valesco ; a harry potter rpg

WHO: Arista Sykes and Artie Griffiths
WHAT: Spring awakening 😅
WHERE: Comet Trading Company set
WHEN: LIKE this weekend? Today? Yes

( This is not really in line with my image. )

This had been a very weird night.

Charlie had noticed the helicopter first, and had immediately slipped back to sit in the middle hoop to watch it land in awe. This was the weirdest, weirdest thing he had ever seen! Quidditch was--it was such a magical institution that any thought of the muggle world was stripped from his mind, so to see...it was almost like a dragon had decided to make Caerphilly Stadium its new nest. The Kestrels had watched in shock as the two pilots jumped out and onto the pitch, looking frantic and confused. Hell, wouldn't you be if you were flying over an usually empty moor, and saw a stadium full of hundreds of people?

Axe had instantly commanded them down to the ground once the authorities made it onto the pitch (and the bloody choppers stopped spinning), and the Kestrels ducked down the tunnel that led to the opposing team's locker room. Charlie checked over his shoulder to try and get a glimpse of what was going on, and frowned at the sight of Griffiths seemingly having a panic attack. He made to head back, but Odette had surprisingly swooped in.

What a weird night.

Charlie couldn't get out any words as they moved to the lockers, and he was the first to push through the door, thinking it was going to be a long time before any of them got out of there. He turned around to walk backwards toward his locker and face the rest of his team, but was grabbed around the neck by a figure in the darkness. Charlie's hands went up, back and knees bent, and he let a strangled sound.

"What the fuck is going on?!" the muggle shouted, twisting one of Charlie's arms behind his back. Charlie winced before he shut his eyes at the feel of something cold and metal pressing against his temple, and it emitted a loud click that bounced off the walls of the locker room.

WHO: Artie Griffiths
WHAT: He's paying a visit to the Department of Magical Games and Sports
WHERE: The Ministry
WHEN: Dinner time!

( If anything, it would make sense for her department to know that players were being harassed by some faceless vigilante again, right? )

There was nothing quite like being shoved into a freezing cold pool to wake up all your senses. Hudson maintained his sinking like a stone routine for a few seconds, watching the blurry image of Arista stalk off down the edge of the pool that was the main centerpiece of her party. Their fight had gone beautifully, he believed that they should be up for Wizarding World Awards next year! His loud and rude words would certainly earn him a place on The Tattler's wall of shame, and it put a definitive end to their fake relationship. He was sad to see it go, because when he hadn't had a ridiculously busy schedule, the 'forced' extra tim with Arista was wonderful. Her real birthday surprise would hopefully make up for not being able to spend tonight with her, but it was early enough on in the party that she could have her moment away and come back ready to party however Arista wished to party. Finding that he'd spent enough time submerged, Hudson pushed his feet off the floor of the pool and swam toward the end with the ladder. His face broke through into the cold cold air, and because it was a party full of Arista's friends, he was not greeted by a towel or anything of the such. No, no, he deserved it for being such a louse, and he clambered up the ladder and squished his way toward one of the nearest bathrooms, head hung low. Even if this was for the greater good, it was going to be a bit of a dull, perhaps even lonely night. He wasn't a drinker, but perhaps he could start.

He had not thought that the combined brain trust of Odette MacFarlan and Charlie Spinnet was enough to create a mini, contained tornado in his locker, but it seemed like Artie didn't know much of anything these days. Every time he opened the door, the swirl of green wind picked up all of his things and sent them spinning, spinning, out of order, out of sorts. When the door shut, he would hear them clatter to the ground, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get himself to stop opening the bloody door. Knowing that everything he needed was in such a disarray made his head spin, his hands twitch, his skin itch. But he couldn't think of the spell that could stop it, he couldn't think of anything past how much he hated it in Kenmare.

Artie believed he must have been confunded to think that this trade was a good idea. It had seemed like a smart move, the team was still young and thriving, and he was getting lost in the bleakness that was Ballycastle. If he wanted to make his mark, he needed to be on a team that people paid attention to. All Artie wanted to do was prove himself, which he thought he had with his World Cup performance, but MacFarlan had instantly burst any excitement he may have had with her blatant---she had to have been lying when she said she didn't know who he was, right?

And now, it was a joke of the locker room, of the team, of the league. Who the hell is Artie Griffiths? He'd been in the league for years...was he that unmemorable? Artie opened his locker door again, and of course the damn twister started right up. He knew that if he reached in he would probably trigger some damn reaction, but in the moment he didn't care. Artie jutted a fist into the center of the miniature storm, and groaned as while the storm did die down, all of his things were in a jumbled mess on the bottom of his locker, covered in what must have been a Charlie Spinnet-inspired slime.

He slammed the door, feeling his face get red with frustration, with---his anxiety. He'd arrived to the pitch an hour before schedule to try and avoid the antics of his idiot teammates, but of course he'd been tricked again. Artie shut his eyes tightly and dropped down to the bench behind him, hands pressed to his eyes.

Peter had not understood his management's request to wear light colors, a white shirt if he could, until he entered the tented area on Wimbourne Field and was struck with a glob of what felt like paint. He stared down at the bright pink bulge on his chest for a few seconds before looking up to find the culprit, a tiny intern from the back offices who looked mortified that he had been the one to strike Peter. But, the week had been a good one for his team and for himself, so Peter just spread the paint across his shirt like a claw mark and continued on his way. If this was their theme, he was going to run with it. Anyone who came into his path had a pink hand-print somewhere on their body, whether it be in an appropriate place or not. He was enjoying very much the attention that had been put on the Wasps, and with their latest addition milling about somewhere, the news fresh off a post-game announcement, Peter was feeling excellent about the rest of their season. Perhaps he needed some yellow paint, with all this team spirit he was feeling. Peter made his way through to a table where the necessary supplies were at the ready, and dipped two fingers into the bowl of yellow paint. With keen expertise, he spread thick lines across his cheek bones, as if ready to go into battle. His spirits high and the lights down low, this was certainly going to prove to be an excellent night.

ooc: Black Buzzers and the Brash Bees win! Caden Flint and Hugh Orpington are your MVPs!
Black light party! Paint! Wizard fun! Lots of dark corners to get into trouble!