InsaneJournal

"Once I do this–" Maggie began, lifting the stack of gaudy Portree-coloured binders off her desk, "and then this–" she dropped them beside a bookshelf and dusted her hands, "the desk magically becomes a kitchen table." And a dramatic pause before, "I did say this isn't a glamourous place."

Ainsley glanced around the space, and then offered her host an honest smile. “I've done more with less, I assure you. I've never really been in a job where I had to take work home, aside from game and play notes. You have my sympathy.“

She set her shopping bag on the transformed table with a sound unequal to its size. “Do you mind pasta? It's usually the easiest thing to make in an unfamiliar kitchen.”

Maggie maybe-perhaps-possibly didn't actually need to take the work home, at least not as often as she did, but she wasn't about to correct Ainsley. She gave the pasta idea a thumbs-up and peered into the bag, curious, eyebrows raised. How one person knew how to make anything worthwhile out of that many ingredients baffled her.

"I'd help, if my track record with cooking was better." She sounded the teensiest bit petulant about it — Maighread Una MacDougal was the sort of person who, having been told they weren't capable of doing something, would spend weeks learning and trying to perfect perfecting whatever task it was. The craft of cooking, however, had always evaded her. "My skills are dishwashing-related." Her lips pursed and her voice quieted, though it was more for effect than out of actual shame: "Dishwashing and setting the stove aflame."

Within the bag, which had obviously been charmed to cavernous proportions, there was almost an entire garden worth of vegetables, tomatoes being the most prevalent. Ainsley shot Maggie an embarrassed grin. “It’s all right. I really do enjoy it.”

She waved her wand, and a large pot and several pans came from the bag and settled on the stove. Another flick had the pot filling up with water, and then set to start boiling. The tomatoes went into the pan next, their stems sliced neatly off before landing inside by knives that quickly turned to the other herbs that had been expelled. The kitchen was already a flurry of activity, and Ainsley seemed to be the calm eye in the middle of it all.

“I nicked most of this stuff from my dad’s garden, but he’ll never miss it,” she told Maggie confidentially. “I brought some sausage as well, but didn’t want to assume anything, if you’re off meat or anything. There’s bread, as well, and a trifle for pudding.” Ainsley paused for a moment, her eyes going wide, and then she looked slowly at the other witch. “You must think I’m completely mad, making this much food for just the two of us. I’m really sorry. I don’t cook by halves.”

"Off meat," Maggie repeated with a scoff, lifting herself up to sit on an unused portion of the counter. "I'd die. My lifts would go to crap, I'd wither up, and I'd die." She pointed at the corner of the kitchen and stated matter-of-factly, "Right there, in the fetal position." Then she shook her head and pointed at Ainsley, "You only say that 'cause you haven't seen me eat. My folks say they never had a second because they wouldn't be able to afford the grocer's bills, the way I went through food." A shrug. "They were right."

Ainsley laughed easily; with Maggie sitting on the counter, she now felt like she didn’t have to split her focus quite so much. The tomatoes were already starting to boil down, so in went the basil and garlic and a few other things. “Then I won’t feel bad for leaving the extras with you. And you don’t have to worry about keeping track of the dishes- they’re charmed to go to my sink once you’re finished with them.”

A wooden spoon began to stir the sauce regularly, and Ainsley did a few mental calculations to figure out how long it would be before she should start the pasta. “So,” she looked over at Maggie, “what got you into healing?”

"Oh," Maggie began off-handedly, "My da' got in an accident at the mill when I was but a wee bairn and lost some bits and pieces. He was in hospital a few weeks and I didn't leave the Healers alone the entire time." She held the tomato up to her eye and narrowed her other at Ainsley. "Now he takes out his glass eye to gross out the bairns he and my mum look after." Placing her eye-tomato back with the other vegetables, she shrugs again, unfazed by neither the memories nor recounting her father's gruesome gag. "The usual."

At first, Ainsley honestly wasn’t sure if Maggie was having her on, and she hovered uncertainly over the stove before coming to the internal conclusion that she was serious. “Wow, that’s… Sorry to hear about your dad, but it’s great that you found that determination so young.” She paused and made a face. “Ugh, I sound just like those officials who used to come to Hogwarts during fifth year when we were supposed to make up our minds just then what we wanted to do the for rest of our bloody lives.”

Maggie waved a dismissive hand, "It was a long time ago. Now he's retired and makes 'art.' Claims he's happy as a niffler in Gringott's." She gestured toward a two-foot-high snail sculpture. "It's supposed to go in the garden but I haven't got a garden, so it's… there." Her tone made it plain that her father's hobby made no sense to her, whatsoever.

Ainsley tasted the sauce, and then started to add a few more things, before deciding that it was time for the pasta. “Shan’t be long.” Another pause. “I can’t believe I just used the word ‘shan’t’. I’ve no idea when I started losing my heritage, and yet here we are.” Ainsley gave a small chuckle, and then regarded Maggie again. “Do you get on with the team well? I’m still sort of finding my way with them.”

Ainsley's groan made Maggie laugh. "I shan't hold it against you. Probably. Not until it's convenient for me, anyway." She took a few minutes to consider the question, weighing the pros (everyone on the team) against the con (learning what it's like to work alongside the legendary Elspeth MacFusty). "More or less. It took me some time to find my footing, too, but if you cook like this for everyone, you'll be leagues ahead of me in no time. Some of them seem to be easier to win over than others."

A rueful chuckle left her before she could stop it. Maggie was too right about that. Only a few days in, and she could practically feel the antagonism rolling off of Meaghan McCormack when they were in the same room together or anywhere on the pitch. Ainsley did manage to hold back a sigh at the thought, but only just. A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. “It’s a tried and true method- love through food. Or, y’know, a lack of open hostility through food.”

Her thoughts circled back to Maggie’s earlier comments, and she carefully indicated the snail sculpture with a flick of one of the spoons. “Hang on a mo’, your dad made that? But that’s brilliant! It’s so cute. Does he do all kinds? Is it just for gardens?”

Maggie looked back at the snail. It was big, and weird, and took up functional space in her flat not that she was using the space for anything more productive. "Aye, he started after he retired. Not only gardens, but it's the place people most like to put them. I guess." She coughed into her sleeve, obviously bewildered. "I think he hit his head a bit too hard when he had his accident." It's mostly a joke because her father was just as eccentric pre-retirement than he'd ever been post.

“Yeah? I think they’re fab, really. He has my compliments and respect. I’m always envious of people with artistic talents.” She glanced at the pots and stirred at the pasta. “Don’t really count this. This is just...arithmancy with ingredients to it. I mean, I guess you could squint and call decorating artsy- cookies and such- but that still just charms, really.”

She broke off a bit of noodle and tasted it, then grinned over at Maggie. “I do believe dinner is in business! Care to help me plate?”

Personally, Maggie thought the majority of artistic pursuits were a waste of time, but this didn't seem like the time to mention that particular view. "I liked the mathematical part of arithmancy just fine," she muttered as she marvelled at the food—all the food! the glorious food! and it smelled so good!—and nodded. "Tell me where the food goes, and I'll plate the fuck out of this meal." An eyebrow raised and she looked like she'd just remembered something she'd forgotten, mostly because she had. "I'll plate the fuck out of this meal and I'll help you find somewhere to live that isn't Hull. Deal's a deal, aye?"

For just a moment, Ainsley considered not being a smartarse, but in the end, well… “Generally food goes in your mouth, and then is swallowed and slowly digested, bringing life-giving nutrients to the body. Honestly, woman, you call yourself a healer?” She held the wry expression for exactly two seconds before waving a hand and giggling, evidently cracking herself up. “Nah, though, really, it’s just pasta and sauce on plates, plates on table, bread also on table, and then hopefully cutlery, although I won’t stand on ceremony if you won’t judge. I’m an expert noodle slurper from way back.”

And it was a true feat of legendary magic that she was actually keep the straight face after delivering such phrasing to Maggie; this was one for the annals of time, really.

Maggie laughed except she was halfway through slurping a noodle of her own from the pot, and sometimes when she laughed she actually snorted, and... long story short, she was reduced to snorting, coughing, and laughing harder for half a minute while she tried to force her throat and nose back to normal.

It was the most dignified thing she'd ever done.

She waved at Ainsley to keep her at whatever she was doing while she sputtered. "'M just at–" cough "–bush league–" another cough, and she thumped the counter as the last bit of the noodle went back where it was supposed to, "–slurpin'. Aw, fuck." She waved again and reached for her wand so she could at least do half the work without having to move. "Distract me while I plate your ceremony. Tell me why anyone'd ever want to leave the Cannons."

Laughter begat laughter, and soon enough Ainsley had tears in her eyes and was clutching her stomach where she now sat at the table and waving a hand in a desperate bid to stop Maggie from compounding the issue. It only abated slightly when she was asked about her recent departure. There she had to fix the other witch with a bemused look. “Because they are the Cannons? Don't get me wrong, they're a fantastic bunch, personally, but we- the players- were under no delusions. We used to throw bon voyage parties for anyone who got traded- without management knowing, of course. Bless them, they were always convinced we could turn things around.”

A fond smile came over her face. “Mine was firewhiskey at midnight on the pitch while we pelted quaffles at each other. It was a laugh. I do rather miss them.” She gave a small shrug. “But the Pride opportunity was a good one, so why not trade one reserve job for a much better one?”

"Because getting drunk on the pitch sounds braw, is why?" Maggie responded before she realized how that sounded. "Without brooms. Not in the air. With both feet on the ground." She'd come to understand that most comments like that could sound like challenges to Pride players. Sniffling the last bit of noodle out of her nose, she nodded. "McCormack's a badass, though. Stepping in for her'll get you noticed a lot faster than being on the Cannons. No offense."

Honestly, Ainsley couldn’t stop her brow from rising, nor the small wry twist her mouth gave. “You’re assuming, of course, that she’ll give up the posts willingly. I’ve seen her at practice. I know she’s a beast. There’s no way I can touch her talent- wouldn’t even dream of it. Even if I do ever get the chance to step in, I have a feeling it’ll only be because of a career ending injury, and- honestly- that’s the very last thing I want.”

Maggie's mouth turned into the slightest shadow of a frown at the mention of 'career-ending' injuries, but she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. "Could get recruited for first string elsewhere, I reckon."

Ainsley's smile deepened, became a touch more genuine, and she started to serve them both. “Eat, eat. I’m going to blame any bad playing tomorrow on the food coma I’m planning on inducing on myself.”

Taking a seat, Maggie grinned. "I've never failed to eat when instructed and I'm not about to begin now. This looks braw and smells even better, Galbraith. Now, about living spaces..."