped her attention to the blonde, then to the floor where her wand was pointing and the curls of something dark and hazy that rose from the ball — an orb, and her stomach dropped.

"Danielle —" she started, staring at the object with a struck look, her hand blindly reaching out in the other witch's general direction, "We need —" but then Rachel saw her grabbing the broom, reaching towards it. "Danielle, don't!" but the subsequent shouts showed her warning went unheard or unheeded.

Pure instinct took over as the orb was now smoking and showering them with far-reaching sparks, like a volatile cracker about to explode. That was likely exactly what was going to happen, and Rachel did not want to be anywhere near this room — this house — when it did. Scooping the tray up, heedless of the glass and china fragments, she hurled it like a weak shield over the orb with one hand and not so gently shoved Danielle in the direction of the door with the other. "RUN!" she shouted, backing away with her eyes locked on it before turning to sprint. It was three strides to the kitchen door and she felt a pulse of relief before a thunderous explosion caught her attention. The last thing Rachel remembered as her steps faltered and she looked over her shoulder was the slamming cloud of blackness.

valesco @ 2012-02-04T23:04:00

2012-02-05T03:19:10Z

WHO: Miles Lufkin, Arista Sykes, and a surprise guest appearance
WHAT: There's something going on in the captain's offices
WHERE: Pride locker room
WHEN: TONIGHT

There were very few things that could take Miles Lufkin’s mind off of quidditch. Especially with the playoffs only two weeks away and the Pride barely making it into the brackets (okay, all the Phoenix teams made it into the brackets, but the placement! The placement!), the only thing on his mind was quidditch, his team, strategy, quidditch, and more quidditch. It was why he found himself so sharp with his players, with their personal lives and the like; dealings with Seth Wadcock brought unnecessary stress to his seeker that could easily be avoided if she wasn’t so headstrong.

Yes, it took a lot for Miles to lose his focus, and as his hands moved up the bare, thin waist of his current suitor, he realized that this woman on his lap was one of them. Intoxicating, she was, invigorating, and as she leaned forward her golden hair fell like silk into his eyes. She loved to tease him, she loved to make him wait, but he couldn’t, especially not now when she had shut them in his locker room office after a rather grueling practice.

“Cat,” he let out lowly, his lips pressing to the spot between her breasts, “You have terrible timing.”

She'd been yelled at.

It had been completely out of line!. Arista grumbled to herself as she stalked toward the locker room. This was not to say Arista Sykes was exempt from team captain disciplinary action. There had been several times in past where she had been on the receiving end of Miles's fury and deservedly so. That was the difference—she'd earned it before. Her performances may not have been garnering consistent match-winning results, but her technique was studied and near-flawless! Her personal life was admittedly something of puzzle—mess—something confusing—but it was being handled! But no, her captain had torn into her for a good five minutes on the pitch, needlessly, and her game had been shot for the rest of the night though she'd sullenly run drills until well after everyone else had deserted the field.

Snapping her goggles on top of her head of wind-ravaged hair, she'd angrily jammed her broom into the locker and bodily closed it with an aggrieved shove. There was light spilling out from around the door-frame of the office he normally occupied and it gave her grim pleasure to see. Arista would go in there, she would give Miles a piece of her mind, because yes, everyone was on tenterhooks because of their precarious placement for the play-offs, but that was simply no excuse, she thought as she marched toward the office and pushed the ajar door further open, simply no excuse for treating his players like they were "MMPHH—"

Oh, Merlin. Oh, Hera's hopping hippogriffs.

Catriona McCormack, ex-Pride, current team benefactor and unofficial manager, coach, and sort-of reserve, was straddling her captain while in a state of semi-dress.

She could not move. She honestly wasn't even sure if she was breathing at this moment in time.

If Catriona McCormack was anything, it was professional. While Miles’ eyes went as wide as saucers and he lurched back and away, Catriona turned and scoffed at---Sykes. The older woman picked up her discarded robe from the desk behind her and unhooked her legs. Miles’ gaped in shock as she stood and hooked the clasps of her robes up, glaring at Arista. Once the top clasp was done she disappeared with a loud crack, and she left behind a heavy loaded silence.

Miles blinked a few times, his mind whirling. One second he was ready to ravish his secret suitor, and the next he was sitting his chair, bare chested and completely hung up with---”Sykes!”

He stood quickly, grabbing his robes to fling them on and over his head, unsure how he managed not to get caught up in them as he was moving so frantically. “Sykes! What are you doing, don’t you know how to knock, what is wrong with---get out of here!”

Not that it mattered. Catriona was gone and it would take more than a late night owl to get her to come back. He glowered at his seeker, pulling on his boots and lacing them up quickly, “What are you even doing here?!” Miles snapped.

Her eyes were as big as saucers. Nay, her eyes were bigger than saucers. Possibly the most important woman of her acquaintance barring her own mother had just swept past her with her nose in the air despite only a moment ago having been caught almost naked and Arista hadn't even managed a simper.

So frozen was her mind on the picture now mentally blazed across her frontal lobe that she didn't even register Miles's tirade. "Was that — did I just...?" Reason suddenly struck her, and she threw her elbow guard at Miles in shock, outrage, awe, and perhaps the tiniest bit of disgusted fascination. "YOU!" She pointed at him with a finger not entirely steady, whether from adrenaline or something else, she could not say. "Are you — sleeping with CATRIONA MCCORMACK?"

His wand was out immediately, sending a quick bolt of a spell to the door to make sure it was shut and locked and silenced---Sykes was going to be the death of him, he was sure, or he was going to be the death of her if she did not shut up. The elbow guard him him with a bit of a pinch and he stormed around his desk.

“That is none of your business and if you know what’s good for you then you will keep your mouth shut!” Miles snapped, ordered, demanded, his finger pointing stiffly at the seeker. If word got out that this little affair was going on, he was sure that the media would have his and Catriona’s reputations destroyed. Miles didn’t have the best of images, but breaking up the marriage of one of the most beloved quidditch players of all time would absolutely destroy whatever credibility he had in the league and---it simply could not be so.

He did feel, because he knew his seeker and he knew it well that Arista would need some sort of answer other than ‘be quiet’ and he rolled his neck, “Cat propositioned me, and whatever Catriona McCormack wants, she gets.”

Miles couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that slid onto his face however, and leaned back on his desk. He did not know if he would have to hear a confirmation of Arista’s silence or if he could trust her. She was a smart girl, she would be able to see the ramifications of a story like this leaking.

Arista could hear in her mind her mother's voice screaming to spin this situation to her advantage, and though she wouldn't actually know why, she could just feel it in her bones that the next time she saw her mother, Jocunda would be radiating disgusted disappointment at her un-opportunistic daughter. But she ordinarily liked, even idolized, Miles, and for all her attitude, was shockingly bad at things requiring subterfuge, deceit, and trickery. So no, she honestly had no idea what she was supposed to do with the information that had just been handed to her, but had at least snapped her gaping mouth shut now.

Except, gracious, she truly had no desire to have seen either of them in such states, nor did she want to know anything about Catriona McCormack's mode of extra-maritally picking up men... even if she was wildly successful.

Well, perhaps that bore thinking on.

"I wouldn't say anything!" Arista exclaimed, tossing her head back with offense. "I particularly would not say anything during this most crucial and delicate time of play-offs in a season where we have received some very bad press!"

And perhaps he needed to attack her a little less and concentrate a little more on being not as conspicuous with where and how they were conducting their affair. Which had been going on thankfully-only-Merlin-knew how long.

That was precisely what he wanted to hear. Miles had to play that he was not scared of Arista and what could be the start of a very controversial media swarm, but he knew that he would have to watch his tongue around his seeker; she portrayed the epitome of class in the public eye but he had seen her off the pitch and behind closed doors more than enough to know the fury the girl could release. Anything said in front of the wrong person or at the wrong time could completely ruin his career and with his already uneven foundation on the team he could not risk such a scandal.

Being brought in through the M.A.G.I.C. act was still a sore spot with many of the Pride’s supporters, and Miles had protested Catriona’s advances for some time because of it. Denying her seemed to make Catriona want to win him over even more, and Miles wasn’t particularly proud of how hard he’d fallen, but still---He did not want to be the belligerent scoundrel that was messing around with one of their most beloved players, he did not want to lose his captainship after leading the team through some rough patches. Miles had no intention of ever stepping down, but he also had no doubt that the management would throw him to the wolves before Catriona’s reputation was completely tarnished.

“Thank you,” he managed, knowing he had to show some gratitude toward Arista if he wanted her to stay on his side. She knew just as well how delicate of a situation this was and hoped she put her team first. Miles began to pack up his belongs, his gaze dropping away from Arista as a sign that the conversation was over and the scene to be forgotten, “Practice is early tomorrow.”

valesco @ 2012-02-04T15:57:00

2012-02-04T23:26:29Z

WHO: Chandler & Wendy Midgen (+ bb Eloise!)
WHAT: JUST CUTENESS OKAY?!
WHERE: The Midgen abode!
WHEN: ERRRRRR yesterday? Today?

Chandler was greatly flummoxed by his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Trying to get into the team spirit along with Wendy and the rest of the Tornadoes was not going according to plan, and now his hair was a shocking purple, as he’d accidentally mixed the two hair potions. The subject had never been his forte, and was rather embarrassed at the result. He gulped, loudly, a sound that was quite often heard in their household, and it caused little Eloise to giggle and twitter from her seat on top of the toilet seat. Her father looked down at her, lips twisted in a smirk.

“Do you think it looks funny, Elly?” he asked, earning some applause from the nineteen-month-old. Chandler, though thoroughly unsure of his current situation, could not help but smile at his daughter and he took her hand to help slide her off the top of the toilet and out of the bathroom. “Will you help Papa find a hat?”

“‘at ‘at ‘at!” Eloise squeaked, her toes barely grazing the ground as Chandler held her hand up high. Before he could make it to the master bedroom he heard the signature ‘POP!’ of his wife’s arrival, as did his daughter. She squealed and twisted, pinching his hand so that she could be let go and allowed to rush to her mother. Chandler made sure Eloise’s feet were planted on the ground before he let her rush off, and hoped that she distracted her mother enough for him to find a indoor-appropriate hat to wear.

Practice had been grueling, but Wendy certainly didn't feel like it had been. Whether it was from a renewed sense of team unity or the much needed win from the weekend or both, she couldn't say, but she and most of her teammates were playing with a new intensity she just knew would pay off in the play-offs.

But as soon as she was in the coziness of her sitting room, Wendy could feel the weight of a day, even a good one, drop away. She loved what she did, but the hours were mad enough without bringing it home as well. The pitter-patter of little feet running to meet her was a familiar sound and she opened her arms wide to intercept the giggling mass that was much trickier than any snitch. "Hallo, Isey!"

If there was even one regret she had about being a professional athlete, it was that it took her away from home a lot in the season, and that meant being away from Eloise. Wendy had no illusions about her prowess as a mother—if it wasn't for Chandler, she was certain her darling child would be crawling backwards and speaking in tongues—but she hoped it was enough that she loved this little girl with all her heart and then some. Eloise plastered messy kisses to her cheek and squealed, fisting her hands gently in Wendy's newly-pink hair which she seemed to greatly adore. Holding the squirming bundle tight and making kissing noises right back at her, Wendy waited for the louder footfalls of her husband to follow, possibly out of breath from chasing Eloise around earlier. When none came, her curiosity was piqued.

"What did you do to your daddy?" she asked, tickling Eloise gently along the ribs. Her response was a wheeze and babbling, as her curly-headed daughter leaned backwards over the arms holding her and pointed in the general direction of their bedroom, so Wendy skipped towards it. "Chandler?" she called, nudging the ajar door further open with her shoulder. "Miss Elly Pat says—"

She stopped short at the sight that greeted her, mouth frozen in an "oh." "What—!"

“Oh---well-----you see...”

Chandler had been digging through his dresser to look for the hat that would most properly cover up his ridiculous hairdo, and was now caught in the midst of his burrowing. Well, he was caught, and any explanation other than the truth would just lead to mumbling and twitching and Wendy didn’t seem to mind all that nonsense of his that usually happened when he became flustered. Which was often and a lot.

“I tried to get into the team spirit,” he explained, putting his hands out. Eloise pointed and laughed, and Chandler reckoned that she was going to have a very wicked sense of humor when she grew older. “But I believe that I mixed the wrong potions!”

Chandler lifted his wand and made the room a bit brighter so that his wife could get a better look. He came closer and Eloise’s laughter intensified and he tweaked her nose, “She’s a critic. It doesn’t look...terrible, right?”

Oh, it did. But he really needed Wendy to lie and say otherwise.

Her hanging open mouth snapped shut very suddenly and Wendy smashed her lips together trying not to laugh. It wasn't that he looked silly! Although, all right, maybe he did, just a smidge, but it was so very sweet that he would show support for her like this, even at the risk of looking just a smidge silly.

She shook her head vigorously, hoping Eloise's raucous sounding giggles covered her own wheezes. It really didn't look terrible; it was just shocking to see her ordinarily button-downed husband so… unbuttoned. And so purple! Not that he'd ever made her feel like this once, but sometimes she wondered if he wished his crazy wife did other things for a living, things that didn't have him putting funny colours in his hair. Then he did things like this, and just knowing he'd done it with her in mind gave her a fuzzy, tingly kind of feeling and her arms inadvertently convulsed around her good-humoured child with her sudden surge of happiness.

"No, it doesn't look terrible!" Wendy exclaimed when she could finally make the words without her voice breaking. Leaning forward so they sandwiched Eloise between them, she lifted one hand to tug an errant lock of his newly-coloured hair. "See, it's like you support all of the Tornados now!"

Chandler would always deny to anyone who might be interested enough to ask that being the may-as-well-be-a-stay-at-home-husband to a famous quidditch player took its toll, but times like this, when he found himself bored enough at home to actually convince himself that dying his hair was a good idea, he wondered what he would be doing with his life if Wendy hadn’t wandered into Waterstone on that day, at that very time.

He would probably have succumbed to his mother’s wills and married their neighbor’s daughter, Marion Hansen, the nice girl next door. She would sit at home while he went to work, she would have dinner ready when he got home, and they’d sit in bed with a good book before kissing good night and going to sleep. It would be a simple life for a very simple man like Chandler.

But it would have been so boring and dreadfully lonely, don’t you think With his Wendy, Chandler the simple man was loved for being quiet and thoughtful, and when she grew excited or came home with thrilling tales he absorbed them and admired her for it. They had very little to no routine, and it kept his mind racing and working; you had to be able to keep up with a literal tornado like Wendy, and Chandler decided that this little debacle of purple hair was just another attack of the whirlwind life he’d been accepted when he said those very famous ‘I do’s’

“This just means you lot better take the cup,” Chandler said with a grin, his arms going around his girls, kissing Eloise’s still laughing face before dipping his lips toward Wendy’s.

Raffle Dates!

2012-02-04T16:52:23Z

It was hard to say that the raffle was a bad idea when it raised so much money for W.Q.W., and while there wasn't an official number yet, even Henry seem pleased with the result. But standing outside the Montrose Pitch, Seth was having a hard time remembering why he thought a raffle would be more fun than a traditional auction, where you couldn't bid on someone's behalf without their knowledge, or at least being able to find out who did it.

Seth was all for just not going since he was pretty sure that neither of them would be heartbroken if the 'date' actually didn't happen but with the amount of press that was at the event, just skipping out on it altogether wasn't an option. Especially since Seth was on of the co-founders of the charity the whole event was held to support. After a thirty minute lecture from Henry, which was mostly a list of things he was under no circumstances allowed to do, even if she provoked it, he was allowed to leave. So here he was waiting on Odette MacFarlan to show.

He shoved his hands in his pockets trying not to think of all the other time Odette and he did stuff for the sake of publicity that ended in complete and utter disaster. He had changed since he was Captain of the Magpies, and he could certainly handle one perfectly cordial lunch with her.

OOC: Heyyy everyone, feel free to use this post to put up threads for your quidditch raffle dates! Bound to lots of potential drama lurking about with this so, have fun! :D

valesco @ 2012-01-29T16:47:00

2012-01-30T00:02:44Z

WHO: Archie + Isobel + Baby bump MacMillan
WHAT: Nope, doing this once already does not a pro make.
WHERE: Scotland manor!
WHEN: NOW!

She had decided that the last few months of her pregnancy were going to be done barefoot. Izzie was having the remarkably uncomfortable issue of swollen ankles this time around, something she hadn’t had to deal with Ernie, and was banning shoes and the like from her home. It wasn’t something the two men in her life seemed to appreciate, but they couldn’t do much about it now because her ‘nesting’ stage had caused her to put all of the shoes in the house into some neat little nook of a closet she’d found and could not possibly find again.

Oh, well. She supposed that Archie could just buy new pairs of shoes if he just had to wear them to work. Izzie held one pair of shoes that had not succumbed to the others fate, hoping that they would be suitable for her husband to wear to work until she found the rest or he purchased some more. She shut her eyes as she opened the door to her husband’s office, trying to get herself ready to star the waterworks if he was less than amused about the shoe predicament.

“You’re going to be quite put off...with...me.” Izzie blinked, taking in the mountains of boxes that covered every inch of her husband’s offices. Very familiar boxes that had her handwriting all over the sides, very familiar boxes that she was quite sure held the paperwork and whatever else she’d collected over the years from her yoga studio. “Archie?”

Archie had been scribbling busily away with his fine ostrich-plumed quill, deadly intent on making his way through the mound of casework that was crowding his desk at work. So caught up in his closing comments on the pantless Derbyshire magician was he that he entirely missed Isobel's entrance into his study, except for the moderately soul-crushing sound of the door flattening a box crammed between a table and the door stoppper. He flinched and fought a spine-tingling chill akin to one might experience when hearing nails on a chalkboard or a banshee scream, looking up in surprise to see her standing there, mouth open.

"Isobel," he said, having paused in his flourishing signature so the quill still tickled his cheek. He cocked his head to the side with a frown as he saw the dilapidated pair of footwear clutched in his bewildered-looking wife's hand. "Why are you holding my shoes?"

Izzie dropped the shoes, jumping a bit in surprise as they didn’t make a thunk on the floor, but landed in a poof of parchment because of the open box they landed in. She felt like her eyelids had been charmed to stick to her eyebrows as she took in the rather organized chaos that was taking over Archie’s office. Had she really avoided this room enough (the chairs were just too hard to get up from!) to not notice him collect and collect box upon box?

“Archie,” she said again, seemingly only able to say her husband’s name. Isobel’s mouth moved like a fish’s, unsure if she was actually seeing what she was seeing. She knew she had a mess in her studio, but it was spread out throughout various desks and closets and...piles. It seemed like so much more when they were piled like her husband had managed it, “Archie...what are you doing with...”

She turned a bit too suddenly and her belly bopped one of the boxes, making one of the towers teeter. “What’s all this doing here?!”

It took him a moment to realize what she was talking about, so he blinked owlishly until the realization occurred. "Oh!" he cried, suddenly looking at his office as though for the first time. Comprehension then truly dawned. "Oh." Archie steepled his fingers and took in the controlled chaos with new eyes, picturing what his wife must be seeing. "Yes. About this, I—"

From what he could recall, it started innocently enough. After being eaten alive by her paperwork (and rightfully so, for it was in a dreadful state), Isobel had beseeched Archie to help devise a system that would keep them organized. He agreed, but only if she promised and swore, etc. that she would work on it with him, and actually pay attention!, so that she'd remember to employ it in future.

Well, one thing or the other kept happening, and somehow they never found the time to get to it, and Archie confiscated the mess so Isobel couldn't worsen it, and it was just... there, in all it's boxed splendour.

"Remember how I said we should both sit down and come up with a system together, my sweet...!" He smiled uncertainly, feeling inexplicably nervous all of a sudden. "You know, for when you should be resting. More," because he was quite certain she hadn't been doing the proper amount as it was.

Archie cleared his throat for a moment and looked back at the box his shoes had disappeared into, trying not to think about the smudges it was going to leave behind on the scrolls. "Erm, Isobel, why — the shoes?"

“Because I hate shoes!” Isobel squeaked, running her hands through her hair in nervousness. Look at all this mess, just look at it! How could Archie even breathe in here, let alone seem so calm and collected?! How could all of The Lotus Flower’s paperwork be here when it had managed to take up so much space at the studio? How had Archie gotten all of this in here without her noticing?!

Isobel suddenly felt quite dizzy. It was probably a good thing that Archie was undertaking such a task, and Merlin knew that her studio needed to be organized, but to actually see what a mess all of her paperwork actually was in was intimidating. Her mess had been....hers, organized chaos, but now it seemed like she did not have any sort of control over it and that---this----was----her thing. The Lotus Flower was hers! And--yes, she had asked for his help but this was...not...whatshehadinmind!

“I need to sit down,” Izzie said, looking around for one of Archie’s armchairs, and when she realized that he’d either banished them to make room for his new collection of work, she dropped down onto the nearest and shortest tower of boxes, not even cringing at the sound of the crinkled parchment beneath her weight.

"Are you all right?" Archie asked in alarm, trying not to visibly show any of the wince he felt upon the sound, or the thought that all those scrolls would be squashed from the weight of her — no, it was all right, she was his Isobel, and she looked rather queasy and in need of him at the moment.

Swinging his legs up over the desk, he carefully avoided his preciously organized stack of paperwork and one box that had somehow taken up residence on its surface, which he'd never found a better place for. Skipping over boxes that littered the path from him to her like an obstacle course, he crouched in front of her and took hold of her hands tightly in his. "Isobel!" He ducked his head to better look her in the eye, taking into account her bare feet in spite of the relatively chilled floor of the manor. "Why do you hate shoes, dearest?"

Izzie frowned deeply, trying to control her tears but it simply wasn’t possible. This pregnancy had been...a lot rougher than her time with Ernie, which was not something she had been expecting. She’d had to go to court and deal with a destroyed mansion, her husband was nearly killed in a freak earthquake, and there were so many other out-of-her-control things that had transpired that she hadn’t even noticed the swelling of her feet or the constant cravings or all the other aches that came along with being pregnant. Now that the world was at peace, it felt like this new baby was making up for all the physically pain-free from before.

“You took all my stuff,” she let out, eyes widening, “This is---all my---without---they make my feet hurt!” Izzie knew she was babbling but she could not even think about forming actual sentences because this was big and overwhelming but not really, but her mind wouldn’t let her relax about it and she gripped Archie’s hands, “You’ve got to---take them off and put...put all this back!”

Mad, she was absolutely mad.

Archie felt his heart clutch in panic, not because his wife too was panicking (as the first year of their relationship seemed essentially like one long panic-attack for Isobel), but because for the first time in their joint history, they were not unwed and pregnant, homeless while waiting for their desecrated ancestral home to be remodeled, harangued by parents and siblings, turned into giant reptilian creatures, drowning in an indoor flood, or lying in a magical coma while one partner went into labour with their first child. No one had even been kidnapped! So if his wife was having some kind of nervous breakdown when none of this was happening, what did that MEAN? Surely it couldn't have been worse than all that!

"Please breathe!" he begged as he clutched her hands tighter in his, because he certainly wasn't remembering to do that. "I'll do whatever you want me to, please just breathe!"

Her comment about feet and the inexplicable hate she seemed to have developed for footwear caught his attention, and Archie glanced down at the pink heels exposed by the hem of her robe. Dainty and streamlined as his Isobel was, her feet were no exception. But he could see the normally delicate protrusion of bone at the ankle almost indistinguishable from the skin around it, and wondered just how uncomfortable restricting the skin in such an area would be. Then he felt embarrassed, and a little ashamed, because he could hole himself up in his study and spend late nights at the office under the pretext of providing for his family, but what good was he at all if he couldn't show that he cared, or notice when he might be needed?

Cupping a hand gingerly around her foot, he ran his thumb over the ankle and looked up with a crease in his brow. "Is it — Are you all right?"

“I---” Izzie caught her breath, seeing her husband’s worry and concern and suddenly felt very guilty for her slight (more than slight) reaction (overreaction). She did mentally note that Archie had barely said a word about all the paperwork that was currently creating a claustrophobic-like feeling throughout the room, but maybe that should be discussed away from the mountains of work that they needed to get through. Izzie sniffled and wiped at her face, feeling some relief as Archie rubbed her foot.

She really needed to calm down. All she was doing was getting him worked up, and when Archie was worked up, she got worked up and Izzie didn’t think she was ready for this baby to come out just yet because of a panic attack. Her eyes took in the paperwork and boxes and let out a breath. She hadn’t been stressed out about all this mess before, what was getting her crazy now? It took a lot of Izzie to admit that she needed help, and Archie was always there to help her. He was always there to help her even when she didn’t ask. If she couldn’t think of a logical reason to be fretting about all the paperwork, then she couldn’t exactly argue with her husband about it, could she?

Izzie sighed, looking down at Archie with a pout. His mind seemed focused on her swollen ankles, and she wiggled her toes slowly. She’d make that her issue right now.

“This baby is really wearing me down,” she admitted, knowing for a fact that she would be stopping her yoga practices much earlier than she had during her first pregnancy.

This baby had been more of a shock to him than even Ernest, but Archie couldn't deny it made him just as happy. But he hated that Izzie felt any discomfort at all because of it, particularly because there was nothing he could do, and Archie despised being helpless.

He couldn't help but feel that Isobel simply taxed herself too much, be it because of her work, or keeping house. Even if she were to be put on bedrest, which Archie had a sneaking suspicion might be happening earlier this time as well, he knew it was no guarantee that his extremely active wife would pay heed to it. Particularly if she was still in the house. That was when an idea suddenly struck him, directing his gaze to Isobel from the corner of his eye.

"What if we—went somewhere?" he said slowly, stilling in the midst of pressing her foot. "Like a…holiday."

“Oooh.”

Izzie’s eyebrows went high, her surprise at the comment more than evident. A holiday! They hadn’t been anywhere since their honeymoon, and the euphoria that most couples had after returning home had been short lived. Very short lived. They had not even managed to get through the door of their new home because there was no door to their new home. Oh, a holiday would be splendid, and Archie was always commenting on how it was never too young to start culturing Ernie. Would Archie be able to take the time off from work? She knew how he hated to miss a day, but he would not have suggested it if he didn’t think it was possible and...

“That would be lovely,” Isobel agreed, leaning forward to put her hands on Archie’s shoulder and kiss his forehead. A holiday to get away from all the stress, even though she’d still literally be carrying around what was giving her the most stress...the idea that all she had to worry about was having a pleasant, happy time with her two favorite people in the world was more than enough medicine.

Izzie couldn’t help the smile of pride and excitement as she stared adoringly down at her husband, “You’re a darling, did you know?”

Archie felt that tell-tale flush spreading up to his ears that three years and innumerable hardships had not, could never, dull and lowered his eyes. "I'm actually more of a toad," he said confessed. "But you make me want to be a prince."

But an ear-to-ear grin soon found its way onto his face, and the tingles of excitement this idea had given him were quickly igniting now that Isobel seemed to approve it. Not that it would have mattered otherwise; the only thing he ever really wanted to do was make her happy. Passing his thumb over her ankle bone, he looked back up at her through a haze of adoration and planning. "I was thinking perhaps Italy? I have a cousin that keeps a villa there—it truly is so lovely, though I've only seen the pictures…"

Mister Spinnet!

2012-01-29T04:08:19Z

There had been little opportunity to dredge up past wrong-doings or events.

Not that she was complaining. If she had her way, they'd never come up at all, ever, for any reason. But repressing past events was of little good to anyone, and Penelope had first-hand experience in that.

Luckily, today was neither the time nor place for such unpleasantness.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, they hadn't been able to see much of each other since that whirlwind new year's eve. Between the insanity of practices by his demon captain and her own busy schedule of work, studying, and other work, there was little coinciding time in their schedules for one another. A few notes by owl, mixed with a handful of rather stolen visits which were a curious combination of strange and familiar, because it made her realize she didn't actually know Charles Spinnet.

Penelope could count on one hand the things she'd learned about him, real things. Not included amongst those scant few items was his middle name, birthday, favourite colour or House in school. She did know his broom make of preference, which side of the hoops he favoured, exactly how he carried himself when tense, and the number of times he nervously paced before an intelligible thought could be pried from him. Surprisingly, it was all she needed. Especially today, of all days.

Today was an important game—though the words were a gross understatement. Having ultimately secured first place in the Phoenix league by just a margin of 20 points, this was the game that would determine to what advantage the Kestrels entered the play-offs, and the state of morale the team would be in. Frankly, she wasn't worried about the former so much as the latter, as she watched Charles get up and find some excuse to pace the length of his sitting room for just about the tenth time. His tension had been nearly palpable since she'd dropped by to wish him luck that morning.

Curled up on the sofa, with her chin resting in her hand, her eyes tracked his non-progress. "I could take your mind off it," she offered in a politely salacious manner that was only half joking. "If you'd let me." This had also been a small point of contention between the two of them, if largely unspoken. But only a small one, of course.

valesco @ 2012-01-28T00:54:00

2012-01-28T05:10:56Z

Who: Seth Wadcock and Mira Jasper!
What: awkward run-ins
Where: the most magical place on earth... diagon!

Seth frowned as he stood with his arms folded staring down the street at Gringotts Bank. He had put off going for far to long, especially since switching teams and moving south, there was paperwork and forms to file. Not to mention he should probably put the jewelry that his had hidden in his drawer into his vault. He really had no use for it now, yet he couldn’t bring himself to sell it.

He hadn’t been to Diagon Alley since he broke up with Mira. There was just to much chance that of accidentally bumping into her. And Seth wasn’t sure just how he would react if such a thing were to happen. He sighed as he shoved his hands in his pocket. Now or never. He most certainly couldn’t continue to stand here all day, too bloody scared to walk by one store front.

He flipped the ring box over in his pocket a couple of times before moving his feet making his way down the street. It took all the effort he had not to speed up and run past the front of Ollivander’s, but he managed. And once he noticed that it wasn’t Mira sitting behind the counter, the tension left his shoulders as he left out a small sigh of relief.

Seth stared in the window a moment longer, before continuing on his way. All that stress for nothing. Mira wasn’t even there. He looked over his shoulder when he heard a door opening, still a bit on edge, but it was just a little girl walking out with her first wand, and Seth couldn’t help but smile a bit at the sight. Distracted by the sight, Seth didn’t even see the the other person until they bumped right into each other.

“Watch where you’re going!” Mira burst, her eyes following the boxes that she had been carrying in her arms fall to the ground. Immediately, without looking up, she knelt down to quickly pluck them up before the wet ground got to them. It wasn’t even that there were that many, or that the ground was soaked; the contents were more important than a month’s worth of her salary, and usually Ollivander would come out to meet core extractors himself but it was too cold for that old man’s joints so she had offered--- and now looked what had happened!

Visibly frustrated, she jammed each box back into her arms, waiting until she was about to collect the last one to look up at her offender. The scathing remark on the tip of her tongue lost all its burn once she realized who she was talking to, and Mira felt her entire body seize up and freeze.

What was he doing here. This was where she worked. Nothing about that had changed, you didn’t see her waltzing through quidditch stadiums under the pretense of wanting a scenic stroll--- a chilled breeze caught her opened mouth, which made her cough and sputter. Maybe even for the best, because it allowed her to thaw enough to quickly move her head to let her hair become a thick curtain between them.

This was--- nothing she couldn’t handle. Despite the undeniable nauseous feeling swiftly spreading through her entire system, Mira smoothly stood back up, her chin held high. Seth would not be made aware of her racing heart, or the rolls of ice making her skin prickle alive.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded fiercely, now clutching the contents with her arms wrapped around them.

“Damn.” Seth cursed under his breath as his attention turned back to in front of him. “I’m so sorry,” he said as he started to lean over to help pick up the boxes that were scattered on the ground but he froze mid-motion. Of all the people he could have ran into, it had to be the one person he was avoiding. Well, not exactly avoiding, but he wasn’t exactly making an effort to find her either.

He couldn’t move, and his mouth went dry, not that it mattered because he couldn’t think of anything to say. All he could think about was how beautiful she was despite how angry she looked. How could he had ever thought that ending things with her was even close to a good idea. All because she wouldn’t move in? No, it was bigger than that. He couldn’t let Leanne get attached to yet another woman unless he was sure she was around for good, and Mira wasn’t committing. That was a good reason, right? And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was ending things before she had a chance to end things with him and hurt him.

Yet here he was standing in front of her at a loss for words, and incredibly wounded despite the show he put on for others. What a complete and utter mess everything was. And Mira, she didn’t even attempt to understand. She just hissed her hurtful words and was as done with everything so quick, it almost made Seth glad he ended things. And while his heart ached he couldn’t help but be angry. At her, at the situation, and though he’d never admit it himself.

He wasn’t sure how long he was standing there before he managed to find a train of thought stable enough to form a sentence. “Well there is only one wizarding bank and it just so happens to be located here, ergo...” he swept his hand out in a small gesture that said ‘here I am’.

Feeling herself bristle, Mira tried her best to feel that, and only that, as she looked up at Seth. Her feelings and emotions toward him still hadn’t completely died away, making this interaction’s potential aftermath very painful. It was important that she stayed strong and did not give in to his... him. So while she noted that yes, he looked as handsome as ever, and yes, a part of her had been waiting, even wanting, to see him again, she would not let those things effect her at this current time.

So--- Mira squinted a judgemental stare, unsure whether or not to believe his words. Yes, Gringotts was located relatively close, but that didn’t explain how he had literally run into her here, at Ollivander’s. Had he been looking for her? No, she wasn’t delusional enough to let herself believe that he hadn’t purposely planned this--- nothing was ever that accidental. Or maybe he actually hadn’t; he indeed had the ultimate goal of visiting his vault, but that did not make her less suspicious of his intentions. The end result was still going to be the same: he was just here to be obnoxious. Or even worse, check up on her.

An old anger revved inside her at this thought, and she began to feel wound up. “Fine,” Mira snapped, her grip becoming dangerously tight for her own good. “Sure,” she made her doubt perfectly clear in her tone.

In a sudden movement, her legs sprung forward to push past him, but she misjudged and bumped her shoulder into his in the process. Her face immediately began to burn for reasons more than one, and she had never in her life felt such the urge to make up for it. She threw her next words over her shoulder, knowing before they came out of her mouth they were more for her than him. “I’m sure that’s what you’ll tell Anya later.”

“Last time checked, you didn’t reign over Diagon Alley.” Seth said snidely, rolling his eyes. She had no right to be upset that he was there. Every english wizard had to pass through at some point in time or another. It was just bound to happen.

He had every intention of just letting Mira walk by and let that be the end of that, but she had to go and bump into him, and make some snide remark about Anya. Which was completely uncalled for. It was New Years eve... and he was drunk... and lonely... and well really there was no excuse, but they were broken up, so she had no right to judge. And it wasn’t like it even meant anything.

Seth couldn’t help but turn to stop her from moving on after the physical contact. The last time they had even seen each other in person, they were still together, and the urge to kiss her wasn’t out of place. “Don’t---That was---We aren’t together. I do not tell her things.” he said not grabbing her arm but definitely stopping her from walking away from him. “What ever you think is going on between us, its not like that.” he said with a hint of desperation to his voice. He didn’t want her to think that he had moved on so quickly.

Although it wasn’t like she hadn’t already. It didn’t take her long to accept the offer from Spinnet to go out for drinks. She certainly didn’t seem to care what he thought at all, Mira obviously didn’t care at all. “I’m sure its no different than you and Charles.” he said coolly after taking a moment to compose himself. Why should he be bending over backwards to be nice. This was equally her fault. He didn’t need to feel guilty.

Mira had already stopped at the sound of Seth speaking up, unable to control her curiosity. Though, quite an anger began to build inside her once she realized he had dare planned to stop her anyway. Not turning to face him, she buried her chin into her chest and closed her eyes, hoping for the best. And she had almost felt a twinge of something.... until he opened his mouth again.

Of course he had to go and say--- that. In a fury Mira whipped her wand out from her pocket, sending everything in her arms inside the store with a flourish. Charlie. Charlie?! There was such a difference in those two comparisons that her rage practically brought on a blinding headache. There was nothing, nothing, there never would be and for Seth to keep--- felt something pop and her anger boil over into quite a frenzy.

“CHARLIE!?” she practically screamed, her hair whipping her face as she turned to face him, wand brandished. Sparks flew out as she gripped it tightly, so distracted by what Seth had said that she forgot what she was holding. “I was literally fifteen when we dated! Fifteen! Fifteen! How many times ARE YOU GOING TO BRING HIM UP?” Mira’s empty hand went to the side of her head in a vain attempt to control her fuming thoughts. He-- there--- wasn’t--- that was what--- “You are unbelievable!” Delusional! “There is nothing-- nothing to do with him!”

Seth tried multiple times to cut in during her rant. Of course he was going to bring up Charlie, because he was jealous. So very jealous of how easy the two of them could converse and how much it looked like flirting. It didn’t help the history they had, no matter how young they were. When you had something that you thought you clearly didn’t deserve to have, of course you were terrified that any moment it would be taken away. And Charlie was obviously a threat, or at least, that’s how Seth perceived him.

And the fact that he had swooped in mere moments after they had broken up, offering to take her out, of course Seth was upset. Of course he was going to dwell. But he couldn’t get a word in edgewise because she was yelling and ranting and just not shutting up. Didn’t she understand just how crazy she drove him. That he had not once had even been this much of a jealous person with any of his other girlfriends. Was it really that bad? Perhaps it was only because he was so fucking terrible at expressing how he felt and what was going on in his mind.

So Seth did the only thing he could think of that would simultaneously shut her up and convey how he was feeling. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her soundly on the lips. He was most likely going to get slapped but he did not care. Everything was messed up between them, it couldn’t get any worse. He should have never broken up with her in the first place. That’s when everything started to spiral.

“You drive me so fucking crazy, that I can’t even explain how I feel. So yes I bring up Charlie, and say the stupidest things possible because some how, the way I feel about you, the way I love you causes every thing I want to say that is nice and caring to come out horrifically wrong. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you leaving me so I did what I thought was the smart thing to do, and ended things first. Go figure that it was the stupidest decision I could possibly make.” Seth had no intention of saying any of that, but again, with Mira standing right there and him just kissing her like he did, he couldn’t help himself.

What--- was happening? Mira felt a chill go down her spine through her arms and to her finger tips as Seth suddenly assaulted her with his lips. He--- she--- she could not tell what exactly was causing her mind to implode at that very moment exactly, but it was, which caused her to go limp for a few moments. She relished, within those few moments, his warm familiarity, and pleasant burning sensation of his touch--- until, all her thoughts descended at once.

What the hell was he doing? He--- was not---- allowed---to do--- this! He could not just do what he wanted with her, expecting her to bend to however he felt that day. She was at work! They were in public. It was inappropriate! You just don’t go around snogging people! It-- it-- no!

“No!” she cried, and at the same time felt a jolt spark out of her wand toward him as she spoke. Mira jumped back in surprise, having all but forgotten that her wand had even been in her hands. Had it just... shocked him? Her wand--- the wand chose the wizard, it was an extension of herself and therefore her feelings---

“I didn’t mean to---” Mira started again, giving a faint look to her hand. No, that wasn’t--- “You can’t just--- I don’t want to hear--- you broke up with me!” Mira sputtered, finding that she was having difficulty controlling her usually quick tongue. What he had said... “I don’t--” she started, then stopped herself. This was not how she had wanted to be acting when she saw him again. It wasn’t how you got over people, you didn’t get over people by saying... those... things. Or listening to them. So she needed to--- do this for the both of them.

Feeling like in a frenzy, Mira stomped her foot to the ground and held her chin high to look Seth in the eye. Enough was enough. “I’m seeing someone else,” she spoke firmly.

Seth practically jumped back at the sudden shock to his chest. Did she just hex him? Did that really just happen. He lifted his shirt, mostly because he could not believe she actually did that, to find a welt already forming and just... ow. That was certainly not on the list of reactions he expected. Granted it probably should have been, but still.

“I guess I deserved that.” He said dropping his shirt looking up to Mira as she was sputtering out half sentences. He tried to gather his thoughts, he probably screwed this whole meeting up horribly, and if he said anything else wrong he could probably just forget about any chance he might have had fixing things.

He had an apology on the tip of his tongue, ready for when she finally settled on what she wanted to day. Because while he wasn’t sorry for taking into consideration how Leanne would take it if things wouldn’t work out, he did feel bad about how he handled it. Throwing in his own insecurities on top of everything.

Seth’s lips quirked up into a tiny smile as he watched her stamp her foot, finding it quite adorable. That and it meant that she had finally gotten what she wanted to say together, but it certainly wasn’t at all what he was expecting to hear. His face fell the second the words had left her lips, and it felt like he had just had the wind knocked out of him. She was seeing someone else. What could he possibly say to that? Not that he had any room to judge, or get angry, or really say anything. They had broken up after all. He had broken up with her. She had every right to be seeing someone just like he had every right to get drunk on New Year’s Eve and act like the person he use to be before he had Mira in his life.

But that was different. He wasn’t stupid enough to say it aloud, but it was. What he did was in some drunken attempt to ease the pain he was feeling, which didn’t work at all. Mira seeing someone, it sounded so final. Seeing someone meant that she had already moved on in the month that they’ve been apart. He couldn’t fix things if she had moved on.

“Oh.” he said finally because that is all he could come up with. He cleared his throat as he absentmindedly rubbed at the sore spot on his chest while he tried to find any words to respond to that. “I--er-- I’m sorry then. For kissing you that is, since that makes it even more wildly inappropriate than me just randomly kissing you on the street...in front of your work.” Seth shoved his hands in his pockets, instantly regretting the decision to do so as it reminded him what exactly he had in there.

He closed his eyes and took a breath trying to compose himself. He had just told her he still loved her, and he made a horrible choice breaking up with her, granted in his on special brand of stupid way, but still. And she responds with I’m seeing someone else. That was it, wasn’t it? He done fucked up beyond repair and now he was going to have to deal with it, because throwing a fit over it wasn’t going to help his case at all. “I---I should probably go. I’m sorry. For this. For everything. I just---I should go. Sorry.”

Seeing someone might have been a tad strong to say but--- what else could she say? It was... true, just not as serious as the phrase implied. Derek was very nice, but they had gone out less than a hand's worth of times, making them no where near the intensity level that she and Seth were now, even broken up... Mira bit the inside of her lip, some of her previous resolution beginning to diminish. He looked so sad...

Mira closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to debunk these thoughts. No. Seth was too much older than her, too famous, too volatile, too--- what else had Bianca told her to remember when she felt herself getting weak? Too... too.... unrealistic. Though he didn’t seem that unrealistic now...

Her lips formed into a flat line, finding that all her vigour had vanished. “It was an accident...” Mira spoke in a vague tone, indicating a small gesture toward Seth’s chest. She looked away, turning to look over into the store front. Ollivander! The boxes were still floating in the foyer, and she had no idea how long they had been out here...

“I have to go,” she rushed suddenly, not wanting stand here anymore. Quickly tucking her chin low, Mira turned to reenter the store, burying her face in her hands for only a few seconds before wiping it completely blank. What else could she do?

Michal!

2012-01-23T23:43:49Z

It had been a sudden burst of impulse that had led her to write back to a Quidditch player from Falmouth, of all places -- but she was slowly beginning to see that she couldn't just coop herself up at home with the dragons or with her job at the Ministry (which she'd been very lucky to be able to get back after her spotty attendance before her leave of absence, really). It was time for her to move on with her life now that Voldemort really was gone, and the Death Eater activity had significantly decreased for what the world hoped was good.

She chewed absently at her pinky fingernail while she waited for Michal to show up to the diner. She hadn't moved out to her own flat again yet, so going home was out of the question -- and she didn't want him to think that she was some complete nutter from Hebrides right off the bat anyway, even if that was pretty obvious to everyone but her.

Their impromptu pub-date had gone well, she'd thought -- it was certainly clear to her that he probably needed to learn to relax too, whether he'd ever held the ability to and lost it as she had.

Speedy Owl to Penelope, Adam, and Veronica!!

2012-01-22T16:46:20Z

BRIAN IS TAKING HIS FIRST STEPS AROUND THE HOUSE! Hurry before he decides he's too good for walking and makes us carry him every where!!

~Bess!!

valesco @ 2012-01-22T12:15:00

2012-01-22T16:32:52Z

WHO: Drystan & Bess Fawcett (and Brian!)
WHAT: Something momentous is happening in the Fawcett Household!
WHERE: FAWCETT HOUSEHOLD lmao
WHEN: Today! Sure!

Don't blink.

Don't blink, don't make a sound, don't even breathe.

Drystan repeated this mantra to himself in a horrified whisper inside his head as he watched the scene unfolding before him. Of course, his eyes were burning in that way that only happens when one knows they cannot close their eyes, but even the 300 milliseconds it will take to briefly achieve comfort are too much. His heart was an uncomfortable pounding in his chest, a deafening drum in his ear. Vaguely, he felt a prickle along his hairline, like a bead of sweat forming.

Don't blink.

His eye twitched. Gulping nervously, he noted the interior of his mouth was something akin to sandpaper. Surely this would be over and second now. His fingers curled and uncurled helplessly, and though he felt frozen in place, it seemed that there was a barrelful of frogs leaping in his stomach.

If he could only take his eyes away for one second, he was so sure he would be all right—could go that much longer. But still, he dared not avert them from the sight in front of him. Don't blink, don't blink. Don't make a sound, a move. His lungs felt like they were about to burst, his heart doubling in its beat as though about to burst. Was this, he wondered dazedly, what a panic attack felt like? Was it his life flashing before his eyes, as he felt as though he were floating, suspending in mid-air as the room mildly threatened to collapse around him?

Watching the little face screw up in concentration and slide a socked foot tentatively forward, Drystan jerked his gaze away, screwing his own face up in a wince.

"Did he fall again?" Drystan squinted open one eye as his grimace slowly eased away, and saw his son staring in befuddled alarm at the ground he was currently sitting on. "Merlin, I can't watch this."

“Baaaaaaby!” Bess whined, desperately reaching out for Brian, who now stared as if they’d just sprouted extra heads. She didn’t know how long they had been sitting there on the floor, anticipating what could quite possibly their son’s first steps, but it felt like ages. It felt like forever. Drystan was stuck in a petrified stupor, and her voice was reaching octaves she hadn’t known she could hit. They’d just been playing! Rolling a toy quaffle back and forth, and all of a sudden, suddenly, quite suddenly, Brian pushed himself up in the middle of the living room like he had never done before.

Time just seemed to stop!

Sure, he pulled himself up against the couch and followed his siblings around the room by clinging onto furniture, but this was the first attempt that Bess had seen (and apparently the first Drystan had as well) to do it all by himself. He just went and got up! All by himself! When had he learned to do that? With no support, their baby was getting ready to take his first step and begin the next stage of his life. Soon he would be walking, next, running! Climbing (though he did a bit of that already, found him hanging outside of his crib the other morning sans diaper---), and climbing led to jumping, and jumping led to a desire to fly, and with a quidditch playing father and two siblings who were now obsessed with the game and a mother who acted like she knew what she was talking about when they went to matches it was only inevitable that he would pursue a career in the sport and become the next captain of the Puddlemere United and then the Irish national team and then----

She should probably make sure he could walk, first.

Bess clenched her fists in anticipation as Brian pushed himself up again, looking determined. She slapped Drystan’s thigh hard and quickly as if trying to rev her son up, and then put her hands out to Brian as if she could summon him with her wiggling fingers. He had to walk, she had to see him walk because before she knew it he’d be off to Hogwarts never to cuddle with her again. It seemed like the second Sadie had started walking (a feat that Adam had witnessed alone while Bess was on a late-shift), life began to move at the speed of light. Bess wanted to have this moment happen and let it stay here and linger for as long as possible, she wanted to get stuck right here and keep her boy a baby, brand new to walking and the world around him.

“Briiiiiiiaaaaaan,” she cooed, pinching Drystan’s leg to get some support.

"I don't want to startle him!" Drystan protested lowly, afraid the comparatively booming deep timbre would distract his son's thus-far feeble progress. Luckily, he'd become accustomed to Bess's lovingly enthusiastic abuse at the prospect of one of their children's amazing feats, like Stephen speaking, or watching Sadie fly. He couldn't even recall being aware that walking was some giant milestone for Stephen; one day, Drystan turned around, and there he was, taking short, wobbly steps from the sofa to the table leg before collapsing. Drystan was belatedly shocked, happy, then relieved, and Stephen also looked vaguely shocked but also pleased with this relatively new-found ability. And it was done. No stress, no big to-do about it.

Nothing like this, where his mouth was the new home of the Sahara desert and his eyes were practically charmed to stay open.

"He doesn't need to walk," Drystan said weakly, placing a hand on his stomach which rebelled at the nerves it might soon again be subjected to as Brian struggled to stand and attempt this debilitating process again. "We'll just carry him everywhere for now and then he'll by flying in no time." It was completely feasible. He'd been sneaking Sadie onto a broom since she was—what was it, three? And now, he thought, she'd be—five, oh, Merlin. This time, when his stomach turned, it was only half from the suspense of watching his son. How had time passed so quickly? How was his newborn son walking right now? How was Stephen carrying on conversation when the mood struck him... and how was his daughter going to be turning five years old?

"Are you sure he's old enough to be doing this?" Because Drystan wasn't at all.

Bess scoffed, turning to Drystan to glare, “Of course he needs to...”

Her words faded away as out of the corner of her eye she saw Brian steady himself, and as if he didn’t notice (or care) that his parents were ready to pass out with anticipation, put his arms out to the side as if walking a tightrope and the tiny, small step he took seemed to send earthquake-like vibrations through the floor of their flat. Her hand had struck out to keep him from falling, but there was no fall. There was another step, and another, and instead of coming to one of his parents like Bess had been envisioning, Brian made his way to the quaffle and pushed it away, squealing in delight.

She had not realized that her other hand had been digging into Drystan’s arm, sure to draw blood any second now. At her son’s shriek of joy Bess’ face contorted from shock, to happiness, to something like distress. Brian had just walked, halfway across the living room like it was nothing. Nothing! Her baby boy could get along on his own now, he was mobile, he could follow his siblings around and that just opened up a whole big world for him. Bess’ vision went blurry with tears and she clamped her free hand over her mouth because her baby was not a baby anymore.

“He doesn’t need to walk!” she choked out from behind her hand, unable to take her eyes away from the toddling baby.

He didn't need to be a mind-reader to know that Bess was undoubtedly going along the same line of thought as he. Feeling a little choked up himself, he placed his hand over the death grip she had him in and squeezed lightly. It was thrilling, these faltering steps to independence, but it was also sad because it was yet another thing that had to change in a time where Drystan keenly felt the lack of any constants in his life. Then he saw the constant wicked glint in Brian's eyes brighten as he realized his equilibrium was going to shift, but also realizing he could take the quaffle with him. Pushing his forward momentum into it, he rolled a short moment on it toward Drystan before flopping tummy-down on the floor, the red ball bouncing up and into Drystan's lap, where he caught it.

Just delighted with himself, Brian was laughing and squealing and Drystan gently rolled the ball back in his direction.

"Lead chaser for the United," he said in only a slightly strangled voice. "Mark my words."

valesco @ 2012-01-21T16:49:00

2012-01-21T21:12:07Z

WHO: Maggie Brand and Adrian Mattias
WHAT: Confrontations?!
WHERE: Caerphilly Pitch!
WHEN: Before the game today!

The laces of her cleats were strung up so tightly that her toes began to sting, and the inside of her cheek felt like it was bleeding after she’d bitten down on it so hard. Maggie’s narrowed eyes scanned over the current roster posted outside the opponents’ locker room, and as she tightened the tape around her wrists she wondered whether or not she should listen to the pounding in her chest or the screaming in her head.

But then she remembered: she was a Gryffindor, when did she ever use her head?

It didn’t take long for a Catapult to come out of their locker room, and she was lucky enough for it to be Rose Knightley who was easily scared and intimidated. Maggie demanded to know where Adrian Mattias was, and in a quivering instant Knightley managed to sputter out that he was in the clubhouse, ‘sick.’

Sick. Sick! What a bloody---Maggie stormed toward the opposing team’s clubhouse, a place where the players could escape the tension of the locker room and listen to the ongoing match as the announcers’ voices bounced off the walls. It was not a place for the fiance who had left her at the altar. His place was on his broomstick, and if he were able to play last week, then he sure as hell could get his ass in the air now.

Maggie pushed the door open and stepped in quickly, her hands going back to the tape as she glared down Adrian, who was on the other side of the room. Her chest constricted the slightest bit but she kept her mouth pressed tightly,

“You don’t look very sick,” she said, her voice terse.

Adrian’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Maggie, and he quickly sought to bury his surprised expression in his hands. Someone had ratted him out. Or she had just put two and two together. Either way it had created the confrontation he had tried to avoid. Pushing his palms into his face, Adrian vainly attempted to prepare any kind of formed sentences to possibly respond back to her, but his brain continued to lag as it had been for the past two weeks, and came up with nothing fast.

What could he say to her? There was nothing, and it pained him to acknowledge that his tongue felt swollen and stuck in his mouth at the mere thought of talking to her. Why did she even want to talk to him? After leaving her there... in the church... at the time, and now, it felt like the only thing he could have done, but that still didn’t change his utmost regret of how this had all come to be.

Taking a shaky breath, Adrian dropped his hands from his head. She was upset. He knew she would be. He also knew he could only prolong the inevitable, hiding half slumped against the wall in this isolated room, for so long until karma caught up with him. Deciding it wouldn’t be very right to her for him to stay like this, Adrian moved off the wall to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands falling between his legs to the bench in front of him.

“Just because I don’t look it doesn’t mean I don’t feel well,” Adrian mustered finally, thoroughly surprised at how normal sounding that came out. Calm, even. He didn’t feel calm. He actually didn’t feel much of anything at all, but it was good to know he was getting better at sounding alive on the inside.

She scoffed, unable to look him in the eye, or to stop her heart from skipping a beat at his voice, or keep her chest from feeling like it was being crushed with guilt. She had managed to calm her inner thoughts somewhat since the non-wedding, but it had been difficult. After Adrian had left, she’d taken Josef, in her wedding dress, to her parents’ house in Holyhead. Maggie had always hated staying there because it was so remote, which was why she knew no one would bother to look for her there. It had been a long first week, but it gave her time to think and accept. Maybe it wasn’t that she was mad at Adrian right now, but she was feeling a lot of things towards the man she was supposed to marry and it was hard to express how she really felt.

Okay, she was more than a little mad. Maggie knew that it was her fault for keeping the secret about Josef (who had been very kind and attentive to her these past two weeks), but the idea that Adrian could walk out on her on such an important day could not be justified. He could have--he could have done so many different things. He could have sat and talked to her, he could have yelled at her, he could have locked them in the room and not moved until he had every last detail, he could have not left her.

Her pony tail swished as she turned away, unwilling (maybe unable) to fight with him about playing. Why had she come in here? Maggie knew that some part of her had been anxious but glad to be able to see him for the first time since the disaster, but now she didn’t know what she was thinking. He’d taken himself out of the game to avoid seeing her, so why should she feel any different?

“Right, well,” Maggie struggled for something more intimidating to say, but there was nothing. She didn’t want to fight but she didn’t want to forgive. She shook her head, pissed at herself for letting her eyes water with frustration, “Hope you feel better--the Kestrels are flying away with the league cup and---no one wants to see that.”

How miserable was it that all she could think to talk about with the man she had wanted to spend the rest of her life with was quidditch? Maggie bit her tongue and turned toward the door, shaking her head in disgust.

That was it? Adrian blinked, in wonder of how he had escaped effectively unscathed from this first re-meeting. He had been expecting--- Adrian shook his head, redirecting his gaze back to the ground again. Right. She had some pre-game rituals to attend to. He of all people knew that. Or other Tornadoe things to get done before the match started. And why would she want to waste her time with him anyway? He wouldn’t even want to waste time with him. It only made sense. She had only come to....to.... why had she come?

But he had jerked his head back toward her direction too late, and Maggie had already turned away. Oh. Dejected, he buried his face in his hands again, truly not wanting to see her walk way from him. He wanted her to stay, Adrian wanted nothing more for Maggie to stay, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to stop her. Everything he wanted to say to her stayed buried deep within his stomach, too heavy to take flight. Any conversation they had would just upset her more.... and he didn’t want that. So he would continue to bury his unyielding emotions for her, his desire to ask about Josef and just continue on until the pain of her betrayal, and his mistake, died away.

Adrian rubbed his hands fiercely against his face, like trying to scrub away of a nasty, lingering thought.

She should leave, she should leave, she should leave. Maggie stood in front of the door as if it was going to magically open itself and let her out, but it didn’t budge. She didn’t move. Her heart was beating ten times faster than it had been just moments before and he hadn’t said a bloody word. He hadn’t said anything! He just sat there and---he just sat there!

“How could you just let me walk away?!” she shouted, locking the clubhouse door before spinning around to face him. Maggie stalked further into the room, fists clenched and shaking. She felt like her entire body was ready to burst with all these feelings coursing through her and she wanted to hit him to get them out. Maggie let out furious breaths through her nose, “You just---you can’t let me leave! I shouldn’t have let you---but you can’t let me---”

Maggie shut her mouth, realizing she was starting not to make any sense. She crossed and uncrossed her arms, unable to find a comfortable or at least intimidating stance. She just--she wanted to hit him, she wanted to throw large, heavy objects at him. She wanted him to fly in this match so that West and Martin could launch metal bludgers at his head and knock him unconscious for a week and a half and how, at the same time as the rest of these feelings were surging through her, did she also not want any of that at all? She wanted to hug him and cry and apologize for everything she’d done and beg him to take her back, but it was just so confusing.

The secret she had kept from him had been terrible, she’d known that for a long time. Maggie knew that it had started out as embarrassment on her part, but keeping Adrian out of the loop had later been done for his protection so she justified it...but understood. It was so hard to understand. She accepted what he’d done but she couldn’t forgive how he’d done it. There were so many different ways that morning could have turned out and it manged to find the worst possible scenario. Maggie put her hands to her face, trying to catch her breath and hold back her tears.

“You promised me that you’d never---and---” Maggie looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head in disbelief. He’d even said it when he proposed, he couldn’t believe that anyone could let her go and he was letting her walk away, he’d walked away, “I fucked up, I did but---it---” She threw her hands up; crying wasn’t going to do anything but make her feel stupid. Maggie let out a frustrated sound and turned back around to leave again, knowing that it had been a really bad decision to come down to find him.

Adrian hadn’t even realized Maggie was still there until her shrill shouts filled the room. His body shook to life at the sound of door locking, the click reverberating in his ears like a deadbolt latching. The vague thought that she might maim him in the next few minutes was unrealistically high, but that realization did not bother him enough to react. He watched with a weary and intrigued eye, almost confused as to what was going on. Why would she want to even look at him?

And then, Adrian froze. What was she doing--- he couldn’t say anything to her--- it was too soon--- he sat soundly still as Maggie approached him, doing a rather good impression of absolutely terrifying. His mouth gaped as she yelled, and in the process he felt his heart speed up. He could--- maybe--- the more his spirits began to pick up, the more paralyzed he began to feel. He wanted--- Adrian wanted to move, to go to her, to calm that upset face the best way he knew how, but--- but. It felt like he didn’t know her. And it felt like he didn’t know himself.

But he did know her, didn’t he? He did. This was his Maggie, his wonderful, beautiful Maggie that he knew he would love the rest of his life, and wanted nothing more than to start a family with, to be a family with. She completed him, made him feel like England was a home and not a place where the word family confused him. Adrian absentmindedly rubbed the side of his face where Geoff had taken out a couple his frustrations a few days ago. It didn’t make sense how they had gotten here. And it hurt, it pained him so much---

She had done something wrong, but he had too. He shouldn’t have left her there at the ceremony that morning, he should have stayed and made everyone else leave, he knew that now. He also knew that his choice to go would always be the greatest mistake of his life, regardless of the outcome from it. But now, now was the time--- he would----

“I’m sorry!” Adrian suddenly pipped miserably, her back to him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry--- I’m sorry---” his mouth began to run, the same two words playing again and again until they abruptly stopped. In a sweeping moment he stood up from his seat, but didn’t move further than that. In a much lower tone he spoke again, his gaze as always only on her. “I shouldn’t have left you. It was wrong--- I was wrong to.” And there was one more thing, one thing she needed to know if this was the last time they would be alone together. “Nothing could ever change how I feel about you. I just--- want you to know that.”

She felt---she felt like he’d somehow wrapped his words around her heart and forced it to stop beating, she felt like---Maggie’s shoulders scrunched as Adrian called out, his words piercing her swirling thoughts and freezing them. Sorry, he was sorry, and Maggie wanted to turn around and leap into his arms and accept his apology. It could be that easy, it should be that easy, but they’d both made such terrible mistakes that she wasn’t sure if it was allowed to be. What if...what if he was sorry, but he couldn’t forgive her for what she’d done? What if she accepted his apology but it changed nothing? Would that make her feel better? Would that give them a better chance?

Maggie turned to face him halfway through Adrian’s ramble. She blanched at how devastated he looked, and to know that she had caused him that sort of pain broke her heart into even smaller pieces. She felt like one of those damsels on the wireless soaps, where everything was so incredibly tragic that they didn’t know how they would live after it all. Maggie could finally understand the devastation, and she wanted to believe she was strong enough to get through this, this--whatever this was.

Were they together? Were they broken up? Did he still want to marry her? Maggie didn’t know how they could even dare try to have another wedding after the fiasco that was January 8th, but she’d never wanted to be someone’s wife until Adrian. He’d made her think that having a family and being with someone was something good and lovely. She wanted to have more kids, she wanted to never question that she could wake up beside him and it would be where she’s supposed to be. Maggie hated that she could have potentially ruined all that she had grown to love because of him.

Every bit of her felt like it was shaking with the tears she was holding back. Maggie clenched her fist, managing to tear her eyes away from Adrian and hoping it would give her the strength to attempt to do or say something that could fix this.

“I’m sorry too,” she croaked, knowing she’d said it before but he had to hear it again, “It was unfair of me to keep things from you,” It was hard to resist trying to explain herself, but Maggie knew that she couldn’t give up excuses if she wanted him to forgive her, “And---I wish I’d been...” Her lips twisted as she tried to maintain her composer, “I’d been braver and smarter and---you don’t deserve to be treated the way I treated you.”

Maggie nearly gasped at her own words; had she just placed her own nails into the coffin of their relationship?

What was she saying? Adrian felt all his impromptu ideas come to a sputtering halt with her words. What did that mean? That she... he suddenly felt confused, and all the energy that had just filled him seemed to deflate. He had been--- he had been hoping that his words, one-hundred percent true, would sway her to a place where--- well he wasn’t really sure where, but somewhere where in the possibility that he wouldn’t feel like this for the rest of his life. And they might have a chance. Did she not feel the same way? Had he hurt her beyond repair?

Feeling despondent, Adrian broke his gaze to look down at the ground. “Oh,” he soberly spoke, feeling his previous courage begin to die. If that... was what she wanted, then who was he to object? The damage of being jilted could very much be irreversible, and for that act, he would have to deal with the consequences for the rest of his life. He understood that.

Standing suddenly became a lot more difficult, his body feeling heavy and slow. But Adrian remained as he was, as it felt like making the effort to move was a much more colossal weight to force. What else could he say? It appeared that Maggie had made her decision...

He needed to hear it. He needed to hear her say it. That would.... maybe help. If he dared to be that selfish. Swallowing, it took a few moments for him to produce his next words. “What are you saying?” Adrian’s voice came out thick, his mind unable to think of any other way to put it.

Did he agree? Merlin, he agreed. He believed that he didn’t deserve to be treated like this and that he didn’t have to be, not anymore. He was going to make her say it, and after she did Maggie was going to go out to the pitch and consciously let a bludger knock her head off. Maggie would rather endure that physical pain than the one Adrian was forcing upon her now. She got it, she knew she had hurt him too badly and she had to pay for her mistakes. Adrian did deserve better than her, he deserved someone who wasn’t selfish and insecure, someone who made the right decision when it involved the important people in her life at the appropriate time.

Maggie wrung her hands, feeling her posture grow timid and weak as she tried to build up the courage to say what he wanted to hear. Her eyes couldn’t stay on his face because it hurt too badly, and she finally just looked at the ground, causing some tears to spill from her eyes.

“I’m saying...” she choked out, taking in shaky breaths, “you don’t deserve to be treated like how I treated you. That...I understand if--if you don’t want to be with me anymore because of--what I did and...if you don’t want to deal with all of---my mess that I...I don’t hate you for it because---because I understand,” Maggie’s arms went to her stomach to hug herself, feeling nauseous and unable to control her tears. She was finally owning up to her mistakes, being the adult she should’ve tried to be two years ago, and it hurt like hell.

Such a heaviness filled Adrian that he had no choice but to fall back down to his seat. His teeth bit down on the insides of his cheeks, a generally lost feeling taking over him. She didn’t--- it sounded--- he wanted nothing more than to forget this, forget all of this had ever happened and go back to the way things were before. It didn’t--- he didn’t want to care about everything she hadn’t told him, he didn’t want it to bother him---

---- but it did. It did bother him. And not because of what it was, but because it felt like he had been blundering around like an idiot, the only one with no idea about what was really going on... if she had just told him about Braith Selwyn, he could have--- it wouldn’t even be an issue! They would have dealt with it together. But how--- how was that possible now? It felt like she hadn’t trusted him, purposely kept the truth when all along he thought the opposite. It didn’t sit well, and it made him feel... not right.

He loved her so much, it felt--- unbearable to even be thinking about this. How could he--- they weren’t supposed to be like this, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. With every passing second Adrian felt his energy, and therefore his voice, begin to fade.

Staring at her with a glazed over expression, Adrian struggled to find within him a response. His jaw dropped in anticipation for words to come out, but they didn’t. How could he convey that all he just wanted was her and Josef back? His family, he wanted their family back--- but--- but--- again, it was as if his words came pouring out of his mouth on their own accord.

“I love you,” his words came out heavy, “but I need to--- get back to normal. Time to--- start over, or apart or--- something. To refigure, adjust---” Adrian stopped himself, annoyed with himself to beating around the bust. He knew what he wanted to say, he just didn’t want to say it. “I mean--- I do want to... be with you, I just--- can’t, right now.”

Hearing Adrian actually say it instead of assuming what he felt caused Maggie to straighten up. She didn’t mean to look shocked because she had convinced herself it was the truth, but it couldn’t be helped as what was supposed to be the relationship that lasted the rest of her life was coming to an end. A halt? No, an end. Adrian couldn’t be with her right now, and even if he said that he wanted to be, who knew if they’d actually get there? She’d hurt him, she’d been the one to bring this all onto them so she didn’t get to be optimistic about how things might change.

She nodded, biting her tongue because there wasn’t anything else to say. She couldn’t fight to be with him if he didn’t want to be with her right now. It would hurt the both of them more and ruin things even further. Maggie had to grab hold of the bottom of her jersey to keep from instinctively reaching out to say goodbye to Adrian, but instead forced herself to simply nod and turn away. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough, unlocking the door and shooting by the Catapults that had started to linger by, undoubtedly trying to listen into the conversation through the door.

Maggie made the quick turn toward the opposing team’s locker room, but instead of continuing on she ducked into one of the numerous entrances of the pitch. The darkness of the tunnel and the crowd roaring at the pre-game excitement could block out her cries for the few minutes she could have before she had to get on the pitch and fly like her world hadn’t just crumbled around her.

valesco @ 2012-01-18T20:01:00

2012-01-19T02:25:15Z

Who: Samantha Cadwallader & Thomas McCormack
What: Showing her around!
When: Uh...Wednesday evening (or something :D)
Where: Diagon Alley

Samantha was not entirely sure what was going on. Her head was spinning from taking the floo to Diagon Alley and she felt like the little effort she had put into arranging her clothing was completely at a waste. How on Earth did the Brits feel that this was the most convenient form of transportation?! She was a sooted up mess, but she did the best she could to clean off and make herself presentable once more.

After asking around, she finally found her way to Flourish and Blotts, the agreed meeting location. It was certainly interesting, she was so engrossed in observing her surroundings that she found herself in. It all looked vaguely familiar from the very few outings she'd made while at Gringotts in the past few weeks, but she felt so rushed during those times. Samantha was so far immersed in her thoughts and her exploration that she didn't even realize she was near anyone until she ran into the other person. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" she said quickly, hand flying to cover her mouth. "Are you alright?"

OWL to SETH WADCOCK

2012-01-18T06:38:11Z

No letter, attached with a medium-sized box full of his personal items. Some are obviously missing.

Cecilia

2012-01-17T06:09:35Z

1983 was supposed to be a new year – he had it set in his mind that it would be different than 1982, seeing how the tail end of that year had been far crazier than he ever could have imagined. Ever since he had come back from Sweden, his days went from being mundane and boring to slightly overwhelming; all because of a beautiful girl he had met at a bar one night, who thought he was just another jackass who was trying to get into her pants. Truthfully he had been intrigued by her since the first moment his eyes landed on her, sitting all by herself on a stool, and that interest only intensified when he finally dared to buy her a drink and start a conversation with her.

If Cael had to be honest with himself, he had never imagined being so drawn to someone like her – someone who was so completely opposite, who had such different interests and points of view. In theory, they should have been disastrous together, especially when looking at their previous relationships, but somehow they just…worked. They worked better than he could have hoped.

Only she was engaged, and her family was chock full of elitist purebloods who spat (sometimes literally) at those who with even a drop of muggle blood in their system. If her parents knew, that despite being promised to another man she was living with him, they probably would have died of a heart attack. Cae felt the weight of the decision Cecilia had to make on his own shoulders, fearing that one day she was going to walk in the front door and tell him that she had made up her mind, and that she would be leaving in the morning to stay with her fiancé.

If he told anyone that he was living with an engaged woman, they would have called him crazy – that was why he hadn’t been to see Charlie, Delilah, or any of his friends since she announced her engagement. How was he supposed to explain that he was seeing this amazing, beautiful girl, but they couldn’t meet her because she might be married to some other guy at the end of the month? Maybe he was crazy, but he didn’t want to believe it. He needed to have faith that he had done everything to prove that he was the right choice, but in the end, it would all come down to Cecilia.

Squeezing the tennis ball that he had picked up from the ground, he tossed it across his backyard so that Karma could chase after it, pouncing on the little green ball before placing it between her teeth to bring back to her owner, so he could do it again. It was getting cold, but he had been home for a while, waiting for Cecilia to return from wherever she had run off to. He didn’t ask too many questions, since most of the time he was certain he didn’t want to know where she was going, or who she was talking to. He threw the ball again, slipping his hands into his pockets once they were both empty, letting out a breath that he could see in the cold air that surrounded him.

This was always the worst part of his nights – wondering when she was going to come back, if she would at all.

valesco @ 2012-01-16T20:33:00

2012-01-17T03:50:14Z

WHO: Seth Wadcock and Arista Sykes
WHAT: W.Q.W., could you not!
WHERE: Pride stadium?
WHEN: BACKDATED! to 1/11?

She looked like she just stepped out of the Floo in the midst of the tornado.

It was perhaps the single most infuriating aspect of her playing. Arista Sykes was fast, precise, with an eagle eye. She studied theory and applied it to action, she memorized every Seeking tactic written in the anals of Quidditch history, and slaved over mastering them. What she lacked in luck, she made up for in good, old-fashioned hard work.

But Arista could never, ever bloody dismount a broom and not look as though she'd just navigated through several natural disasters of varying severity. It was maddening.

The upside, however, was that she'd had a particularly good practice session today and was nearly vibrating with satisfaction at Miles's approving words. Neither of them were pleased with their league placement, and they needed a better strategy than the one of their current employment if they wanted to advance in these last remaining games. Slinging her broom over her shoulder, she tried restrain her now-unruly, wind-struck hair by pushing her goggles to the top of her head, and strode into the building with purpose. To see the team manager to beg—to insist, in a calm and authoritative manner—for a new training strategy, developed over the weeks. Just outside the door, however, voices halted her self-righteous march.

Someone was already in there. Without being able to register much more than curiousity, a hand pushed the door open and Arista automatically moved back, pressing herself against a column in the hall, and thus out of sight. A dark-haired man was stepping out, thanking their manager. Something about children appreciating it. A glance over his shoulder revealed his face, and Arista hissed in displeasure.

Seth Wadcock. What was he doing here, she wondered, watching him retreat further down the hall. But something in his parting remarks struck a chord in her, and Arista suddenly recalled some Quidditch charity organization and a letter (or several) requesting team representatives for some charity function. Also, she recalled, the team intercepting said owl from management and perhaps drolly bespelling it into the garbage bin. Not out of meanness—mostly. But they were busy people, and like herself, already booked with all sorts of these charity things… mostly. Seeing him here, though, Arista bristled at wondering what that little interlude had been about.

"Didn't get enough of a whipping at the last match?" she called sweetly down the hall. Remembering too late her disheveled appearance, Arista crossed her arms as best she could with the broom on her shoulder and tossed back her hair. "Back for more so soon?"

Seth was bound and determined to get at least on Pride player to contribute to W.Q.W. Actually his goal was to have a player from each team, the Pride was just being particularly difficult. So after the fourth owl with no response, he decided that the best course of action was to just go and visit the manager in person. Surprisingly enough, the manager was a quite pleasant person and he thought Seth had some valid points, and he would most definitely discuss it with his players.

He grinned as he stepped out of the office, shaking hands with the manager, thanking him for his time. He was just about to make his way out of the stadium when he heard a voice from behind him. Seth smirked as he turned and spotted the Pride’s princess seeker calling out to him. “Hmm, I think you are mistaken, last time I played you, I was still with the Magpies. And if I recall correctly, we beat you by 200 points.” He gave her a quick once over, a bit amused by her tousled appearance. “I take it you’ve been practicing hard to prevent another embarrassing loss like last week’s?”

Giving one short, scornful breath through her nose, she heroically resisted the urge to smack him with the broom lying on her shoulder, so ready for use as a weapon. Obviously she had been practicing, and yes, she'd been practicing hard to avoid a loss like the last week, but it irritated her immensely that he inferred that. Even if it was obvious, given their league standings and her current outfit, and the fact that he was at their stadium during practice, and that if he'd arrived at any other conclusion, he'd be useless provocateur, and certainly lacking in mental facilities (though, she thought privately, he was already). It was likely just an off-the-cuff response to her needling, but it still embarrassed her for anyone to even approximate how hard she worked on her game, that it didn't just come to her in natural, refined talent.

Lifting her chin in physical dismissal of his taunt, Arista raised her eyebrows in her best bored and condescending look and promptly demanded, "Why are you here?"

“Oh just establishing a trade timeline. You see, after I win my fourth championship with the Falcons, I figured I’d lend my talents to yet another team.” Seth said shrugging a shoulder, trying to contain his laughter. Pride players were wound so tight. It was fun to rile them up some more. It was easy to tell that they clearly thought they were better than all other quidditch teams in the history of quidditch, yet he didn’t see any of them with Championship ring within the last five years.

“A joke. Obviously. I don’t look good in purple. My owls were mysteriously returning empty handed, so I figured it would best if I just came up to speak to the manager in person about my business proposal to avoid any more potential sabotage. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

She was honestly too busy choking on the idea of Seth Wadcock ever being a Pride to bother with the last enquiry. If that ever came to fruition, someone would have to die. Literally, there would be a murder, and it would be his, and she couldn't even claim it would be at her hands, versus another teammate's. The horror was so acute, it made Arista overlook his little dig entirely. After all, she might not be leading the league right now, but neither of his teams were, either. Certainly, luck had placed him on the winning teams a handful of times in his career, but he didn't have, for instance, Catriona McCormack and her plentiful resources at his disposal.

Hefting her broom to the other shoulder, Arista angled her head slightly back and up to give him a cursory once-over. "You look wretched in most colours," she said absently, studying him through narrowed eyes as she mulled over his last words, skipping over the thinly-veiled accusation with a haughty adjustment of her crossed arms. "What 'business proposition' is this? Please do not tell me you are still recruiting for this Q.W.W. or whatever else."

“I suppose its a good thing I wear gray and white then. You really can’t go wrong with that. And its W.Q.W.” Seth corrected lazily. “I know you are jealous you didn’t think of the idea first, but children shouldn’t suffer just because some players can’t suck up their pride long enough to play nicely with others.”

He smiled at her as he leaned up against the wall, wondering just how defensive her stance could get. She was clearly threatened by his presence in her stadium. “And Oglethorpe seems to think I have a point. Granted, I didn’t say it just like that to him, but I got him charmed. Said if he didn’t get any volunteers he’d just send over whoever had the most errors for the extra practice and humility training.” He said smugly. It had taken over a year of Henry beating this information through Seth’s think skull, but every now and then he managed to talk his way into a good deal.

Betrayal was a sharp, bitter taste. This man was forever pushing them to get more involved with their fans, and give appearances, and somehow by doing so, save the whole blooming world. They played Quidditch; startling and impressive feat though it was (but perhaps not lately…), it was not quite parallel to saving the world.

Unless, of course, you were the wizard standing in front of her, who, despite his unsavoury reputation, was apparently more than happy to mount the broom to that challenge.

"Of course we care for the welfare of children," Arista said in an exasperated manner. Well, most of them. "We simply devote our time to more established organizations with a proven history of results. You know, we believe in spending our time wisely, and all that."

But she couldn't help but wonder who the most errors belonged to. Surely it wasn't her. Was it? Her stomach gave a queasy drop, because regardless of this Q.Q.W., that would be simply unacceptable.

“It’s easy to just throw time and money at some standing organization. It takes innovation and heart to pioneer a new vision and see it through to fruition. How much effort you put in reflects directly on how much you care.” Seth parroted what he heard Henry say to financial sponsors over and over again. It seemed to work for him time after time, so why not. “So when W.Q.W. becomes a more established organization, I guess you’ll just be the ones who took the easy way out, while all the other teams can take credit for helping it achieve that status. That is unless, you happen to be the one with the most errors. Didn’t that Kestrels seeker nab the snitch on your side of the pitch? ”

As Seth let the thought sink in just a bit, an idea occurred to him. Perhaps this was an opportunity for him to get more out of this deal that just one reluctant Pride player. “You know what, I’m feeling generous today.” he started, pointing at her like she had just won a prize. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to not only get yourself out of helping, but all of the Pride players as well.”

It was actually the center of the pitch, however close to the Pride's side it may have seemed, but Arista found it beneath herself to correct him. He could think whatever he liked, it didn't faze her. And she liked her established organizations where she didn't have to worry about her mother's approval or how her image would be affected by participating and then have her representatives flit about trying to do damage control because Hera knew, this girl could not be trusted to run her own life. That sour thought caused her to bristle a little and perhaps pay slightly more attention to this man than she would have previously allowed herself.

"As if that would interest me," she sneered outwardly, but couldn't deny the slight prickle of interest. As a gentlewitch, even an athletic one, it was her duty to avoid things of an untoward nature. Her mother was all about pushing boundaries and exploration, but it was always on the up-and-up. She was interested to hear what, if any, offer he could make her that she would be prevailed upon to accept. Personally, she found him to be all bluster, but entertaining the notion, even for a few moments was amusing to her. If she continued to deny the small, very small, part of her that was intrigued.

"What illustrious opportunity could you possibly be talking about?"

“A simple wager is all.” Seth said pushing off the wall. “You play the Tornados this week, correct? You catch the snitch, you’re off the hook. No more owls, no more visits. I’ll leave all of Portree alone.” he offered.

“But if you don’t well, then not only does my deal with your manager still stand, but you have to come participate as well.” This way, if he won, W.Q.W. would have two Portree players in the weekend rotations. And Arista would be a guarantee, which would make great press for events and fundraisers. “What do you say, Sykes? You don’t even have to win, just catch the snitch. Think you can handle the challenge?”

He was making a wager against her! Arista was genuinely scandalized, as the drop of her jaw and slackened grip on her broom clearly indicated. Tightening her hands on the handle once more, she both literally and mentally got a grip on herself and, if possible, leaned further back to look Seth Wadcock in the face and tell him where he could stuff his unladylike proposition when she faltered mid-breath.

What did it say about her that she wasn't taking this bet? That even she wouldn't place herself on the winning side? That was even more unacceptable than gambling, not to mention the chance to save the rest of her team from the obligation. No, Arista just simply could not allow that. She had faith in her abilities. She was a good player. She was. It would take more than a relatively poor season to shake her belief in that.

Well, perhaps a little less than that.

It didn't matter, they were playing the Tornadoes, of all people.

"I accept."

Her eyes flashed wide open in horror as she registered she had indeed just agreed to this inane wager. Setting her jaw firmly, she raised her eyebrows and gave him an unimpressed look. "But I can assure you, you won't be collecting."

Seth grinned broadly when she accepted his challenge. However unimpressed she felt with him, he felt incredibly impressed with himself. Because, even if he lost, it was no big deal to him. He could live without having a player from each team. All in all, this was pretty much a no lose scenario for him. He held his hand out to shake hers. “Well, either way, its been a pleasure doing business with you.” he said politely.

Partaking in the act of gambling had essentially revoked her status as a witch of gentle temperament, did it not?

Arista thought it rather did.

"Believe me," she offered in a syrupy voice, stepping to the side. Shifting her broom to an angle, she brushed past Seth, letting the bristles of her trusty Comet smack where they may. "The pleasure has been all mine."

Edward!

2012-01-15T05:19:48Z

Graciela let out a breath, stretching down to her toes underneath the blanket. She rolled from her side to her back and was surprised when her arm hit the mattress and not the body she'd fallen asleep beside. Graciela blinked a few times at the empty space that Edward had left, still waking up as she tried to figure out where he could be. The shower wasn't running, and he was not at his desk where she often found him at odd hours of the day or night when inspiration struck. With how the sunlight was streaming in, it was still fairly early, but Graciela did not often get to sleep in and was seriously considering turning over and going back to sleep. Zacharias was with his father, and Edward's flat was more than convenient for a weekend of birthday celebrations. Why rush the start of the day?

Though it seemed that Edward was already on his way. Graciela ran a hand over her face, wondering if it would be bad to fake still being asleep. But his bed was so comfy and warm, and the shirt she borrowed smelled like him and she could not often be this way. Just---relaxed without a care in the world or a mouth to feed. She could not even find it in herself to feel guilty about having Zacharias stay with Alex; it was a much needed holiday and escape into a life she'd never had and couldn't often visit.

She'd just decided to let herself slip back into sleep when the door opened, and Graciela remained in her splayed position on the bed as Edward entered. She smiled and covered her face with her hand before beckoning him to come back to bed.

Danielle

2012-01-14T05:04:19Z

Donovan had come to realize that ever since it had been made public news that he and Danielle were going to have a baby, people thought it was okay to ask them any and every question they could think of – Is it a boy or a girl? Do you have a name picked out? Do you have a theme for the nursery? Is the paint going to be dark or light blue? Are you going to get a nanny?

She wasn’t even far enough along for her to be showing, which made it hard for them to be able to tell them all the things they wanted to know. He was actually kind of surprised by how many times they had to look at each other over he course of the night, like they were trying to kinetically formulate an answer other than ‘we’re not sure’, which was how they answered most of the questions that night. He wanted to be able to talk more about the little boy who wouldn’t be there until late August, but seeing how he was barely even a person yet inside his wife’s belly, it was hard to have all the answers.

Tonight had been especially grueling, seeing how they had been out with a few of his co-workers and their families, and each of them decided that instead of listening to the questions they had already been asked, they were all just going to ask them the same ones over and over again, until the Rookwoods were able to recite their answers like lines from a play. They had just parted ways with the last couple, making their way down the sidewalk towards their house. It was freezing, and he was walking with his arm slinked around Danielle’s waist, allowing her to lean against him as they walked so she wasn’t cold.

“How’re you holding up?”

He asked the question with a subtle lift of his brow, looking down at his wife, wondering if she was as mentally drained as he was.

Owls to Arista Sykes, Miles Luftkin, Adrian Mattias, Carys Parkin, Victoria Cadwallader, Caden Flint

2012-01-13T03:52:24Z

Dear Miss/Mr. Last name here!

I am writing to inquire as to if you would sit for an exclusive interview for an uncoming special Quidditch edition of The Quibbler. I request a prompt reply as there are deadlines to meet and time is short, especially with the Dijibouti flu going around. I thank you in advance for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,
Xenophilius Lovegood
Editor-in-Chief

OPEN?

2012-01-13T03:20:44Z

He hadn’t even been back for a week and he was already wishing that he was anywhere but there, in the stuffy, cramped apothecary. Why the hell Alecto thought her brother was right for the job of ‘customer service’, he’d never know – actually, now that he thought about it, she had bitched about his attitude losing her business more times than he could keep track of. He had never been a ‘people person’, but it had more to do with him not liking most people than him not giving it a shot. Still, he managed to keep his temper from flaring up around customers who treated him like he was some idiotic underling who didn’t know what he was talking about, and had even managed to keep his snide comments to himself.

He was just glad Alecto didn’t catch him flipping some crotchety witch the bird as he rammed his shoulder into the back door, leading him into the alley behind the shop, a cigarette already dangling between his lips. His back pressed against the side of the building, his fingers buttoning the wool pea coat that he had bought while they were in France.

They were in France a month ago. If it were up to him, they wouldn’t have ever left.

Finding the zippo that was in his pocket, Amycus flicked it a few times before it sparked, creating enough of a flame to light the end of the cancer stick that was hanging from his mouth. Taking in a deep inhale of the toxic smoke, he closed his eyes as he felt the familiar burn in his lungs. He leaned his head back, his free hand rubbing at his brow before he finally exhaled, opening his eyes to stare at the grey, cracked stone that was on the opposite side of the alley.

He got lost in his thoughts, the only thing bringing him out of his own head and back to reality (which was a much safer place for him to be) was the sound of approaching footsteps. A brow lifted, turning to see who else was lurking around behind the shops of Knockturn Alley.

Euan!

2012-01-11T01:02:40Z

"Alo---alohomora!"

Rebecca felt like she was going to snap her wand in half with how frantically she was shaking it at the locked door knob. What had she done? This was a simple spell, these doors weren't even supposed to lock due to safety reasons and here she was now, stuck in a tiny cramped closet with a bucket of dirty mop water mixed with her very own vomit. It was the thing of horror stories! Just thinking about the mess she was in made her want to get ill again, but her focus on her inability to unlock the door kept her nausea at bay.

She felt like such an idiot. If Euan ever even whispered that this had happened to anyone he knew, she would have his head. Have his head. There was no slighter punishment allowed.

The tentative knock on the door made Rebecca jump, and she put a hand to her head. Rebecca didn't say a word, in case it wasn't Euan on the other side, but then she heard his voice, ushering someone else in the corridor away.

"I've jinxed it shut," she said, pressing up against the door, "I don't know what I've done!"

Felicia :*

2012-01-10T04:17:15Z

Kendall walked into his flat slamming the door behind him. It was only Monday and the week was already going worse than he expected. He still had two more days of his father to deal with. And after he got cornered and lectured in the locker room, Kendall wasn’t sure he was going to make it through the week.

He threw his bag on the floor and and made his way to the kitchen to get a beer. The whole reason he moved to Kenmare was to get away from his over-bearing family, and here they were encroaching on his life. Obviously the visit from his brother before Christmas wasn’t enough. He rummaged through his cabinets, not at all being concerned with the amount of noise he was making as he searched for food. He finally settled on a bag of chips, he grabbed with unnecessary force.

He startled when he turned around to see Felicia standing on the other side of the island. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were here, I thought you went home after the game.”