Lads lads lads! It was the seeker’s stag do, and the night was young. With a last check of his hair in the mirror, Carter Apparated from his flat to the pub where they all normally met. It seemed like every weekend he was attending a wedding or a stag party. Which was weird for Cart, who at 28 still felt like girls were a huge mystery. He’d never had a relationship last more than a few months, weeks really, which was always fine with him.

He ordered himself a lager and leaned against a wall, doing his best to look like he had purpose. No, he wasn’t just standing there waiting all by himself, like some kind of loner. That wasn’t Carter’s style, and so he sipped at the beer in a way that he hoped would translate to the other customers as a casual confidence.

Amaryllis had come straight after work. Well, after shopping for work.  As a Pureblood Obliviator who routinely had to pass as a Muggle, it was simply part of the job to dress the part, peruse racks on King's Road in Chelsea. Wardrobe research. 

She was worried, by the time she'd found a place to stash her purchases and she broke into the busy crowd, looking for her friends. It seemed her worries had been founded.  Not a friend in sight.  Was she too early? Too late?

She caught a glimpse of a long ponytail at the bar.  That might have been Lenore...  Ambling up, she rested her hands lightly on the well-varnished but also well-worn wood, casting a sidelong glance. She blushed crimson.  It was not Lenore.  The bartender was waiting expectantly, and she blurted out a name of a beer from the menu that she hadn't ever had before. Well, at least she didn't blurt out 'butterbeer.'  Not that there was anything wrong with it. It was delicious.  But this was a girls' night out, not a slumber party.

Maybe just a ....girl's night out.  Just one. Just her. Drink in hand, she turned away, back leaning against the bar when finally, she caught sight of Lenore, a man's arm comfortably shifted around her waist.  And Aerin, with some strapping lad whispering something in her ear, tucking dark strands of hair away as he did so.

Gosh they moved fast.  Was she really that late?  What happened to girls' night?

Lenore was making direct, pointed eye contact with her, leaning back a little so she didn't get entangled in the conversation her current beau and his mate were having.  Maree tried to interpret, eyes desperate.  "What?" she mouthed.

Lenore jerked her head forcibly to the left.  Maree looked behind her and to the left. The bartender?! With an exaggerated eye roll, Lenore slipped away from the beau's grasp.  "Oh, Merlin," Lenore moaned as Maree teetered on heels. Lenore was dragging her across the room.  "You're wearing Muggle clothes? We just met up with almost the entire Chudley Cannons team. C'mon. You're in luck.  Carter's not taken."

Oh, God. OhGodohOohGod... Lenore was dragging her clear up to a man. A cute man. A quidditch man.

"Carter," Lenore said, her smile nearly predatory.  Maree swore, sometimes Lenore could look positively feline.  "Have you met my dear friend Maree yet?"

"Ah--" Maree began, but Lenore was already making her retreat to her awaiting man, who smiled as she returned and slung his arm over her shoulder.  They really were cute together, Maree did observe.  All of them were, apparently.  She also felt very... unflanked and conspicuous without a man's appendage around her, somehow. 

"Hi," she said, stomach tight to the man Lenore had chosen. "I'm Maree," she provided unhelpfully. "And you're... Carter."

Carter Beatleby. Duh.  The one always in Witch Weekly.  She didn't know how she felt about that about a nice, quiet, proper boy a... Wasn't this a girls' night out?  She smoothed her skirt uncomfortably.  "Have you... known Lenore long?" Did he know Lenore at all?

But wait! This was what beer was for!  With a sudden enthusiasm, Maree took a long drink, finally coming up for another shy smile.  This was not her problem.  It was officially his turn to say something.

Soon enough his mates began filtering in, followed finally by the bachelor himself. Carter knew him through quidditch, of course. Don Dolan was a teammate, so becoming close pals was bound to happen. Though  Don’s girlfriend - fiance - wife? - Carter had never met before. Maybe she had been at the pub with them a few times, Cart didn’t know. When it came to his friends’ girls things kind of went foggy, because they were off limits.

Before long a group of young women had infiltrated the stag do. It came with the territory as a professional athlete. Especially on a team so widely known. Their reputation hadn’t been good for quite a long time -- it had been downright awful for decades -- but in the past few years things had picked up and now Carter was starting to get used to fangirls. It was definitely a nice job perk.

Most of his mates had found girls to talk to. This was typical; unless Carter had someone pushing him, he would probably almost never approach a girl.

Turns out he didn’t have to. A pretty young blonde was pushed up against him. Her wardrobe stuck out a bit amongst the other patrons of the bar, but as a muggleborn Carter felt strange in robes. He normally left them for cold days and quidditch matches.

”Hi… I’m Maree. And you’re… Carter.”

Carter gave a friendly grin. “Hi Maree,” he said, “Nice to meet you.” They were in close quarters at the pub, as the crowd had grown. It made it difficult to move, but Carter wound his way around, taking a drink from his ale. As he did this he could feel the warmth that radiated off Maree, and so he smiled as he drank.

"Have you... known Lenore long?"

“Who?” Carter blurted, before he could stop himself. He looked down bashfully, laughing a bit at his own mistake. “I mean - we just met her, I think.” He turned to look over at the girl who had smushed Maree against him. That must be the Lenore in question. “I mean, I just did.” This part of the process was where Carter lost steam sometimes - he wasn’t well-equipped with small-talking skills, nor did he fully grasp flirting. 

He cleared his throat and grinned so his dimples showed. “Cheers?” he asked, holding up his beer. She was a cute blonde who drank beer, that was so cool.

"Who?"

Maree gave a light, very uncomfortable laugh at this.  "I was afraid of that..." she said, eyes apologetic.  Her friend could come on a bit... strong.  She hoped Lenny hadn't made a fool of her already by talking her up too much.  Or... not talking her up enough.  She shouldn't have worn her Muggle clothes.

She fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve.  "Cheers," she agreed, loosing another nervous laugh before tilting the bottle towards her lips.    As she swallowed, her mind raced.  He'd said the last comment--it hadn't been much, but it was probably now her turn to say something and she barely knew the man. And she didn't know as much about sports as she should.  Mostly she knew him from Withc Weekly, and Maree was fairly certain that bringing up tabloid references to one's romantic exploits was poor form when trying to chat up a ... well a celebrity...

Golly.

"I mean," she blurted out quickly, "I'm not surprised, to be honest. You and your teammates probably get this all the time, I'd imagine. Everyone knowing your name and face."  Another quick sip.  "I mean, that's something I never have to worry about.  I'm an Obliviator; if I do my job correctly, no one remembers who I am."  She gave a quick, bright smile and laugh.  He'd know that was a joke, right?

Please let him know it was a joke.  "The tragedy of being a celebrity Obliviator: no credit," she reiterated, her smirk a bit more comfortable on her face, now.

Whenever Carter looked at girls, he felt like they could read his mind. Girls sensed these sorts of things, didn’t they? Despite being tortured by two sisters growing up, the Female still remained a complete mystery to him. If anything, he was more scared of them, knowing how unpredictable they were.

He did still enjoy their company, though. And all of their other… wiles. The blonde girl in front of him looked sweet and shiny. And she was smiling at him, that was good. Cart thanked Merlin that the professional quidditch life provided him with opportunities like this. He smiled back and clinked glasses with her before taking a drink.

"I'm not surprised, to be honest. You and your teammates probably get this all the time, I'd imagine. Everyone knowing your name and face."  Another quick sip.  "I mean, that's something I never have to worry about.  I'm an Obliviator; if I do my job correctly, no one remembers who I am."

Cart laughed at her joke and there was a distinct twinkle in his eye. Cute and funny, and a quidditch fan to boot. “I think I’d have a hard time doing that,” Carter responded, smoothly adding, “Forgetting your face, that is.” He hoped this implied that she was pretty. Flirting was hard. And he only sort of knew what an Obliviator was. Ever since it was determined he would play professional quidditch, he hadn’t paid much attention to other potential career paths.

“So are you a quidditch fan?” Carter asked. It was a subject he was very familiar with. “Or just the pictures from Witch Weekly?” He blushed a little. Part of playing quidditch was publicity, and the women’s magazine frequently did photoshoots and published them with headlines like ‘Hunky Quidditch Heroes’ or some such ridiculous thing.

“I think I’d have a hard time doing that,” Carter responded, smoothly adding, “Forgetting your face, that is.”

Maree's eyes widened.  She bit her lip.  That was--that was definite, distinct flirtation.  God, he was smooth.  Maree could feel her cheeks grow warm; she was probably a shade redder than a phoenix.  She opened her mouth to utter something back--a thanks at the very least--and, failing, closed her mouth again.  Turning away slightly to compose herself, she took a deep breath before completing the turn on the ball of her foot. 

Good. Much better.  What was more: he was still smiling. He was still talking to her.  But... about quidditch.

The Woolfolks were more... cultural than athletic.  They collected art. They visited galleries and operas and grand buildings throughout Europe.  Concerts--rock concerts, that was--and sporting events had never featured heavily in their upbringing.  Now, if they had managed to bring about some sort of wizarding polo that involved winged horses, well, their father would be enraptured.

"Not really, no," she said automatically before eyes widening. "That is! I mean that I like the game; it was always a favorite thign at Hogwarts to watch the matches.  I even painted my face." Mostly because all of her friends wanted to.  "But I didn't really keep up with it after school."  She looked back over to her friends, one of whom was already canoodling with one of Carter's teammates.  "And don't let them fool you, either.  They," she said, leaning into the word so that her friends might overhear, "follow the quidditch players more than the game itself. But you know what they say! Don't hate the player, hate the game!"

She paused.  What did that even mean?

"I'm not... not that I hate either. I mean, I like both. The game is fun and you seem just..." there went those cheeks again, "just lovely."  Oh, God.  Another quick swig, which left her voice husky. Time to mooooooooooove on. "And I follow Witch Weekly even less, I'm afraid.  Otherwise I'm sure I'd know more about you!  How many times have you even been featured there? Where are you from? And why didn't we meet? Were you in Gryffindor?"  He seemed like a Gryffindor. They were daring and accomplished; she hadn't had too many friends in that house--she was much too quiet--but they always seemed enviable.  Bold and carefree and... well, a touch exclusive with their own house.

After a beat, she added, "You only need to answer one of those for starters." She attempted a wink, simultaneous to another sip of beer.  This stuff was horrid. Never again.

Carter drank while the blonde chatted about her interest in quidditch, which by the sound of it was limited. That was okay, it was probably a good thing -- it was all he talked about. But at the same time it was pretty much all he could talk about. It was times like these that he regretted his lack of interest in the rest of wizarding culture. To cover up his nervousness, he drank a bit more.

The game is fun and you seem just… just lovely." 

Never knowing how to take a compliment he smiled and looked down at his feet bashfully. He peeked back up at her but before he could say anything, Maree had a smattering of questions for him. Carter should have been used to this by now, thanks to the tireless reporters and fangirls. He would much rather listen to her talk than to make a fool of himself by trying to think of something witty to say.

"And I follow Witch Weekly even less, I'm afraid.  Otherwise I'm sure I'd know more about you!  How many times have you even been featured there? Where are you from? And why didn't we meet? Were you in Gryffindor?"

Carter didn’t know the answer to the first question, about having been featured in Witch Weekly. Most of the time he was taking photos and answering questions without really knowing why or who it was for. He was a bit embarrassed to admit where he was from - Stockwell, one of the poorest neighborhoods in London. Even with the fame and fortune and fact that he had moved out of Stockwell, Carter was reluctant to admit it.

“South London,” he said, the standard answer he gave to reporters. “I was a Gryffindor too. I don’t know why we haven’t met,” Carter admitted, “I’m sure I would have noticed you.” He smirked and put his empty glass down on the bar, drawing the immediate attention of the bartender. Fame was handy in that way.

“What d’ya feel like drinking?” Carter asked.

Oh my Merlin he was so cute!  The way he looked down at his feet? And was he blushing? A celebrity! Blushing!  That was just the cutest.  And he said he'd have remembered her!!

Biting her lip again, she gave a nervous, stomach-flopping sort of giggle.  "I don't know if... I was in Ravenclaw.  And... well, I look a bit different. A lot of people say they don't recognize me."  Some people said they went through an awkward phase.  Maree felt like her Hogwarts phase were one looooong phase of snaggle-teeth and pigtails.  It had taken until she was fourteen to really break into her ultimate group of friends; they hadn't wanted much to do with her before that.  But really, all of that drama could be forgiven: Lenore had paired her with this cute quidditch player.  She knew her so well!

She listened to his brief--his very brief--biography.  It was alright. Some people weren't words people. Sometimes she got along with them best, really, because they were usually good listeners and she liked to talk.  Like Prim.  She could talk, too, of course, but it was usually Maree doing most of the talking. Actually, it was like that in most relationships she had. ... Did she talk a lot?

Well, she couldn't just listen and not respond!

"Oh, I love London. I mean--obviously. We're here, and all.  But I mean, I sometimes just walk around London--the Muggle parts, too--just for fun. You know? It just feels so... alive!" 

Golly. He'd already downed his drink.  Maree squinted to check the progress on her bottle. Not even halfway. "Uh..." she said to his query, thinking.  Oh, forget it! This drink was vile.  She was done fitting in. Time for what she wanted.  What any basic witch wanted: "A cosmopolitan?"

"Oh, I love London. I mean--obviously. We're here, and all.  But I mean, I sometimes just walk around London--the Muggle parts, too--just for fun. You know? It just feels so... alive!" 


Carter couldn’t help but smile at Maree’s enthusiasm. Energy was contagious, particularly hers, and definitely in this scenario. Tricky as chatting with girls was, the context of this conversation helped even Carter get by. Pretty girl in a bar, they were drinking - Carter wasn’t an idiot, he knew what the possibilities were, and to top it off he was a professional athlete.

“London is awesome,” Carter said with a grin. It didn’t seem like his lack of conversation skills would be much of a problem tonight. He ordered a cosmo and a whiskey, because that seemed like the manly thing to do.

As the bartender began preparing their drink one of Cart’s teammates - who was obviously already pretty sloshed, but he was the best man and therefore it was somewhat acceptable - stumbled up.

“A cosmo??” His friend said in a way that made the notion seem completely outrageous. Before Carter could explain himself his friend was demanding that the bartender bring over another cosmo. “You’re gonna chug that right here, mate.” Apparently this colleague was unaware of Maree’s presence, even as Carter offered some deliberate body language that said goawayi’mwithagirl. The drinks arrived and his friend grabbed one, unsurprisingly spilling half the drink as he held it up.

“Race ya,” He said and started chugging. Never one to be outshone, Carter flashed Maree a look that said ‘well, why not?’  and grabbed the other cosmo. He brought it to his lips quickly - Tom, his mate, had gotten a head start, after all. Still Cart won - he had the focus and control that Tom was too tipsy to have. Carter was determined to get Tom to bugger off. Cart signaled to the bartender - who had witnessed the scene - that yet another cosmo would be necessary. By the time the drink was made, Tom had already wandered off to do a shot with the groom.

“Sorry about that,” Carter apologized with a laugh. He felt distinctly tipsier. “I’m sort of at a stag do.” Carter wasn’t particularly close with the couple, but they were a quidditch couple, and so it was somewhat of a social obligation. But he felt very certain that he could and would ditch it if a better offer came along… which, it looked like, already did.

ooooooof. I'm the worst. This was in my drafts folder!!

Maree stared, wide-eyed at the... cosmo-chugging.  Quidditch players. They'd have to turn this into a contest. The real problem was that this left her with the whisky. 

"Oh!" Maree said with a breathy laugh.  Gave a broad smile. "No worries."  It was no big deal. Really.  It was absolutely fine and not awkward at all; guys liked when girls were easygoing, anyhow, and really, if she had to sip a whisky to prove it--

Maree nearly gagged, putting the drink down.  "Oh, God! How do you even drink this?!" she practically wretched, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  Her eyes widened further as she looked back at the group she'd come from.  A stag do.  That would explain the increased testosterone.  Quidditch players were already very... well, masculine but some of these men were only moments away from beating their chests and reverting to full neanderthal.  She hoped her friends knew what they were getting into. 

Downing a cosmopolitan like that. Barbarians. But cute ones.  "Here," she said, handing him the whisky.  "There's no stopwatch involved this time around," she said, eyes crinkling as she took the fresh cosmo. Her half-drank beer still sat on the bar.  "I, uh... don't have your friend's talent for..." binge drinking? "...revelry," she said giving a slow smile.  She scanned the crowd again.

"So... one of your team member's getting married?"  Her eyes widened.  "I mean, I'm not surprised! It's just... I feel like most of my friends haven't even thought of marriage yet." Stop talking about getting married. He'll think you're desperate.  "Which is just as well. I mean, it would be a good move if it's the right person and right time, I guess." Stop talking about marriage, you're already freaking yourself out--much less him!"