WHO: Miles Lufkin and Charlotte Sweeting
WHAT: Comments and the like are made!
WHERE: Outside Magpie Pitch!
WHEN: Tonight??



After a long match, Miles finally made it out of the locker room of Magpies Stadium. He had never been so miserable playing the game he once loved, but here he was, in Montrose with their drunken management and fans who were sloshed before the snitch was released. It made it hard to actually care, and it showed. For example, Miles’ agent usually had to drag him away from the fans standing outside the players’ exits, but now? He barely lifted his head at the small crowd that was gathered.

A whistle caught his attention however, as he made his way past the fans. Miles looked up and spotted a small gaggle of rather pretty girls that were waving him over. Well, the Magpies fans might be drunkards and obnoxious, but at least some of them managed to be good looking. Who knows, they did not even seem that pissed.

“Did you ladies enjoy the game?” Miles said smoothly, pulling back his hood and conjuring a quill out of his pocket. He sent a smile particularly toward the redhead, who seemed much more put together than her friends.

One of the great things about working at the WWN was that every so often there would be tickets to various quidditch games up for grabs. Not too often for Lottie as people with higher standings usually got first pick, but this time around she got lucky. Well, only so lucky as it was tickets for a Magpie game, but she wasn’t above working with what she had. A pro quidditch game was still good fun even if it wasn’t The Pride. (Though if she really wanted to go to a Pride game, she was certain that her father would take her if she asked nicely.)

At least there was the nice bonus that Miles Lufkin now played for the the team, though why he would ever leave the Pride was beyond Charlotte. What she would give to get the gossip behind that trade. She was just about to leave when she overheard a giggling group of witches remark they were heading down to see if they could get autographs. Well, what sort of aspiring reporter would she be if she let an opportunity such as that pass by?

It was easy enough to join in with the other girls, and Lottie was sure she had the advantage of standing out. Not only was she prettier, but she also actually had an understanding of how the game was played. How these other girls expected to keep the attention of a player only knowing that the snitch ended the game and was worth the most points was beyond her.

She hung back slightly as the other witches raced to answer Miles’ query. Waiting until he worked his way down the line of girls wanting autographs, she smiled back.

"It was certainly better than I was expecting,” Lottie offered honestly, pulling out her journal for him to sign the inside cover. She’d like to say she was just playing the part, but honestly, she wouldn’t mind having his autograph for personal reasons as well. “Would it be rude of me to ask for you to sign in purple, or perhaps gold?”

Miles couldn’t help his sneer at the comment, and continued to sign with his black quill. He’d always had such an issue with redheads, and this one was proving no different. After he’d signed the programs for the other more giggly girls, he snatched her journal out of her hand and quickly scratched his signature, obnoxiously on the cover.

“It is quite rude, actually,” he said with a forced smile, tilting his head. Miles had no desire to deal with fresh fans, especially those who knew where to poke and prod. She’d have to flash more than just her pretty smile if she wanted to get anything else out of him.

“Do you find pleasure in harassing people you don’t know?” he asked as her friends disappeared with shrill giggles. Miles jerked his head toward them, “You’re missing all the fun.”

Lottie couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face at the autograph, not at all caring how much space it was taking up. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but she was a rather big Pride fan, surely he could appreciate that. It was clear he didn’t want to be here. She hugged her journal when she got it back.

“Most days, yes,” she hummed rocking back on her heels, “Today isn’t one of them though. I generally try to be nice to players that carry the team.”

Putting her journal away she followed his gaze as the other girls retreated, wrinkling her nose. “Hmm, I think I’ll pass. Not exactly my idea of fun. They are too busy giggling over which player is prettier to appreciate the game," Lottie commented with a dismissing wave of her hand.

Charlotte took her opportunity to study Miles.

"Well, Mr. Lufkin. I suppose if anyone can turn this mess of a team around, it‘s going to be you. Montrose was wise to get someone from the Pride, takes stealing from the best to clean up the mess Wadcock created and McFarlan continued.” She pushed off the barrier that she had been leaning on to take her leave. She wanted to stay, ask more questions but it seemed as though she had already pushed her luck. It wasn’t likely for him to give her anything now. “Thank you for the autograph. It means more than you know. Good luck with your last game, I’ll be watching. I may bleed purple and gold, but one has to keep track of her favorites.”

His gaze of annoyance shifted easily into one of intrigue. She most definitely did not speak like the regular girls that found their way back here. Especially since she was a Pride fan. Miles had played nearly a half season in Montrose, and he still found it very hard to associate himself with the Magpies. It was nice to hear that someone other than his surly teammates had missed his presence back in Portree. Miles straightened up, deciding to give in to her little game of compliments and insight.

“One of your favorites?” he asked, not bothering to act surprised. Miles shifted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. His smile was wideand mischievous. “Why is that? It cannot possibly be my lightning fast reflexes or my killer, shark-like instincts, no?”

Miles winked at her, having decided that she had redeemed her initial impression; he had not had his feathers fluffed in some time, and was not about to pass up the opportunity. “You could tell me over drinks.”

“Oh?” Lottie paused at the offer. It wasn’t necessarily unexpected, but she thought she would definitely have to try and come back. She certainly couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased with herself, getting asked out by a professional quidditch player. Shame she was mostly doing this for the gossip, though…

She gravitated back towards Miles. Yes, she had gone out on a few dates with Adian, and he was extremely nice to her, but sometimes it was just so hard to get him to talk. Right now, she couldn’t think of a reason to turn Miles down. It was just drinks. It wasn’t like she ever said that she was exclusively seeing Adian. Though Halloween had been fun.

Shaking the thought from her head, she couldn’t help but blush at the wink. “Well I suppose. I couldn’t possibly turn such an offer down. One drink for every reason why you are obviously in the lead for favorite quidditch player?”

“I would not want you to get alcohol poisoning,” Miles said, checking his watch. His new manager had attempted to force a curfew on him, but Miles had far more fun gloating about how far past it he’d been up the night before. Who honestly cared what time your players went to bed when they still managed to perform at their highest capabilities? Plus, Miles was not planning to stay in Montrose for long, therefore it did not matter how much people liked him here.

Miles ducked under the gate that separated the fans and the players, standing indecently close to the redhead (whose name escaped him, or had he bothered to get it? Probably the latter…). If anything, she would amuse him greatly for a bit, whether it be by showering him with compliments, bashing the Magpies and mourning the loss of his purple and gold jersey, or by a more physical manner. Miles was sure he could accomplish all three tonight, but he decided to be accepting of any outcome.

Though, really, going three-for-three was really more his thing. It would be horrible for his reputation if he didn’t.

“Follow me, ma rousse.”