WHO: Seth Wadcock and Arista Sykes
WHAT: W.Q.W., could you not!
WHERE: Pride stadium?
WHEN: BACKDATED! to 1/11?

She looked like she just stepped out of the Floo in the midst of the tornado.

It was perhaps the single most infuriating aspect of her playing. Arista Sykes was fast, precise, with an eagle eye. She studied theory and applied it to action, she memorized every Seeking tactic written in the anals of Quidditch history, and slaved over mastering them. What she lacked in luck, she made up for in good, old-fashioned hard work.

But Arista could never, ever bloody dismount a broom and not look as though she'd just navigated through several natural disasters of varying severity. It was maddening.

The upside, however, was that she'd had a particularly good practice session today and was nearly vibrating with satisfaction at Miles's approving words. Neither of them were pleased with their league placement, and they needed a better strategy than the one of their current employment if they wanted to advance in these last remaining games. Slinging her broom over her shoulder, she tried restrain her now-unruly, wind-struck hair by pushing her goggles to the top of her head, and strode into the building with purpose. To see the team manager to beg—to insist, in a calm and authoritative manner—for a new training strategy, developed over the weeks. Just outside the door, however, voices halted her self-righteous march.

Someone was already in there. Without being able to register much more than curiousity, a hand pushed the door open and Arista automatically moved back, pressing herself against a column in the hall, and thus out of sight. A dark-haired man was stepping out, thanking their manager. Something about children appreciating it. A glance over his shoulder revealed his face, and Arista hissed in displeasure.

Seth Wadcock. What was he doing here, she wondered, watching him retreat further down the hall. But something in his parting remarks struck a chord in her, and Arista suddenly recalled some Quidditch charity organization and a letter (or several) requesting team representatives for some charity function. Also, she recalled, the team intercepting said owl from management and perhaps drolly bespelling it into the garbage bin. Not out of meanness—mostly. But they were busy people, and like herself, already booked with all sorts of these charity things… mostly. Seeing him here, though, Arista bristled at wondering what that little interlude had been about.

"Didn't get enough of a whipping at the last match?" she called sweetly down the hall. Remembering too late her disheveled appearance, Arista crossed her arms as best she could with the broom on her shoulder and tossed back her hair. "Back for more so soon?"

Seth was bound and determined to get at least on Pride player to contribute to W.Q.W. Actually his goal was to have a player from each team, the Pride was just being particularly difficult. So after the fourth owl with no response, he decided that the best course of action was to just go and visit the manager in person. Surprisingly enough, the manager was a quite pleasant person and he thought Seth had some valid points, and he would most definitely discuss it with his players.

He grinned as he stepped out of the office, shaking hands with the manager, thanking him for his time. He was just about to make his way out of the stadium when he heard a voice from behind him. Seth smirked as he turned and spotted the Pride’s princess seeker calling out to him. “Hmm, I think you are mistaken, last time I played you, I was still with the Magpies. And if I recall correctly, we beat you by 200 points.” He gave her a quick once over, a bit amused by her tousled appearance. “I take it you’ve been practicing hard to prevent another embarrassing loss like last week’s?”

Giving one short, scornful breath through her nose, she heroically resisted the urge to smack him with the broom lying on her shoulder, so ready for use as a weapon. Obviously she had been practicing, and yes, she'd been practicing hard to avoid a loss like the last week, but it irritated her immensely that he inferred that. Even if it was obvious, given their league standings and her current outfit, and the fact that he was at their stadium during practice, and that if he'd arrived at any other conclusion, he'd be useless provocateur, and certainly lacking in mental facilities (though, she thought privately, he was already). It was likely just an off-the-cuff response to her needling, but it still embarrassed her for anyone to even approximate how hard she worked on her game, that it didn't just come to her in natural, refined talent.

Lifting her chin in physical dismissal of his taunt, Arista raised her eyebrows in her best bored and condescending look and promptly demanded, "Why are you here?"

“Oh just establishing a trade timeline. You see, after I win my fourth championship with the Falcons, I figured I’d lend my talents to yet another team.” Seth said shrugging a shoulder, trying to contain his laughter. Pride players were wound so tight. It was fun to rile them up some more. It was easy to tell that they clearly thought they were better than all other quidditch teams in the history of quidditch, yet he didn’t see any of them with Championship ring within the last five years.

“A joke. Obviously. I don’t look good in purple. My owls were mysteriously returning empty handed, so I figured it would best if I just came up to speak to the manager in person about my business proposal to avoid any more potential sabotage. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

She was honestly too busy choking on the idea of Seth Wadcock ever being a Pride to bother with the last enquiry. If that ever came to fruition, someone would have to die. Literally, there would be a murder, and it would be his, and she couldn't even claim it would be at her hands, versus another teammate's. The horror was so acute, it made Arista overlook his little dig entirely. After all, she might not be leading the league right now, but neither of his teams were, either. Certainly, luck had placed him on the winning teams a handful of times in his career, but he didn't have, for instance, Catriona McCormack and her plentiful resources at his disposal.

Hefting her broom to the other shoulder, Arista angled her head slightly back and up to give him a cursory once-over. "You look wretched in most colours," she said absently, studying him through narrowed eyes as she mulled over his last words, skipping over the thinly-veiled accusation with a haughty adjustment of her crossed arms. "What 'business proposition' is this? Please do not tell me you are still recruiting for this Q.W.W. or whatever else."

“I suppose its a good thing I wear gray and white then. You really can’t go wrong with that. And its W.Q.W.” Seth corrected lazily. “I know you are jealous you didn’t think of the idea first, but children shouldn’t suffer just because some players can’t suck up their pride long enough to play nicely with others.”

He smiled at her as he leaned up against the wall, wondering just how defensive her stance could get. She was clearly threatened by his presence in her stadium. “And Oglethorpe seems to think I have a point. Granted, I didn’t say it just like that to him, but I got him charmed. Said if he didn’t get any volunteers he’d just send over whoever had the most errors for the extra practice and humility training.” He said smugly. It had taken over a year of Henry beating this information through Seth’s think skull, but every now and then he managed to talk his way into a good deal.

Betrayal was a sharp, bitter taste. This man was forever pushing them to get more involved with their fans, and give appearances, and somehow by doing so, save the whole blooming world. They played Quidditch; startling and impressive feat though it was (but perhaps not lately…), it was not quite parallel to saving the world.

Unless, of course, you were the wizard standing in front of her, who, despite his unsavoury reputation, was apparently more than happy to mount the broom to that challenge.

"Of course we care for the welfare of children," Arista said in an exasperated manner. Well, most of them. "We simply devote our time to more established organizations with a proven history of results. You know, we believe in spending our time wisely, and all that."

But she couldn't help but wonder who the most errors belonged to. Surely it wasn't her. Was it? Her stomach gave a queasy drop, because regardless of this Q.Q.W., that would be simply unacceptable.

“It’s easy to just throw time and money at some standing organization. It takes innovation and heart to pioneer a new vision and see it through to fruition. How much effort you put in reflects directly on how much you care.” Seth parroted what he heard Henry say to financial sponsors over and over again. It seemed to work for him time after time, so why not. “So when W.Q.W. becomes a more established organization, I guess you’ll just be the ones who took the easy way out, while all the other teams can take credit for helping it achieve that status. That is unless, you happen to be the one with the most errors. Didn’t that Kestrels seeker nab the snitch on your side of the pitch? ”

As Seth let the thought sink in just a bit, an idea occurred to him. Perhaps this was an opportunity for him to get more out of this deal that just one reluctant Pride player. “You know what, I’m feeling generous today.” he started, pointing at her like she had just won a prize. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to not only get yourself out of helping, but all of the Pride players as well.”

It was actually the center of the pitch, however close to the Pride's side it may have seemed, but Arista found it beneath herself to correct him. He could think whatever he liked, it didn't faze her. And she liked her established organizations where she didn't have to worry about her mother's approval or how her image would be affected by participating and then have her representatives flit about trying to do damage control because Hera knew, this girl could not be trusted to run her own life. That sour thought caused her to bristle a little and perhaps pay slightly more attention to this man than she would have previously allowed herself.

"As if that would interest me," she sneered outwardly, but couldn't deny the slight prickle of interest. As a gentlewitch, even an athletic one, it was her duty to avoid things of an untoward nature. Her mother was all about pushing boundaries and exploration, but it was always on the up-and-up. She was interested to hear what, if any, offer he could make her that she would be prevailed upon to accept. Personally, she found him to be all bluster, but entertaining the notion, even for a few moments was amusing to her. If she continued to deny the small, very small, part of her that was intrigued.

"What illustrious opportunity could you possibly be talking about?"

“A simple wager is all.” Seth said pushing off the wall. “You play the Tornados this week, correct? You catch the snitch, you’re off the hook. No more owls, no more visits. I’ll leave all of Portree alone.” he offered.

“But if you don’t well, then not only does my deal with your manager still stand, but you have to come participate as well.” This way, if he won, W.Q.W. would have two Portree players in the weekend rotations. And Arista would be a guarantee, which would make great press for events and fundraisers. “What do you say, Sykes? You don’t even have to win, just catch the snitch. Think you can handle the challenge?”

He was making a wager against her! Arista was genuinely scandalized, as the drop of her jaw and slackened grip on her broom clearly indicated. Tightening her hands on the handle once more, she both literally and mentally got a grip on herself and, if possible, leaned further back to look Seth Wadcock in the face and tell him where he could stuff his unladylike proposition when she faltered mid-breath.

What did it say about her that she wasn't taking this bet? That even she wouldn't place herself on the winning side? That was even more unacceptable than gambling, not to mention the chance to save the rest of her team from the obligation. No, Arista just simply could not allow that. She had faith in her abilities. She was a good player. She was. It would take more than a relatively poor season to shake her belief in that.

Well, perhaps a little less than that.

It didn't matter, they were playing the Tornadoes, of all people.

"I accept."

Her eyes flashed wide open in horror as she registered she had indeed just agreed to this inane wager. Setting her jaw firmly, she raised her eyebrows and gave him an unimpressed look. "But I can assure you, you won't be collecting."

Seth grinned broadly when she accepted his challenge. However unimpressed she felt with him, he felt incredibly impressed with himself. Because, even if he lost, it was no big deal to him. He could live without having a player from each team. All in all, this was pretty much a no lose scenario for him. He held his hand out to shake hers. “Well, either way, its been a pleasure doing business with you.” he said politely.

Partaking in the act of gambling had essentially revoked her status as a witch of gentle temperament, did it not?

Arista thought it rather did.

"Believe me," she offered in a syrupy voice, stepping to the side. Shifting her broom to an angle, she brushed past Seth, letting the bristles of her trusty Comet smack where they may. "The pleasure has been all mine."