Outfit | Title Reference

Quinn sat on the bar stool at Calaveras, one leg elegantly (and uncharacteristically) crossed over the other. The bar wasn't a favorite locale of the former Gryffindor, but it was a Saturday night pub crawl for Quinn and her best friend, and no establishment was to remain uncharted territory. The cocktail, however, was far more appealing than the bourgeois surroundings of Meredith Renfield's business. A blend of elderberry, cherry, Firewhiskey and and the famed Ukrainian Dragon's Tears - a vodka that sparkled and glimmered with a kick to match. Quinn gave a murmur of content as she sipped the drink once more, widening her eyes in excitement at Lou. It was her third drink in, and whilst not smashed by any stretch of the imagination, the party girl was getting warmed up for a night of dancefloors and debauchery. Hell, she'd even put a dress on - and there wasn't a stud or a patch of leather or battered Converse trainers in sight. Heels, like usual, were left in the wardrobe. Quinn only wore them on special occasions, and combining them with a night on the tiles usually resulted in plenty of stumbles and a minor injury.

"So, so, so so," she begun, rather excited at the prospect of a good catch-up and plenty of banter. "How is it being the girlfriend of a Chudley Cannon?" Edmund had already started to filter into the pages of Witch Weekly and other Quidditch magazines, and with that jawline and those good manners, Quinn guessed it wouldn't be long before he'd be adorning the walls of lovestruck teenage girls and hopeful, sports-crazed teenage boys. And with that, Lou would be dragged into the world of wizarding celebrity - and Quinn was pleasantly envious of her. "Think of all those parties, and all those men. Do you think you'll meet Wiedman? Oh Merlin, that man makes my legs quake." She sighed dreamily, rolling her eyes at the thought of her favorite Quidditch player and the photo she sent of herself one Christmas. Quinn was sure it was hidden in his bottom drawer - it just had to be.

"I heard about that full punch-up between him and George, though," she continued. Her tone became a little graver, and Quinn raised an eyebrow. It was hardly a surprise, and a long-time coming; everybody know the two didn't get on, and ending up on the same team could only mean disaster. "My dad said a few of the blokes on the press release team were talking about it, I hope everything's okay?" Many could confuse Quinn's questions as products of prying nosiness - but her concerns were in fact genuine. Lou always seemed to have it tough. If it wasn't her beau acting a little too stubborn or a little too friendly with his ex-girlfriend, it was her brash (and exceptionally beautiful) cousin causing some little controversy. The Ravenclaw pretty boy and the Gryffindor delinquent were hardly a good mix. "I mean, seriously, you should hex them both into next week and they'll stop their bitch-fights then."

Another sip, another thought. Quinn gave Lou a sympathetic look that was hastily cut short by the glance of the rather rugged bartender - and she quickly flashed him a mischievous smile. Whilst still always nurturing a soft spot for George, Quinn was still the cannibal when it came to bearded boys and ferocious athletes. "Geez, I'd tame his Hungarian Horntail without question," Quinn giggled, giving Lou a nudge. "Literally, it kills me how many boys look at you, and you don't even notice!"

It was common knowledge among their extended group of friends. Quinn was the silly one and Lou was the pretty one - and she was cool with that. Quite happy with her larger than average thighs and forgettable, make-up caked looks, Quinn accepted her role as the 'boys' girl' and there was no lack of male attention, but with Lou, they looked for something a little extra. She had the unattainable, ethereal sort of beauty, and the two made a deadly duo. Her best friend was the honey charm, and Quinn was the Venus fly trap.
 

Emmylou shook her head, lopsided smirk in place. “We still fight and make up and fight again, only now people are more likely to hear about it.” It was a natural thing when two egos and a lot of teenage attraction were tossed into the same London flat without curfew-- sort of like snogging and bickering and making up with roaming hand in a broom cupboard at Hogwarts, but without the referees in the form of professors. She did still owe a former Transfiguration professor for tossing them both in detention together. “I'm not sure about Wiedman, but i think most of the Cannons are as likely to get on with him as George is with Edmund.” Maybe that would be what they united over: the rivalry with other teams. (Good luck, Lou.)

Lou laughed into the brim of her glass, took a sip, and set it down with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Well, if it's just quaking legs you want, I think it's reasonable... I'll just get lost--” on purpose-- “At some gala,” she laughed, thinking it up as she spoke. “And tell the man all about my catch of a friend.” And possibly get taken in for questioning by the Department of Law Enforcement, whose winning team were liable to think that Miss Carter's ‘friend’ lived in her head. “You may have to come with me, be Edmund's second date so they don't lock me in St. Mungo's for the rest of my fun years...” Although if rumor had any truth, Wiedman was all about gripping relationships.

Casually glossing over the subject of George and Edmund with a laugh was easier than talking about it in full, not because Emmylou was embarrassed (it wasn't her issue, they were the ones who looked like babies) but because it made her angry. And serious matters tended to go one of two ways for Emmylou-- she took them head-on, or she was did not react seriously enough. However, if she couldn't discuss it with a best friend and former longtime roommate who knew practically everything about her, there weren't many others. She rolled her eyes. She lifted her drink again, holding it rather like a wand, something to fill her hand and remind her where she was. “I think I’ll do more than hex them if they keep it up much longer.” Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like either was willing to approach the situation like an adult, and there was no choice of one bowing out. She’d made that brilliant suggestion three nights ago. “Edmund and I got into it the other night. Pretty hard. And George... is being an incognito prat about it.” She shook her head in the ironically-but-still-moodily humorous way that a drink or two certainly helped bring about. But as she finished off a shot of liquor, she spoke with all the sober clarity of a Seer, and her pursed lips became a smile. “Toss them. I’ll let them sort it.” Until tomorrow, when undoubtedly she could become tangled in it again. Her heart had been tugged at so many times by eighteen, that she was almost used to it. She didn’t need to tell Quinn how much she cared for both boys, how their stupid, brilliant, lovable, murderous-stare-inducing selves were of the top shelf Can’t-Live-With-Them-Can’t-Live-Without-Them variety. Quinn knew as much; they could read it in each other.

Emmylou followed Quinn's gaze to the bartender, giving him a nod when he noticed them, a silent beckoning for another drink (or round of drinks). She spoke without turning toward Quinn, but continued to stare in appraisal, because she knew he couldn't hear what they were saying. “That's quite the accomplished beard.” She approved. She leaned a fraction toward Quinn, and if it seemed conspiratorial, that's because it was. “I wonder what time he gets off... Dragon's gotta eat, right?” She was grinning now, fully supportive of her friend’s new eye candy.

“I notice,” she admitted. Well, some of time. She couldn’t catch everything, but Emmylou was pretty clever about the way boys’ brains worked (though she was sad to report she still hadn’t figured out how to rewire them with little to no effort). “It just isn't going to go anywhere.” But she couldn’t say she minded very much. Besides, “They look at you, too. Like now...” The bartender took a few steps toward them, balancing the next couple drinks, and expertly set them before the pair of girls. Who knew it took so much talent, being able to deliver what they were paying for in effortless style? It was almost more impressive than watching him pour and mix things, seeing this scruffy, sexy bloke slide drinks their way. Emmylou laid her fingers on hers and nodded again, this time in thanks, and let Quinn take over, if she was serious about reeling in this one.

"Oh god, you're going to be such a celeb," Quinn gasped, tapping her best friend's knee comically. "I'd kill to go to some of them galas, y'know. I need to snag myself a Quidditch boyfriend though - say, what are the other Cannons like?" With a titter, Quinn realised the ridiculousness of her statements. She wasn't girlfriend material, and no boy had ever been boyfriend material - not in the conventional way anyhow. All that standard labelling of a boy and a girl, she just didn't need it, nor did she crave the idea of 'belonging' to someone. Consistently guessing her stance with former flings like John was somewhat problematic (and the source of many a blazing row) but it was interesting - and fiery! Seeing the likes of George and Waker play house and Lou and Edmund toy with playground emotions was far too suffocating to contemplate.

"Edmund and I got into it the other night. Pretty hard. And George... is being an incognito prat about it." Quinn couldn't help but grin. "I'm not sure I follow, George is being an incognito prat about the fact you and Edmund get into it really hard, or you got into it really hard over George? You're being a little vague, you filthpot." Ah, the reckless comedy of double entendre and vulgar innuendo. It seemed like Lou wasn't that keen to broach the whole topic (Quinn should've guessed it was bad timing on a night out), so the blonde simply shrugged. "It'll sort itself out dude, it always does. Nobody's died, nobody's lost a limb - this is testosterone and boys acting like trolls. It's been happening for thousands of years, and I'm sure both of them will get over it, okay?" Her smile was, this time, more optimistic and reassuring, and Quinn had no doubt the whole fiasco would seem a lot less important in a few months time.

Thinking about George in conjunction to Emmy was always a little guilt-inducing, and she had to flick her eyes away. Would she ever tell her best friend about that little fling over the summer? It was deceitful enough, and Lou had made her feelings rather clear, but it wasn't that big a deal... Right?

Thoughts of George's heavenly face was quickly interrupted by the anonymous rugged beauty of the barman, and she gave Lou a wink, whispering out of his earshot. "I bet you two galleons he fancies you more."

He approached, and Quinn's fingertips graced her glass, immediately taking a sip but refusing to take her wicked gaze from the bearded bloke with great abs. If he spoke with an Eastern European accent (hint hint, Durmstrang graduate), she'd probably chain him up and frog march him to her house. "Fancy knocking these off the bill and treating two babes to a beverage?" Her tone was ultimately 'matey' but had that rare charm that distanced Quinn from the title of 'slag'.

The bartender merely laughed, and breathed out a voice that was undeniably Yorkshire. Such a disappointment. "I'd lose my job unfortunately, I'll stick it on your bill instead, eh?" Walking off to finish his jobs and fix the stare of other sex-starved young women, Quinn stared back at Lou.

"Boys used to love us in school, Lou," she laughed, knocking back another hearty gulp. "And now? We can't even get free drinks off a bartender that, with all intent and purpose, is fit beyond words, but does look like he needs a wash. We need a group of boys that dote on us again, like school!" Her Cockney drawl was immediately interspersed with a giggle, and Quinn remembered the days of the two girls breaking hearts and mocking tarts in the Gryffindor common room. "Okay, okay, key question, you have to answer!"

Those sorts of conversation starters with Quinn were usually dangerous, and highly inappropriate. "If Edmund wasn't at our school, what boy do you regret never pulling the moves on?"

outfit (I didn't post this earlier)

Lou rolled her eyes-- lovingly-- and raised her drink toward her lips. “If being a quidditch player’s arm candy makes someone a celebrity...” And, apparently, it did. Lou would roll with it. A cocky smile came to her lips. “You’re definitely coming with me. We’ll sneak you in under my skirt. You could be in the tabloids with us, you know.”

“The other Cannons are like... my cousin,” she said, humoring tinging her throat. She didn’t mean they were like George, just that George was one of them, and the one she knew best. She hadn’t really spent too much time around the team, but she’d had drinks with one or two of them (with Edmund), had said hello to the Seeker after a practice, and was becoming decent friends with two others whom she’d seen around the pitch on multiple occasions. Being around to meet Edmund after practice wasn’t so much of an excuse to be nosy as it was a very convenient coincidence (which allowed her to be nosy). “That one chaser is as nice as he is fit, it’s almost disheartening.” No one should be that flawless. “The other beater is sort of a tool, but...” Emmylou wouldn’t blame any girl for going home with him for a night. Or booking a hotel for a quick lunch in.

“Why not nab one, Quinn? Half the guys in the league like to party as much as you do,” she laughed. Speaking of convenient, that was boyfriend material Miss McAvoy if Lou had ever heard it.

Laughing into her drink-- and feeling it a little, too-- Lou leaned over the bar, set it down, and shook her head. She closed her eyes languidly, just enough so that she could still make out the light dancing beneath them, parted her lips in a let me clarify way, and tilted her chin up just a bit. “I wish we’d got into it like that, even if it was over George.” Not really, that was kind of creepy. (Though they had done something of the sort, afterward, in the shower, just not over George.)

Her smile became calm, relaxed, and she slumped the side of her cheek into her hand, which was supported by her elbow on the bar. “They should act like trolls when they’re being someone else’s boyfriend and cousin,” she murmured, though it wasn’t really a murmur, because she’d said it loud enough for both of them to hear. Lou rarely shied away from anything (though she could also be stubborn when it came to discussing certain things.) “If they don’t stop going at each other’s throats, I’m quitting my hilarious job, and you and I are running off into the sunset.” She hardly thought before blurting out, “To Russia.” Why not? Hot boys, plenty to see. “Or the States.”

She sat up, letting her hand fall back onto her (near empty) drink. “Thanks,” she added, glancing at Quinn, understanding passing between them in a way that was often unique to close friendships.

Whispering at barmen was a lighter feat than grumbling about Edmund and George. “You’ll be two galleons down, then.” Lou rubbed her fingers in the universal sign for money. Witch, wizard, muggle-- it didn’t matter.

His timing was good, since the glass Lou had been nursing was now empty.

But perhaps they were both going to count their losses and call it even. Lou kept her face relatively straight-- minus the subtly raised brows-- until the man retreated. She caught Quinn’s stare, froze there for a second, and looked back to the man. She made a face at his back. “What sort of loser...”

She picked up her own new drink. “Fit or not, be glad you did not waste your night with that one,” she said, by way of cheers. As for boys loving them in school... “They still do, Quinn, they just get denser as they get older. We get wiser, and they get denser.” It was not true (or she hoped not), but it would certainly explain a lot. “But watch, as soon as we’re out of here, there will be catcalls from every direction.” Which was not quite the same as doting teenagers.

Lou knew that giggle well and should have anticipated a new idea blossoming in Quinn’s head. As it were, her drink and preponderance of aforementioned schoolmates was keeping her mightily occupied. So when the question involving said schoolmates (though perhaps not one who had fawned or flirted) was put forth, Lou had to shoot her a look. “Maybe you should go into Magical Law Enforcement, Quinn.” Interrogation and all that. Ah, how to answer... well, they were best mates, and these were their best years. That had been the past. She sighed. “Trent Travis.” She took a swig of her drink to fill her mouth and shrugged. “It was--” He wasn't particularly normal, or warm, or sweet. Lou actually didn't know what it was. Just one of those things. But it had never panned out. Trent saw her as a mate (she supposed), and Lou knew their dynamic was anything but steamy. Besides, he was too close to George, and that was a no-go. "Something about the hair, maybe..." Dirty and all that. She shrugged, trying not to make a big deal out of it. And then, looking and sounding remarkably sober: “You?”