Marcus Flint (swk_marcus) wrote in secrets_we_keep, @ 2014-05-08 10:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | george weasley, marcus flint, may 2005, ongoing |
RP: Quidditch is hard. Life is harder.
When: May 8
Who: Marcus, his Agent and OPEN!!!
Where: Quidditch practise pitch
Rating: PG
Status: Open and on going.
Practise had been, as usual, brutal. The Falcons never pulled punches, not even with each other, not even when practising. It's what made them fierce competitors. The mid-air crash had been spectacular; broom splinters still littered the pitch where crews were repairing the human-sized crater Marcus had left when he landed, skidding a good stretch before flopping to a stop.
Battered and bruised, Marcus never felt more alive.
He stepped out of the change rooms, his equipment bag slung over his right shoulder, as he rolled his still sore left one. The medical team had reset his dislocated shoulder, thrown a healing spell here and there, but after a while, things just hurt no matter how many healing spells the mediwitches used.
"Great crash. I've already got broom sponsors lined up for you to replace the ruined one, Marcus." His agent stepped out of the shadows, grinning ear to ear. He'd been waiting for Marcus to emerge, an ambush. Marcus swore under his breath when he saw the weedy little man. "You haven't answered my owls," his agent accused. "I'll choose to believe you've been busy."
"Believe what you want." Marcus had intentionally ignored the owls; he only had so much patience for his agent before wanting to strangle him. Too bad the two needed each other.
Marcus kept walking, the agent huffing and puffing to keep in step with him. "Have you found a date for the Ministry Gala yet?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not going."
"Yes, you are. You are a public figure, Marcus. A hero to children and old farts who love Quidditch, even." Marcus grunted. He wasn't a hero, everyone knew that. "You need to put yourself out there, and with the dancing show debuting around that time, you need advertisement. Marketing."
"That's what I pay you for."
"Yes, and I am a genius at it, but I can only do so much when my client is intentionally sabotaging his career. You need to help me, here, Marcus." His agent stopped walking, hand on Marcus' forearm. "Get dress robes, get a date, get to the party." His agent was dead serious, risking life and limb to give Marcus an actual order.
Marcus snarled at the little man, but it was no use; he had already disapparated, leaving Marcus standing at the pitch gates. He growled at no one, though one of the nearby grounds crew squeaked and scurried away. It was dangerous working here.