WHO: Nona Pepper and Iwan Quigley
WHAT: She notices a strange man appearing and reappearing randomnly
WHERE: Outside the WWN Studios
NOTE: FIRST COMPLETE THREAD FOR THE BOTH OF THEM HUZZAH



Moving in with Saoirse had been the best thing Nona could do after coming back to Britain. First, it allowed them to remove her friend's unfortunate in every way flatmate from the premises. Secondly, it was much better for her to be around a peer, rather than her already imperfect brother, currently in the midst of a break up. Third, civilisation was highly underrated. Her brother's house was literally a small dot in the vast, rolling hills of Scotland, so company beyond their respective mammalian companions, some wandering sheep, and a score of garden gnomes was a bit lacking. That was fine when Nona was working (and still surrounded by colleagues and patients), but putting up with a grumpy Octavius and living in desolation?

Not to mention Saoirse and her ocelot got along very well, which was more than she could say for Octavius.

After the fifth time she'd taken his door off the hinge to ensure he had not taken his own life and the rather spectacular argument that followed (also the catalyst for the removal of her person from his house), he'd sent her a letter with a plaintive owl saying he didn't really mean to kick her out and she was welcome back, but Nona politely declined, on account of his temporary insanity. Instead, they had made a lunch date, for today, Nona had thought, but as his assistant had just informed her, Mr Pepper was out for the afternoon in an off-site meeting. Something about network standards, she maybe thought.

Typical.

Nona had the rest of the day free, as she was still only working partial hours at St Mungo's, so she wondered wearily how to fill the afternoon looming before her when a rather strange sight caught her eye. A man sitting outside one of the broadcasting studios. He sat in the seat closest to the closed door, and then magically appeared to be sitting in the one beside it. And then he rose briefly, but sat back down, but this time in the first chair. Variations on this sequence continued for the next minute and forty-two seconds before Nona looked about curiously to see if there was anyone else in the vicinity witnessing this.

"Erm," she began, tilting her head. "Are… you all right?"

Iwan played a nervous drumming on his thighs with the heel of his hands before his shaking caused him to irrationally disappear and then reappear in the chair beside him. He was trying very hard not to spontaneously apparate, as he was prone to do when he got terribly nervous. This had not happened to him in a long time, but he was having a mild anxiety attack and it simply could not be helped. He had not done a wireless interview in...years. Or had it been ever? Iwan didn’t think he had much of a personality, let alone one that could handle being the center of a conversation that thousands of wizards were listening in to, expecting him to be witty, clever, and interesting.

He was going to be sick, and he stood up to leave, only to sit back down because he could not leave. He should have made Wendy come with him. She was the one that had convinced him this would be a good idea, that he was a Tornado now and could handle the pressure! With their place in the playoffs secured, Iwan thought it would be enough to give him the courage to do this interview, but now that he was here and they’d prepped him and given him some of the questions they were going to ask and he was going to have to talk to some fans and----it was----he----couldn’t----do that.

The seeker jumped to his feet at the voice, assuming that it was one of the WWN representatives. She did not look like the girl that he has spoken to earlier, and she did not seem to be wearing the badge that acknowledged the fact that she worked here, but Iwan couldn’t dare question her.

“Am I to go on now?” he asked nervously, eyes ducking down to his watch. They’d said in fifteen minutes! It had only been six minutes and thirty-eight seconds! Oh, he was going to splinch himself.

How, Nona thought, utterly fascinating. Being at least theoretically well-versed in the Muggle field of medicine (she did own two different editions of Gray's Anatomy, after all), she had an appreciation for the quirks and unique attributes of the Wizarding world, its inhabitants, and their bodies. Being stationed in some of the more interesting locales of the world, she had seen a fair amount of everything, from levitating sneezes to flaming hiccups. The curse-breakers in particular always brought something good back to the wards for them to poke and prod at. It had been an excellent learning experience, and she was rather desensitised to the fantastic and often baffling Wizarding responses.

But in the rather stuffy, always hectic offices of the Wizarding Wireless Network, in the opposite of a deserted, exotic locale, watching a wizard spontaneously Apparate and Disapparate so rapidly was an utterly fascinating sight indeed.

Caught up in the fact that she wished she had some parchment and a quill with which to scribble some notes (something she always did unless in the presence of certain siblings who decreed such behaviour rude, though they obviously missed the educational value of said habit), she almost didn't hear what the man was saying.

"Me?" Nona asked, pressing her hand to her chest. "Oh, no, I don't work here." No, she actually laughed at that idea. She might be in the market for a new place of employment, but here?

"I'm just meeting someone, but they didn't—well. Anyway." She narrowed her eyes, studying the anxious looking man. Good heavens, did he have a streak of blue in his hair? A performer of spontaneous Apparition and looking as if he were sweating hexes? Who on earth was this person? "You're being interviewed?"

If she didn’t work here, why was she talking to him? Iwan blanched, worrying that they’d forgotten about him and that no one was going to fetch him like they said they would and he would become an embarrassment to the whole Tornados franchise and they wouldn’t let him fly in the playoffs and----pop.

It was sort of like a sneeze. A hiccup! Iwan’s first sign of magic had been disapparating from the porch of his father’s house and into a tree, far away from his arguing parents and their frustrated glares. It was so ruddy embarrassing, and he whirled around quickly---he’d ended up behind the girl. Iwan shut his eyes tightly to try and relax his nerves and remember some of the breathing techniques that his sister had helped him with years ago.

“Sorry!” he nearly yelped, falling miserably back down to the seats. Iwan put his face in his hands, knowing that he was just going to sound like an idiot on the wireless, he was going to end up disapparating onto someone’s lap or breaking equipment or something and---it was going to be a miserable time. He should just leave. He should just leave! Fake an illness. Oy, Wendy would see right through him. West would kill him, he---

“I’m supposed to be getting interviewed, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sit still long enough,” he finally responded, dropping his hands to his lap to stare miserably at the girl’s knees. “My team’s a playoff favorite.”

He was a Quidditch player, then! Nona had been wondering. The best she'd come up with was that the WWN had finally tracked down that pantsless magician from Derbyshire whose vanishing acts had caused such a stir a while ago. Although fortunately or unfortunately, this man had his trousers and presumably his pants securely on. Not that she should be thinking about his pants, of course.

Though Nona did ask herself how he managed flying during the pressure-filled games if this spontaneous Apparition tendency happened to flare up.

Speaking of — she spun around again to face him, unable to understand why he looked quite so unhappy. Wasn't being interviewed thrilling? "Are they! That's exciting."

Not that she knew all that much about the British and Irish league still. Nona enjoyed Quidditch for the blood-thirstiness of it all, and had considerably less knowledge and appreciation about the sport as a … well, sport. She did know that the Appleby Arrows had made it, which was the only team she had the wherewithal to care about being that she lived with one of its players. But evidently Charlie had had a meltdown about his team not advancing, which were the Kenmare Kestrels, which her brother claimed to be upset about, though he also said he was happy the Caerphilly Catapults had placed. All of which paled in comparison to the depression he was feeling over his precious Pride of Portree being knocked out of the top slot by the Falmouth Falcons, of all teams! (His words, of course.)

Quidditch obviously evoked a very strong response from the people in her life. It was better to just nod and agree.

"What's your team?" she asked the top of his head.

Iwan let out a breath and tugged on the blue streak of hair that had fallen into his eyes, “Tornadoes.”

Wonderful. This was wonderful. Not only was he going to fail miserably on the radio, random passerbys had no idea who he even was! What did it matter, then, if he went through with this interview? Supposedly he’d begun to develop some sort of fanbase since moving to Tutshill, but the Tornado fans were some of the maddest in the world; if you wore their blue, they would take a Killing Curse for you. He’d been performing well, too, which most certainly helped keep him on the home town’s side, but the people of Tutshill wouldn’t be the only ones listening.

They were going to bench him after this disaster. Iwan did not want to look at his watch and see how little time he did have left before he was to be ushered into the booth. He made to moan once again, but before he did he looked up at the girl and finally focused on her face for more than a few terrified seconds.

“I’m so terribly rude,” he blurted, standing and sticking out his hand. She was young, and pretty, and actually seemingly concerned about him (he gathered, at least, as she had stuck around asking questions. Or he really was just a strange, strange sight. Which he was), and he’d gone on blubbering like a fool, “I’m Iwan. Quigley. Seeker----for the Tornadoes.”

She blinked and couldn't stop herself from looking up slightly as he stood, for he was taller than she expected. Rude? As the youngest of nine, Nona's definition of "rude" had been rather forcibly altered, so she was not in the least offended. Surprised, was more like it. In fact, she rather liked this Iwan Quigley and his nice manners. He certainly had more than she did; the pertinence or politeness of introducing herself in occasions such as these was still not fully impressed upon Nona. She did now, at least, possess the social graces to be on a first-name basis with a person before bossing them around.

"I'm Nona," she said brightly, shaking his hand. She kept her grip on him light in case he disappeared with another pop and happened to take her along this time as well. "I don't know anything about Quidditch. But I do know the Tornadoes. Or, sort of, I did."

Perking up, she added, "One of my best friends played for them. She sent me a picture from earlier this year, you're the team that does the er—" she gestured to his hair, "colour thing, isn't it?" Nona pursed her lips as she scrutinised him for familiarity. She was fairly certain he hadn't been in that photograph, but she had been admittedly more taken with the shocking pink hair of Saoirse and her female teammates.

"Are you new? I don't think you were in that. Do you know Saoirse Mullet? I'm afraid I can't root for you, being that my loyalties lie with Appleby, but I can always use a fall-back! I heard they didn't finish very high." She took a breath and added, "Not that I would say anything like that, of course."

Iwan blinked.

She talked very, very fast. But! He was somehow able to catch all of her questions and he listed them in order in his head, and after some preparation he rolled his eyes up to the sky and attempted to rattle off the answers as quickly as he could.

“Hello Nona, yes the blue is for team spirit but the girls dye their hair pink, I’m rather new---trade deadline new, but I do know Saoirse because of some Irish National Team meetings and she seems like a rather lovely person, but-----yes, the Arrows made it by the sticks of their broom.”

Iwan took his own breath, feeling somewhat relieved and actually a bit proud of himself. He certainly did not think that the WWN interviewer was going to speak as rapid-fire as Nona, and if he was able to prepare himself for her question he could handle questions that provided him with more than a millisecond to respond. This brightened his mood tremendously and he noticed that his hands had stopped shaking.

“I didn’t apparate!” he nearly squeaked, putting his hands up in surprise. Maybe he should keep his tone even, however, incase his excitement caused another sudden case of his random acts of disappearing.

Nona opened her mouth to begin bragging about Saoirse and how she was indeed a lovely person, which probably wasn't the best or most mannerful thing to do whilst in the presence of another Quidditch player, but she didn't have the chance to do any real harm when he exclaimed wonder at his lack of Apparition distracted her.

She had been itching to ask about it, but even she knew referencing it so directly would be impolite. It might be a very sensitive subject, and then she would be the rude, unfeeling person poking around in someone's personal feelings for her the furtherment of her own knowledge. Which, certain people had told her rather huffily, was not a nice thing to do at all.

Shockingly, her bedside manner had been said to be very good! Nona was a naturally upbeat person and rarely allowed people to say no to her, which most people mistook for optimism instead of the bullheaded determination it really was.

"Is that something you do often?" Nona inquired politely as she darted glances up and down his person in a deep study. Iwan had seemed terribly nervous when she first saw him, so she had attributed his rapid appearing and disappearing to that. But if he sounded so surprised, perhaps it was a symptom of a greater ailment. Perhaps it was — Her eyebrows shot up and she lowered her voice, asking, "Was it Vanishing Sickness?"

“Oh, no, no,” Iwan said, flushing at the idea of his ‘problem’ being a sickness, an illness.

While it most certainly wasn’t a trait he liked to brag about, it wasn’t contagious or had much of a cure. He had only managed through Hogwarts because of the anti-apparation spells placed on the castle and grounds, but during some of his weaker moments his body’s attempts to make him disappear had caused him many the terrible head and stomach aches. He did manage to control himself on his broom, but before matches was a different story. The sport had been the one thing in his life growing up that made sense, that he was honestly and truly good at, so it made sense to Iwan that it was the one place where he didn’t have to worry about his nerves. Even in its fast-paced ways, quidditch relaxed him.

Iwan ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath, “I’ve been doing it since I was little, bit of a nervous tic I suppose...”

He looked back down at his watch, realizing the time. He needed to get back into the studio before he royally screwed up and the management team reamed him for missing the one interview they’d asked of him this year. He put his hand out again.

“I must be going, but thank you for your concern,” Iwan said with a smile, “and for calming my nerves, though that was a surprising, but pleasant side effect.”

"You should let me study you!" she blurted out, not letting go of his hand. "I'm a Healer, I mean. I work with Potion and Plant Poisoning, but I do lots of other things too." Did she ever! She was currently in the midst of a fascinating Muggle Ayurvedic correspondence course, and she was mastering the meditative, sitting-still aspects of yoga, whose properly executed breathing exercises purportedly performed healing miracles on the body.

Well, she was mastering the sitting still aspects of yoga for about three to five minutes daily, which was considerable progress from just a month ago.

"I've never met anyone who does what you can! I find it very fascinating." After a beat, it occurred to her that she was still grasping Iwan's hand and therefore holding him captive. She let go and added, "In a very humane way., of course." Nona almost went into her bag to scribble her name down, before realising she had nothing of the sort. "I'm the only Nona Pepper at St Mungo's, if you like. Well, I'm the only Pepper. And the only Nona, come to think of it. Anyway." She beamed at him and took a step back. "It was nice meeting you! I'm certain your interview will be great, even if you do Disapparate."

“Study----” Iwan flushed deeply, rather sure that he may splinch himself right now, but----oh, she was a healer. Potion and Plant Poisoning. Lots of other things. It might actually help to get a genuine healer’s diagnosis of his problem. Iwan had always blamed it on his rather shaky personality, but maybe there was something someone could do about it. Wendy was always trying to get him to try out the dancing trainer’s workouts and breathing techniques, so...

He threw up his hands, shrugging, “Sure, why not.” It couldn’t get any worse, could it? “Nona Pepper of St. Mungo’s, Potion and Plant Poisoning.” Iwan’s eyes went up and he silently mouthed that once more to get the information locked into his mind. “All right---well, I’m the only Iwan Quigley on the Tornadoes, and I’m rather terrible at owling as my sister likes to constantly reprimand me for...so----I’ll hear from you, then?”

Iwan started to walk backwards towards the entrance of the WWN, giving Nona a little wave. What a peculiar meeting, he thought as he tripped over his feet before catching himself. He flushed again and pushed his way through the double doors, feeling far more confident than he had just a few minutes before. v