Zach Smith (swk_zacharias) wrote in secrets_we_keep, @ 2014-04-02 16:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | april 2005, complete, marcus flint, zach smith |
RP: Out and About
Who: Zach Smith and OPEN
Where: The Leaky Cauldron
When: 2 April, 2005
Rating: TBD.
Status: Ongoing
A pint- or two, or three- had sounded very appealing Zach after the day he'd had. Appealing enough that he'd risked dealing with the Leaky, despite the chances of him being recognized and pestered being exponentially increased by entering a magical establishment. Old Tom would stand him a tab, always had, and the pub had a Floo that would get him home in one piece. Muggle pubs were a chore when a bloke was properly pissed, keeping up the act that he was perfectly ordinary. And Zach had half a mind to get properly pissed.
He should have known better, really. But he'd been dumb, because the witch requesting the interview had been a foxy little piece, and because Zach had missed feeling important. She was from Quidditch Weekly, she'd said, when she'd owled him, which might have raised his hackles, but she'd also assured him that she only wanted to discuss the new Nimbus line. He'd helped design the brooms, after all, and his status as a former player would give a unique insight on them. So, like a sucker, Zach had agreed.
He'd even dressed for it, shirt with buttons that went all the way down and everything. Combed his hair. Tried to look all professional and expert, instead of like a disgraced Quidditch star-cum-Quodpot pity case who was lately more known for which American starlet he'd squired about than how many goals he'd scored on the pitch. Zach worked for Nimbus now, and that was all of it, open and shut. Not for the money, so much, but more to get him out of his flat and out of his own head and to prove to himself that he was still worth something more than what he found at the bottom of a bottle.
The previous week had been the full moon, which Zach supposed could shoulder some of the blame for how very off his game he'd been. It was bit like being hungover, the day or so after.
The reporter had started off innocently enough. In hindsight, he was embarrassed by how excited he'd been when detailing the improved braking charms and the new security features. Because all too quickly, the questions had shifted to the usual litany.
Why did the Falcons have you sacked?
How much did they pay to buy out your contract?
Why hop across the pond? And why are you back?
Along with the utterly boring questions about who was he dating, why wasn't he out socially since his return, how did the very Slytherin maternal side of his family feel about him besmirching the family honour, so on and so forth... until Zach's infamous temper, all too easily sparked nowadays, had reared its ugly head. He'd set fire to her notes, and stormed out, his arse rather sore from the stinging jinx the reporter had sent after him in retaliation.
One of the things Zach hated most in this life was to feel stupid. And he'd felt a monumental dunce as he'd left her.
He'd come straight to the Leaky. Tom had seen him come in, and though it had been a couple of years since Zach had last shown his grumpy face there, his favorite ale had been on the bar by the time he'd seated himself.
Now that he was on his third, the vein in Zach's temple had stopped throbbing, and he no longer felt like tearing anyone's throat out with his bare teeth. One more ought to put him on the path to pleasant, and he could Floo back to Cornwall, shuck off the stupid clothes, and watch telly until he passed out.
Next time someone wanted an interview about brooms, Zach would direct them to the Nimbus marketing department, and spare himself the trouble.