the things they said ' [ lance ]

[elizabethdugger]

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I DONT WANNA BE THE FOOL
T H A T G E T S L E F T B E H I N D I N T H E D U S T

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It felt strange for her to be up so early on a Saturday morning without a hangover. She hadn't done so for weeks now. Elizabeth had forgotten how much she enjoyed the early bird hours. It wasn't until alcohol had entered her life that she had ever been capable of sleeping in, even on the weekends. It was a perfectly lovely morning. Overcast skies had always been her favorite. Peering up towards the gray mass that was blanketing the sky, she noticed the tiny slivers of sunlight trying to peep through. She could only hope the clouds promised rain later on in the day. Who didn't love a nice spring shower anyway?

As she continued to walk towards the pitch with her broom in hand she couldn't help but wonder if Professor Callaghan thought it was strange for her to ask him to help her practice. In all honesty, she couldn't blame him if he thought so. In the past six years of schooling the girl had never once asked a professor for help with Quidditch but he was different from the rest. For one thing, she actually liked him. Her issues with authority generally led to her putting as much distance between a professor and herself as possible. She had grown a soft spot for Callaghan the moment she'd hear him speak with that Irish accent. It probably didn't hurt that he was both young and rather good looking. However, these weren't the deciding factors in her decision to practice with him.

Her father had sealed the deal. When she had mentioned in one of her letters that Professor Callaghan taught the flying classes and that he was pretty awesome, her father hadn't responded well. He'd told her that she shouldn't interact with him unless it was absolutely necessary. He gave no explanation which only aroused her curiosity. She was positive that she had never heard her father mention the name before and he had a habit of telling her who the 'wrong people' to associate with were before she even met them. What could be so horrible about Callaghan? He seemed nice enough. And he obviously couldn't have done anything absolutely wretched or he probably wouldn't have been given a teaching position at Hogwarts. So yes, her reasoning behind wanting to spend alone time with him weren't exactly innocent. She was sure that part of her was doing it in order to rebel against her father, you know, normal teenage ambitions. But for the most part, she was just insanely curious. She sincerely doubted that she would figure it out in one afternoon but she had to start somewhere.

As she walked through the entrance to the pitch, a feeling of sadness overwhelmed her and her previous thoughts were swept away. It was disheartening to think that after next year, she would probably never play Quidditch again. Well, at least not on a team. It had been a massive part of her life for as long as she could remember. She'd been rooting for certain teams and booing others since she was old enough to understand the games and read the sports sections of the newspapers. As soon as she was old enough to fly, she had done just that. Of course there was a childish part of her that desired to play professionally but that was a foolish dream to say the least. Anyone who had ever played wanted that. The sixth year sat down on the ground right in the middle of the pitch, her trusty broom lay beside her.

NOTES HOPE IT'S ALRIGHT. WORDS 607
TAGGED LANCE/VINCE!.
CREDIT BY HEY BAYBAY !? AT CAUTION !

[lancelot conall callaghan]

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Urgh... He sat up groggily, rubbing the heel of a hand into a tired eye in order to clear the haze that sleep always deemed it appropriate to leave. Twisting his neck this way and that with a satisfying cracking sound, he managed to espy the time – from under heavy eyelids - upon his watch which was propped up on the bedside cabinet, double-taking as it dawned on him exactly what he was reading. This realisation that he was late kick-started his routine: jumping from the bed in suitably ninja-like fashion and rushing around trying to do one-million tasks at once. It didn’t help that although his body was now awake, his mind was lagging a few minutes behind – unable to locate a shirt, tripping over an out of the way chair, forgetting that he already had his toothbrush in his hand. Throwing on a crumpled tee-shirt and his jeans with the ripped-out knees, shoving his feet roughly into his old leather boots, he rushed from his quarters within the castle; making it an entire ten steps before performing a 180 and returning to his room to collect his broom – he wouldn’t get very far in a flying lesson without it (although he was sure I could have fabricated some excuse as to why he should remain on the ground had he not realised until much later).

He jogged lightly down the corridors, meeting few people – everyone sensible still tucked up in bed or already in attendance at breakfast in the Great Hall – and only managing bleary, semi-mumbled replies or curt yet half-hearted waves in response to their greetings. It was still odd to find so many people knowing his name for reasons other than his talents on the Quidditch pitch (even though he supposed that that was still mostly the reason for it, if he wasn’t a professional player then he wouldn’t have got a job as a flying instructor), but his ego still led him to believe that his name was known prior to his arrival. Something else that he would have to get used to would be being called “Mr. Callaghan” and “Professor”, making him feel old – he had toyed with the idea of allowing students to call him by his first name, but he had quickly been discouraged from this by other teachers (seemingly wishing to reserve the right to be on first-name terms with an international Quidditch player for themselves). He passed a group of students, to many oohs and aahs and whispers which, although Lance would love to have attributed to himself, he presumed were directed towards the broom swung over his shoulder.

Exiting the main door and heading towards the stadium, he recalled several warnings he had received about the student that he had agreed to help. But he himself had seen nothing objectionable about the Slytherin – he had of course been a Gryffindor during his time at school and whilst House rivalries did remain as they always had, much of the bad blood towards Salazar’s House had waned in the 10 years that had passed since the height of the troubles with Voldemort. Not that the Callaghan’s had had much knowledge of anything much going on, living in Southern Ireland and with no known connection to the Wizarding world. Regardless, though Elizabeth Dugger was a Slytherin and seemed to have amassed a fair slice of contempt from the staff, Lance’s only experience around the Sixth year was having watched the House team practice in the previous week and one theory class with the Sixth and Seventh years (a tedious waste of time even for the teacher, who deemed sitting and having a chat with the class instead, whilst sitting cross legged on his desk, a more productive use of the lesson).

And it was always heartening to see someone who could keep time – regardless of how much of a hypocrite this made Lance – giving the girl bonus points in his book. Slowing his quick trot to a fast walk and shifting his broom to lie across his shoulders, draping his arms across it, his breathing heavier than normal but remaining even as he spoke, “I’m here, I’m here. Perfectly on time, as usual,” he smirked and raised his eyebrows with a scoff at his own comment. “How’re you?” he questioned, buying himself a little more time to recover before any flying.

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STATUS:: done.
WORDS:: seven-two-nine.
NOTES:: blehhh....
MUSIC:: saturday superhouse - biffy clyro.
OUTFIT:: [click!]
TAGGS:: ms. e. a. dugger.

[elizabethdugger]

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I DONT WANNA BE THE FOOL
T H A T G E T S L E F T B E H I N D I N T H E D U S T

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There was still a fresh layer of morning dew clinging to the blades of grass. She could feel her underside starting to dampen, which wasn't all that comfortable of a feeling. Though it was rather pretty; the bits of sunlight reflected off of them, giving them a luminescent look. Libby wasn't normally a person who looked at the natural world around her and felt a fuzzy sensation like some of those outdoorsy types. Sure, it was beautiful and all but it just didn't give her that natural high that others seemed to get from it. Of course, there were times when certain things caught her attention. She could remember the other day when she'd seen a rather gnarly looking tree which for some reason or another had captivated her. It was something about the way it had grown, misshapen and unnatural, but still it had grown nonetheless. Now that she looked back on her fascination, it made no sense to her but at the time she could think of nothing else. Life was funny that way. What would bother a person one day would cease to bother them the next. It was the fickle nature of human beings. Libby was no exception to that. There were some people who could dedicate their entire lives to something, whether it be a cause or a dream. But her desires and ambitions changed so frequently that she found herself incapable of sticking to one thing for extended periods of time. Maybe that was one of the main reasons she had such a difficult time deciding what she wanted to do once she graduated from Hogwarts.

There were just so many options that were available. If she really wanted, she could probably pursue some sort of career that dealt with Quidditch. Whether that be becoming a player or involving herself with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. But then there were other interests, ones which she held away from the Quidditch Pitch. She was an avid fan of History of Magic and as much as she imagined she would enjoy a career in that field, she had always decided against it because historians just didn't get paid all that well. Yes, she was materialistic enough to have salary as a major deciding factor in her future career. If she could just find something she enjoyed to some extent that paid well, she'd be one happy girl. But she had yet to land on something which offered both. But she still had time, right? She had another year and her parents had copious amounts of connections. Even if she failed to decide on something solid, she would have something to do in the meantime. Shoot, she could probably just work in the Werewolf Registry with her father if she ever got that desperate. But working with her dad, it just didn't sound all that appealing. He'd be breathing down her neck every hour of the day.

Ah yes, her father. Her father was the reason she was waiting on Professor Callaghan in the first place. Her curiosity tingled once again. It really couldn't be anything too horrible, logic wouldn't allow her to believe that. First, he had a job at Hogwarts. She could only imagine that they wouldn't let a serial killer or anyone with a dark past teach students with young, impressionable minds. That just wouldn't make any sense. Secondly, he had been an internationally known Quidditch player for Merlin's sake. They were celebrities. If there had been anything wretched about Lance, it would have been all over the Prophet. Quidditch players didn't exactly have a whole lot of privacy when it came to their personal lives. So maybe her father was just being overprotective. But that also didn't seem realistic. He never told her to stay away from someone without giving a good reason. Usually it was something along the lines of them being Mudbloods or known members of the Order or other logical things such as those. But for Callaghan he had given no explanation and that was most unusual. How could she possibly uncover the reasoning behind her father's warning?

Her thoughts were shaken when she saw Lance, erm Professor Callaghan coming towards her. A wide smile broke out on her face at his greeting, "Punctuality always has been one of my favorite traits in others," she teased, going along with his joke. He was one of the few teachers she could actually see herself getting along with - and not just because she was trying to suck up. "I'm doin' perfectly splendid, thank you," she said with a laugh. "Reckon I probably shouldn't have asked you to meet me out here so early," she added with a slight smirk which was teasing in nature. "How about yourself?" she asked, looking at him a little more intently than she probably should have. She was just trying to find something out of place, something wrong, something which would give her a clue.

NOTES SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG WORDS 844
TAGGED LANCE/VINCE!.
CREDIT BY HEY BAYBAY !? AT CAUTION !

[lancelot conall callaghan]

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"I'm doin' perfectly splendid, thank you. Reckon I probably shouldn't have asked you to meet me out here so early. How about yourself?”

He retorted with a weak grin, his anguish at the earlier-than-acceptable hour – although it was getting on for quarter past nine in the morning, and late by the standards of many (especially adults) – clearly expressed in the look, though also jokingly expressed. “Once I’ve been awake long enough to have formed opinion on that, you’ll be first to know.” His head fell forwards slightly, the slightest hint of embarrassment etched on his features as he felt guilty both for his usual long lies which lasted until the afternoon most weekends nowadays and for having kept the student waiting, even for a short a timescale, when he had said that he would give her the extra tuition that she had asked for.

He found himself wondering though quite why someone who was obviously gifted in flying would require such extra help. Lance had seen her practice in the prior week and her game looked fairly strong throughout the session. Not that he was complaining, any opportunity to fly was fine by him – and all the more fun when in the company of someone who had some passion for flying and Quidditch. He couldn’t help but puzzle though, very few words had passed between them to set up the meeting; vagaries and a hasty exit beaten when he had tried to delve further for information. He reasoned with himself that it was all probably down to dedication to the game that had lead to that morning’s arrangements, the girl clearly just wanting to better herself generally on the pitch and learn from the experiences that the flying instructor had gained through his years of playing. Or perhaps it was an infatuation with Lance himself, his vanity not allowing that option – however unlikely – to be passed over; the glamour of his prior career, his looks, he couldn’t ignore these things, they definitely drew people to him.

It was somewhat detrimental when working in a school environment however, as much as he wanted to be friends with people who had admiration for him, he needed to maintain a certain distance from the students – especially in these early stages of his new job, he didn’t want to be that teacher who the pupils thought that they could get away with anything with, or that teacher who the other teacher’s hated for not being strict enough. Yet it wasn’t in his nature to say no particularly often, he had been letting pupils away with things that he probably shouldn’t have, and it didn’t help when he was presented with letters from parents who were fans and wanted autographs and the like. The balance was hard to strike; he wondered if it was something that one acquired acuity in over time, he certainly hoped that it was. What also remained a problem were the older students: the boys with their hero-worship and constant questions, the girls with their school-girl crushes – emphasized by the presence of magic in the environment. It was tempting to fall in with them, act like he was back at school again, forget that he was almost old enough to have been their father (though in the case of the youngest students he was, a thought which utterly terrified him).

Getting himself distracted, he banished such thoughts from his mind and returned his attentions to the matter at hand. “So what were you wanting to practice?” he questioned with a shrug, taking no notice of the less than easy look that lingered upon her features and instead turning his head away and squinting up at the bright clouds, evaluating the weather situation and how it would bode for flight conditions. “Didn’ seem to me like there was much you couldn’t do with a broom at your trainin’ session there..?” he returned his gaze to her, eyebrow raising in innocent question.

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STATUS:: done.
WORDS:: six-five-nine.
NOTES:: bah, sorry. never saw your post until yesterday.
MUSIC:: california gurls - katy perry. ;;
OUTFIT:: [click!]
TAGGS:: ms. e. a. dugger.