Who: Ellie MacFusty & Meaghan McCormack What: Ellie lets Meaghan know she is not going to start against Caerphilly. It goes as well as you might expect. When: Monday after training (before the !pink announcement) Where: Pride Clubhouse Warnings: Language. Appropriate violence.
Ellie has been doing her best approximation of an adult. She wasn’t she if that was exhausting, or if exhaustion was just her default state these days. There certainly was plenty to be exhausted about. Still, work to be done and all that dung. Part of that meant she needed to check in with Meaghan.
It seemed fitting they would speak next to the MacDonald Hole that was, indeed, artwork with a nice dragon and lion frame around it.
“I wanted to talk about my plans for Caerphilly, and then maybe stop being a coach for awhile and spend time with you. Maybe even do something fun.” It seemed wild to even ask for, but after the week, or really all of the weeks since Vienna, Ellie felt she deserved and was finally up for a bit of fun.
Meaghan had been even more gung-ho Team Ellie than usual since Roberts came back: defensively, rigidly so, an sturdy wall of Don't Fuckin' Mess with spikes on. Still, she couldn't help being a little uncomfortable around this new, quiet, tired Ellie. Quiet and tired didn't fit with MacFusty, or with Ellie specifically.
But she was back, and back was better than Bart, and it was gonna get better. Right?
"Yeah? Brill!" Meaghan said. Unlike Bart, Ellie didn't usually talk strategy with her or really guide her much at all -- McCormack, you know what to do was more her way, which was great 'cause she did, and she could keep doing what she was doin' 'til the crups came home.
But she'd take it from El. She could take a lot from her. It just took some moving things 'round, brainwise.
"What's our plan then? Reckon I'll get to foul Vaughn? I'll take Preece too only Vaughn's got it coming more."
“I want to give Ainsley a chance to start.” Ellie didn’t need to talk strategy with Meaghan, but she did need to get her buy in on some things. This was certainly one of them. And she was going to cut right to the chase. “We are going into a busy end of season and I need to see what she can do.”
Ellie shifted in her seat, grinning. “Plus the Welsh can be a bunch of bawbags, and they don’t deserve the right to go up against you.”
Meaghan fell back in her seat, blankly betrayed. Galbraith? She'd played every match this season, she had a reserve that didn't even care if she saw the pitch. Who cared if they had a busy end of season? That was what she lived for, all action and no rest.
"I ain't even hurt," she said, and even she couldn't pretend she didn't sound upset. Was it because of the singing? It sounded like, it being the Welsh. "And I was fine 'gainst Holyhead."
“You were more than fine, Meaghan, you were a Godric-damn wall out there.” Ellie had never been particularly good at tending to a player’s ego. She called things like she saw them, and honestly when it came to Meaghan, that was probably for the best. “I want you rested and hungry for Post-Season, and the Neep.”
“I also could really go without endless rounds of that song. We hit Holyhead so thoroughly they didn’t have a reason to sing.”
"We can hit the Cats just as hard," Meaghan insisted. Godric, it wasn't even her fault they did that. It wasn't her fault and it wasn't fair. If she was such a damn wall why was she getting grounded? "Their chasers ain't shit."
Shit. Shit shit shit that was gonna be a month without a match then. 20th to 20th, that was a month exact. Unless…
"You're not gonna give her Tutshill too?" she said, horrified. Rested and hungry… frantic and starving more like.
“Fuck, Meaghan. Breathe.” She had meant to be joking, but she knew this whole thing was a lost cause. McCormack did best when she was playing, having her sit one was a necessary risk. “You’re in against Tutshill. We’ll have a few scrimmages between now and then too.”
“It’s not like you’re going to just sitting around. I also need you to help Alasdair get the new chaser sets up to speed so that our chasers ain’t shit.” Ellie didn’t want to bring attention to Joy being gone, but it was a reality and ignoring it didn’t help any.
Training duty was no consolation nor prize to Meaghan, however much trust or talent it might mean. She wasn't meant for that shit, that was all patience and working together. What was she, a coach?
Meaghan was meant for the air. She was meant for the pitch. Playing out there, up there, for real, was what she was for. Stuck with scrimmages and working with the chasers for a month, she might as well be just sitting around.
Staring at Ellie in obvious distress, she wondered, was this what all hanging together meant? Because full offense to Bart, but it was bullshit. She was trying to be there and she got subbed out for a reserve who wasn't even well? How was Galbraith gonna make it through a match, especially a long one, with her not sleeping? That'd be one hell of a proof what she could do.
Meaghan looked down, pinching her mouth shut on the sudden bitter urge to tell Ellie about all that. She was Coach, right? So she had to know already. And she still picked Galbraith over her. "Fine," she muttered, barely audible.
Ellie let out a sigh that sounded like a swear. It was. If this was just a few months ago she had an immediate solution. Meaghan needed to get out of her head. Instead, she pulled the whiskey bottle from her drawer and into her bag. She then stood up.
“You trust me?” It seemed like a rhetorical question, but she meant it. More than that she needed to know. Meaghan wasn’t the only insecure one here.
"Yes," Meaghan said, frustrated and maybe even meaning it. Seemed to her it wasn't her trust should come into question here, she was just the one being benched, not doing it.
“Alright, let’s go then.” Ellie led them out of her office, thought the clubhouse to the fireplace in the back. Most people apparated, Ellie only ever side-alonged. She grabbed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace and called out Hogweights, before stepping through.
On the other end of the connection was a bit of a run down, mostly empty boxing gym. It was run by two older men - Larry and Bernard - who thought while wands were nice, there was something lacking. Her counselor had found her the place. She was surprised that she actually liked hitting the heavy bag.
Ellie wasn’t going to be stepping into a boxing match anytime soon, but having something appropriate to hit was helpful. “Oi! Bernie, I’m taking the Liftindor room in the back, no visitors please!” She waved and kept walking, hoping that Meaghan kept pace. It was probably a lot, but half of this was about getting Meaghan to stop overthinking.
She dusted the floo powder off, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Luckily her work clothes, minus the dragonhide jacket, easily transitioned to work out clothes. Ellie pulled two sets of hand wraps from her bag and tossed one to Meaghan. “Follow me, and we’ll continue our conversation in the minute.”
"S'nowt to continue," Meaghan said, though she followed Ellie anyway, like she'd followed her through the floo, more out of habit and guilt and restless obligation than anything else. Her eyes flicked around in frustration, not taking much in. It was just stuff and people, who cared? Why were they there? She'd said fine, she'd said she trusted Ellie, what else was she supposed to say and be supportive at the same time? What more did people want from her?
Ellie showed Meaghan how to wrap her hands. There were spells for this type of things, but some things were better by hand. It was a ritual. And being quidditch players, Ellie suspected they both knew the importance of ritual. “So, I’m trying this new thing where I don’t hit people. Which is rotten when all you want to do it hit people sometimes. So appropriate, adult outlets it is.”
Those words were a sign of how much she was trying. And really how different she was after Vienna. Maybe she could even impart some of that one Meaghan before she self-destructed too. “Thought we could warm up on the bag. Get the pads out. Maybe even get one of the guys, let you go a few rounds.”
She wiggled her fingers, opening and closing her hands a few times to make sure it felt right. “See if we can find some common ground on the game plan for this block.” Then she hit the bag with a simple jab-cross.
Meaghan had allowed herself to be taken through the steps, and now stared at the bag dully. It looked like the most goddamn pointless thing in the world to hit. It was just hangin' there, and with this crap on her hands they wouldn't even get hurt. Even wrestling a dragon would've made more sense. Why hadn't she just agreed to the dragon wrestling in the first place? She probably wouldn't have hurt it too bad, and they probably wouldn't've let it actually kill her too much.
"I ain't in the block so what the fuck's it matter what ground I'm on?" she said.
“Because I care about your well being Meaghan.” She said it, like it was most obvious thing in the world. “And I don’t actually want you to be miserable. Not to mention You Are Pride. We still need you. I still need you.”
Why did they still keep saying that shit, like she was gonna go somewhere? Where the fuck did they think she was gonna go? Portree was all she'd ever wanted.
If they cared about her so much, why'd they keep taking all the good away and piling the shit on, all this new needing and expecting. They should know better, if they knew her.
"Then play me," she said. "That's what I'm for."
Rather than answer, Ellie threw a couple of good punches at the heavy bag. She needed to get her thoughts in order. There was a time and place for hard truths. Today wasn’t that for Meaghan, and really for Ellie because she didn’t think she could handle the fall out.
“I will play you, but I can’t run you into the ground. All the best time rest their starters for easier matches, it’s not worth the risk of injury.” Jab. Jab. “Not to mention.” Jab. Cross. “I’m trying to rebuild Pride from the war, build out our legacy, that means giving newcomers their chance, while still teaching them our traditions.”
Meaghan shook her head. She didn't care about the newcomers right now. They were just new and she didn't have time for that.
Anyways, Galbraith wasn't a newcomer, at least not to Quid. She'd been around the league long enough they all knew that career wasn't going anywhere. That was the whole point of bringing her to Portree, fill a spot that won't need using. What more did they need to see?
"Keeping us from injury's what beater's're for. That's what you brought Lorna back for, and she does a damn good job of it. S'why I ain't been hurt bad, that and dodging." What injury did she think the Winnes'd do her anyway?
Ellie sighed. “What do you think happens if you don’t play?” No quidditch player liked to be benched. As a player, Ellie certainly put up a big enough fuss about it, but this felt like a lot. “Because last count, the world doesn’t end.”
“Maybe not for you,” Meaghan snapped. Ellie was great, but she wasn't the same way. She'd chose Quid, and even if loads of MacFustys had gone in for it she'd had a choice. She'd had options. It wasn't a everything thing. If all else failed, she could go back work on the reserve.
Meaghan wasn’t like that. She was meant for Quid. No one was supposed to be in her place. No one. It was hers. It was all she'd ever been and done and wanted. She was Quid, just Quid. She wasn't a dragon too on top of it.
And Ellie wasn't one either anymore, was she? Meaghan looked at her with something like despair. Punching a bag - protecting her hands - being words not passion. This wasn't the Ellie she'd loved and followed. Where was the fire?
Keke'd been right, hadn't she? Someone'd had to step in and rile them up. Even if it hadn't been her goddamn place, she'd done because Coach couldn't.
"I gotta go," Meaghan said. The restless tension had built up in her and she couldn't stay still, couldn't be here, couldn't face it. She was already pulling the goddamn stupid wraps off her hands like they shouldn't've ever been there in the first place.
If only Meaghan knew half of the place Ellie found herself stranded. There was some horrible self-actualization level irony that creep up on her later, slowly, and entirely unwanted. “Meaghan.” Her name was a sigh. “You’re still--” She cut herself off, wouldn’t matter if she said it anyway.
“Yeah, okay, sure. Go. Please don’t…” Another pause. Another moment of way more adult than she wanted but had to, even chose to be. “I’ll see you at training tomorrow? Yeah?”
The question was completely mad, just like when Bart had made it sound like she'd leave. What the hell was wrong with everyone lately?
"Yes," Meaghan insisted, because where else would she be? It was Quid, not a want, not a job, but a need. On her broom or off it: she wouldn't leave it 'less it killed her.