h o l l y (hollyharpie) wrote in valesco,
@ 2013-11-25 23:50:00

Entry tags:

andrea johnson, anton chang, charles spinnet, delilah spinnet, group, holly troy, howell williams, larkin whitby, louis bonaccord, michal conway lynch, miles lufkin, mirabelle jasper, richard house, richard thorough, saoirse mullet, seth wadcock, therese bonaccord, thomas mccormack, veronica zeller, victoria cadwallader

Open to Quidditch Guests!
She was a champion.

Holly wouldn't (and couldn't, since she was sure it was well-documented) deny that she had cried. Quidditch had been her life for so long, and to have this stretch of a career without a league cup to call her own, it was hard to deal with. Seasons were long and ehxausting, they took away all your time and energy, and to not win the cup meant that you'd just wasted the year. Sure, there were the fans, there was making personal records, and even the international circuit was fun, but Holly had needed this win so badly that she still got shivers when she thought about it. She'd done it, and she'd been the best.

She sighed, taking in the surroundings. Appleby Park had been transformed into a wonderful setting for the event, the spells on the stadium keeping the guests warm and the night sky bright above them. The league cup sat on its platform in the middle of the dance floor, looking like a glorious holy grail that she'd finally wrapped her hands around. Her husband was here somewhere, but she was lost in the sea of people. Teammates, competitors, agents, and the media, it was simply a night for the game she loved, and Holly couldn't remember a moment when she'd been happier with everything in her life.

As she made her way to the bar, she spotted one of her aforementioned teammates standing off and away from the rest of the guests. Holly, not one to ignore a teammate as she'd taken on the role this past season as, well, a mother-hen (but don't tell Theo), she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in the back of her head.

"You're missing all the fun," she said, taking their elbow. When Holly finally got a good look at their face, she frowned, "What's wrong? It looks like you've seen a ghost."

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wadcock
2013-12-09 07:47 pm UTC (link)

Seth hummed as he looked over to Nicodemo. His hair wasn't that impressive and he was willing to bet that it wasn't even really a factor to why Larkin was crawling all over him. Seth was positive she was just trying to prove a point, making Michal miserable at the same time. If only Larkin played, then he would have a legitimate reason to hit a bludger at her. In fact, now that Seth thought about it, neither of them were in the league. How they managed to eve get into the party, and to do that just to what?

"Good, I hate her too." He said sipping his drink pulling his gaze from the disgusting display across the room. All he wanted to do was make an appearance, play the part of a good sport like Henry demanded and then slink off unnoticed to go meet up with Savannah. Now that looked like it wasn't going to happen as he couldn't very well leave his best friend unsupervised in this state. "You deserve better anyways. I could go through a list of reasons, but I doubt you'll remember them when you sober up."

Seth scanned the room, hoping that maybe Howell was around. It would be easier to sneak off later if Seth had someone else around to pass Michal off to, he'd feel guilty if he hadn't been here before. But after so many times listening him to him claim to hate Larkin while she was off kissing someone else, well, he had a date.

"Let's get you another drink." Seth suggested against his better judgement. There was no way he needed another drink, but getting Michal up from his sulky corner table had to be a move in the right direction. As the moved towards the bar, Seth noticed a certain brunette, leaning up against it. His mind moved quickly, and it was mean, potentially cruel, but well when one door shut another one always opened. Maybe this could be a second (forth?) chance for Michal.

Or maybe this was just Seth's way of escaping to go get laid.

He wasn't exactly sober enough to feel guilty and stay but he certainly wasn't drunk enough to stick around and drink until they couldn't remember their names. "Okay. Go order drinks. I'll be right back. Just going to hit the loo. Two minutes." Seth said directing Michal towards the bar, conveniently close to the witch who was already there.

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alongday
2013-12-09 09:29 pm UTC (link)

She was here in support of the Arrows, more specifically, the few players on the team that had used her services. Therese had forced herself this past year to keep her life separate from the quidditch players that she helped and from the players that got her in trouble, but after a few insistent invitations she'd accepted. And now, she was wondering why she'd even hesitated! The atmosphere was wonderful, the Arrows were a great team to be celebrating, and there was an open bar!

An open bar fixed everything!

Of course, she was a lady and would not end up passed out under a table because of her drinking habits, but deciding on nursing only one rather potent drink that was equal to about four typical ones, well. She may have thought she was doing the smart thing, and would keep telling herself that. Therese turned to take in the sights and sounds of the evening, but was surprised at the quidditch player standing less than a foot away from her.

"Oh," Therese said, holding her drink close. Actually, she hadn't been this close to Michal in months, she hadn't even seen him in---Therese took a big gulp of her drink and then placed it back on the bar. This was probably just a coincidence, he hadn't meant to approach her, her hair was lighter than he'd last seen it and---She unconsciously patted it down, silently scolding herself for hoping he liked it. "Hello, would you--a drink? Getting a drink?"

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conways
2013-12-26 07:37 pm UTC (link)

It took a few delayed seconds, but eventually Michal did realize someone was addressing him. And not just anyone, not Seth, no, but---

"Therese!" he let out, his own two feet slipping ever so slightly beneath each other. His free hand rested palm-down on the bar, using it for support to balance upright. Michal's face twisted briefly for a moment, displaying a hint of pain, before all extreme emotion washed away from his face and his eyes opened again. Had she come before him like dream? No, more like the guiltiest nightmare.

She looked beautiful.

Michal abandoned his sole desire for more alcohol, his brain only able to focus on what was currently in front of him. He had already forgotten Seth, already forgotten Larkin and her hair-god-- look at this mixed enigma before him. And suddenly, he had so much to say to her, so much to convey, with perhaps a bit of overdue longing that completely consumed him. Sadness appeared on his face again as shoulders dropped.

"Why aren't you with someone else?" he asked suddenly, honestly. He had hoped--- wished--- Michal approached Therese further, his hand reaching out to brush the side of her face. Her hair felt so soft in his fingers. "You deserve--- I--"

Michal's lips fumbled, finding it difficult to form the words he wanted to say to her. "You were one of the best and--- I fucked it up! I fuck everything up." His other hand had moved to cup the other side of Therese's face, and looking down at her sadly, Michal continued on. His drunken brain couldn't continue a line of thought to save his life, but to him, it all seemed perfectly linear.

Bending his neck to look at Therese through his blurred eyes, he asked her, very seriously, "Why haven't you slapped me?" He hadn't understood that-- he was awful wouldn't that be easy for her? "You should have."

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alongday
2013-12-27 09:35 pm UTC (link)

It felt as if her heart had stopped. Her entire body had frozen at his touch, it all just seemed so...unreal. Therese had not come to this party hoping to see Michal like she had at past events. She had felt as if she had accepted the end of their relationship, finally. Accepted was the key word, however, because a person could accept their fate and not be happy about it. She pressed her lips together, eyes not leaving his.

She had waited to hear these words for so long. As someone who helped people get through rough patches, Therese knew that she had been missing that closure. He had just...he'd just left. No questions had been answered, nothing had been resolved. Her heart had been left broken and in pieces for such a long time, and she'd resisted and resisted (and failed, as she recalled that midnight meeting on his porch) to confront him. He wasn't worth it her friends had said, she shouldn't waste her time.

Her logical mind worked tirelessly on the many aspects of their breakup, the situation while her heart ached and raged. Therese understood Michal's running away from a professional standpoint so her heart battled her head over and over again. So what did she do to ignore the internal battle? She'd skipped the country to France, to the States. Teased an artist who wished her to be his muse and snogged a bloke who was literally perfect for her in every way except for the brutal fact that his fiancée had just died. Dyed her hair, wore short skirts to muggle bars, whisked her friend's children to toy stores and spent far too much money on them. What a random year it had been, and Michal taking hold of her face right now seemed to strangely fit into place.

Therese smiled sadly. He seemed so honest with his words as alcohol tended provide an easier filter for the mind's thoughts to get past. She had answers to all his questions but her voice caught in her throat. He was the answer to all of them, did he really not know that?

"Michal..." she said softly, eyes breaking away from his as she searched the party for one of his friends. He wasn't in a state to be left alone. Therese looked back up at him, hand reaching to touch his, the one he had placed against her cheek. She'd desperately missed his touch and involuntarily leaned into his grasp. "You're very drunk."

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howl
2013-12-28 08:33 pm UTC (link)

Howell had been having as good a time as one could have when celebrating the victory of another team, especially when one's girlfriend played for said team, which was surprisingly a nice time indeed. Saoirse, tipsy as tipsy could be with not simply champagne but the heady feeling of a league victory, flitted to and from his side through the night, but he didn't mind. She was so rarely this carefree and open, and other than ensuring she didn't accidentally drink herself to sickness, Howell had no wish to dampen her spirits and was content to be a wallflower.

Late in the evening, when she came back to him, seemingly for good, she seemed to wrap herself right around him without a care. Hands crept in rather illicit places, and there was definitely some pinching—although not of his doing. His one drink had relaxed him enough to tease her right back, and it seemed they might, in fact, duck out of the party. He relaxed against the wall as Saoirse whispered in his ear, his eyes reduced to slits. They wandered aimlessly over the crowd, until, through the haze, he spotted drunk Michal. Very close to him was, if he was not mistaken, his ex-girlfriend Therese.

His body stiffened. Howell regretted what was about to come out of his mouth before he even knew he was going to say it. He tried, as hard as he could, to choke them back, but his unfortunate loyalty knew no bounds.

"I have to go," he said heavily, his hand wrapping around Saoirse's waist, not to bring her closer but to push her further away. Saoirse's eyes widened and before she could do more than make a noise that was both disbelieving and angry, he put his hands up pleadingly. "I'm sorry," he said hastily, kissing her temple before straightening and backing away, "I'm sorry, I just have to—I'll—I'll be back."

He purposefully neglected to mention with someone else in tow.

It seemed as if he'd made it just in time, as the two people's heads inclined towards one another, and—hands were touching, laid on her cheek in a seemingly intimate gesture. Howell furiously wondered where Seth had gone, and vowed to himself to ream out his teammate when he had a chance..

He made a lot of noise as he approached them, flagging Michal down. "Oh—there now—there you are." Howell not so gently yanked Michal's free arm while subtly nudging the back of Michal's knee with his own foot so his sozzled Keeper began to crumple. "I've been looking for you," he said admonishingly, sliding a supporting arm around Michal's waist. Just as he was about to turn away, Howell's attention went to the witch from whom he'd not quite forcefully pried Michal from.

"Sorry," he figured he should say. His glance fell on Michal, and then he squared his shoulders. "If he bothered you. He's used that speech on three girls already. I thought my girlfriend was about to snap his fingers off." Howell paused and readjusted his listless friend. "I'll take him off your hands."

He then towed Michal, currently nuzzled into his neck, off in the direction from which he had come, eyes glued to the floor so he could pretend all the while not to notice the increasingly burning stare of his infuriated girlfriend.

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conways
2014-01-23 06:02 pm UTC (link)

Had Therese been Howell this whole time? With the amount of swiftness their faces morphed from one to the other, Michal felt inclined to believe so. Which, was strange, for he had never thought that Howell resembled his ex-girlfriend before, but he supposed it wouldn't be the first time he'd found himself fondling the side of Howell's face with care.

"Howell," Michal hissed, once his bearings were caught (had no one else felt that shift in gravity? The floor had moved). His own feet slipped beneath him.

"Has anyone ever---" His lips pressed together in an amused manner, now finding his own thoughts deeply amusing. Head knocking about, on a whim it fell to rest on the younger wizard's shoulder. Nose pressed to Howell's robes, Michal immediately wondered why his friend's neck smelled like perfume.

"You look just like Therese," Michal mumbled, a hint of regret in his tone. His brow furrowed, and moving enough, his chin popped out so that his blurry eyes could gaze over Howell's shoulder. "I thought you were her, I thought---"

His dejected tone immediately died, and all at once, Michal's flopping hands seized whatever body part of Howell they could grip. His body straightened, and like a beast being beckoned by its beacon, Michal immediately began to trudge forward with Howell in tow, despite said direction being the very way Howell had been walking.

"SAOIRSE MULLET!" Michal screeched, after having spotted her absolutely refusing to let her out of sight. He had Howell here, and she was there, he could force them to sit down together (with him) and then--- Michal turned to smile brilliantly at Howell. Saoirse Mullet was here.

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