bl_collin (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} bl_collin) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} bloodlines_rp,@ 2017-08-02 22:04:00 |
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Date & Time: Saturday, 28 December 2002 | Evening
Post Type: RP
Status: Complete
Character(s): Collin Haussler, Oliver Wood, other Falcons as needed/wanted
Location: Falmouth Falcons Training Facility and Team Flats
Summary: The Falcons deal with the aftermath of an incident at their most recent game
Retcon Info: Picks up after this thread, except with it pushed back to the 20th and other Dec threads pushed back accordingly. No major changes.
“What the actual fuck were you thinking, Haussler?”
Fleming’s voice carried into the common area, but Collin simply sat there, gazing down at his hands in his lap. He was tired in a way that he hadn’t been since he’d been in hiding just because of his blood status. The ferocity he had shown on the pitch just a few hours ago had vanished altogether when the Magical Games Department’s owl had arrived with a very formal looking document that said, in part, “…suspended, pending a formal review.”
It might well have been a howler as much as the words were echoing around his head. “I’m serious, Collin,” Fleming was saying; his voice had gone hoarse from all of the shouting he had done both at the match and in the subsequent hours, at him, at the team, and at the officials. “What the hell happened out there?”
Collin glanced up at his captain, but couldn’t hold his gaze. “I couldn’t let him say that about Elena,” he mumbled, and felt his face grow warm. “You didn’t hear him.”
As excuses went, it was really bad. It had been really bad at the time, of course, kind of the worse, but his rational mind had been temporarily obliterated by blind fury and the sort of bone-deep grief that he wasn’t even aware he was capable of feeling until he was dragging the other man 50 feet to the ground, fists pummeling every square inch he could get his hands on. His own throat still felt raw from the primal screams that had been ripped from him as he attacked. It was only their hard landing that had finally snapped him out of it. Collin had taken the brunt of that landing, still had the burn of healing ribs to show for it, the ache of newly patched lungs reminding him of his shocking display with every shallow breath.
Fleming stared at him, he could sense it, could feel the weight of his disapproval in the shadow that loomed over him. “We’ll fight this,” the other man said, and Collin saw the shadow unfold his arms, saw one of them start to reach out toward him, but it fell back to his side. Even his shadow looked tired. “We’ll get you reinstated, but it’s pretty likely that the Department will drag their feet on this. We’re not exactly the golden child of the league. Merlin, Collin, you almost killed him.”
He winced, but otherwise didn’t move or say anything else. Fleming pushed out a slow sigh, and then walked to his office door and pulled it open. “Pack a few things, and then head to your parents’ place. The Department’s letter was very clear about this point. We’ll owl you with any updates.”
Collin nodded his understanding miserably, pushed himself to stand stiffly, and then left the office. This was officially the worst day ever.