Location:  James and Eason's Flat in Sedbury
Date: Oct. 6 (Monday) After Practice ~ Early Evening

It was an open declaration of conflict, for glory, honour, and for England.  Eason had the last biscuit safely in his grasp…or so he thought.  Little did he know that James had his eyes set on the sugary morsel.  James locked eyes with Eason.  James knew what was at stake.  The Last Biscuit.  James could visualize the scrumptious morsel in his mouth.  As James licked his lips, his thoughts completely of the sugary goodness that came from the baked dough, he knew one thing.  That Eason would not eat that sweet, sugary piece of baked dough.  Idly, he wondered why his American roommate could not take the last sip of coffee or something equally colonial.  But no, he had taken the last biscuit.  James would not tolerate such insipid antics.  Really, after being roommates for a few seasons, James thought they would have gotten into something of a rhythm.  In truth, they actually had something of a gentleman’s agreement, otherwise one of them would have probably moved out by now.  James went over there agreed upon rules in his head ‘Do not disturb the other guy when a sock or tie is on the door, make sure there is plenty of food, split the grocery bill, and if you eat the last of something, replace it’.  Actually, there was another box of biscuits in the cabinet.  Still, James thought it was the principle of the thing.  Eason had eaten the last biscuit…actually James could not recall the last time Eason ate the last biscuit.  Regardless, James’s principles held steady, and for want of a biscuit James yelled:  

“YOU WILL NOT EAT THAT BISCUIT!”  in an unnecessary loud and completely frivolous tone.  

After the exclamation, James lunged forward attempting to use his reflexes to snag the biscuit out of Eason’s hand.  As soon as he lunged forward, James idly wondered how he got into a rough and tumble over a biscuit.  James decided it really did not matter, since he quickly lost that train of thought.  He was almost upon Eason.  As he wondered what Eason would do, James felt his legs and arms tense slightly, because he knew that Eason was extremely likely to dodge.  Idly, James wondered why he decided to rough house with a six-two fourteen stone beater, but decided that such thoughts were better left alone…lest he start believing the rubbish about the intelligence of quidditch players.

It was his, all his! Ha! Well, so he thought. His lovely flat mate of a chaser, that was one James Forrester, was not having it this way. Eason had snagged the last biscuit, ready to munch down on it at any given moment. Currently, the piece of sugary goodness was in his left hand, behind his back. Afterall, he was 'The Left-Handed Leapling' and if James knew any better, he'd use that knowledge to get the biscuit. If he took from his left, the biscuit could easily be his, unless Eason tricked him and switched hands, though it wasn't likely to happen. He was horrible with his right hand, regardless of the situation.

At once, James declared the biscuit would not be Eason's, at which Eason lightly smirked, turned the biscuit around, and took a bite. "Oh, really, Jamie-pooh?" He let out a laugh, but was instantly silenced when he realized James was coming upon him. He only had a few seconds to think, and like most would believe that large framed beaters were of the unintelligent persona, Eason was not quite that way. Quickly, he slide to the floor and crawled out under James legs. A wise move, but slow. He had to make up for the lost time, seeing as James was a quick bastard. Getting up off the floor quickly, he tumbled to his left, jumped James, and held the man against the counter he'd been leaning against.

"Not so nibble now, are we, Jack-be-quick?" He wasn't sure his friend would get the fairy-tale reference, but nevertheless, he had a few inches on the chaser, and quite a bit more muscle, so James was, for the time being, trapped against the expensive counters they'd easily agreed to split the rent upon.

James watched as Eason slid to the floor, and then went underneath James legs.  James wondered what he was doing, but was surprised by the man actually jumping him.  James's first instinct was to duck, but he actually did not want to concuss Eason on the counters or cabinets.  Consequently, Eason had managed to pin him up against counter.   The fairy tale reference flew over James’s head, but James was plotting his next move.  Without waiting for Eason to explain Jack-be-quick, James stepped on Eason’s foot.  Typically, James would try something cleaner in an attempt to break a pin or lock.  However, Eason had called him Jamie Pooh in response to the challenge.  To James, it clearly warranted dirtier tactics than their usual rough and tumbles.  As James felt Eason’s grip ease up, James immediately jumped on the counter.  Since he was in a confined space, he had to take the maneuver a bit slower than normal, and jumped over the left-handed leaper.  While he was in midair, James decided he needed to put space between himself and Eason.  James landed in a summersault, got up, and turned around to face Eason.

“It is going to take more than that to defend that biscuit from me.  HAVE AT THEE!” James yelled, simultaneously suppressing a laugh as well as taken on an arrogant blue-blooded tone.  As James once again dived at the sugary morsal, he wondered if this was really necessary.  James knew the answer to that, but decided that this method of getting the cookie was far more fun.  Besides, Eason had already taken a bite of the biscuit.  ‘How typical it is for me to get the second bite of something’ James thought to himself.  Still, James shook the thought off.  He knew that all was fair in love, war, food fights (or fights over food), and quidditch. 

As James somersaulted out from Eason's weight, Eason turned to face his 'lover' in the battle over the biscuit. This was turning into a strong, yet preposterous and hilarious argument and battle. The cookie was pulled out once again and Eason shook it lightly in the air, mocking James to come and get it. With a quick shout of a musketeer, James was coming at Eason rather quickly. Afterall, he was a chaser and they tended to be light on their feet. Not quick enough this time, Eason felt the blow as James toppled onto him, the biscuit flying from hand, landing somewhere between their rather expensive sofa and the fire place. "You beggar! Look what you've done!" Eason yelled at him, trying to escape under his weight.

He started crawling toward the biscuit like a cat out of water, on his hands and knees as fast as he could. However, he figured this time it would be a lost battle. It wasn't that he necessarily needed the biscuit, as sugary and sweet as it was, but more the fact that he just wanted to win this one. He had doubt now though, and he was on the floor, James still atop him, and it was James who had the upper hand in grabbing the sweet pastry lying so helpless on the floor feet away from them.

It was there.  The biscuit, just slightly out of both there reaches.  It was so close, yet so far.  Not wanting to injure the man underneath him, James slid off to the side of Eason, and then jumped, finally grabbing the cookie.  James looked at his prize.  It was bitten, filled with whatever else was on the carpet, and it did not look like something someone would want to eat.  ‘Of course, that really was not the point.  The point was for glory, for honor, for ah !%#!#$^! it’ James thought to himself.  Ironic, after going through all that insanity for the sugary morsal, it did not even look appetizing. 

“Beggar!  Hah.  I am a prince,” James declared, full of pomp.  “Hmph! Have this you pauper!” James yelled, tossing the biscuit at him.  After all, at this point, the biscuit did look like something that one might sacrifice to the family pet.  After declaring this, James decided that enough was enough.  After all, this place was expensive, and James did not want to lose the deposit.  It took two quidditch players to split the rent, afterall. 

“So…I’m opening another box, want one?” James asked his roommate.  He assumed that Eason had actually intended to eat the cookie before James attacked him like a pack of canines on a three-legged feline.  After opening up a box, setting it on the table, and eating a couple of biscuits, James eyed the broom closet.

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” he asked the American, having an evil™ look in his eyes. 

The biscuit was tossed to him as he still lay on the floor, slightly disoriented. "Oh, so because it's tainted by carpet, it goes to me now?" He scoffed as he returned to an erect position before situating himself on the sofa. Being as blunt and brash as he was, eating a dirty biscuit wasn't going to hurt him, so he did just that. "And you, sir, are no prince. Well, maybe a prince of basturds, as you tackled me for a biscuit, you crazy psycho." He smiled as he finished off the last of the morsel.

Of course James would open a new box. Only the best for the 'prince' of the apartment. Seeing as he was the pauper, he'd most likely have to beg the man, but Eason on his knees wasn't going to happen for James anytime soon. 'Or ever.' Eason thought to himself, 'Well, I don't know... nah.' He couldn't fathom the thought at the moment, but he never ruled out anything. Just as his thought finished, though, James indicated the broom closet.

Eason gave him a stare of disbelief before commenting. "If you want to my lips on yours, brother, all you gotta do is ask me. I don't think we have to hide it in a broom closet, seeing as we're the only ones who inhabit the place." He laughed. "Or we're you insinuating the use of props?"

“Ah yes, I am Cernunnos to a Tee,” James responded to the taunt.  He wondered if his flatmate would even pickup the reference to the Celtic god, but decided it didn’t matter.  James was debating whether or not he should explain the reference when Eason made a rather lewd comment.  James was not thinking along those lines, but that can of worms would not be closed.  Ordinarily, James would just gloss over the remark, but that opening was too big to miss.

“You know, just because my broom is bigger than yours is no reason to get jealous.  Good lord, you speak as if we do not use them at least five times a week,” James started rather humorously.  He then switched tones to something less frivolous, and continued, “What I was thinking, me klein freund*, had more to do with a game of keep away on the brooms.  After all, we do have a box of cookies…” James said, tossing Eason another biscuit.  He then proceeded to eat one himself.

As he was chewing the biscuit, James idly wondered if Eason took all the admittedly queer actions in the locker room too seriously.  James knew that those antics happened on every quidditch team with more than two blokes, but that was because everyone knew that once the game was over; every quidditch player was doing the horizontal tango with a pretty young witch.  James decided to ignore his reservation for now, and decided to talk a little shop.  Finishing the biscuit, he started again…

“Anyways, we have a game in Montrose on the tenth.  I was thinking that if we did this keep away thing outside, we could get in some practice as well as likely be less injured.  More importantly, it gives us an excuse to go flying…” James lead, trying to see what Eason thought of the idea.


*my good friend

Whatever the hell James was referring to, it flew over his head. But at the proposal of the use of brooms, Eason let out a small pip of a laugh. "Please, I'm not as abusive of my broom as you are." He got up off the couch and placed a hand on the shoulder of James. "You see, I don't need the the practice as much as you, as I am naturally a beater." He winked and then walked over to their fridge, extinguishing a bottle of red wine from the back. Taking out a glass fit for the liquid, he popped the top and poured himself a half-glass. "No more cookies for me, thanks."

As he watched James, he could tell the man was a tad bit uncomfortable by his jokes. He knew that the boys would joke in the locker rooms, but most of them would take their girls home at the end of the night. But Eason was... different. Sure, he took a girl out from time to time, but the company of men was more his game, and James knew it, too. Hell, James had seen a man or two exit Eason's room in just a towel before. At the moment though, Eason just gave him a scowl, practically reading his thoughts, but let it slide. The wine was to make him forget, or at least numb him, anyways.

Finishing the glass, he took out another clean one and set it on the counter. "I would say yes, my flat mate, but seeing as I just brought out the delicious crimson inebriation, I don't think I'll be capable of flying my broom without slamming into a few unknowing pedestrians. Would you like a glass?" He offered the empty glass to James with one hand, as he poured himself another half glass with his other hand.

James snorted slightly as he heard the comment about being a natural beater.   He idly wondered if this would lead into broom polishing jokes.  After hearing Eason’s next two statements, James looked at his flat mate as if he had grown another head.  First he claimed that he did not want any more cookies.  James thought it was understandable after that last bout of insanity.  He was floored when Eason did not want to go flying?  Admittedly, they both actually did use their brooms five times a week, but still.  It was flying .  James enjoyed nothing else in the world more, which was why he got into quidditch in the first place.   While admittedly getting drunk could be a good time, James usually only did that if he was either too tired or could not fly.  As it was he had spent most of the day studying omnocular film of the Montrose keeper,  he wanted to do something slightly more athletic.

“I think I’ll go play hide and seek with a snitch.  And I sincerely doubt that a couple of glasses are going to slow you down,” James stated, incredulity evident on his face.  James wondered why he was worried about pedestrians.  Though Sedbury did have a fair amount of muggles, it was doubtful they would show up at the practice facility.  ‘Worst case scenario, we disillusion ourselves and fly over there if he is unfit to apparate’ James thought.  James doubted that anyone could ever get drunk enough not to be able to fly a broom after playing at a professional level as well.

As James walked over to the broom closet, he pulled out his broom.  Grabbing a couple of seeker gloves and pair of quidditch boots, James put the gear on top of his robes.  He looked at Eason, and asked “Should I grab your broom too, or are you going to call it a night?”

The thought of quidditch didn't thrill him very much at the moment. That was why he'd taken to the wine. James probably knew it, though never spoke of it, that Eason was, in essence, an alcoholic. Granted he generally only drink of the lighter stuff, but he was so stocked up on it, he drink until his vision blurred. And at the moment after their biscuit debacle, as childish and humorous as it was, Eason felt the need for several glasses of wine. Seeing as James wasn't going to have one, he put the other glass back in the cabinet. After finishing off his second, he again poured another and began to drink it like water, as if he'd been in a stranded desert for days on end.

He watched James put on the equipment and grab the broom, whilst offering him to do the same. "James, I don't think the broom and I are going to be making any time together tonight. I just don't have it in me." He sighed, took the bottle and his glass, and walked over to the sofa, where he again situated himself. He actually wanted James to stay and keep him company, but he didn't know if he could persuade him to put the quidditch gear back. It was rather late, and in the dark, Eason wasn't much for riding a broom, even if the arena was lit. And especially with three glasses in his system, he was liable to knock James with the bludger bat.

Turning his head to James, he gave a half-smile. "Why not just stay in tonight? We're already the top team in the U.K. I could use the company, you know? This big flat with just one tenant, well, it does get rather lonely." He sighed, and took out his wand, pointing it to the window and murmuring something under his breath. Immediately, a game of the Harpies versus the Falcons, an all girls against all boys match, was running across the glass.

James watched Eason drown three glasses in quick succession.   

“Going to shoot the moon tonight?  At the rate you are going, you will be unable to use a broom tomorrow.  Should I prep a hangover cure for you, or would you prefer to take the matter into your own hands?” James asked.  Secretly, James thought that was the best thing to come out of his potions class.  It was one of the few potions he still regularly made.  He certainly had used it a few times before, and he guessed Eason had at least procured some before, if not made them himself.  Still, James never took Eason for an alcoholic.  James guessed he kept it well hidden, because this was the first time that he had seen Eason drink so much in rapid succession.

As James heard Eason ask him to stick around, James shook his head.  As much as he wished he could take some time off from time to time, he was not as talented as most of the other players on the team and he knew it.  That was why he did not start.  “Dissecting tactics is always a good time.  Dissecting tactics of opposing teams with a glass of firewhiskey is even better.  Unfortunately I have spent too much time studying Woolfolk today.  Rumour has it that I might actually start in the next match.  I also need to review film of Irving as well, incase our seeker decides that bludgers are in fashion this time of year…even though I have never seen him get injured during a match.  Still, the coach wants me to play as his reserve…and he still has me doing seeker drills during practice” James explained to his friend.  He did like his job after all, and wanted to keep it...even if he was not starting.  It would not be the first time James’s professionalism prevented him from doing something that actually sounded relaxing.   

It seemed as though Eason wasn't going to get his way tonight. Turning his face to James, he sighed, shook his head and then turned back around. Taking the wine, he corked it and got up, walking to the fridge and placing it  in the back with the other ten bottles. His eyes were slightly red around the edges, but he could walk somewhat in a straight line. He walked over to James, and held out his hand.

"Well, brother, I guess I'll be joining you if you won't concede to me." He gave a slight laugh, and then reached into the closet, grabbing his gear and slowly putting it on. As he tried slipping on his pads, he slipped and fell into James, knocking into his legs. It was a rather hard fall, and Eason had a throbbing in his head after that, but he sat up on the floor, and blew up, hitting a a few strands of his hair with the air. "Sorry, mate, wine goes through me pretty hard."

James felt his legs go out from under him.  Not having time for further thought, he slapped the floor bringing a mild stinging sensation to his gloved hand.  After taking the fall, James shot a concerned look at Eason.  At Eason’s height and mass, three glasses of wine should not have slowed him down that much.  James could drink that much, and still be well enough to apparate.  James thought that by his mass that Eason could at least handle four glasses, but maybe Eason had a bit to drink earlier.  He had no idea when Eason could have drank anything else though, they just got back from practice. 

“Ok, I am making that hangover cure,” James said.  He took off his quidditch gloves, and went over to the kitchen, and began prepping ingredients.  As he chopped various ingriedients, he dragged out a caldron and put it on the stove.  After placing a self stirring rod in the cauldron, he cast

“Incendio .  You know, I thought you were joking when you said you could not handle a broom tonight.  Right now I am afraid you would have twigs fall off your broom if you tried anything.  Anyways, that potion needs to simmer for six to eight hours.  I think it is going to be an early night for you though…so no need to worry about taking the cauldron off the flame,” James commented.

Leaving the potion alone, he put his gloves back on.  “Try not to have too much fun without me,” James said, walking towards the door.