Who: Galvin Gudgeon, Michal Conway Lynch, Seth Wadcock, Howell Williams & GUESTS
What: SPENDING SOME HARD TIME
Where: ISTANBUL
When: last night!
On the scale of drunk to
drunk, Michal would say he was utterly plastered. And it felt
so great, because when you were that inebriated, little annoyances like making sense for the benefit of others, or knowing one’s own current location just washed by the wayside. Who needed to care about
that when you were with your friends! And such
great friends he had!
Through his bleary eyes, Michal darted around the room, ticking them off in his head. Seth!
Seth, his best friend in the entire world, who also had an affinity for loosing clothes,
Vinny, their star seeker that had absolutely no idea how to handle scottish women, and
Howell, who Michal smugly remembered spiking all his glasses of water earlier in the night so wasn’t struggling to understand why the boy was currently curled up to his side, snoring loudly.
Yes! They had all gone out to
drink! Well, he and Seth had decided upon it, and really just dragged Howell and Vinny along with them because they could. And... that was about all Michal could remember or focus on concerning the last five hours of his life. Now, he did know, he was sitting on the ground, with his back up against some stone. It was not comfortable.
When he heard Seth speak up, and Michal promptly thought his words were important enough to reiterate. They
were rather fun to say, as well.
“Why are we in jail? Why are we in jail?” Michal echoed much like a trained bird. Then, he guffawed, because while throwing his hand up questionably at Seth, he had inadvertently elbowed Howell in the face. Whoops.
Seth had kept up with Michal drink for drink and shot for shot, so he was pretty pissed drunk as well. He blinked slowly from where he was, one arm hanging through the bars of the cell. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was standing as such, probably mostly because if it weren’t for the bars he wouldn’t be standing at all. The question pulled his attention from the empty hall. Oh! Right! The was trying to get the attention of the guard to get that very question answered. Except he was being blatantly ignored.
“Does anyone speak turkish?” he asked looking at Vinny. No wait it wasn’t Vinny who was speaking. It was Michal. Where was Michal? His eyes scanned the room panicking for a second before he finally spotted him sitting on the floor next to Howell, who was asleep? “That’s gross,” he commented wrinkling his nose. That floor looked like it hadn’t been cleaned
ever. Although sitting seemed awfully appealing. He looked down considering it, (it really shouldn’t be this hard of a decision, really) and there was the reason he was so cold. “More importantly, what happened to my shirt? Can you be arrested for not having a shirt?”
That was also a very good question! He turned back to the empty hall. “Hello, Excuse me! I don’t think losing a shirt is a valid reason for being jailed.” Seth readjusted his grip on the bars as he nearly fell, turning his attention too quickly between the hall and his friends. “Hey hey, did those guys... what was that phrase that Turkish guy taught us? I’m sure that will get someone’s attention.”
He hated them all. Every single last one of his idiot teammates and supposed friends, he
hated them.
Vinny sat in the corner, pushed against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest and head hidden under his arms so that he could be as far away from these
delinquents as possible. Gryffindor,
Gryffindor delinquents! You did
not see good boy Hufflepuffs getting
arrested for---for----he couldn’t even
tell you, he was so upset. And drunk, he was so drunk. He hadn’t
meant to get drunk, and it usually took a
lot to put VInny in this sort of state so he was also labeling
Lynch as a poisoner. Was poisoner a word?
He’d lost his
vocabulary!
The inebriated seeker pulled his head up at Seth’s question, glowering brilliantly at the half naked man. The whole night was one big blur of drinks, noise, and shiny lights, and if Vinny were to attempt to speak to the Turkish officers that had taken them away, he would most likely be unable to spell his name correctly. It was a
nightmare. He’d never done anything this dumb, it was only when he’d become a bloody
Falcon that he thought these sort of outings were a good idea, or at least a semi-good one. It was
never a good idea! He should have known better! He had been Head Boy once!
“I used to be Head Boy!” Vinny wailed miserably from his corner, dropping his head to the top of his knees as his lament had seemingly taken all the energy out of him.
By gods, his nose hurt. His forehead hurt. Actually, come to vaguely think about it,
all of Howell above the neck seemed to hurt. He wasn't sure about what was below the neck, because he couldn't really feel it.
It was mildly troublesome, as far as vague thoughts went.
There was also this insistent stroking motion occurring in the vicinity of his nose, and Howell curled himself tighter into a ball, batting at the annoyance with a discombobulated wave of his hand. "Stop it, Jago," he mumbled sleepily, "Daddy doesn't want kisses."
This was usually enough to persuade his faithful dog to go amuse himself elsewhere, but not this morning. Instead, he felt Jago's fingers pinch his cheek. He groaned louder, then paused.
Jago's… fingers…?
Eyes snapping open, his beautiful dog's face looked … a little different. His nose seemed a bit lighter and more pointed, and even though there was still a black circle around one eye, he seemed … less slobbery?
Which was when he realised, it was not the face of his beautiful if slobbery dog that hovered above his, but of Michal Conway Lynch, whose hands was waving before Howell's face with nefarious intent.
Letting out a small scream, he tried to dodge away which was by rearing back, which would have worked slightly better, had his head not been impeded by the very thick, very solid wall behind him. Cracking his head solidly against its surface, he was treated to a view of a dozen tiny Jagos prancing in a circle before his eyes.
"Bad dog," he moaned, not quite apt enough to clasp his aching head. "What's
happening?" At least, he would have said that, but the words rather came out in a slurred mush.
Seth snorted in laughter. Poor Hufflepuff seeker. Apparently no one had told him head boy and prefects didn’t matter after Hogwarts. He couldn’t quite remember how they had convinced Vinny to join in their drunken antics, yet here he was. Seth just wanted to give him a hug. And Howell. “
Howell.” He was here too, calling Michal a
bad dog and this was quite possibly the best night ever. “Team building, Howell. That is what is happening.”
He swayed greatly his fit of giggles unsteadying him. Then he was suddenly on the gross
gross floor. And just where were his shoes. He fumbled for a moment before grappling a hold to pull himself back up. “Aren’t we suppose to get a floo call? I feel we should have called someone to get us by now.”
He looked longingly down the hall before giving up on standing. “Also. I am cold,” he announced, greatly displeased with this development. He missed his shoes. He liked that pair. And his shirt! Why was he the only person missing his clothes. “Why am I the only person missing clothes? Hey Head Boy. Be a pal and lend me a shirt.”
“I’ve only gots
one,” Vinny snapped, his words coming out with a lisp; he couldn’t feel his tongue anymore. He shut his mouth tightly, hoping to force feeling back into this very important muscle, but he hesitated in opening his mouth again. All he wanted to do was be miserable in this little corner of this little cell in this little country on this little continent on this little planet. That’s all he wanted. He did not want his dumb, drunken,
hooligan teammates to boss him around and demand the literal shirt off his back. Vinny had gotten into his fair share of trouble, he could not deny
that, but being
jailed? Locked
up? That was for---lowlifes! He was a
lowlife.
Derek was going to laugh for hours. Days. Months.
Years. He would be on his deathbed and his best mate would make sure to bring this fiasco up, just in case Vinny’s old, decrepit mind had forgotten about it. He’d never be able to deal with Glenda again; how could such a sweet angel princess of a woman ever deal with a convicted felon? How would
Arista ever come around and find him an acceptable man to date and kiss and do other things his mind wouldn’t let him travel to as a punishment?
Vinny dropped his head to the top of his knees again a few times, moaning about how miserable his life was, that he was ruined,
ruined. What did he need a bloody shirt for, if he was going to rot here in this prison for the rest of his life? Struggling, Vinny somehow managed to pull the shirt off his head, but not after getting caught in it for quite some time. He tossed it angrily over at Seth, or at least in his general direction, and then looked down at himself. Apparently he’d worn layers.
“I’ve gots two shirts,” he noted, feeling his mood turn slightly upward.
Vinny may have had two shirts, but Howell currently had zero shoes. That is to say, he had had shoes, two of them, as was the norm, but presently one foot was entirely naked, and the other was rapidly on its way, as Seth tugged the boot off his heel, not even bothering with the laces. Though he seemed more dexterous than the other three at the moment, Seth was still impeded by his own drunkenness, and the the process was taking some time and muscle, and had resulted in Howell being dragged almost to lying on the floor with each successive tug, loudly commenting (slurring) in consternation on the bruised and slightly bloody state of the Beater's knuckles.
As he slid further down the wall, he was in half a mind to protest but ultimately decided against it as he couldn't formulate the words to do so. He was already sleeping on a dank and dirty floor as he unwittingly cuddled up next to Michal, so what was being barefoot going to do? If Seth wanted his shoes, he could let Seth have his shoes. He was about to say so, when a high-pitched disturbance had his aching head singing.
"WHAT IS GOING ON!" the loud shrieking voice demanded. Howell jerked his bleary gaze toward where he believed the sound was coming and saw Michal's face again. Jumping slightly, he shook his head and reoriented himself enough to lean forward and look to the side, where he saw a very tiny woman with what looked like pink flames dancing on her head appear, though she was obscured by vertical bars. Howell felt mildly worried, until a second shriek pierced his sensitive eardrums. "WHY ARE YOU IN HERE? WHY DO YOU NOT HAVE CLOTHES?"
"Hey," he said, sounding suddenly more alert as he tugged on Michal's sleeve. That was a really good question! "What's going on? Why is Seth naked? Where are we?" Howell looked about their surroundings as much as his splitting head would allow him to. "Are—Are we in—"
“---- JAIL!” Larkin bounded out from behind Wendy with excitement, yelling at the top of her lungs for a very different reason. The whole way here she had been
giddy, practically bursting at the seams to get just a glimpse, just a
taste of what Wendy had most dreadfully described as ‘confusing’, ‘drunken’, and ‘alarming’ all at three in the morning. Three in the
morning! Only wonderful,
fun things happened at this time, for no one was ever woken up in the middle of the night for dreadfully boring news.
“YOU’RE IN JAIL!” Larkin hollered, feasting her eyes on the scene before her. And, once she got her fill, she doubled over and held her stomach. “TURKISH JAIL!” she continued, so elated, so overcome with joy that she felt like she was going to cry. Oh
Merlin, this was beyond priceless! If only she had a camera, if
only she had thought, when Wendy awoke her mere minutes ago in a fury, to think ‘I will want to remember this!’ Alas, she really should have known better when she’d been alerted their destination was a jail, and to collect as much money as she could get her hands on.
For
bail!
The sound that soon followed her announcement could only vaguely be compared to that of a dying, and therefore wailing, drunken whale, so immediately Larkin knew who produced it.
“She-devil!” she heard Michal utter, call out, and whisper all at the same time, watching him close his eyes and turn his head to apparently help inform his friend resting up against his side.
“YOU have a black eye!” she pointed at Michal through the bars, practically giddy. Which, only earned her more slurred insults, which did, and did not, make much sense.
“And
YOU’RE not wearing any clothes!” she declared, turning to Seth on her heel in a frenzy. Larkin’s face was permanently set to that of pure, unadulterated joy.
“I don’t know you two!” She threw in for good measure, amused by them nonetheless. She especially enjoyed that one of them looked ready to check himself into a mental ward, and the other seemingly very lost and confused, because why else would he openly attach himself to the Polish grump of the east, Michal Conway Lynch?
“But you’re wonderful!” Larkin let out, clapping her hands again. She swung her body to face Wendy, which earned her a rightfully-placed glare. Quieting down immediately, she brought her hands together in front, and puckered her lips together innocently.
“We’re here to bail you out,” she whispered loudly and purposely, side-glancing Wendy for approval.
Seth let out a noise of triumph when Howell’s other shoe came free. Shirt. Shoes. Now all he needed were trousers. He eyed Michal’s conspiratorially, he was quite possibly drunk enough that Seth could talk him out of them. Seth use to be really good at talking people out of their pants, usually birds, but it couldn’t be that much different. Just as he was about to make his attempt, loud voices interrupted his thoughts. Loud
female voices.
“Wendy!!” Seth exclaimed his (Vinny’s) shirt half on as he tried to scramble to his feet to greet the former love of his life. He could call Wendy that, right? He’d have to ask her later. “I
did floo you! It wasn’t a dream. You are my favorite. You have always been my favorite.” He was back to hanging from the bars and shot Larkin a nasty look. He didn’t ask for her to bring Larkin. “I have clothes! I have a shirt! And shoes. I was working on getting trousers.” He struggled to get his arm in the other sleeve. “I think there was a game of strip exploding snap. I lost, but that bird was pretty determined to find out if my red hair was
natural.”
He turned his attention back to Wendy. Lovely Wendy. He pouted greatly at her look. Wendy shouldn’t be upset. “Team building! Not England team. Falcon team.” He attempted to lower his voice to a whisper to share a secret. “We as a team need to learn to pick better women. Except Michal. Which is strange. Isn’t it strange that he has the stable relationship. And
not with Larkin, because you know he is in love with Larkin.” He nodded solemnly sneaking a glance back at his best friend, then to Larkin and finally back to Wendy.
Oh. That look. Seth knew that look. At this very moment he couldn’t recall what
exactly that look meant, but it certainly not good. But he suddenly felt like there was something he should be apologizing for. “Weeeendy, Lovely Wendy. Thank you for coming to get me. I love you.” There was a noise of protest from somewhere behind him and Seth looked back at Vinny and Howell. “Oh. Right. Vinny and Howell. We should take them too. Larkin can get Michal. Additionally, will you help me find my trousers? I managed shoes and shirt on my own. ”
“SHE’S
MARRIED!” Vinny shrieked from the back of the cell, not daring to move because he did not trust his legs. Wendy Midgen was married to one of his Hufflepuff brethren, he would
not let Seth I’m-A-Dumb-Gryffindor Wadcock get the wrong idea.
After huffing greatly, Vinny pressed his back against the wall, his face twisted in deep concentration as he pushed himself up off the ground. This was the hardest bloody thing he’d ever done in his life, but soon he was standing, well,
leaning against the wall at his full, upright position. Now, if he could only make it to the bars, he could beg Wendy to get him out of here too. If not, he would have to---Merlin, he would rather spend the thousands of sickles it probably cost to internationally floo, but he would rather get Derek in the fireplace than any of his other colleagues here or Merlin forbid,
Gleny.
“Wendy,” Vinny said, shuffling his way toward the front of the cell, still very much pressed against the concrete wall. His hair was up on all ends because of the hassle it had been to take his shirt off. Vinny let out a great breath, putting his hand out in a pleading manner, “Whatever you do. Do not tell Glenda Prewett. Do
not. Tell. Gleny!”
Derek would be amused for ages. Knowing how nutter women were, this wanted convict, bad boy image was going to send Arista straight into his arms----not a bad thing, but not---what he----
wanted. But Glenda Prewett would think him a mess, a bit of a shame, and that made his knees wobble. “And please do not---leave me and Howell. Howell and me. Howell and I---no, me.”
The fact that Wendy had to crane her head to look up at every single other person in the room and cell (
CELL) had no bearing on her temper, which, at that moment, was an incredible sight to behold. Nor was she at all fazed by the fact that, in the ensuing panic from getting a distressed floo call from a friend and teammate at three in the morning, she had hastily yanked on the first robe within reach (acid green), right over the pyjamas she hadn't bothered to change out of (sunshine yellow with daisies), and had not done a thing to her distinctly nest-like hair (hot pink and red), thus resembling a painting someone might have created whilst hopped up on billywig stings.
"Stop cackling!" she demanded of Larkin, scowling up at her Amazonian friend, who had accompanied her
not out of the kindness of her heart, but to crow over their old classmates.
Turning back to the cell, she snapped, "And
you!" as she faced Seth, flouncing right up to the bars and pointing her finger through them so she could jab him in the drunken nose. "Don't think you can suck up to me! You call me on the floo at
THREE in the morning to tell me you're drunk off your bum, have gotten into a fight, and done goodness know what else before you landed up in
JAIL!
NAKED! WELL, CONGRATULATIONS, I have never been more proud!"
Wendy might have been able to stop there—or at least, lower her voice to a more acceptable decibel, but Head Girl had sat too well on her, and it was only too natural from years past to then turn her wrath on Michal, waspishly pleased that he was on the floor, so she could look down at him for a change. "You, stop sulking!" she told him impatiently. "When you egg your teammates on to do idiotic things when under the influence of alcohol, you earn the right to be mocked in a jail cell! AND THAT BOY—" she gestured in the direction of Howell, huddled up by Michal's side and not entirely lucid, "did not get like that by himself!"
She doubted very much that he could hear her, but she was on a tear now, so still jerked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at the boy, saying, "I expected better from you, than going drinking with these idiots."
That led her attention back to Vinny, who had eyes the size of saucers and hair that made him appear as if he'd been on the receiving end of a Shocking Spell. "And if
you are drinking and moping over the Wireless presenter, Vinny Gudgeon, during the most important Quidditch event in three years for which are you a key player, I will dismember you with my own tiny hands!"
Breathing hard, Wendy snapped her arms to her sides as she balled her hands into fists. "Now you are all paying me back,
with interest!
AND buying me something pretty!"
She then turned to the guard and began to yell at
him, uncaring that she didn't speak Turkish and he didn't speak English, emphasising her loudly-voiced points with some pokes and jabs for good measure.
Larkin’s mouth opened a bit, rather marveling at Wendy’s fierce display, and thinking it best to
not mention she would like something pretty bought for her as well. So, for the sake of all parties present, she instead reached her hand through the bars to give the side of Seth’s face a well-earned knock for his comment, and only vaguely followed Wendy as she went off to yell the jailer into submission. And by vaguely, Larkin really just stepped back beyond Seth’s reach, for she was sure he would not take kindly to her playful slap.
Some time passed, enough for Larkin to have found it necessary to learn on one of the higher horizontal bars and preen at the subjects within, and it began to seem clear that this Turkish bail was not going to go as smoothly as Wendy had said it would. Which meant...
A wicked grin appeared on Larkin’s face, and quickly she stood up straight. She leaned back, only for a second to glance on her feisty friend and their warden (who had now taken to yelling back), to visually confirm that they were both completely consumed in their confusing and vehement quarrel. Which they were.
Good enough for her!
Smoothly, Larkin quickly pulled her wand out of her boot, and leaned over to begin playing with the lock on the door.
She made a living off of breaking into things, didn’t she? It would really be a poor show of craftsmanship if she couldn’t silently unlock a one-room jail cell door to free her two drunk friends and their foolish companions.
She hissed as she thought she heard Michal gurgling on about something loudly, earning him a quick glare before turning back to her whispered volley of spells. It was all part of the plan, anyway! Well. Actually, it was unclear if this had been deemed as the official plan B if the lawful plan A fell through, but desperate times called for exciting measures, didn’t they? After a few more seconds of tinkering, the lock on the door noiselessly unbolted, and with a smug smile Larkin push the door open with her index finger.
Now they were getting somewhere.
Skipping inside, she immediately began to wrestle Michal’s new appendage from him, as this boy surely was not going to make it out of here on his own without the form of sober aide.
Seth shrank a bit at Wendy’s berating words. Oh she was mad. So very
mad. He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering idly if it was worth apologizing now. Before he could decide though, she was gone in a technicolor whirlwind to pay bail. He was definitely buying her something very
very pretty. He was distracted once again by Larkin’s swat, his nose wrinkling making look far more like a scolded puppy than he would like. Sending her a glare, he backed away from the bars.
He took to leaning against the wall closer to Vinny. He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He must have lost some time, because he startled with the door swinging open. Oh good, Wendy was back and they were free to go. Except not at all. “What are you doing!” Seth nearly screeched watching Larkin just waltz right into the cell. “You can’t-- You can’t just--” He just
gaped at the curse breaker who was currently trying to get Howell of the floor, wishing he wasn’t as drunk as he was so he could correctly articulate everything that was wrong with this picture.
“Stop it!” he hissed grabbing her by the arm and pulling her off Howell. “You are going to cause an inter-- international ince-inci--in problem!” Drunk in public was thing. Hell, he was okay with punching out the Turkish beater, but becoming a jailbreak fugitive. No. Not happening. “Wendy is posting bail. Get out. We are in enough trouble.” He may be drunk but he was certainly still strong enough to man handle Larkin out of the cell shutting the door behind her. “You stay out there. I am not rotting in a turkish prison for the rest of my life because you made me a- a- whatever you call a criminal on the run.”
Not only was Vinny drunk, tired, and sore, he now sported a wounded ego courtesy of Wendy Midgen.
Merlin’s balls, he was having a bad year so far. It had been the reason why he had decided to join Michal and Seth on their little adventure, and it hadn’t helped that he’d been in a sour enough mood to indulge in a few more drinks than usual. The New Year always brought upon strong emotions for Vinny, his weary mind thought as he sunk back to the floor, unable to listen to the bantering that was going on. His birthday was on New Year’s day, he’d asked Marlie to be his girlfriend on New Year’s, they’d planned for a New Year’s wedding so that they wouldn’t have to pay for the fireworks because his contract with the Cannons was terrible. And this year, when he finally decided to take a chance and put himself out there, he’d been shot down and felt utterly humiliated for it.
And now he was in jail. In Turkey. Wonderful.
“Forget this,” Vinny muttered, glaring at the mess they were in and only slightly jumping at the sound of the cell slamming shut. He had no idea who the pretty cat burglar of a woman was, but he couldn’t be bothered to find out a name. He was slowly teetering to the side, his body sliding out along the grimy floor as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. “I’m going to sleep. See you lot in court.”
When the doors slammed open, it was not, as Seth might so hopefully have been expecting, Wendy flouncing in triumphantly flanked by guards, wands, and the large key which would extract the four drunkards to freedom, although it was Wendy, there was a wand, and there were guards.
That both guards had one of her wrists each and were dragging her, kicking and screaming, back into the room as she kept snapping for the wand one guard had confiscated and stuck in his pocket with her teeth was another matter, entirely.
"GIVE IT BACK, YOU BLEEDING SCUMBAG," she howled, dragging her heels. The other guard was trying to reason with her, which earned him a swift kick in the shins. He dropped her wrist to hop on his good leg, so she immediately turned on the guard with her wand, swatting at him as he yelled back, actually jumping up slightly to knock his hat off his head when he bent to get in her face.
Hurried, the other guard limped over to unlock the cell, and the spitting Wendy was dragged back by both arms, yelling more not-quite obscenities at the top of her lungs. She grabbed ahold of the sides of the cell when they tried to push her in, snarling uncomplimentary things. Finally, a good nudge had her sailing in, and the cell door was shot with an efficient
snick of the lock engaging. Immediately, she scrambled to her feet and rushed to press her face between the bars.
"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE FOREVER," Wendy shouted, rattling the cage, "I KNOW PEOPLE!"
The answer was a resounding slam of the doors.
