Username: 
Password:    
Remember Me

Search by :  Username E-mail Region Interest AOL IM ICQ Number Yahoo! ID MSN Username Jabber

Finbar Quigley (_finbar_) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Sometimes. Sometimes Finbar wondered why he even bothered with Quidditch. Why he went up in the air, working his arse off and risking injury by defending the Chasers, letting them work their proverbial magic by flying circles around the rest of the team while slowly but steadily raising the score only to have all those goals rendered more or less pointless when if the opposing team’s Seeker swooped in and snatched the Snitch. Of course that didn’t bother him when it was the Bats’ Seeker who did the snatching, but then there were matches like the one tonight. Matches where the Chasers didn’t know their lefts from their rights or their arses from their tits and his useless Seeker couldn’t count to fucking fifteen and despite the Bats running off with the Snitch the match still ended in a tie and to the Falcons no less. Matches like that were the sometimes when Finbar wondered why he even bothered.

His dressing down of the Chasers afterwards had been delivered swiftly and precisely with nothing to interpret when it came to their training the following week, a few choice remarks for Terry had followed, and he had acknowledged Moon’s efforts on the Pitch before he had showered, dressed and taken off.

Tonight being Thursday he figured that Finnigan’s wouldn’t be too crowded, and a drink was just what he needed right now. Once in the pub, he headed directly to the bar and ordered a glass of the best Bushmill Finnigan had available, and glass in hand, he chanced a look around the pub, just to see if he could stay here or would have to seek out one of the more quiet corners of the place. He recognised Cho’s figure immediately and a sort of calm fell on him as he crossed the floor and went to her table. As much as he would have liked to, it just hadn’t been possible for either of them to meet up since their lunch, but they had managed a couple of messages here and there on the journals. Noting the papers on her table, his mood fell a little, but not enough to make him turn around. “You are a sight for sore eyes,” he said as he came up to the table and leaned down to greet her with a kiss to the cheek.