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Tweak says, "I am the Lizard King!"

bl_collin (bl_collin) wrote in bloodlines_rp,
@ 2017-08-02 22:04:00

Entry tags:

!retcon, collin haussler (oc), dec 2002, loc: falcons team flats, loc: london, nicholas fleming (npc), oliver wood, type: rp

Awful Truth
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.

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bl_collin
2017-08-06 06:25 pm UTC (link)

Collin was pretty sure that he should feel disconcerted at the level of relief he was experiencing just being back in Oliver's presence again, but maybe he was too overwhelmed with everything else to get to that particular emotion. And then Oliver's hand was on his neck again, and he wanted nothing more than to sag against him, or drag him over to the couch and devour him. It was exhausting, feeling so many warring things all at once, each of them battling for prominence from one pained breath to the next.

The reassurances were what Collin needed to hear, but he couldn't begin to be able to fathom how they were even supposed to start getting things back to rights. It was like he'd left all his supposed Ravenclaw cleverness out on the pitch with Zimmerman's broken and bloody face. At the mention of his own appearance, he couldn't help but huff out a small, wry laugh. "It's not like I've been able to sleep since the match," he admitted. "They kept me awake while they repaired my ribs and lungs. Suppose the bruising might've been an afterthought."

He was pretty damned proud of himself for not craning after Oliver's touch when the other man moved away again. A place had clicked in his mind on his way to Oliver's place, one of the hotels he'd met his brother Jon at when he'd been at a conference in London. "Yeah, there's one we can try, The International Hotel. It's on Canary Wharf, 'bout 45 minutes away from Kings Cross and Diagon. That might do us."

He'd been gripping the handles of the bag over his shoulder since he'd gotten to Oliver's room, but he hadn't realized just how hard until they loosened ever so slightly at the offer of an alternative place to stay. The tension he'd been holding in his shoulders eased by a hair. "I'd need to pop in, just for a bit, tell them what's happened before they hear whatever skewed version might start spinning through the press. But, yeah, yes, I'd really like that, if it's all right with your mate."

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bl_oliver
2017-08-06 07:35 pm UTC (link)

"It works for me," Oliver said with a nod, making a mental note of the hotel's name. He'd never heard of it, and the more random, the better. It was only one night, and by the time the reporters could research far enough to track them down, they'd be safely back in Diagon Alley.

He hated to intrude on George so suddenly, but he also knew that if there was anyone he could count on to have his back in something like this, it was George. He would just have to make sure they resolved things quickly enough that they didn't wear out their welcome. "It will be, but I sent the owl around to be sure he'll be home tomorrow." With the shop to run, it was more likely than not, but better to be safe than sorry. "We should probably wait until later in the day, once Diagon calms down a bit."

Oliver turned back to look at Collin and considered him silently for a moment. "You should go ahead and go. Check in, leave a key for me at the front desk. Take a nap," he added in a firm tone, though he smiled a bit at the words. Collin was famous for his enjoyment of a good nap, and the juxtaposition of that with the command was enough to draw him out of his dismal mood, if only a little. Collin needed the sleep, and Oliver needed some time to think. It was a win-win. It was a good thing something was today. "I want to talk to Valencia before I head out. We're up against the Tornados this week, and she's gonna need the pointers."

And it would space out their trips enough that no one would notice that they took the same path from outside the Leaky Cauldron. "I'll grab some food, too. I've been on the other end of the healing for injuries like that. You're gonna be starved once your body has time to catch up." He slung his bag over his shoulder, then, before he could second guess himself, crossed back to Collin and kissed him quickly. "I'm serious. Sleep."

Oliver nodded toward his Floo, heft his bag a little better onto his shoulder, then headed out the front door. He could leave from downstairs.

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