Outfit

Laney sauntered out of the shade, pulling a pair of aviators down over her sharp brown eyes, from the top of her short, choppy dark hair. It was a crisp afternoon, the sun half-hidden in the sky. The Slytherin alum wore a black leather jacket and her favorite jeans... even if it wasn’t the best riding ensemble, Laney loved the freedom of it. Besides, she was certain she was just as good in her own clothes as she was in a uniform, or in her birthday suit. (Not that even she worked in much flying wearing the latter, or lack thereof. Ahem.)

Smirking to herself as she imagined George and all of the others back at Hogwarts, who were probably sitting in their last class of the day right now, counting down the minutes to dinnertime, the young woman threw a flat, black boot over her broom and pounced into the air like a predator.

Assuming she was alone in the vast stadium where various professional teams practiced between games and seasons, Laney weaved through the goal posts as if she were chasing a Snitch. With a bit of wand work, she’d jumped the security fence and let herself into the field... a vast upgrade from Hogwarts’ own amateur pitch.

After enjoying the rush of wind for a few minutes, the young woman came to a floating halt near the center of the field. She reached into the pocket that pressed against her hip, and pulled out her very own golden snitch: a practice version that could be used any number of times. Unclenching her fist, she watched it zoom above her head, flutter there for a moment, and then disappear like a strike of lightning.

[A less than comfortable outfit for quidditch]

It wasn't unusual for William to be out and about on his own in strange places. Though he wore a nice suit, a broom was against his shoulder and a beater's bat was tight in his hand. William tended to go to the Quidditch pitch whenever he was frustrated and needed to pound something. Rather him beating people, he would beat around shoes and other blunt objects with his club simply to settle himself down. Today, William and a couple of his Quidditch buddies were at a bar and a gang of fans came around, squealing and asking for autographs.

But they were more concerned with his friends, rather than him.

This angered William immensely, which caused him to sneak into the pitch and sulk for a while before pulling off his jacket and kicking himself up into the sky (On his broom, of course). William began to take off his shoes so he could bat them around... that was before he noticed someone was already there on the pitch. From the looks of it, they had to be a man. How else would they be zooming around like a pro? That, of course, was William's view. Which would never to be spoken aloud once he noticed the figure was most certainly a lady. A lady with her own personal snitch... And had a knack for riding a broom.

"You know, you're not suppose to be here!" William called out to the woman, a crooked grin lodged onto his face. He gently placed his shoes back on and loosened his tie. "You could get caught." William slowly pushed his broom towards the lady, trying to keep distance so she wouldn't think he was going to attack her or some other bloody tragedy story. "A lady like you shouldn't be out on her own..." As if the girl couldn't fend for herself, anyhow. William was just a jerk.

Laney had seen the glint of gold and rushed at it, but the voice echoing behind her had caught her off guard. Brows narrowing, she whipped around on her broom and let the snitch disappear again into the depths of the blue sky. She came to a wind-lashed stop, brushing a strand of chocolate hair from her suspicious, rebellious eyes and staring... at William Pennyapple.

She knew his face from the pictures she’d seen of his team, in the sports section of the Daily Prophet (one of the few bits worth reading these days.)

“Are you a part time groundskeeper, or just the Magpies’ beater?” She asked, her vaguely-annoyed expression (one she’d reserved for whomever had decided to come after her with metaphoric pitchforks) morphed into a vaguely-amused one. How could she not smirk when it was William Pennyapple, of all people, to catch her using the professional stadium as a personal playground?

But then he started yapping on about ladies, or some nonsense. Laney rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on her broom. “A lady like me can take care of herself,” she assured him. Her eyes followed his hands down to his shoes. What was he doing out of his shoes? Better yet, why was he wearing a tie during riding practice? (He did, of course, look very sharp. But Laney wasn’t going to mention that just yet.) “Shoe’s untied. Might want to do something about that,” she said simply. There were no laces on the man’s immaculate and stylish dress shoes. Wait until she relayed this little story to Mal...

Turning again, Laney flew off toward the goal posts, her gaze roaming the hoops for signs of gold against silver.

“Are you a part time groundskeeper, or just the Magpies’ beater?”

William chuckled, slightly, at the girl's joke. "You're one to talk..." He scratched his eyebrow and shook his head, "At least I'm aloud to be here." William gave her a wink. He could always report her, get security, laugh as she's kicked out of the stadium, then get angry as he's kicked out, also. William's plan immediately seemed useless and decided to be nice for once.

“A lady like me can take care of herself,”

"Really now?" William's grin turned to amusement. A lady like her did seem to be able to beat up a grown man, but a lady like her seemed to be easily annoyed. Which spawned another diabolical plan in William's mind. "I'm sure you could." In his most sarcastic voice, flipping his beaters bat around in his hand.

“Shoe’s untied. Might want to do something about that,”

Right, his shoes. William looked down at his feet and back towards the girl who sped away, looking for her snitch. Seekers were such pansies. He boredly looked around the stadium and spotted her beloved golden ball. In an honest attempt to flirt, he pulled off his shoe and smacked it in the general direction of the snitch. Causing it to speed away as the shoe whizzed past the spot it had just been. "I know my shoe's untied." His crooked grin mocked the girl as he pulled his other shoe off.

William then zoomed down and grabbed his falling shoe. It had nearly hit the ground before he came flying back up with it. Another smack of his shoe, the snitch began to go into a frenzy. As if it didn't know where to go or what to do. Stupid little things. William thought it would be better if they had minds and could actually comprehend what was going on. Better yet, it could be a man on a very, very fast broom with a shirt that said "Snitch". But he still enjoyed watching the seekers search for the ball. So he could smack them silly.

“I’m allowed to be here too... until they try to chuck me out.” But then she had a broom. It was glorious. She could imagine the plump stadium security attempting to chase after her. After Laney. A seeker most confident in her own abilities, and one whom had, on the sly, been in talks with a certain coach whom this wisecracking William Pennyapple might have known.

He seemed to doubt whether she could hold her own, which only made Laney want to try harder. Or maybe it was just part of their quickly-adopted banter. It was bound to happen, when two Slytherins-- and two very capable and competitive fliers, at that-- went head to head. The stadium, while massive, suddenly seemed not big enough for the two of them. The young woman was determined to win it for herself, and to see Mr. Pennyapple fall on his pretty bum, shoeless and scrumptious lips pouting.

Beaters and their tactics. Laney had been after the snitch, had been so close, when a bit of pricy footwear ruined her attempt at glory. She narrowed her brows and turned sharply 180 degrees. She floated scathingly, some fifty feet or so above the green turf. He wanted to play dirty.

Zooming after him as he exhibited his own knack for seeking (shoes, at least), Laney felt the early autumn air rush against her dark features. She wanted to see that grin again, as much as she wanted to make him sorry. It was, admittedly, a rather nice thing to look at.

Before she could catch up with him, he was tossing his attire yet again at her bit of flitting gold. Even Laney, ever confident in herself, knew that this was the difference between professional and amateur. She had not, officially, joined his ranks. At least not to his knowledge. Her appointment as the Magpies new Seeker was still being inked to parchment, and none of the team knew of it yet.

This time, she went for one of his shoes. If he wanted to ruin her fun, she would ruin his. Catching the thing, she looked for a number-- an indication of size. “Hey big foot,” she called, though it wasn’t much of an insult, but rather a teasing compliment. “Why don’t you stick to to the bats, and I’ll go for the snitches? Snark won’t be happy if you break your neck before the big game...”