wood; OLIVER (quidditchary) wrote in reduxpitch, @ 2016-03-19 09:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, character: oliver wood, location: diagon alley, retired character: blaise zabini |
who ? blaise zabini and oliver wood
when ? saturday morning
where ? diagon alley
what ? oliver is a fucking klutz
status ? active
Now that the season was over and the training for World Cup slowly under the way, Oliver's Saturdays hadn't really changed at all. Obviously he spent far more time with and at Charlie's but with apparation that still meant that Oliver would go for his morning runs as usual. He had tried to run at the reserve once and been startled by a dragon to the point of falling in a ditch or risking sure death, so Oliver now opted for just apparating back home instead. After his runs, Oliver tried to run errands. He hated running errands because it felt like being a grown-up and whilst Oliver knew he was one, that didn't mean he particularly enjoyed it.
Which was perhaps why his running of errands on Saturday mornings usually started with getting a hot chocolate at Diagon Alley. It was definitely outside his food plan but Oliver felt that if he had to go to the bank, where he would always end up for hours queueing, a hot chocolate was an acceptable price to pay. There was a tiny coffee shop hidden away in Diagon Alley that did a great hot chocolate, covering it almost fully with tiny marshmallows and Oliver enjoyed it greatly. It was also never particularly busy on Saturday mornings which meant that he could successfully avoid majority of his fans.
Thanking the barista when she handed him the mug, Oliver smiled at the hot chocolate like it would smile back. It didn't. What it did instead was bump into someone, sending all the little marshmallows flying across the café, hot chocolate spilling over Oliver's fingers, the burn being only slightly soothed by the whipped cream on top of it and the fact that most of it went on the person he had bumped into. With eyes wide and apology already on his lips, Oliver looked up.
"I'm so sorry! Oh, Merlin, fuck, shit, sorry!" He was flailing, just a bit, trying to... well, probably not help, which was a realisation that met Oliver with his palms flat against the other man's chest, sticky, hot liquid everywhere.