Outfit

Fir was on a mission. No, not from Gawd. From himself. Which made it the most important mission in the world.

Being the wonderful little socialite that Fir was, of course he had his ear to the ground (figuratively speaking of course- have you seen what student rod all over the floor? Ew.) for all of Hogwarts' little rumors and the habits and schedules of it's students and staff. It didn't take a socialite to know Fir's current mission was a Quidditch player. But where he was likely to be on a Saturday afternoon? Well that was another thing. Though honestly, Fir would have been happy to see if he could 'Accio' the guy, but that probably wouldn't help Fir's mission.

Finally he found exactly who he as looking for. One Erin Harper. Slytherin. Fifth year. Sometimes Moody. Known Quidditch player. Friendly acquaintance. And future cohort.

"Erin! Oh buddy o pal, how are you doing? Fancy running into you," Fir called sweetly, waving his hand happily as he slid over next to the boy. And yes it was a TOTAL coincidence Fir just happen to run into the guy.

Erin, for his part, was not aware that he was being sought. He didn't exactly make himself easily found, but it wasn't on purpose; he just liked, every now and again, to be on his own. Either that or his own restless urges drove him all over the castle in search of something exciting, something to get his blood pumping - yet all the wonders of Hogwarts got pretty boring after the fifth year of moving staircases and shrieking portraits, and seldom did he find adventure anymore. So far, being chased after by the statue of the hump-backed witch brought to life had been the highlight of his month.

He was sitting in a windowsill, idly relishing the chill of the stone and glass and generally just zoning out, when one of his more eccentric housemates found him. 

"Erin! Oh buddy o pal, how are you doing? Fancy running into you."

Erin glanced up, eyes widening at the sudden intrusion of space as Cuween slid into the sill next to him. The guy seemed to take up a lot more space with his dark clothing and porcupine-hair... well, Erin'd been involved with Beatrix AND Bellatrix Dark for a while, weird clothing and hair colors didn't bother him. It was just that it was so big...

Forced to do so by the intrusion of the older boy, Erin sat up properly, dropping his legs off the sill and turning his head to face Fir.
"Yeah?" he asked warily, rubbing the back of one cold arm to warm up. "Fancy."

Did Fir notice  the wide eyes on his housemate's face? Yes, but he hardly paid it any attention since he got similar looks. A lot. Like at least five times a day. It was an unfortunate side effect of being so dashing and charming in one convenient package. And by unfortunate, he meant awesome.

And look, Erin was sitting all upright and at attention. Wasn't that adorable? Kind of unnecessary, but still. A token gesture was always appreciated.

The younger Slytherin's reply (if it could really even by called that) was a far cry from even a token anything. Hmm. He'd have to work on that. Because Fir would not have one of his cohorts falling into the trap of the one-worded athlete. It had already been done to death soooo many times. Fir loathed the predictable. No, no. It simply wouldn't do. There needed to be some sort of a visual and a verbal edge to increase the interest factor.

"Me? Why I'm doing just grand, thank you for asking," Fir said, giving Erin a smile as if he had really heard 'Oh Fir! Good to see you old chap. How have you been?'

"But enough about me," Fir said waving his hand dismissively. "I want to talk about you. Specifically your skills with a broom."

"Me? Why I'm doing just grand, thank you for asking."

Erin gave Fir a deeply unimpressed look in response to his dazzling smile and grandiose manners. The older Slytherin was far too cheerful on this bleak winter's day than any person in their right minds could be. Erin didn't know Fir too well, but he'd seen him in the common room any number of times, dancing around as he went through his looted make-up or spelling his hair or someone else's different colors (occasionally without their knowledge- there were often shrieks). They'd never had any real interaction, and now Erin had to think back and remember whether the older boy was always like this or if he was just unlucky.

....No, Erin was pretty certain he remembered this sing-songy manner of molestation before, too damned cheerful for his ears on the worst of days and duly ignorable the rest of the time.  Playing along had never been an option; they were not that close.

"What of them?" he asked, assuming that Fir, like the occasional student before him, was here to inform Erin that he'd better win their eventual Slytherin game because he'd bet money/had someone to impress/wanted to win the House Cup/any number of reasons that caused him to take a personal interest in Erin's catching the Snitch. He surveyed Fir with mild interest, wondering whether he was about to receive a threat or a bribe. Hopefully the latter, if only because it was so much more profitable. It was a bit early for people to be approaching him about the game, though. Maybe Cuween had something he wanted to be certain of.

Fir continued to smile through Erin's blank, flat, boring stare. Really the aloof athlete had just been done before. That wouldn't do at all. But Fir was certain there was potential there and mining potential was one of Fir's greatest skills. Along with his incredible modesty.

But honestly, it took a certain creative genius to be able to look at one's flat, boring nature-given hair and create the signature masterpiece that Fir now sported.

But, what was this? A reaction that was an actually legitimate response, not a shrug or a grunt or a one-worded sentence. See, headway was being made already.

"Well you see, I was thinking the other day that your talents, while considerable and a great asset for the house team, can't really be getting enough attention they deserve," Fir said. "I mean, there's not really that many house games when you think about it, and I can imagine training gets quite predictable and dull. That's not really the best way to better flying skills, is it? And such an awful waste, really. So I had an idea to help you fix that erroneous oversight of the inter-house Quidditch league."

Now ask what it is. Aaaaaaask. Raise and eyebrow. Frown in a contemplative manner. Doooooo iiiiiiiiit.

Suspicion bloomed as Cuween waxed poetic on Erin's considerable, overlooked talents. It seemed less likely to be a good sign if the other boy was so reluctant to just come out and say what he'd come here to say. But then, maybe Erin was being too rash. Just because he was blunt and impatient didn't mean all Slytherins were - quite the opposite. Still, the dancing around topics got a little tiring for Erin, not least of all because by the time a person got to the end of some of the particularly verbose propositions, sometimes he'd already forgotten what'd been at the beginning.

He frowned a little, an expression that quickly turned into a scowl. He leaned forward and waved a hand dismissively, impatiently - "C'mon, then, out with it. Tell me."

Ah Ha! Impatience. Always a good sign when proposing a business venture. Fir understood completely. Honestly yesterday was too late as far as Fir was concerned and he sympathized with Erin's shared desire to get the broom rolling. Or at least Fir was certain how the impatience of the other boy would pan out.

"Delighted to see you on the edge of your seat. I feel exactly the same," Fir said cheerfully. He was sure that scowl would turn into a gushing grin in no time.

"Racing," Fir said simply as if that explained everything. Now some people might leave it there to increase the 'air of mystery' and forcing Erin to further question the conversation. Fir, however, could not leave it at a one word response for one simple reason: it would require him to shut up.

"I'm putting together a little racing circuit and I find myself in need of players," Fir said, "Besides myself that is. But of course they'll be some monetary rewards for winners. Want to make things interesting you see. Now, what model do you ride again?"

Edge of his seat, right. Unbeknownst to Erin, he actually was on the edge of his seat, but it was less in delightful anticipation of whatever Fir had to say and more building annoyance that he wouldn't just come out and say it. "Look, just get on wi - "

Racing.

Erin stilled. Then he blinked, long and sweet, all thoughts of Fir having him on completely wiped away. He didn't even need the further details before Fir's prediction came true, and his blue eyes crinkled at the edges in a genuine grin.

"Cor," he said happily, "That's brilliant! How'd you think of that, Cuween?" He paused for a moment, tilting his head at the mention of "monetary rewards."His eyes dropped briefly in thought, then flickered back up. "Where and when? And - ah - I ride an Astrum 5000."

His Astrum wasn't the top of the market, but it was pretty damn close. While Erin couldn't care less about most things, he took care of his Quidditch supplies. Of course, he wasn't even thinking about defeat. But how brilliant would it feel to have another excuse to fly - and that he'd be competing was only icing on the cake.

Yeah, you know you had a killer plan when you rendered someone speechless merely by speaking it aloud. Pat on the back Fir. Pat on the back. But later,  in private, because actually patting yourself on the back tended to make you look like you were doing some version of the chicken dance.

But back to Erin, who now wore a grin instead of a frown. Further proof that Fir's smiles were in fact highly contagious and if not benign, would require a yearly vaccination.

"Hey, hey now, I get good ideas," Fir said, feigning insult. "Believe it or not, I enjoy a bit of racing myself but lack competition, an adoring crowd and a killer pyramid scheme. Astrum 5000 is perfect. You'll be a crowd pleaser, I'm sure with that broom and those looks."

It was actually better if no-one had top of the line, really. If someone had a Firebolt or whatever was the latest model being used in the big-leagues, well then there would be such an advantage to that rider it'd make the betting rates boring.

"But to answer your question, Room of Requirement," Fir said. "I'm working on the track right now, but I'm still gathering up racers. How soon can you race and who else do you know wants in to play, watch or bet?"

"Heh, okay." Erin was pleased now, and in a much better mood. Even all of Cuween's spiky hair in such a small space didn't bother him. "You planning on getting any of those things, or are you gonna settle for this instead? I wouldn't want you to back out." Merlin, but he couldn't wait for this. "This'll be soon, right? There's no Quidditch because of the weather - best to do it now if you're trying to get some of the players."

The Room of Requirement - but that meant - "You found it?" Erin asked, truly shocked. He'd been looking ever since he came to Hogwarts, but pretty idly; he hadn't even been sure if it was real or not. "Where? On which floor?" He leaned back until his back hit the window, receiving a jolt of cold for his efforts. "Er, well, I can start whenever. Tomorrow, if you want, I'm pretty free. As for players, you can hit up all the teams, obviously... I assume we're keeping this quiet? Don't tell Sellaphix, then."

"Now, Erin," Fir said chidingly. "Me? Back out? Change my mind? You insult me."

His mock hurt would have more merit if Fir didn't have the attention span of a goldfish. Something shiny and BAM- he as one until something equally shiny got dangled in front of them. Half the reason he had such a slight frame was he often got too bored with his food to finish even half of it.

"Of curse I found the Room of Requirement," Fir said, rolling his eyes. "Who do you think you're talking to, here. And YOU get to find out on race day. I'll send you a letter. I was thinking Ministry of Magic style with password protection ink. Something easy to remember, like 'Fir Cuween is my hero.'"

Other Quidditch players, but of course. Fir hadn't thought of that at all. Hence why he was talking to a Quidditch player. Maybe Erin would just be one of those eye-candy only racers.

"Well, seeing how you are more familiar with the Quidditch players than me, maybe you could help spread the word, hmm?" Fir asked, smiling all the while. "But thanks for the tip on the weather. Track's nearly complete now, so it shouldn't be too long. And yes, hush hush, don't what the professor's to find out."

Though honestly, he was pretty sure he could call in a favor with Snark to have him not get in trouble over it. Hey, he had come through with everything he said he would right? He'd even gotten Fauna to graffiti over her own SAWS posters. His charm knew no limits.

"Me? Back out? Change my mind? You insult me."

Erin only blinked at him, his look of carefully cultivated innocence just as fake as Fir's hurt was. "Oh, I'm awfully sorry," he drawled, and if the big blue eyes on a hardened Slytherin bully weren't clue enough, the sweetness dripping from his tone would be. "I forgot you're sensitive."

Then he waved a hand as if to say, yes, of course, I got it. Cuween had found the room where many others had failed, and thank Merlin. This was going to be brilliant! "Nice password. But maybe you should choose something a little different in case a letter gets intercepted or the word gets spread to the wrong person - that's a little obvious, isn't it? Pins you instantly as the ringleader."

"And sure, I'll ask around. Quiet-like, that is." He was about to mention his distinct lack of social butterfly status, maybe suggest Fir find someone else to help who was a little more talkative, but - duh - that's what Fir was for.

"Well." Fir said with fake huffiness. "Se that you remember, oh star race of mine."

Weren't fake hurt conversations funnn? Fir was glad Erin seemed to be taking his cues rather well. This spoke of good and promising things for heir future as racer and race manager. With their profound understanding of each other, Fir was sure they could rake in the galleons in no time. And Erin might even get a cut. Everybody wins!

"Well I don't see why that would pinpoint me as the ringleader," Fir said with too-wide eyes. "I'm pretty sure I am a hero to half of the midget firsties here. And that's just the tip of the iceburg. Though I suppose it could be interpreted  as incriminating so perhaps I'll take your advice."

Actually to be honest, he wasn't so worried about himself being caught. Surely something like this would be taken to Snark and Fir was pretty sure he had it in good with the woman. Problem solved. Erin might be in trouble though. For his sake and the sake of the other riders Fir would try and come up with something a little less obvious. Because he was a generous and understanding soul like that.

"Perfect!" Fir declared happily. "Glad to have you aboard. Also, what do you think about eventually giving all the racers nicknames. Make things more interesting and all that."