Holding onto the strap of her bag, Therese examined the entrance to the alley that led to Knockturn Alley. Her toe dug into the ground as her leg rocked back and forth, taking her next steps into consideration. There was never a good tale to tell when you entered Knockturn Alley, but it was really her only option. She liked to consider herself a woman who could take on her own adventures, but there was always a strange, nearly howling breeze that came out of Knockturn.

Her shampoo was not that important, was it?

It sounded silly even thinking it! But! Matilda Rowle had always provided her with a special brand that was widely regarded amongst the veela population, something Therese had believed would cause her hair to fall out the moment the concoction touched her scalp. Therese had very little veela blood, but her mother had always commented that her hair was a gift from her ancestors. Right. In any case, the shampoo (and conditioner!) had been something she'd sworn by since leaving Hogwarts, and--she felt a twisting guilt to use something other than the brand that Matilda had found her for.

Merlin, this was a stupid argument she was having with only herself. She was a grown woman, a former Slytherin! There was nothing to be nervous about. Therese straightened her shoulders and took the first few steps into Knockturn. She lifted her chin; she'd be in and out, that was all. People came in and out of here all the time.

This little errand would go perfectly fine.

For a pair of women who liked to eat the way that she and Savannah did, they were pretty damn good at working out. Carys did her best to not miss a run with her best friend, and as they made it around the corner to Savannah's flat, she was glad she'd made it out this bright and early morning. James had been extremely fussy, and Drake was--well, he was no where to be found lately. It was a good thing her mother was sure that Carys was raising the child to be a heathen and would take him upon a moment's notice to give him as much of a proper upbringing as she could...

"I win," Carys let out as she crossed the front steps of the apartment building. She trotted a few paces past it before coming to a full halt, and turned with her hands on her hips to catch her breath. She hadn't realized the final sprint she'd automatically gone in, but, well, that was just her natural instinct to win, she supposed. Carys winced at the stitch in her side, but that would disappear after a bit.

It was almost like she was in pre-pre-season training, but at least now she got to bullshit with her best friend after her run instead of heading to the gym to lift weights for two hours. Carys pulled out her ponytail, still red in the face. Now that she wasn't moving at her top speed, her hunger was able to catch up and kick in. "Tell me you've got food ready, I'm starved."

It had taken a few weeks, but she had finally found the perfect place to write. Her office was where work happened, not creativity, her flat had not been a place she wanted to be in quite some time, so it had taken her a bit to find a place where she didn’t feel overwhelmed by her surroundings. The public Atrium of the Ministry had it’s hustle and bustle with the fire places and ever moving flow of ministry workers, but tucked away in nooks of the grand entrance way were tables where people met for lunch, tea, coffee, and to rant about the supervisor that they wanted to splinch on their next work endeavor.

Therese had a particular table that had been good to her muse. She still was working out the…kinks to her story, but since Remy had told his side of the story without her permission in his , it felt good to hers out. Not that---she wasn’t particularly sure where it was going, which was why her outlining process was taking this long and---

She paused, a frown crossing her face. There was someone at her table. Someone was hindering on her creative outlet. Therese contemplated turning around and finding another table, but she knew she would spend the whole time boring holes into the back of this man’s head and hoping some wordless magic melted him on the spot. She shifted her bag on her shoulder and tossed her hair over her shoulder. She could get this table back.

“Excusez-moi, monsieur,” she said, dropping into the seat across from him. He seemed lost in his documents. “Excusez---”

WHO: Carys and Drake Parkin!
WHAT: Confrontations after her not so good behavior in NYC?
WHERE: Their flat!
WHEN: Night of her arrival home!

( He was always so calm, so cool, so collected, while she looked like the crazy person! )

WHO: Seth Wadcock, Matt Summerby, and Odette Boot
WHAT: Seth takes Matt out for some drinks, things go in a way. lmao
WHERE: English bar in NYC?!
WHEN: Last weekend before the elimination matches!

( When you’re Irish, you’re Irish and Irish it is and they’re gonna lose anyway )

It was hard to not down his first of the most delectable of green beers on the most Irish of days. The celebration of St. Patrick's seemed to have been going on since sunrise at the local pub, but with Ireland's win in the world cup, the spirits of the crowd were through the roof (literally, some spellwork of excitement had left holes in the ceiling). Louis had to use much self-control to contain himself to just one beer as one guest in particular had not arrived yet. Adian had been a very good sport all evening and had managed to wrangle up a few tables and pitchers of refillable drinks, and had roped them off as their own. It was perhaps lucky that they had so much practice wiggling their way out of rent, it created skills for almost every scenario.

Every time the door opened and a new patron arrived, the bar burst into cheers and song. It helped him keep an eye on those entering, and when a particularly loud cheer erupted, he was glad he was in viewing distance of the door.

"'Scuse me!" he said, dropping his beer into the hands of Flynn Wright, who Louis had insisted Adian invite (much to his friend's confusion, as Louis had never really taken to the Hufflepuff). Louis pushed his way through the crowd, stretching himself on his toes to squeeze through the cracks. Finally, after managing to get past two rather vigorous snoggers, he landed flat footed in front of Penelope.

"You made it!" he exclaimed, then realizing how he might sound, cleared his throat and gestured over his shoulder, "It wasn't this packed earlier, but--we've got a table. You need a shamrock." Louis gestured to his cheek, where he was sure the carefully painted shamrock on his cheek was now wiped and smudged away.

WHO: Holly Troy and Anya Kalinnikov
WHAT: Besties exploring NYC!
STATUS: Unfinished because Cristina sucks at tagging things lately! Finishing in comments!

( To deny us anything would be absurd )

WHO: Ethan, Lee, & Andre Jordan THE JORDAN MEN
WHAT: Early morning wake up calls!
WHERE: NEW YORK!!
WHEN: LIKE. Some time last week lmao
STATUS: Finishing in comments!

( ---Andre, is that a fanny pack? )

Scarlett took a step back so that the fan could get a proper shot with their camera, the flash nearly blinding her. But, she maintained her smile. How could she not? She'd just finished playing the best game of her life! Ever! She was never going to do anything like that again---but who knew? The World Cup was far from over. As she was handed quill upon quill to sign her autograph away on a wide variety of parchment, shiny paper she wasn't sure of, pictures of herself, jerseys---one goal. She'd only let in one goal!

"I've got an action figure?" she let out in genuine, loud surprise as a fan presented her with the toy. The little figurine of her strode around the crevices of her palm and Scarlett gaped in awe. "Thank you! I didn't know this had---thanks!"

That fan got a special picture as Scarlett threw her arm around his neck. Merlin! She tucked the figure into her front pocket and continued down the line. This was quite literally the best day of her life. Scarlett couldn't think of a single time she'd felt happier, she couldn't wait to go meet up with her parents tomorrow morning for breakfast (it was far too late for her elderly folks to go out for celebrations). She just...it was just bloody fantastic.

"And who should I make this out to?" she asked, not looking up at the fan as she took hold of the match program. Scarlett scrawled her signature over her image on the cover, grinning at how remarkable her bloody team was.

She had been standing motionless on the lift for a vague five minutes now, fingers hovering over two buttons on the switch board. One would bring her back to her and Holly’s room, for it was very late and she should already be asleep by now, and the other….

Saoirse felt her hand spring to life, and quickly her thumb jammed down a decision. Tomorrow was a very important day; tomorrow would be her first World Cup match, tomorrow needed all her focus, tomorrow (today?) could not be filled with the doubt, misery, and guilt that had been plaguing her for the past three weeks. She had to--- no, she must---

The lift door pinged open, and with quiet feet Saoirse ambled onto the Welsh wing of the tournament’s housing facility.

She felt tired of feeling tired, tired of feeling miserable, and most importantly, tired of feeling cold, empty, and unhappy with herself. What had happened between her and Howell…. that hadn’t been what she wanted, it certainly wasn’t what she continued to want, so why it had occurred, with the strike of her hand no less was not…

Knowing that he was here, with a few floors always separating them, had been maddening at first. She had wanted to see him constantly, talk to Howell everyday, stupidly hoped that fate would intervene and allow them a fleeting moment in which they could share their lost days with one another. But then, as the week had progressed, that frenzy within her began to fade, and it quickly occurred to her there was a feeling nothing as terrifying as that. Losing her ridiculous, encompassing thoughts meant an outcome she did not wish to see realized, and it was because of this fear that had lead her to brashly uncover where Howell specifically was staying in a previous late-night stroll entirely unrelated to this one. There wasn’t much time left, was there?

Pulling her hair back, Saoirse easily stopped before her intended destination. It was not difficult to locate the door she wanted, the rooms were numbered the same in Irish quarters. Not waiting any longer, she knocked gently at first, and after a few silent moments, pressed close to the door.

“Howell?” Her voice sounded small, as she felt thus, and uncertain. A couple of more silent moments passed, and her lips formed into a frown. Perhaps it was too late, in both senses. Resting her forehead against the wood, Saoirse closed her eyes. “Howell?”

WHO: Thomas and family!
WHAT: Portkey Terminal!
WHEN: Getting ready to leave for New York!

( I'll put a picture of your adorable face on her mobile )

Vinny had been a very poor version of himself these past few weeks. He'd made decisions based on his childish emotions, said things that shouldn't have been said, and hadn't built up the nerve to apologize for his shitty behavior. That's what it was, shitty behavior. He wasn't a child anymore, he shouldn't be letting himself get so wrapped up and upset by things that didn't really matter, not at the end of the day.

He examined one of Gleny's bags with a thoughtful expression, wanting to go over their check list one more time. It was a strange feeling, sending her off on this grand trip while he stayed behind. They'd done practically everything together for the past year, so it was more than being jealous of her New York adventures. It was a yearning to be apart of them with her. He'd be all right though, they'd be all right.

Vinny's hand unconsciously ran over the top of Tristan's head, the boy having pushed under his arm. Gleny had made the decision to trust him with taking care of her son during her time in New York, and that faith him him helped push him out of the pity-party he'd been throwing himself.

"You've got your journal, right?" Vinny said softly. The terminal of the portkey port was closed off to the public, allowing the quidditch players and media heading to New York some private last minute moments with their family and friends. With all the people, the noise should have made it hard to hear, but it was more of a soft lull and it kept his voice low. "I haven't sent international owls in ages, I don't remember how long they take..."