WHO?: Brynn Priddy & Dylan Vane.
WHAT?: They're being re-introduced!
WHEN?: August 11th.
STATUS?: Finishing in comments!
The lights were low, the music was loud, the crowd was nothing but a sea of familiar, famous faces. It was a situation that a million people around the world would love to be in right now, but to Brynn, it was somewhat relaxing. No one here was interested in her autograph, and she certainly wasn't interested in having theirs. She was there to have fun, and that's exactly what she was doing. Well, sort of. It dawned on her on occasions such as these just how little she was aware of the world around her. If it didn't involve Quidditch or one of a very few select things that she rarely paid attention to outside of it, she knew nothing. Tonight, she'd smiled at and hugged more strangers than she could remember ever having done before in her entire life. Standing at the end of the bar, Brynn sipped idly at mixed drink, tapping the tips of her fingers against the glass. She didn't have long nails. Long nails didn't tend to do so well on the Pitch. It was a casual event, unlike so many other events involving people of certain fame, so she didn't come here dressed to kill. It was a mistake. Upon arriving, she'd immediately felt sort of under-dressed. The other women were wearing cute dresses and high heels and had their faces painted with layers upon layers of make up. Brynn wore a pair of jeans and a plain white tank top. Very little make up was on her face, basically the same amount as she'd wear any other time. While other women had pretty, sleek updoes, Brynn's curly mane was simply let down where it was. It did look a little bit styled, but mousse could do wonders if applied and massaged in directly after a shower. Whatever. They were overdressed. The bloody invitation said casual, didn't it?
She watched the mingling, nodding and smiling herself when addressed, and laughing at whatever passing joke was aimed her way. She was having less and less fun, she noticed, and felt her mood sour slightly. That was, of course, until someone she actually recognized approached her. Brynn smiled brightly and hugged her friend enthusiastically, "Whitney! How have you been?!" Good. No, not good, GREAT. She was feeling better already.
"I'm fine!" Whitney replied quickly, grabbing Brynn's wrist with a grin, "Stop being a wallflower, Priddy!"
Brynn held back slightly in protest, "What?! I'm just having a dri-"
Whitney was already dragging Brynn away, ignoring her resistance to being tugged about like a puppy on a leash, "Bollocks! You've got to meet this bloke, alright?"
Inwardly, she groaned. Now she remembered why she'd been too busy to meet with this particular friend. She'd never met anyone in her life who'd been so determined to set her up with someone. It was like having a pushy, unwrinkly grandmother, eager for great-grandchildren. Merlin. Well, there was no stopping her now, was there? Whitney was dressed to the nines, and whether or not she noticed that Brynn looked like she might be dressed to play a game of backyard rugby or something -- well, it didn't seem to matter to her. Once they'd reached this bloke that Brynn just had to meet, they came to quite an abrupt stop. Brynn was thankful that she had been under-dressed enough to just wear flip flops. They were far easier for her to avoid falling over than high heels were, especially with someone as wild as Whitney at the reigns.
"Felix!" Whitney announced, putting a hand on the man's shoulder and spinning him around to face Brynn, her other hand still firmly grasping her friend's wrist, "Meet Brynn. Brynn, meet Felix." She leaned in towards Brynn conspiratorially, winking. Brynn cringing. Oh boy, a wink. "He's a Hobgoblin," she said, as though bestowing some great secret upon her. It was all Brynn could do to not roll her eyes. Everyone knew who the bloody Hobgoblins were AND their birthdays. It was like cult knowledge, you couldn't miss it if you tried. Obviously, anyway, since even Brynn knew that.
Besides the 'cult knowledge' factor, Brynn knew this guy. Laughing, her cheeks flushing red from the Whitney's ridiculous ceremony, she shook her wrist free of the death grip. "Dylan? I know Dylan." She turned her attention to Felix, smirking, "Remember me?" she asked teasingly, doubting he really would. They were on friendly terms in school, but she had never worked up the nerve to talk to him. Oh, childhood obsessions!
Standing off at one end of the room, conveniently located next to the punch bowl, Dylan Vane nodded his head and smiled, laughing when appropriate, even though he wasn’t paying much attention to whoever was talking to him. It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude, because he wasn’t that kind of guy! He was always the one who would start conversations with anyone, no matter who they were. He was the guy who would take time out of his day to sign an autograph, or listen to a fan rattle off about how she (or he) was The Hobgoblin’s ‘biggest fan’. But right now? Right now, he was
bored. This producer who had found him, was trying to talk him into going solo, and how it would be a ‘fantastic experience for him’. He’d raise his brows, and would smirk, and take a sip of his drink, nodding along to how ‘fantastic his first album’ would be, and how ‘fantastic the record label’ would be, and everything was so
fantastic. Turning his head, he looked over to see Stubby standing near someone, and lifted his drink to him with a smirk when they made eye contact, shaking his head in disbelief. The younger member of the band did the same, knowing exactly who Dylan had gotten stuck talking to. Ugh. This guy went on
forever.
“Oh, that sounds…yeeaah, sounds
great. I’ll really think about that.” He gave the guy a corny thumbs up and a grin, and was about to take another sip of his drink when he felt someone place a hand on his shoulder and spin him around. Oh, thank
Merlin. “Whitney!” he said with the same amount of enthusiasm,
so glad that she had saved him from that producer. Lifting his drink up, he looked over to the woman who he was being introduced to. He appreciated the fact that she wasn’t as dressed up as everyone else was, since…well, neither was he. He was wearing jeans, with a worn in Beatles T-shirt, a blazer worn over it. That was really the most ‘dressy’ thing he bothered to wear, since he was just wearing sneakers, while others were wearing nice, polished shoes…which he really didn’t understand. He casually took a sip when Whitney reminded her of who and what he was, lowering the cup down to furrow his brows.
“Are you kidding? Of course I remember you. Who doesn’t know who the seeker for the Catapults is? Not only that, if I remember correctly, you were a…” He thinks back on it. “Gryffindor, right?” He turns to Whitney, explaining. “We knew each other back in Hogwarts.”
"Really?" asked Whitney, raising her brows, as though to imply that the two more than 'knew' each other. Brynn sort of wanted to smack her. Or herself. Ugh. She took another quick sip of her drink and continued smiling, trying her best not to throw an elbow at Whitney's face. Her forced smile (Brynn wasn't so good at disguising emotion) transformed into a genuine grin at his recognition. Most blokes loved Quidditch and Brynn was pretty well known, but one would be surprised with how often sports were shoved behind music and other aspects of the entertainment industry.
Brynn nodded, "Yeah, a Gryffindor. And you were a ..." she squinted like she was trying to read something from very far away, then announced with certainty a moment later, "A Hufflepuff. Am I right?" As if she could forget, she added to herself, chiding her old childhood crush.
Whitney beamed proudly, fussing with her hair a little and eyeing the dance floor. "You two have fun --" she said before Felix could respond to Brynn's question, "The dance floor is calling my name!" With that, the extraordinarily energetic woman flounced off to the beat of the music.
"Nice seeing you, Whit," Brynn called after her in vain, halfway raising her hand before realizing the fruitlessness of the gesture, completely lost on the woman who was already halfway across the room. Laughing, she turned to face Dylan again, rubbing her forehead. "Wow," she remarked, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, "If only we all could have so much stamina, huh?" Now, since she wasn't too busy being completely embarrassed by Whitney, she had a chance to actually look at him. He looked good. Really good, actually, especially because he was just about as dressed up as she happened to be. Which is, to say, not at all. There was the blazer, though, but still, the sneakers were comforting. Even on the foot wear, however, Brynn was still just a step below with her flip flops. Truth be told, she didn't attend a whole lot of these social things. She wasn't particularly sure of how to act. Dylan really looked much the same as he did back in school, he still had that whole boyish cuteness thing going on -- ugh. She'd never forget that massive crush she had on the guy back in school. Speaking to him had always been out of the question.
“Nope, I just like pretending I know people. We’ve actually never met before.” The words were spoken with such a dry sarcasm, that people might actually believe he telling the truth if they didn’t know him well enough. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans, using the other to continue to hold onto his drink. His attention turned back to Brynn when she spoke, smiling, and about to respond before Whitney interrupted. Looking over to what was apparently ‘calling her name’, he turned back, but she was already on her way over there. It was actually quite amazing how much energy that girl had. His eyes remained on Whit, watching her dance around, only to focus in on the girl who had decided to stick around. And he was very glad that she did, not only because it gave him someone who wasn’t completely boring and obnoxious to talk to, but it gave him a chance to catch up with her. Besides, she was nice to look at. Just an observation!
“I dunno, I kind of like the amount of stamina I have. I’m comfortable
not being wired 24 hours a day, but it looks like she’s perfectly content with it. I commend her.” He said with a shrug of his shoulder and another smirk, looking down at the small amount of liquid that was left in his cup. He cleared his throat and looked up to her again. “So…should I ask what’s new or are the Magazine’s right? Are you
really dating every single member of the Catapults, or are the press
lying? I know how hard of a concept that is to wrap your head around, but I’ve heard it’s known to happen every now and then.”
Swirling the liquid in her glass absently, her shoulders shifted in a shrug, glancing over to Whitney, who was still bouncing around all over the dance floor and from guy to guy. The girl definitely had some killer confidence, too. That deserved a high five, right? She parted her lips to continue the conversation about Whitney, but was cut short by his question concerning the tabloids. Quickly, she turned her attention from the girl on the dance floor to Dylan, looking a bit startled. A moment later, his words sunk in, and she laughed. "Oh, yeah, don't bother asking. They're all spot-on! My life is nothing more than a giant pre-game orgy in the locker room, starring me. Of course." She paused to take another sip of her drink. She liked his humor. There weren't many people who could approach the subject of the tabloids without riling her up in some passionate speech of how hideously immoral they were. The press just wasn't a topic that Brynn could normally talk about without her blood pressure skyrocketing. Nothing pissed her off more, really.
She cleared her throat, "Besides all that, though, not really. I spend most of my time on the Pitch. Last year was Puddlemere's last win against us, I can promise you that." Brynn almost mentioned Nora and Griff's baby, but figured that he probably knew all about that. Who didn't? They made the tabloids just as much as she did. And besides, he'd asked what was new with HER. Not her friends. But really, Brynn didn't have much to tell. She spent all of her time practicing. And practicing. Merlin. She felt somewhat lame and uninteresting. "How about you?" she asked, turning the subject away from herself, inclining her head slightly to the side, "Is there more to life than the shagging of seven fan girls at once or the adoption of a wee African baby? I don't imagine you finding the time to fit in much more than that. Sounds like a busy schedule to me. Those adoption requirements are positively
insane, aren't they? I should know. I once adopted a set of Asian twin boys, did you know that?" Brynn flashed him a quick smile before taking another drink from her glass. Was there
any alcohol in this damn thing?
“Oh, of course.” He shrugged his shoulders, looking very nonchalant about the whole thing. He already knew the answer to his question, but playing along just made the whole thing sound so much more ridiculous than it was. Seriously, why did people think that just because she was the only female member of her team, she obviously was interested in every guy on her team? “Well, I wish you and the rest of the Catapults the best of luck this season. I’d lay off those Orgy’s though, because if you don’t have as much stamina as Whitney, I can’t imagine how you manage both. I’ve heard they’re
exhausting.”
When the conversation was turned in his direction, he looked interested. “You mean Shaheem? He’s doing great, actually. Learned how to say “Hobgoblin” the other day. I was very proud. And, as for the seven fan girls? Let’s just say they never wrote like they said they would. Spent the next 5 days curled up in a fetal position, crying. It was devastating. They told me they were my biggest fans, and I believed them.” He shook his head, as though he were thinking back on it, as though this all had actually
happened. Eventually, he let himself smirk, staring down at the sip of punch he had left. “People have way too much free time on their hands to think this shit up.” Raising the cup, he downed the last of what he had been drinking and placed the empty cup on the table he was standing next to. “In all honesty, I’ve just been practicing with the band, going to gigs, that sort of stuff. We’re getting ready for a tour pretty soon, I think, once a few things settle down.” He was talking about the situation with Waldo, but he didn’t want to really talk specifically about that. He didn’t know enough about his relationship with the late Melinda to bring it up, and even if he did, he wouldn’t go around spreading personal news about his friend.
It was a shame that she'd never really known Dylan back in school. He was hilarious. It was a relief to laugh and smile so genuinely now after having had to fake it for the past couple hours that she'd been here. He was just so grounded and real, despite the fame and the iconic status that he and his band had achieved. She really admired him. And he was really cute, her mind nagged. Oh, shut up. She ignored the slight giddiness she felt. He was just really, really cute. It'd been a while since she talked to a guy that she didn't see as a brother or wasn't immediately annoyed by. Oh, hormones! Attraction was a funny, funny thing. "We'll have to get Shaheem together with Bai Ling and Xin Qian sometime for a play date. With the blokes tuckering me out the way they do, because they really
are exhausting, I do need a break. What's a better excuse than a play date?" She was just going along with the joke, being playfully sarcastic. Brynn felt surprisingly comfortable in this conversation. She was sick of feeling like everyone was wondering why she looked like she was going out grocery shopping rather than dressed to impress. The goddamn invitation DID say casual, didn't it? "Women are cruel," she added, grinning, "Luckily for me, my blokes have to see me everytime they head off to work."
Well, everyone had seen the tabloids, of course, including herself. She had a feeling that Quirke's recent troubles, however true or untrue the tabloid account of them might be, could've been cause for some of the delay in touring. Then again, Brynn was probably the most skeptical person when it came to tabloids. She'd brushed off the Waldo bullshit until she heard about how he missed a show, paired with the rumors of how he'd been missing for four days. It became obvious to the general public that he'd been avoiding being seen in public, and when pictures were released of him on his few recent outings, he looked like shit. So, yeah, something was up, but she wasn't going to push it. Another sip of her drink. Private business was private business. "I don't know," she admitted with a sigh, running her fingers through her hair, "It's sickening. Why not use that creativity for something more constructive? It's a waste. And I've been to a few of your shows, they're great. Let me know when you lot head out again, will you? I'll definitely make some time to come out and see it. You definitely deserve your rest, though. Must be exhausting, all that running around." Her job was pretty tiring, too, but she had a feeling that it was probably pretty damn hard to travel all over the place and -- yeah, she knew that touring was hard. Anyone would be daft to think otherwise. "I really don't do much but practice, so I sympathize. My life is completely devoted to my work, and I'm fine with that. I love the game," she said, also finishing off her drink. She set her glass down on the table next to Dylan's. Brynn really did love her job. She loved Quidditch, she loved the competition and the adrenaline and everything about it. But ... still. Sometimes she felt like she was -- it was hard to put into words, but sometimes she felt like there had to be more. It was a recent, daunting thought of hers that she just couldn't shake, but normally she could just distract herself by heading off to the Pitch for a few more hours. She tried not to worry herself about it too much.
