WHO: Carys Llwellyn and Drake Parkin
WHAT: She's bothering him while he works out at 5 in the morning
WHERE: The gym!
WHEN: Uhm, doesn't matter really! Backdated? Before they were ~*official*~
STATUS: UNKNOWN but cute enough to post



Carys took a large bite of her apple, holding up the sports section of the prophet as she scanned the latest news. “I think the Kestrals are going to be the ones to watch this year. Could you go a little slower?”

She looked down from her cross-legged seated position on Drake Parkin’s back as he did his push up set. It amused her to no-end how nothing could get in the way of his work out, and she’d decided that since they had the same trainer and she rather liked spending time with him now, that she may as well help out with his exercises. Adding a bit of extra weight could only benefit him, right? Plus, this had to be working on her balance or something, right? She hadn’t wavered once.

Taking another bite of her apple, Carys wiped her hand on her gym shorts and chewed thoughtfully. “That Spinnet can really give you a run for your money as ‘Sexiest Keeper’ for Witch Weekly this year.”

“Don’t - drip - on - me,” Drake managed to get out between each up and down. Usually he liked to work out by himself, but even after she’d been ‘cured’ or whatever those trainers had done to her, Carys hadn’t left and Drake hadn’t said anything to her about it. If she wanted to waste her time sitting around looking at him, well who was he to argue? Drake grunted but slowed his movements a fraction. Enough for her to not complain, but it was certainly enough to feel it.

Drake pushed up and held himself in that position, looking back over his shoulder with a dirty sneer, “If one measures himself by ridiculous notations as such, he deserves it, the fuckin’ ponce.” There was no way anyone but Drake would win though, he paid his publicist way too much for that to happen. “There’s always too much of a good thing when it comes to exposure,” Drake explained. He was good at it, a date out here or there, maybe a party, but never getting caught out looking like some teenager who’d just learned to apparate. Drake knew that excessive partying caused a lack of confidence in your performance, no matter how it did or did not affect your performance. “Plus, he has a weird chin. Hold on.”

Carys couldn’t help but laugh at his description of Spinnet. Honestly, she’d never won any of these silly titles from the mags because she didn’t take herself as seriously as most of the players in the league, which was obvious. It wasn’t her fault that she was naturally good at her job, and yeah, she kept in shape and was a perfectionist in some ways, but the day she got onto the pitch and felt like she was forced to play to win, Carys was sure she’d have to retire her broomstick.

“I’ll still bet on your ass, though,” Carys said with a twist of her lips, not hesitating in smacking, well, his ass with the magazine she’d quickly rolled up. She’d never say it out loud, though it was more than obvious because Carys was very bad at hiding her emotions, but she did enjoy having someone to be around in this way that understood the business. Of course, ninety-five percent of the time she was sure that Drake considered her a nuisance, but she ignored that large percentage and focused on the other five percent of their time spent together----

“----Drake!” she yelped as he moved and she began to tumble to the ground. That bastard!

“Maybe you should, make a lot of money on that,” he said, getting up. He had told her to hold on, but of course she didn’t listen, too busy lost in those thoughts of hers. Drake twisted around quickly to catch her - albeit awkwardly, but it didn’t matter how poor it looked, it was still a catch. Of course one of his hands had managed to catch her on the inside of her thigh and the other around her shoulders. He let her hang there for a moment with a smirk on his face, “You should pay more attention to directions, maybe you won’t get hurt,” he said with a light laugh as he set her down. Drake let his hands linger for a moment, just because he could. Drake was all about proving points.

Looking pleased with himself as he pulled back, Drake grabbed his towel and wiped his face off, thinking about what he should do next. “How’s your head though?” he asked offhandedly. Because he wasn’t all that interested in her health and welfare of course, he was just looking for inside information of course.

Carys mimicked his laugh with a snarl and let herself sit on the floor for a bit to stew in her slight embarrassment. She locked her fingers around her drawn up knees as Drake cleaned up, and she stared up at him before answering. Did he want the real answer or the one she liked to give? Carys had been given the O-K to start training regularly again with the warning that another blow like that could quite possibly cause some permanent damage to her ol’ noggin. But what did that matter, huh? It wasn’t every day that quidditch players got severely hurt like she had. Just every other day.

She wrapped her knuckles against her forehead, “Hard as a rock,” she said with a grin before hopping to her feet. Her butt hitting the floor reminded her that she had something in her back pocket, and Carys pulled out the training snitch she’d snatched from their trainer. She wasn’t a seeker, but the exercises she’d worked on had definitely given her a different point of view of the pitch.

“Are you all business for the rest of the day or would you like to make a bet on that ass right now?” She let the snitch flutter around in between them, “It’s a training snitch, doesn’t fly higher than about six feet---” Which meant eye-height for him, but, “but fast as the real thing. First to catch it....gets what they want?”

Carys, winked and whacked his thigh with the magazine before chasing after the snitch that had darted away.