*with apologies to North Dallas 40

James had heard rumours for some time.  Apparently, he was going to move onto greener pastures whether he wanted to or not.  James was peeved at being traded away.  This was one of the harder things he had done.  It was not so much the signing of all the mindless paperwork, and finally getting the reporter to shutup after asking him so many questions about things that he did not know.  Like he would honestly have an opinion on the Falcons organization, considering he had yet to practice with them?  While he realized that the reporter had a job to do and he needed the publicity, he just wished that the reporter could have been more tactful about the entire thing.  Knowing that it was the last time he would be in the home-team lockers, James slowly walked into the changing rooms.

He stared at his locker.  Big, block letters clearly spelled out "FORRESTER" over the top of it, proclaiming to the world that his possessions were here.    Consciously, he knew there was an upside to this trade in that it was highly likely he would be playing more, but letting go of something that had been more constant than his playtime and living arrangements for over three years was difficult.  He was sorely tempted just to instruct someone to ship his stuff to his new address and be done with it.  In short truth, that probably would have been easier for all concerned parties.  The issue with that was that no one really wanted to clean out someone elses locker.  As James looked at the various practice snitches and quaffles that had accumulated over the years, he let a small smile grace his face.

James did not really want to leave Tutshill.  He was not surprised the Tornadoes let him go,  since he knew that they had expected more from him from the get-go.  It did burn James that Tutshill was releasing him as quickly as he had started performing well for them.  James figured that they would probably replace him with someone younger, cuter, or perhaps less bitter.  Considering the number of people in that last category, it probably would not be too hard.  Grabbing a couple of snitches and a number of practice Jerseys, he angrily moved his clothing from the locker to his duffle bag and glared at it.  Knowing that this was not a particularly mature thing to do, and wondering if the team had someone there watching him, James sighed and tried to calm himself down.  It worked slightly. 

Methodically moving things from his locker to his bag, he worked a bit slowly, unsure if he just wanted to hurry this moment up and be done with it or take the time to enjoy what would likely be his last memory of this particular place.

Ian Cuddyer shielded his eyes from the flashing bulbs of the corps of cameras staked outside of the Tornados locker room. Despite the years of seemingly endless media attention, he still could not quell his feelings of distaste for it. In the extreme, it often made him nauseous. And that was how he was beginning to feel right about now.

In truth, he had an inkling that this would happen. Rumors had been abound for weeks that a trade was in the works and his PR team had even spoken to him about the many appealing options that were floating around. It was well known that his contract with the Tornado had only been for a year and even if he fancied staying for the entire duration, the possibility of that not happening had always been there. And who knew what would happen at the end of the year. Perhaps he wouldn't even be in the UK.

Ian rushed inside of the safehaven that was the player's lockerroom and once the door was closed behind him, he allowed a sigh to fall from his lips.

Perhaps some of his former teammates had already come to collect their things prior to his arrival, but when he looked around, he saw that he was not the only person there. He slowly made his way over to where his belongings were kept. His last name and number seemed to be mocking him as he took a seat on the bench in front of it.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there just staring at its contents but movement nearby eventually pulled his attention away. Ian glanced over to see  James Forrester filling up his bag.

Clearing his throat, Ian ventured an uncomfortable, "Hey." Then he quickly mumbled, "What a circus this has all created, huh?"

James did not even hear Ian enter the locker room, and did not even acknowledge the younger man's presence until he spoke up.  James current planet had a bitter front coming through with a high chance of sarcasm, but he imagined that Ian was taking this worse than he was.  The young man, unlike James, had enough talent to be drafted straight out of school and did not yet realize how cut-throat this business was.

"Heh.  A circus.  Never thought about it quite like that, but you are correct.  The media in a frenzy, the players making living arrangements, and the coaching staff frantically rewriting playbooks.  You know what, $!@$! it all.  I need a drink.  You want some?" James asked, unshrinking a bottle of Ogden's finest.  James realized that he was probably breaking half-a-dozen regulations at this point, but what were the Tornadoes going to do...fire him?  It's not like he would be a member of the organization for much longer anyways.

"You know, I also think we should leave the front office something to remember us by," James said, mentally going over all of the childish pranks he had tried at Durmstrang.  He was severely tempted to just hex everyone in there and be done with it, but even as angry as James was right now, he knew that would not end well. 

Wondering if he would need to encourage Ian to assist him in this minor magical malfeasance, James took a good look at the keeper.  It looked as though he had seen better days.  If James was not so jaded himself right now, he would probably sit and talk to Ian about the business aspects of this sport.  Unfortunately for both of them, James was not inclined to be a good mentor or role model.  He simply wanted the day to end, but he still had stuff to pack and Ian looked like he could use some support.