InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I...LOVE...mother...!!"

Kaloyan Hristov was a short, balding, energetic mid-level government bureaucrat with a love of Quidditch that had taken him into management for a brief period in the '80s. In his Ministry office he was about as far from the sport as you could get these days, but he'd kept up with many of his old contacts, and upon hearing that the famous Montrose Magpies were looking for a Beater to recruit, he'd wasted no time in finagling an introduction and inviting the team's coach and manager to visit Vratsa and meet his young nephew, who was looking for a new team. Any new team.

He was just about bouncing with enthusiasm as he greeted the McGonagalls and led them onto the pitch. "You'll like Georgi," he assured the two of them, smiling wide. "He's my sister's boy, I've known him since his birth. He's a good boy, polite, hard worker, strong. He does not feel pain or weariness. And such a versatile player! Anyplace on the pitch he can play, anyplace you need. Beater, Keeper, anyplace. You'll see."

The young Vratsa team was finishing up a training session when the visitors took their seats at the sideline, running formation drills while their coach, the infamously severe Svetlana Stoyanova, circled the pitch on her own broom calling out plays. Kaloyan pointed out the solidly-built young man wielding his Beater's bat like a precision tool, sending Bludgers with effortless-looking accuracy to break up the Chasers as they dodged and wove down the pitch in their intricate formations. The Beater pair were passing the Bludgers between them with as much ease and control as the Chasers did their Quaffle, keeping their teammates scrambling to hold their places. "There he is, there's Zayo. The team call him Zayo, bunny rabbit, because, you know, the ears." He cupped his hands around his own ears and waggled them illustratively. "Also because he's shy like bunny. But not shy with the bat, eh?"

Merc couldn't help but be mildly amused at the Ministry man's enthusiasm, but it was a good thing. He'd much rather this bouncing middle-aged man with all the energy in the world for quidditch and his nephew than a bored bureaucrat.

"Not shy at all. And Vratsa is willing to release him?" As he spoke he didn't take his eyes off the pitch, occasionally trying to judge the chaser formations but that never lasted long as the young man would break it up and draw his attention again. Shona murmured her agreement as well, nodding along as the team moved swiftly above them.

If there was one position that had come to the forefront this season across the league, it was the beaters. And a solid steady beater was exactly what they needed right now.

"Yes, yes," Kaloyan answered, flapping his hand dismissively. "Stoyanova is not so pleased, but in his contract is open transfer option with a standard fee, very reasonable. She won't make any trouble about it. The boy is very free to play where he wants, and he's looking for the transfer, he's very eager to move. When we heard that Montrose needs a good Beater I said to him, Georgi, Britain is the place to play Quidditch. Where Quidditch was born! I said, Georgi, you cannot let this opportunity pass by."

On the pitch, Georgi smoothly rolled to avoid a stray Bludger his partner had missed, and tossed his bat to his left hand to tap it back into play without missing a beat. His uncle beamed proudly and peered at the McGonagalls to make sure they had seen it.

“He’s good,” Shona remarked, finding his performance to be consistent with the statistics had appealed to her in the first place, and smiled in satisfaction without letting her mouth turn one way or the other. Even if Georgi’s terms were fairly set, no need to give Hristov the upper hand in letting him know just how badly Montrose wanted him. “Even if that means moving to Scotland?” As far as Shona was concerned, there was no other place she’d want to live and raise her family, but she knew it could be a bit gloomy for some.

"Yes, yes, no problem," Kaloyan assured her. "He was in England once in '94, and he speaks English. Not perfect, but he's a smart boy, he learns fast. And he is wanting to leave the country. You know young witches and wizards, never content at home like us older folks, they want to see the world, have adventures." He nodded, folding his hands comfortably over his stomach. "Of course, he knows no one in Scotland, and his family will worry. But you will take good care of our Zayo, I know."

The coach blew her whistle, and at the shrill sound the players broke formation and drifted toward the ground. Kaloyan waved energetically toward Georgi, who waved back under the curious and envious eyes of his young teammates. He landed, accepted a bottle of water from an assistant, and drank half of it in one go, rubbing the sweat off his face with one sleeve.

Once he was marginally more presentable, he slung his slim broom and his bat over his shoulder and headed over to where his uncle was sitting with the two foreigners. He wasn't nervous, or at least not more than he normally was when meeting new people. Being on the Quidditch pitch helped smooth over new meetings.

Kaloyan jumped to his feet, smiling wide again. "Mr. and Mrs. McGonagall," he said, treating the foreign name as gingerly as if it might explode, "here is Georgi Draganov. My boy, these are the manager and coach from Montrose."

Georgi stripped his gloves off before offering his hand. "Hello," he greeted them in his best English, strongly-accented but clear. "Welcome in Bulgaria."

MG stood up with a smile and held out his hand to shake the young man's, trying to ignore how that introduction made them sound like an old married couple. Although he couldn't for the life of him think how else the poor man was to do it.

Shona smiled, and offered her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you. We’re quite impressed with your performance,” she nodded up towards the pitch. “I’m not very formal, though, so please do call me Shona.”

"We're pleased to be here, thank you." His smile turned slightly more amused as he pointed to his nose. "You know last time I met a Bulgarian team on the pitch, one of the beaters broke my nose," he chuckled, remembering a particularly bloody World Cup quarter-final in '82 which had knocked 5 players off their brooms. They'd won, but only barely. "Easier to appreciate the style on this side of the stands."

Georgi smiled back. "Yes, is what Beaters are good at, breaking things." He took Shona's hand as well, giving her a courteous half-bow; he had been raised properly to respect women, even if he also had no qualms about pummeling them on the pitch. "Thank you. You played in tournament? What year? Maybe was my, um… family?" He cast a questioning look at his uncle.

"Relative," Kaloyan supplied, patting his arm fondly.

“Played more than one,” Merc laughed lightly. “But the one I'm thinking of was the ‘82 World. Brutal match, but lucky for repelling charms on my goggles or wouldn't have had a good view of the snitch from all the blood spatter.”

“I’m surprised no one fell off their broom,” she nodded with a small laugh. Things that passed for humor in the Quidditch world could always be a little gruesome.

Georgi smiled in surprise. "Yes! I know that match. I was kid, and I cheer for Bulgaria of course, but your Keeper was hero." He pursed his lips in thought. "Yes, Beaters were Sokolov and Kostova, not my family but very famous team, I study them. They are… hero... too?" Georgi clicked his tongue at himself, a little flustered by his inability to find the right words. "Sorry. I am work on English."

"Lithgow was a brilliant player," Merc agreed, doing his best not to add in that it had been him who'd had to wrestle that monster of a Bulgarian seeker to grab the snitch just in time. But Lithgow was a close friend who never loved the spotlight so it was easier to let him take all the credit for that match. "Your English is more than fine, Georgi. Much much better than my Bulgarian. And if you play anything like your two heroes, I'm sure all your opponents have plenty to worry about." He paused and gave a friendly smile. "Just spare my nose, hm?"

Georgi shook his head in agreement, extremely earnest and missing the joke. "Yes, I never hit a coach." He glanced between the two McGonagalls. "You want to see more playing? I can show anything. Alexei -- my cousin -- he will play and show." He gestured to the pitch, which had cleared out but for a shaggy-headed blond flying lazy loops at midfield, clearly waiting for them. "I play Keeper, too," he added, watching them to see if it was making them more interested. He'd press any advantage he could; this opportunity, like his uncle had told him, wasn't one that would come around again.

"Zayo is a very good Keeper," Kaloyan chipped in, beaming. "Very good eye, very strong. And Alexei is Levski, who played for Bulgaria in '94 and '98. You remember him? Retired now, but he is assistant coach here in Vratsa. Zayo can stop anything he throws."

Merc had to keep his amusement at their eagerness down to a small smile. "We're good on keepers, thank you. And while I'm sure Georgi here makes a fine keeper, I would not ask a national beater to put down the bat and cover my hoops when I could very well have him looking after the bludgers." He glanced over to his cousin to let the manager nip these other position offers in the bud. He had a sneaking suspicion that if they didn't, soon they'd be hearing about how he did in every position.

“We do appreciate your willingness to step in wherever’s needed, but right now, what we need is a Beater, and a solid one,” Shona added firmly, exchanging a quick glance with her cousin. She couldn’t very well blame the man for wanting to establish himself as a worthy asset in whatever capacity would best help him, but what she’d said was true: they needed a Beater. A good one. And quickly. Having three Keepers to their name would do nothing to amend that.

"Okay, yes," Georgi answered, smiling apologetically. "No problem, I am play only Beater here since three years." He unshouldered his bat and broom, ready to fly again, and glanced over at his uncle. "Аз правя ли добре? Харесват ли ме?" he asked.

Kaloyan shook his head in optimistic affirmation. "Да! Справяш се добре! Не се притеснявайте." He patted Georgi on the shoulder and turned to the coach. "Georgi can fly now. What do you need to see?"

"For playing...I'd like to see more of the backhand. And more of your left, not enough players develop their offhand. My best beater is a leftie, and I've got a right hander. But a switch hitter is always an advantage." As he spoke, Merc stepped over one of the seats in the stands and hopped down, starting to make his way down to the front row seats. "And tell me Georgi, do you take a lot of hits in your matches? We're having a particularly brutal season over in the UK."

"No," Georgi answered honestly; aside from the one that had made his international reputation in last year's tournament, he'd had a remarkably injury-free career. He shrugged with one shoulder, drawing his gloves on again, and waved across the pitch to Alexei, signalling him to be ready. "I have bat to stop hits, yeah? I am good defense. But if I am hit I still fly, no problem. I am not easy hurt." He knocked his gloved fists together to illustrate a collision, then opened his fingers and let his hands drift apart gently to show how easily he could brush off an injury.

He slid onto his broom again and pushed off. He was already sore and tired from a long, intense morning of practice, but that was nothing new, and he was well-practiced at ignoring aches, pains, and weariness. "So, we show you Bludger drill, okay? Back hits and left hand. Okay." He shook his head (Bulgarian for 'yes') and soared across the pitch, calling out to his cousin in Bulgarian.

Alexei waved in acknowledgement and flicked his wand at the ball cases to release the pair of Bludgers, swooping down to pick up a bat of his own. They'd done this often enough that it felt routine, even with the foreigners he had to impress looking on, and Georgi relaxed into the reassuring steadiness of the bat in his hand, his slim responsive broom under him, and the satisfying crack every time a swing connected.

Kaloyan hovered at Shona's shoulder while the onlookers watched, beaming with pride as his nephew hit strike after strike. He called out to the players on the field in Bulgarian, repeating MG's requests for demonstrations: Bludgers from above, from below, from every side, while weaving, while diving, left-handed, right-handed…

By the time they finished, Georgi was sweating and Alexei was grinning. He swung in close on his broom to ruffle his cousin's hair. "If they don't want you after seeing that, they're idiots and you'd better find someone smarter to play for," he said. "Good luck, Zayo."

Georgi smiled as Alexei headed off the pitch, and was still smiling when he landed in front of his audience. He slung his broom over his shoulder and glanced between the McGonagalls, waiting to hear what they had to say.

Merc would undoubtedly have more comments as coach, but for Shona and what she saw, she only really had one thing to say: “How soon can you be in Scotland?”

Merc had to keep from laughing at how abrupt and to the point Shona was. Instead he managed to keep it down to an amused smile as he stamped out the cigarette he’d lit during the little drills and smiled at Georgi. “Well...you heard the manager. When do we expect you?”

"Tomorrow," Georgi answered quickly, giddy with pride and disbelief. They wanted him, they really wanted him, just like Alexei had said they would. "Or… any day, soon. I am ready." He glanced over at his uncle, who was practically incandescent from so much beaming. "Okay?"

"We must talk about a contract before Zayo signs anything," Kaloyan interjected, all business despite grinning so hard his jaw must have been cracking. "And the transfer fee for Vratsa. All the money and terms, I will handle for my nephew."

"Thank you," Georgi said, more to the McGonagalls than to his uncle. He took each of their hands in turn to shake, smiling. "Thank you, I will play best for you and Magpies. Thank you."