Arran Higgs (silverbroom) wrote in lazarustheic, @ 2018-01-30 15:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, character: arran higgs, character: roger davies |
who ? Arran Higgs, Roger Davies, assorted quidditch NPCs including Cora Edgerly.
when ? Tuesday 30th January
where ? Cobden Arms.
what ? Celebrations and shenanigans.
warnings/rating ? Unwilling / unwitting consumption of love potions.
status ? Completed in gdocs.
The Cobden Arms was noisy, even more than it usually was after the Cannons had won a match. They'd won by 210 points, and finished the game so fast the Kestrels barely had a chance. Arran had lost track of the number of drinks he'd had, or who'd bought him the new pint that had appeared in front of him. "Is it my round next?" he asked, with no real idea whether he'd already bought a round or not. Even if it was his turn, he couldn't easily get out of the booth, because he was squashed comfortably against Roger on one side, with the Cannons' captain on the other. He grinned across the table at Cora, who gave him a very pretty wink back. Arran had known Cora for several months, though it felt like longer. She'd been dating Ryan from the Tornadoes, and he'd brought her along to a gala and introduced her around. Arran had heard they'd split up, but no one had seemed very devastated about it.
"What?" he asked, forcing himself to turn and look at Roger, who'd tapped his arm. "Did you say something?" He was sort of aware that Roger had, in fact, been talking to him for a while, and Arran must have zoned out. "Are you having a good time?" he asked, hoping that the answer was yes. "Was it worth coming out without Daphne for?"
--
Roger didn't always go out with Arran's team, in fact, he didn't go out with them all that often at all, especially now that he was with Daphne. But he did sometimes try, especially after a game this spectacular. Roger hadn't actually been able to attend the game, what with having a dayjob, but he had listened to it in between meetings. It had been a great game and the now very quite drunk team clearly agreed. Roger, too, was much more on the drunken side than not and had been having a lovely chat with one of the Cannons' beaters. He'd left for the loo or something and Roger had instead turned back to Arran, starting to talk to him about the office squirrel and how it was still - shockingly - the office squirrel.
Except Arran really wasn't listening. It took Roger a moment to realise that and then Arran was asking whether it was his round and someone else was volunteering how it wasn't. Roger did laugh at Arran when he finally turned to Roger. "I'd be having a better time if you actually knew I was here," Roger teased, though it wasn't really true, because Roger had been having plenty of good time even with Arran... and then Roger paused slightly, because it wasn't like Arran had been in a conversation with someone else, he'd just been--Roger's eyes travelled across the table where a pretty blonde woman was shifting to let whoever was buying the next round out. Well, that was... unexpected. To a point where Roger didn't quite know what to do with it. "Daphne would probably prefer her cosy socks and a book at home," Roger commented truthfully. "To this, anyway, I'm sure my company could compete with at least one woollen sock."
--
Arran pouted at Roger, offended - or pretending to be - that Roger thought Arran didn't know he was here. "I can't exactly forget you're here, when I can't move my arm without spilling your drink." It was true, they really were very squashed. Arran couldn't remember the last time the Cannons' unofficial booth had been quite so packed. It was nice, though, feeling like everyone there was celebrating them and their win. "Do you have cosy socks?" Arran asked, since he was rather more concerned with what Roger preferred than Daphne. He liked Daphne perfectly well, but she hadn't been his best friend for over a decade, or helped him sneak into the forbidden forest to turn the leaves shades of neon. "You could wear cosy socks here, but I think they'd just get stuck to the floor." The Cobden Arms was not the classiest pub Arran had ever been to - but it was tradition, that the Cannons' came here, and so they did. "You'd leave little bits of fluff in all the beer puddles," he added, and Cora laughed from across the table. It was a lovely laugh, almost musical, like something out of a film, and Arran turned his head to beam at her.
Dragging his attention back to Roger proved surprisingly difficult, but Arran did manage it. "I prefer your company to woollen socks," he informed Roger. "All the woollen socks." He paused to take a sip of his beer and to frown. "Do you think there's a number of woollen socks so high it becomes a burden, rather than a -" He paused, not sure what word he wanted. "I mean, one woollen sock is a bit sad, because you've got two feet, and two is the right number, and four means you've got an extra pair. But what if you had twenty? Or two hundred and you couldn't move for socks?" His thought, if he'd ever had one, had run away from him. "Maybe I should buy everyone socks."
--
"I do have cosy socks," Roger managed to answer before Arran went into what could only be described as a rant about socks. Roger tried to follow it, he really did, but he had a drink to drink and it was all going to his head so following Arran's fluffy beer puddles was bit of a challenge. What Roger didn't miss, though, was the way Arran smiled at the woman across the table. Even drunk, Roger didn't miss the way she flicked her hair in what could only be described as a flirtatious manner. The thing was, over the years they'd been friends, Roger had seen a lot of women throw themselves at Arran, or try to. Even without being a famous quidditch player, Arran had always gotten plenty of girls' attraction, though fairly, there had been years upon years during which he'd bit shit at doing anything about it. And then it wasn't really all that long after they became 'adults' that Arran had gotten together with Cariad. Still, Roger knew what flirting looked like because he sure as fuck had done plenty of it.
Arran's question - the last one because there was an actual pause in his ramblings - drew Roger's attention back. "No, I don't think you should buy everyone socks," he commented because it seemed bit obvious to state that if you had so many socks you couldn't move that was probably too many socks. "Do you want to go home?" Roger asked but the blonde from across the table answered before Arran could (how she could even hear in the noise surrounding them, Roger had no idea). "No, we're just getting started! It's such a great game, it deserves a celebration!" She informed them and Roger titled his head slightly but the woman's attention was fully on Arran.
--
"But they could be orange," Arran said, his voice almost a whine. "Fluffy orange socks, like Rock, if Rock were orange." Which Rock wasn't, though they could always paint him orange. "Rock's my pet puffskein," Arran explained to Cora, who looked adorably confused. "He's very very fluffy, and pink." He glanced at Roger, to confirm. "I'd love to meet him," Cora said, blinking at Arran in a way that drew his attention to her eyelashes. "I could bring him to training," Arran offered, suddenly quite keen to make Cora happy by introducing her to Rock. "He likes to pretend to be a quaffle." Cora looked, just briefly, a bit disappointed at that, and Arran really couldn't imagine why. What could be better than having a pet that pretended to be a quaffle?
Roger's question interrupted Arran's train of thought - he'd definitely been going to say something more about socks, but he didn't know what it was. Before he could say that no, he didn't want to go home, he still had half a beer left, Cora had answered for him. "Cora's right," he said, nodding. "It was a fucking fantastic game." Arran had saved several goals, and he was very pleased with himself. "Cora's the leader of the Chudley Cannons Fan Club," Arran informed Roger, gesturing to the second table which contained most of the rest of the fans. He was pleased that he'd managed to remember at least one of the other things he'd been planning to say.
--
Roger was, he decided the moment Cora informed Arran that she'd love to meet Rock, too drunk for this. He wasn't sure if Arran was just unaware of the woman flirting with him or if he didn't mind or what, but something about it - about her - didn't sit quite right with Roger. He did turn to Arran when he started explaining who Cora was. Somehow, it surprised Roger that she was an official fan, but then, that was also probably why she was allowed to hang out with the team. Fan involvement and what not, Roger was sure he'd heard all about that from some quidditch PR wanker at the quidditch gala once. "Well, isn't that great?" He asked giving Cora a wide smile. "I'm Roger," he added. "Arran's best friend," he informed her just in case.
Honestly, even drunkenly, Roger saw the way the woman's eyes lit up, like suddenly Roger might be important, too. Though to what, he had no idea. "You must be so proud of Arran!" She announced and Roger shrugged almost too nonchalantly. "I don't know, Montrose is topping the league so he could be doing better," he hummed, not particularly truthfully because he'd been proud of Arran even when the Cannons had been scraping the bottom of the league. "That's really not very supportive of you," she said managing to sound genuinely offended. "As a best friend you should be proud! Arran has been playing his best games this season," she informed him and really, Roger was not going to argue with her, what with her being the leader of the fanclub, but he was pretty sure Arran had actually played some of his best games under Montrose. His games now were excellent, but it had been during the process of becoming better that Arran had truly excelled in Roger's opinion.
--
Arran frowned quite deeply as Roger proceeded to more or less trash Arran's success. He knew that Roger didn't mean it, because Roger was his best friend, and while he might not be proud like Terence was proud, he was still glad Arran was doing well. Even knowing Roger was joking, though, it seemed off. It wasn't the way Roger usually joked. Which meant something was probably wrong, but Arran was definitely too drunk to figure out what. He wished Chloe was there, because she'd sort it all out. And then Arran blinked, because he felt almost surprised that he had wished Chloe was there. He hadn't, he realised, thought about Chloe for at least a couple of drinks. "I'm so drunk," he announced. Drink would explain everything. He'd never been so drunk he'd forgotten his wife before, but he supposed it could happen.
"Roger won't wear orange," Arran informed Cora. "So he liked it better when I played in black and white." That, he was sure, wasn't actually true. Roger had been fucking delighted when Arran had told him he'd be wearing orange for the next stage of his career. "I always thought you looked lovely in orange," Cora said, and Arran laughed. "Then you're drunk, too." Arran definitely did not look great in orange, not compared to how he looked in other colours. "But you look brilliant," he added, both because he'd seen Cora in orange a number of times, and because it seemed the right kind of thing to say. "I'll buy you fuzzy oranges socks, if you like."
--
Cora looked absolutely delighted at both being complimented by Arran and at the promise of fuzzy orange socks, a promise which she accepted readily to absolutely no one's surprise. "You know who else looks great in orange?" Roger asked taking a sip of his drink. "Chloe," he announced. "Have you had the pleasure of meeting Arran's wife, Cora?" He asked in such an obvious way that the woman clearly caught up because she shook her head, giving a wide smile. "I haven't," she confirmed - because Roger had assumed as much. "But I have seen her at games, she does look brilliant in orange," she commented in such a sweet tone that Roger almost, almost thought he might've misunderstood the situation.
"Right," he said downing his pint. "Time to take you home to your wife," he informed Arran and ignored the disappointed look on Cora's face. Arran definitely was drunk and Roger--well, Roger had no idea what. It wasn't like he didn't trust Arran, drunk or not, but he also honestly had never seen Arran pay this much attention to anyone he didn't want to shag. That and booze definitely was not a good combination, so home was the best bet. Roger waved off any objections and stood up, finding his jacket (and Arran's). After many 'bye' and 'great game' and 'do you have to go' from basically everyone, they finally made it out of the pub and Roger gave an almost relieved sigh at the cold air. "Lets walk," he told Arran because whilst they'd definitely have to floo home, they could floo home from somewhere else.
--
It took Arran a few moments to gather his concentration enough to really picture Chloe in orange, but once he did, he gave a smile. "Yes," he confirmed, agreeing with both Cora and Roger, who were both excellent people that Arran should hang out with more. "Chloe is beautiful," he announced. "I'm very lucky." These things were definitely true, and Arran absolutely felt lucky, but he also felt anxious that Cora not be upset. "You're beautiful too," he assured her, just as Roger more or less heaved him to his feet. "And you're very handsome," he added, while Roger helped him into his jacket.
Getting out of the pub was quite a difficult process, but once they had, Arran shivered. "Cold," he complained, shoving his hands into his pockets. He hadn't brought gloves, and he should have, because people would be upset if his hands got all frostbitten. After they'd walked in mostly silence for a little while, and Arran's head was starting to feel clearer, he asked, "Were you not having fun?" It was, really, the only reason he could think of why Roger would drag him home, and why Roger would be less-than-flattering about Arran's season.
--
Mostly Roger was just glad for the cold air and the brief silence that followed once they started walking because it allowed him to think himself more sober. Arran's question made Roger turn and frown at him. "I was having plenty of fun," he answered, mostly truthfully. Roger had been having fun before Cora had happened and honestly, he wasn't really sure if he had just misunderstood. He didn't think he had, but Roger was so sure that Arran would never cheat on Chloe. Even before what had happened with Cariad but especially after, yet Roger was also quite sure that Arran had... he had no idea what, been fascinated by Cora was the only thing Roger could really describe it as.
"What the fuck was that?" He finally asked not sure going over it in his own head repeatedly was in any way going to help. Especially not when he was still drunk. "Back at the pub," he said waving his hand. "With Cora?" He specified, not leaving any room for Arran to misunderstand what he was referring to. "I'll introduce you to my pet? You look great in orange? You're beautiful?" He listed before rolling his eyes. "It's bad enough to hit on a fan, but you're fucking married!" Which Roger knew didn't stop plenty of people but he really would've presumed that it would stop Arran, besides as far as he knew, Arran and Chloe were happy.
--
"Oh," Arran said, and then frowned again. It wasn't exactly unusual for his guesses at what was wrong in a situation to be incorrect, but he really didn't know what else it could be. Maybe Roger had just been drunk. Or maybe Arran was too drunk to find it funny? Neither of those really seemed true. Maybe he'd ask Cora. Or Chloe. Cora had been there, so she might have some idea what had happened, but Chloe knew Roger.
Thinking these thoughts, he almost missed what Roger asked him, and then he stopped. "I wasn't hitting on her!" That would be wrong, and it would make Chloe sad, and Arran would be a disappointment, and all of those things made his stomach twist in a way that was truly unpleasant. "I just - wanted her not to be sad." It wasn't, surely, very polite to go on to one woman about how beautiful another woman was? "She is beautiful," Arran added, moving again, because standing in the middle of the street was cold as fuck. "I wasn't going to go home with her, or anything." The thought hadn't even crossed Arran's mind. It wasn't something he'd done in years, gone home with women he wasn't in a relationship with.
--
When Arran said it like that it all sounded so logical, but it hadn't been. Between the two of them, Roger was definitely the one who hit on women, sometimes accidentally. He'd flirted with Tessa by accident and then felt awful about the whole thing and basically had told Daphne right then. Roger did roll his eyes when Arran added that Cora was beautiful. He couldn't deny the fact that she was an attractive woman, but there were plenty of attractive women in their lives to whom Arran didn't so generously offer compliments. "She certainly wanted you to," he said shaking his head. Cora very obviously was into Arran, which was fair enough, Roger supposed. He didn't have much good to say about someone who hit so obviously on a married man, but it was her prerogative at the end of the day.
"Or are you going to tell me that you didn't realise that either?" Roger asked almost challengingly. Arran wasn't always the best with social clues, but Roger knew for a fact that he was pretty fucking capable of picking up when a woman was interested in him, especially when that woman made it so obvious. "I think she was only sad about the fact that I made you leave," Roger added shaking his head again. As much as he wanted to believe that it was just harmless flirting, Roger truly didn't think that Arran flirted harmlessly. It wasn't something he'd ever seen Arran do with people he wasn't interested in. Arran's brother flirted with everyone and even Roger somewhat did that, but Arran didn't, which made this rather noticeably weird.
--
Arran hadn't realised that Cora had wanted to go home with him. In fact, the idea that Roger had thought so made him feel irritated. "She wouldn't do that," Arran said, lifting his chin. "She's nice, and she knows I'm married." She did know, because Arran had told her. In fact, he could sort of remember that he'd very pointedly told her, for some reason, but that didn't feel right. Cora was nice, and she wouldn't want to go home with Arran and help him cheat on Chloe. Which, in any case, Arran was definitely not going to do. It seemed far more important to defend Cora from Roger's accusations than it did to defend himself.
"She was sad you made me leave because we were having a nice time," he insisted. "You don't have to make it - horrible. She's not a bad person." Arran didn't, really, have any proof of that. He'd talked to her for a few minutes at a time, a handful of times. Nonetheless, he was very sure in his heart that it was true - that Cora was a nice person, and that she wouldn't want to hurt anyone.
--
Roger was very much struggling to tell whether Arran was just too drunk to hear himself or whether he thought Roger was an idiot, but either way, Cora had definitely been very quite obvious about the fact that if Arran had been willing, she’d take him home with her. There were, as far as Roger could tell, no real reason for why Arran would defend her. Other than fancying her. But the idea of that really didn’t sit well with Roger and Arran obviously was not interested in owning up to the fact that perhaps he had acted... Roger didn’t even know. It wasn’t like Arran had cheated on Chloe, hardly. Complimenting someone else wasn’t a crime. Maybe it was just the alcohol.
“Right, of course,” Roger said rolling his eyes when Arran insisted that Cora wasn’t a bad person (maybe she wasn’t, but plenty of good people did bad things). “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re sober?” He asked feeling that they were definitely not going to get anywhere like this and maybe once he was sober, Arran would understand Roger’s concerns better. It was still very strange and this weird way in which Arran was denying it, even though Roger had been there, was not helping at all.
--
Arran was quite sure he'd prefer not to talk about it when he was sober - or, in fact, ever again, but Roger was his best mate and Arran knew he wouldn't be accusing him or Cora if he didn't have good reasons. Arran just didn't know what those good reasons could possibly be. So, with a dramatic sigh, he nodded. "If we have to," he couldn't resist saying. He felt less drunk, but more confused than he had been when they'd left the pub. He wanted Chloe, who always made him feel better, even when they had to talk about emotions. "Can I go home to my wife now?" he asked, trying for humour, though the words didn't really sound like he was seeing the funny side.
Looking around them, he spotted a dark, quiet side street. Exactly the kind of place you wouldn't want to walk down alone - and thus, the perfect place for apparating. "Come on, we can apparate from there." Arran didn't think he'd had enough to need to worry about splinching himself, and there wasn't really any other way to get home.