WHO: Saoirse Mullet and Thomas McCormack
WHAT: They reappear!
WHEN: Early morning today!
WHERE: Appleby Pitch!
Saoirse woke with a start, her body involuntarily jerking back toward wall she was apparently slumped against. Taking gulp-worthy breaths, she blinked hastily as the environment surrounded her. This was.... was this stadium? In Appleby? Appleby pitch. How had--- this was not... was that the sun? With effort she rose her heavy hand to shield her bleary eyes and--- a hiccup of shock went through her before she could stop herself and save the energy. Her hands and wrists were
covered in dry blood, her dry blood, she knew that because---
What--- what did she remember? What could she remember? She--- they? They had been... outside the pitch after practice and then.... there had been this man, this
man--- why couldn’t she remember who he was, what he looked like? This man.... and.... shiny objects,
potions, she remembered those things, almost. But then, her head began to ache with such a ferocity a yelp escaped her and Saoirse moved on to figuring out other things while she had consciousness.
A noise, a groan, suddenly came from her left and Saoirse remembered through her foggy headache that she was not alone. “Thomas,” she croaked, dropping her hands to her lap, which then slipped to the ground. Digging her fingers into the dirt, she leaned as forward to see if it was possible to stand up. Letting out a huff, the strength in her arms immediately began to wane, and Saoirse found her face slipping closer to the ground. Would that be the worst thing?
“McCormack,” she tried again, with more vigour as she slinked further toward the grass. Since when had the pitch been this comfortable? “
Thomas,” she sighed, her eyelids getting heavy. She was so
tired from not knowing what was going on.
He was in that strange place, where your mind was awake and rapidly moving and reacting to your surroundings, but your eyes wouldn’t open. Your body wouldn’t move. It felt like a boulder had been placed on his chest and was forcing Thomas to lie as still as possible even though all he wanted to do was throw himself up. To
wake up. Everything hurt, everything was throbbing with pain, and all he could manage to do was while there feeling like gravity was trying to bury him in the dirt of the pitch.
The pitch! Thomas struggled to open his eyes, the sound of his name giving him new found energy. How did he know he was on the pitch? There was his name again---His eyes finally managed to open and the blaring light from the morning sun nearly blinded him. His shoulders were weak, his back ached, but nothing hurt more than his arms, which was strange. He could barely lift them, and even placing light pressure on his wrists to push himself into a sitting position felt like hell.
Hell, he’d been through---
they’d been through---
“Mullet---” he croaked, but his face hurt. Thomas struggled to lift his hand up, to gingerly touch his face.
Merlin, he felt like he’d been smashed in the skull with a beater’s bat, with a bludger. After wincing at the tenderness of his cheeks, Thomas opened his eyes once more and let out a choked sound at the sight of his wrists. Bloody, dried blood streaked down his forearms, the creases of his hands caked in his own blood. What had---what had---He turned towards Saoirse’s voice and grimaced at the sight of his teammate. He gulped, summoning up as much energy as he could to get to his feet, or at least his knees, to help her up. He was her captain, and look at the mess he’d allowed them to get into.
How had this even happened? Everything was so blurry and jumbled, he couldn’t recall anything straight. They’d been jumped, it---happened so fast and awkwardly...he couldn’t even remember any spells being shot, but there they were, completely wrecked.
“Can you stand?” he muttered, his legs shaking under his own weight as he bent to help Saoirse.
Saoirse felt a twinge of annoyance; she did not want to move
now. Getting up had been for before, and this was
later. Later, when her eyes felt heavy and her arms like lead. Like lead! Couldn’t she just lay here for a little bit longer? Would it make such a difference? Sleeping had never felt so nice...
Just as Saoirse was lulling herself back to sleep, she sensed someone--- Thomas--- hovering over, which most certainly jerked herself out of this passive state. Hovering figures did not sit well in her stomach, it made her heart race, and in a flash her eyes were open again. The bright sun did not bother as much this time, but Saoirse still couldn’t help but let out a huff at it. She pushed her forehead down to the ground for support.
“Yes,” she slurred, rather unconvincingly. Not that it mattered, she could because she
would. It was getting up, it was standing-- not an incredibly difficult effort. And more importantly, not an act Saoirse would accept as unable to accomplish in any state, even this one. No one would have the satisfaction of taking that from her.
---- taking....
taking that----! Her eyes wide, Saoirse let go from Thomas’ supportive arm to riffle through her own pockets and folds of her clothes. Her wand!
Her wand, it was--- she pulled back her bottom lip as her memory was confirmed. Her wand was not in its usual hiding place because it had been taken. Her first wand, her only wand; its absence created a certain hollow void in her chest.
With that sudden surge of frantic energy Saoirse had finally been able to stand up, but it did not feel good. Dizzy with pounding eardrums, but up nonetheless. She looked to Thomas with a sad face, very much unable to convey her current thoughts and emotions.
“How did we get here?” she asked in a small voice.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, feeling horrendous. Thomas had no idea where he had been, how long he had been gone, or what the hell had actually happened. As he helped Saoirse up, he realized for the first time how much smaller than him she actually was, and he felt a very intense kind of sadness for letting her get into this mess. Somewhere he knew he was as much of a victim as she was, with whatever had happened, but Thomas felt the guilt hit him hard; he should have been able to protect her.
He could try to do
something now. He put his hand up to block the sun, even though his shoulders ached and blood still dripped from his wrists. Whatever had happened had either been wiped from his mind or he’d blocked it so far out that all he could barely recall a thing. Maybe that was a good thing, but it frustrated him too. Thomas was not someone who did not like being uninformed, and he gestured toward the locker rooms.
“There has to be someone here,” he said. “We should get cleaned up.” As much as he hurt and as bad of a situation he knew the two of them were in, Thomas had no desire for anyone outside of the trusted Appleby organization to see them this way. They could have the healers come to the pitch, they could easily be smuggled into St. Mungo’s---any added attention to this would only worsen the situation. Thomas looked down at himself; he was still in the workout clothes he’d chased after Saoirse in. He hadn’t even had his wallet, or anything in his----Thomas felt around for his wand and bit back a groan.
“Come on,” he said, trying to maintain composure as the idea of his wand being gone took over his every thought. Thomas put on a stern face, limping in the direction of the lockers.
She looked down, her teeth pulling across her dry bottom lip in thought. None of those things sounded like they were going to be easily accomplished. Walking, washing---
talking. Dealing with--- things, people. Although she had no idea how long they had been gone, the likelihood that no one had noticed their lack of presence was doubtful. There was no way that they would be so lucky to only been unreachable for less than twenty-four hours, and therefore be spared of dealing with unanswerable questions. No, that would be too convenient.
Many more questions had begun to fill her mind, but with each one it began to ache more. Saoirse rose her hand to press her palm to the side of her forehead. Now was not the time for immediate answers, apparently. Or thinking at all. Thomas had given some rational things to do, maybe it would best to just turn off and follow his lead.
Feeling a bit lighter with a blank mind, Saoirse noticed she had been standing still in her own thoughts for too long; Thomas had already begun to hobble away. Lips pulled back and throat tight, she held in the absurd pain generating from her knees and began to walk forward as normally as possible. This was horrible.
