flustered

Saoirse played with her fingers in the hospital bed, pressing them along the mountains and ravines within the fabric her sheets. The journey stopped as she winced, as a loud bang reverberated from the wall behind her. Trying to think nothing of what very well was her captain not taking some form of news or visitor well, Saoirse instead pressed her thoughts into thinking that perhaps now would be a good time for another meditation session. They had been immensely helpful through this turbulent (if you could even describe the aftermath of being stripped of magic 'turbulent') time in her life, and she had nothing else to do until the healers came around for their rounds...

Just as Saoirse was about to close her eyes, the door creaked opened softly. Normally, she would simply ignore said intruder and go about her business, but this was no ordinary visitor, and therefore could not be treated ordinarily.

She sputtered at the sight of Howell Williams standing uncomfortably before her, holding out flowers with an entirely sad and guilty look spread thick across his face.

"What are you doing here?" Saoirse demanded, shifting too quickly and experiencing difficulty untangling her legs from their indian-style position. She shook her head at him, moving quickly and throwing her sheets off to jump out of the bed. No no no no no---

"I was just--" he started, but Saoirse cut him off.

"You didn't have to," she talked quickly, arranging her hospital robes properly on herself as she walked. "I'm fine." Which, technically she was, there was nothing wrong with her body or mind, it was just... an invisible magic issue. That was what she told herself, at least, to keep her from completely falling apart. "Get out," Saoirse prompted, finally approaching him.

Howell looked at her with his brow burrowed deep, and a silent sigh escaped her. "Thank you for coming but you do not have to stay, so---"

Now he was shaking his head at her, and she felt a bit of anxiety fill her. She didn't want him here, what if someone came in and saw? Holly, Arista -- Thomas! Drystan! Howell Williams' presence in her hospital room, with things in his hands, would be difficult to explain away. What in the world would a chaser from a rival team be doing in her hospital room? They weren't friends, they were--- well...

It wasn't that she was embarrassed of him. It would just be another something to deal with when her plate was effectively full of 'dealing with things' at this current time. It was--- too much. And, now, she was beginning to feel overwhelmed by his presence, unsure of how to keep herself under control. He was distracting, Howell Williams was distracting, and Saoirse could feel emotions rising within her she thought she had effectively buried down deep.

He could have at least let her know in advance about his arrival.

"I wanted to see--- if you were okay," Howell explained simply, then easily maneuvered around her. Saoirse spun to watch him carefully place the flowers in an empty vase by her bed, which shot another jolt of energy through her. They were pretty, but--

"I'm fine!" she exclaimed, raising her hands a bit as she spoke, like it was the most obvious of answers. Perhaps if her voice hadn't been so high-pitched, it would have been a believable statement.

Howell turned back, and gave her a dubious look. "If you were fine, you wouldn't be in here anymore," he said quietly, and because of his serious tone, Saoirse fell silent. Well, yes, but... she was allowed to go out on trips whenever she wanted. That counted for something, didn't it?

"I'm fine," Saoirse eased after a couple of quiet moments. She took her time to approach him again, moving close with the ultimate goal of pushing him back out the door. But since Howell was not a mind reader and had another idea how this meeting should go, he thwarted her makeshift plan easily.

He looked down at her thoughtfully for a couple of moments (she twitched her lips together into a small smile to calm him), and before she realized what he was doing, he took her into his arms and planted a fierce kiss on her.

Her eyes widened at his brash act, and she stood stock-still as he kissed her. Not because it wasn't good, but because it had caught her so off guard, and his tightly pressed hands on her back was so distracting that she couldn't--- remember what she had been so edgy about. What had--- eventually her shoulders relaxed, and she rested her hands on his arms--

And then, just as promptly as Howell had started, he released her. Saoirse blinked hazily, still caught in this uncharacteristic moment he had created.

"I just--- wanted to do that, and give you those, so..." he trailed off, and because of her daze she did not notice his pink cheeks.

"Okay," Saoirse responded faintly, turning to watch him go. "See you--- later."

drunk

Saoirse pressed her face into Howell's neck, letting out a slur of unhappy-sounding murmurs followed by a lone hiccup. She felt him chuckle, and her arms around him tightened to help ward off experiencing another round of vertigo. Long ago had she crawled into his lap with glazed over eyes, the victim of accidental alcoholic intoxication, and never having consumed a drop of liquor before in her life, she was finding her current state to be quite uncharacteristic.

"Nona did this to me," she decided, remembering vaguely how her former best friend had just moments ago all-too-happily bounded up to plant an all-too-tender and knowing kiss on her head before flouncing away with a smirk.

"Maybe it was too hard to resist all this," Howell suggested, lifting one of his hands from around her waist to indicate the rather boisterous party they were currently attending. Saoirse immediately let out a disgruntled huff, and closed her eyes as she shifted to nudge her forehead close to his warm skin. 'This' being the unnecessary party Nona had all but sprung on her the second she walked through the front door, under the guise of her--

"Is the birthday girl a bit too hydrated?"

Louis Bonaccord's voice rang especially irritatingly in her ears, and Saoirse wasted little time in picking up her head to shoot him a dirty glare. He laughed, and she shifted moodily in Howell's arms to prepare for a sulky attempt at a response. But just as she was about to retort with a very smart 'no', Howell casually sounded above her.

"I know not enough to want to talk with you," he responded rather pleasantly.

Louis, in his ever-cool manner, responded idly, but Saoirse was too busy staring at Howell with her jaw dropped to focus on what he said. And then, Howell said something else, and before she knew what she was doing, or even if Louis had left the vicinity, she planted both her hands on the sides of Howell's face to hold his cheeks tightly.

"You insulted someone," she said, wonder in her eyes.

He looked at her blankly, lips puckering out from her strange hold. "Happy birthday?" he managed, and an entirely pleased, relieved, and impressed smile formed on her face. She felt Howell fidgeted slightly beneath her, and because of that, her heart swelled further.

"Saoirse," he started, as she attempted to sit up more properly on him. Stretching, she straightened her back to level their gazes. "It's late, and you're... would you like to---"

She crushed her lips to his and paid no attention to his words, an unstoppable side-effect when you become determined to jam your tongue down someone else's throat while simultaneously pulling apart the buttons of their front. All usual strict rules of decent and unseemly displays of affection in public were forgone, as Saoirse was so currently overcome with desire for him that she couldn't quite help herself. Or control herself, as that was rather evident while she attempted to break all physical barriers and melt into him. Was it her fault that her boyfriend was outrageously caring, beautiful, usually sublime and always unceasing, and now showing budding signs of unprompted but warranted cheekiness, so therefore impossible to resist? No, she decided smugly, hazily, as she curled her back to nip his bottom lip, it was not.

"That is enough, don't you think?"

A rough hand pulled down hard on the back of her robes, and Saoirse felt herself unceremoniously ripped from Howell and placed into the seat next him on the hard bench. The growling form of Arista Sykes appeared before her, looking not entirely entertained, thoroughly unimpressed, and mutedly disgusted.

She let out a couple of loud tuts, and immediately began to fuss with Saoirse's apparently 'utterly wild-looking' self as Howell breathed heavily beside her.

"You should have retired hours ago," Arista spoke pointedly to Saoirse, but glared something fierce at Howell, a stark difference from her usual stance of operating under the pretense that he lacked existence. Howell, in response, slumped in his seat and volleyed back a guiltily unapologetic look. They continued on for a few more moments, exchanging demonstrative expressions, until jolted back to attentiveness by a certain wandering hand partaking in an entirely innocent journey to the inside of Howell's legs.

Arista screeched, Saoirse chortled, and Howell quickly pulled Saoirse's hand up into his own.

"Saoirse!" Arista hissed disapprovingly, her eyes so wide they seemed mere seconds from rolling out of her head.

Saoirse blinked virtuously, though not effectively, for the consuming self-satisfied look across her face negated any lasting impression of guilelessness.

This only, obviously, insulted Arista more, and before either Howell (who had taken to patting Saoirse's hand in a heightened manner) or Saoirse could realize what was happening, Arista quickly yanked her friend up by her elbow out of her seat, and proceeded to drag Saoirse's stumbling body out of the room like a hapless rag doll.

"Penelope!" Saoirse heard Arista call out, though it was difficult to focus now that her head was spinning. "There you are!" Through her bleary eyes, Saoirse could make out that they had left the kitchen and entered the much more public living room. She frowned.

In one fluid motion, Arista expertly propelled Saoirse in Penelope Fawcett's startled grasp, flicking back some of her own hair that had fallen out of place while doing so. Because her legs currently felt like they were jelly-jinxed and her head made it seem like the room was floating, Saoirse did not protest, but leaned heavily into Penelope's small hands.

Penelope gapped at Arista, but continued to daintily hold onto the dropped delivery in her arms. "I'm sorry, what is going on?" she asked, sticking her chin out graciously. Her eyes wavered, slightly, from Arista's perturbed face, to the now sinking body of Saoirse Mullet, whose head had now begun to loll on her shoulders.

Arista jerked her hand away, not very successfully hiding her irritated state. "Saoirse is leaving now, you must help me collect her some things." Her eyes dropped to their mutual friend. "Since she is currently... incapacitated."

Penelope hesitated, obviously taking the moment to think before speaking. "But where is she--"

"Hey!" Howell huffed up, having finally found this now small circle of short witches. "I don't think it's--"

"Well I do not think anyone asked for you to share your opinion."

A beat of silence passed, in which everyone stared at Arista. Or, well, almost everyone. She was unbothered by Howell's low brow, ignored Penelope's still confused face, and frankly infuriated that Saoirse didn't seem to be paying attention at all, and had somehow managed to get her hands on a plate of cake. She reached over to rip the baked good out of her slumped friend's hands.

"We," Arista waved her hand almost manically between her and a stunned Penelope, "have everything under control, so if you could just--"

"SAOIRSE!"

Charlie Spinnet suddenly appeared from nowhere, and before anyone could stop him, he took Saoirse into his arms to twirl her in the air. The immediate distinct feeling like she was going to hurl overcame her, and Saoirse pressed her hand to her mouth in hopes of not retching all over Charlie's back.

"Who knew you could throw such a great party!" Charlie let out, seemingly unaware of his small teammate's deep internal struggle to withhold her insides.

Arista, Howell, and Penelope all rushed forward, hoping to be the first to grab Saoirse from Charlie, but he stumbled back, confused by the onslaught of demanding hands. Saoirse felt as if her limbs had now become unattached from her body, and were flinging aimlessly.

"What in the---"

"Charles!" Penelope reached up to point at Saoirse's face, directing Charlie's gaze.

He looked at the girl in his hands, and his face popped with realization. "Oh," he froze, and then tenderly returned Saoirse to the ground. Howell quickly elbowed past Arista, wrapping his arm around Saoirse's waist to support her unstable legs, and bent down to brush the hair out of her green face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to--" Charlie started, but his words promptly died in his throat.

"What's going on here?" a voice rumbled from behind, effectively stopping everyone in their tracks.

The group of five slowly turned together, facing to meet a domineering Drystan Fawcett with his arms crossed over his chest. Saoirse's eyes went as wide as saucers, and an uncomfortable silence spread as no one dared be the first to attempt to distract, cover up, lie, spill, or any of the above to the protective older wizard.

"We were just--" Penelope started, as Drystan leaned forward to inspect Saoirse's blank face, but they were both brought to attention by a newcomer.

"Cake anyone?" Nona Pepper called sweetly, appearing from behind Drystan with at least half a dozen pieces of plated cakes hovering above her head.

Charlie let out a loud, distracting noise as he moved for a floating convection, but Nona purposely stuck her foot out so that he tripped forward, and sent her falling back.

"The plates!" Arista let out before they all came crashing down to the floor. They had, however, accomplished their purpose and made themselves useful.

Penelope hurriedly approached her brother to help clean off the large amount of icing now covering Drystan's face and shoulders.

"Oh no," Nona let out all too passively from the ground, and just as Saoirse was about to reach for the last plate left intact in Arista's hand, Howell quickly pulled her back, bent down to swing her legs into his arms, and jolted the both of them away before Drystan regained his ability to see just how inhabilitated his protege had become.

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