valesco ; a harry potter rpg

Adrian knew himself no genius, but right now, he felt very smart. His plan was working!

Well, almost. Half of his plan was working. The other half hadn't arrived yet. But he would soon.

Pressing a smile onto his face, Adrian beamed across the table at his half-sister. It hadn't been too difficult to convince Odette to meet him for lunch at Leaky (Preseason was starting soon! Let him see her before she was too pregnant! He would pay!), and once she was about settled, Artie would be due to arrive. Not once had Adrian seen Artie arrive late anywhere, which was good, because he thought he was meeting just Adrian at Leaky for lunch too about twenty minutes after Adrian and Odette had set to meet up.

Of course Artie Griffiths had been invited to siblings lunch! Just no one except his humble self, Adrian Mattias, knew that.

See! Brilliant! This would work, Adrian was sure. It was a simple trick that would get his two siblings, now that they were in the same country, to talk to each other. And in public! So they would have to be nice! Glancing away from the menu to look down at his watch, Adrian nodded at the time.

"I have to use the bathroom!" he declared to Odette, which was met with an expected sigh of disinterest and disgust (also some eye rolling). "I will be right back!"

Getting up from the table, Adrian trotted toward the muggle entrance of Leaky. Odette was seated with her back facing the entrance (and the bathrooms), so as long as Artie did not notice her hair until it was too late...

"Artie!" Adrian grinned, and only half leaning out the door (On time! See!), he wasted no time in pulling Artie inside. He gripped the younger wizard by his shoulders, forcefully directing him back toward the table he had just vacated. "I already have a table, it is a good one... Odette! Look who is here!"

Keeping a firm hold on his younger brother, Adrian all but forced Artie to sit down in the chair opposite of Odette. Was it coincidence that he kept Artie purposely in front of him between Odette? No, not at all. Adrian made no indication of seating himself back down.

( delivered to the care of Adrian Mattias, by an owl bearing a Withers-Sykes estate seal )

WHO: The Mattias-MacFarlan Clan!
WHAT: Maggie has dug up some interesting information
WHERE: Braga, Portugal
WHEN: Tonight?!

( Maggie pressed her lips together, listening for the steps that led up to the front door for when Artie returned home )

( EXPRESS OWL FROM PORTUGAL TO ODETTE MACFARLAN )

The term like a bat out of hell had never felt so appropriate.

Maggie pushed through the front doors of their home the moment her feet had touched the ground from their disapparation from St. Mungo's. Visiting hours were over and Geoff was still unconscious from the beating that some bloody no good, money-laundering, death eaters had struck upon him. Maggie threw her cloak toward the rack, the spells pulling it back in the air (she had missed, by a few good feet) to hang it upon its rightful hook. She didn't heed the fact that she may have shut the door in Adrian's face, it was not intentional, but she was focused on only one thing and she couldn't get to it fast enough.

She pushed quickly into their bedroom, the lights flickered on like dominoes around the space as if they felt the fire in her chest. Maggie swung open the doors of her walk-in closet, her own, personal domain, and stalked the length of it. To the everyday eye, it looked like an elaborate set-up of clothing, shoes, purses, and anything else a high-profile woman with style may own. It was, it was her closet, but Maggie had deemed it the only place her husband wouldn't bother spending time in, that she had years before her daughter could start stealing her clothing, so it had been a perfect place for her own devices.

"I need to show you something," Maggie said without looking over her shoulder. She'd heard Adrian follow her through the house, but she stood in front of the long gowns covering the back wall, a thick curtain of glittering and elegant fabric. Maggie bit her tongue before raising her wand to push the gowns away and drop the concealment spells from the wall behind them. "You're not allowed to get mad."

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.

There was something about an empty pitch that Jeremiah use to to enjoy. Not that there was anything that could really beat hearing stands full of people screaming for you to do well, but it really put it into perspective being the only soul in a place that could hold so many. Today though, it was just kind of depressing. He had no idea when he'd be allowed back. Technically he wasn't even suppose to be here now, but Jeremiah had made the excuse that he needed to get his things. Though it wasn't like he had much to grab, having cleaned out his locker at the end of the season.

More importantly, he had owled asking Adrian to meet him, having asked that management hold off telling anyone the outcome of the investigation. Jeremiah wanted to tell Adrian himself. He should have told him from the very beginning, not that he really believed that it would have made much of a difference in the long run, but it had just been plain disrespectful of him. The very least he could do now was to tell him face to face he wouldn't be allowed to play in the upcoming season.

And apologize. He definitely needed to apologize for many things. The whole situation had been a mess from the beginning, and Jeremiah had not made anything better with how he had handled it. Of course now that he looked back he saw so many more options than he thought he had. He turned hearing rustling from behind him, and suddenly Jeremiah was rethinking his decision. It took him ages to tell Miles, and even then he had been drunk and hadn't actually meant to.

"Hey," he managed finally, shuffling awkwardly. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the idea that for whatever reason, he wouldn't show, that he was still to upset to actually come out and talk to him. It was all rather ridiculous, but now that his captain was actually standing right here, the confidence he had spent the last half an hour trying to build evaporated. "The league finally made their decision, and I thought I should tell you myself."

ooc: Think Red carpet fancy~ for charity lmao think of the children!!

Jeremiah had told him there was nothing going on. Jeremiah had told Adrian those 'silly' rumors started by the Tattler were just that, rumors, because of course he wasn't doing anything stupid, taking anything illegal. So why, why, had he been dragged into Montrose all the way from Portugal like an animal on a leash to be attacked by a wall of official robes, half Scottish and half Portuguese, accused of inadequately doing--- performing--- having little to no idea about---

Out of an inexplicable rage of being lied to, to his face, Adrian reached out and hurled an idle Magpies memorabilia on one of the many pedestals that lined the hallway from the offices to the locker room in the stadium. He wasn't sure what it was, he didn't care to check, but it made a significantly enough smash on the ground to quell anger in that moment. It did not stop him, however, from his stomping mission; he knew where he was going the moment Montrose Management had released him for the time being. Stick around for the rest of the day like everyone else, you'll be needed. Perhaps use this opportunity to get a better grip of his team and what he clearly was not doing right.

He--- a grip--- he had many grips--- how could he---- Adrian stopped cold, dead in his tracks when he heard voices, distinct voices coming from the other side of the locker room door. Those voices---- two of those voices were responsible for why he had been ripped from his beautiful dream with his Portugal wife so early to be brought here to get yelled at for--- all his thoughts came to a tumbling stop, and they collected on one person. A great breath filled his lungs, and feeling quite like his gut and limbs were going to explode if he did not act immediately, he moved forward.

Crashing into the room, Adrian swiftly whipped past Miles near the door, eyes locked for his intended target: Jeremiah Whitehorn.

"You!" Adrian thundered, pointing a solitary accusing finger at his keeper. Letting out a string of violent Portuguese swear words, he quickly, forcefully, jumped across the room to grab Jeremiah's collar. Before the other wizard could much react, Adrian swung his fisted hand back for a well-aimed punch at Jeremiah's face. Jeremiah was an idiot, a liar, and the very least Adrian knew he deserved what was coming next.

"You lied to me!" he bellowed, feeling betrayed, embarrassed, and above all, angry. With a quick glance, he glared over his shoulder at Miles, quite at ease with relaying the message that his fellow Beater wasn't one to be unscathed, simply next in line.