[DDC] No mountain made of money can buy you a soul [Quinn]

Even quidditch stars sometimes needed a new ride. Morwen's old broomstick was getting slow and old. It had been one of the first things she purchased for herself when she first began playing for the Harpies. It was something she needed, and a worthwhile purchase. It had lasted her a long time. With her recent promotion to the Welsh National Team, however, she found herself looking for something new and flashy that would really take her to the next level. This was something she wished she had Beka for, but her friend was working and she couldn't rely on him for a second opinion on everything she did. She had to remind herself of that sometimes, as she was reluctant to do much of anything without his explicit blessing. Who could blame her, though? He had been the one protecting he and taking care of her since she was sixteen. His opinion mattered to her.

There were a few quidditch shops in Cardiff that were closer, but their selection wasn't the best and neither were their prices. No, Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Ally was the best by far. It didn't matter that it was a bit harder to get to. She made her through Diagon ally slowly dilly-dallying and taking her time to look around. She wasn't in any rush. The shop would be there and she would find exactly what she wanted. She turned the corner and that's when she saw the photograph on the window with the caption “Today Only: Meet Quinn Regan on the Falmouth Falcons” and she sighed sullenly as she studied the signage. Of course today would be the day the seeker from the team that beat them in the league tournament would be there to gloat.

The game hadn't been easy by any means. The Harpies had given them a run for their money, but in the end Quinn had bested Susan and caught the snitch, cementing their place as season champions. It was a far win, but that didn't make Morwen feel any less like a loser. It didn't matter that it wasn't her fault. Had she made a few more shots, gained a few more goals, she might have taken the title for herself. It would have been her first season win and that would have been cause to celebrate. Instead she had burritoed herself in her roommate's bed and sulked until he came home, cooked her dinner, and cured her foul mood with vodka smoothies and cuddles.

She sighed. She would have to go into the shop and face the other girl eventually. Maybe Quinn was gone for the day. The bell above the door tinkled as she entered, signaling a new customer. Suddenly eyes were on her. She looked much the way she usually did when she went out. She was wearing tight skinny jeans with holes and a over-sized t-shirt with a plaid shirt tied at her waist. Her platinum hair was in a high ponytail and her fringe shagged into her eyes over her large sunglasses. She pushed them up onto her head, exposing darkly-shadowed eyes. She wasn't sure, but she thought she might have been recognized by a few fans in line to meet Quinn who began to whisper among themselves at the sight of her. The line had drawn down, it seemed, or there wasn't a good showing in the first place. Morwen selfishly hoped for the latter.

No one dared approach her, though. Morwen had a reputation for being foul-tempered by the press and she liked it, knowing that no one dared to approach her. She wasn't really unfriendly, to be honest. She just hated having paparazzi in her face or involved in her life. If they ran one more story about her and Beka in a torrid love affair she was going to scream. They weren't in an affair at all, and that was the problem. She avoided the line and went straight to look at the brooms, eyeing some of the older models nostalgically before looking seriously at the new line of Firebolts.

Thankfully this was her last appearance of the day. It was exhausting being this well loved and adored by her fans, but it was a burden that Quinn Regan was willing to shoulder for their sakes. The weeks following the Finals had been a bit of a whirlwind, both professionally and personally, appearances and interviews and general constant adoration. It was a tad overwhelming, sure, but the Seeker would be the first to admit that she absolutely loved it. She loved the recognition for all of her hard work.

Having an interview with her appear as the main feature in Quidditch Quarterly certainly wasn’t a downer either. The Special Edition, featuring a fresh-faced Quinn on the cover, detailed the Falcons’ strategies, League gossip, and the author prying into her personal life. She had remained tight-lipped about one subject at least.

It was a great photo, of course, and she wasn’t ashamed that she would be taking a few (hundred) copies of the magazine home with her. But before she could do that, her public awaited. The meet and greet had been scheduled for an hour, with a brief question-and-answer session followed by time for the actual meeting and greeting, photos with fans and autographs. Customary to these types of post-Final things, she had brought along the game winning snitch, more docile now that the match was over, and it was hovering lazily near her head as she spoke with folks, letting them hold it if they wanted for their photos.

But the hour had dragged into two, having more people show up than they had initially planned for. Time was money, but it was money in her pocket, so she saw no real harm in extending her stay. Her feet, however, were getting tired, the heels that she had chosen to bring her up to an average height starting to cramp up her arches. Still, she was sure she looked fabulous and wasn’t about to let a bit of pain interfere with her poise, the dress she was wearing not really allowing her much room to move freely.

It was pretty obvious when eyes left her, heads turning to look at some newcomer to the store, a newcomer that was decidedly not Quinn. Her manager whispered a few quick words in her ear and she straightened up, flicking her gaze to the door to join everyone else’s. Morwen Rhydderch, Chaser for the Harpies, Chaser for Wales. Ireland had yet to play Wales in the World Cup qualifiers, though she knew it was only a matter of time before Ireland was successful on that pitch. The Falcons, however, had just played the Harpies. In the match that Quinn was currently celebrating. Perfect.

Quinn returned her focus to the task at hand, planning ahead for the Harpy situation. She didn’t need to make a scene, just exit out the back of the store like she had entered, floo back to Falmouth and unwind. After ten more minutes or so, the line finally dwindled down enough for Quinn to make her exit. But as she was collecting her things (read: arranging for her copies of the magazine to be delivered to her home), she caught sight of Rhydderch once more, looking at brooms.

She arched a thick but well-groomed eyebrow, changing her mind completely. She wouldn’t have been surprised if eyes were still following her as she moved across the shop, but she was paying them no mind. The younger woman was taller than her, sure, but who wasn’t? Quinn took a step towards her, smiling as she addressed her, nothing but kindness in her voice. “Are you shopping for a sibling? Or do your sponsors not give you good enough equipment?”

Morwen wanted to throttle her. Who did this girl think she was? Couldn't she tell that Morwen didn't want to be bothered while she was shopping? The question made her blood boil, too. She got nice equipment from her sponsors, and many of them had offered her new brooms from their lines, but they all came with strings attached, for one. They came with deals and more modeling contracts and more bullshit that distracted her from the work. Also, there was something special about having our own broom, one that you picked out and one that meant something to you. Morwen was a little sentimental, and that wasn't even something that only Serikbek would know. Morwen rolled her eyes, hard, then realized that she needed to be at least moderately polite to her. There were people watching.

“I fail to see how any of this is your business.” She offered bluntly. “Are you finished signing your little magazines? Maybe it's time for you to go home.” She wasn't being as nice as she'd hoped she could manage, but she didn't really blame herself. What Quinn had said could only be taken as condescending, and her tone—the fake and fragile politeness—only made it worse. Wen turned away from her, hoping that would end the exchange.

She felt a fresh hurt singing in her chest. She had been so hopeful when they made it to the finals. They trained so hard, and it left a foul taste in her mouth to ever win second place. When she was a dancer, she was able to internalize all of her failures and all her successes. Everything about her performance came down to her skills on the stage. As a quidditch player, she worked as a team. That meant sometimes things happened that weren't necessarily her fault. Things that were out of her control. Things like Susan not catching the snitch before Quinn... As much as Wen beat herself up about her performance and what she could have and should have done, could she really have done any better? A team was only as good as their weakest link, and Morwen had to realize that it wasn't always her.

She wanted to turn and leave. She didn't want to find a broom anymore. She felt sick. Why did Quinn care that she was there? Why would she waste her breath on her? Unless she felt challenged, intimidated, scared that someone was taking some of the attention away from her for once. Maybe that was what this was all about.

Quinn certainly wasn’t surprised when her greeting wasn’t well received. She couldn’t exactly blame her; if it had been Quinn in her situation (though losing really wasn’t her forte) she probably wouldn’t have enjoyed seeing the woman that caused her pain. But, as usual as of late, she wasn’t on the losing side. She smiled, shrugging her shoulders the slightest bit, lifting a hand to brush her hair off her shoulders.

“I am done, but only because we sold out.” She started slowly, not touching on the ‘sending her home’ bit she had been offered. She would go home when she very well pleased, and it wasn’t about to be any time soon, not now that her presence wasn’t being appreciated without a second thought. “I only thought it would look good for us, for the League,” she continued, doing her best to keep the sigh out of her voice, “For us to be friendly, as hard as that skill seems to be for you.”

Her manager had suggested the idea in the first place, though Quinn had scoffed at the idea. But now she couldn’t help but see the merit, to look sympathetic for whomever could see, reaching out to the losing team to offer a kind word. It would only look better for her if Rhydderch decided to not be very receptive. Whatever the outcome, this was bound to be an excellent outing to tell Alex all about. And maybe then she would get the appreciation she deserved.

“Apologies if you thought you could go into a quidditch supply store without being approached.” She held tight to her next words, figuring there was someone somewhere who wouldn’t appreciate it if she said something alluding to how she knew, from long long ago, just how easy it was to go places without being famous and how Rhydderch really must be enjoying. “So sorry for bothering you.”

She quirked an eyebrow and turned, a flashbulb greeting her, surely capturing the pair of quidditch players in one frame. “You’re welcome,” she muttered under her breath, offering a small wave as she took a step back towards her magazines.

Morwen force a smile. She wasn't usually a catty girl. She was more open with her dislike of people, and wasn't good at playing the game. She tried not to roll her eyes again. She didn't need to be lectured on what was good for the league by a girl who clearly didn't know when to leave well-enough alone. Morwen wouldn't have said anything nasty to Quinn if Quinn didn't approach her with her better-than-thou behavior. Quinn had started this, not Morwen. What was that saying? A lady doesn't start fights, but she can finish them?

“Trust me, Regan. If I wasn't being friendly, you would know.” This was as friendly as Morwen got to people who decided to be a bitch to her. It wasn't even that she was from another team, or from a winning team. It was because she was a catty, mean person. She hadn't seen any of the other Falcons, but she didn't have a problem with them on principle. She also really didn't mind people from other teams, though she preferred her team. It was the way she went about it, trying to gloat, trying to start something. It was annoying, and Morwen hated her for it. She hated her for a lot of things, but especially for being right. Morwen couldn't be openly mean to her or it would make her already bad reputation look even worse. It made her blood boil.

And Quinn was right about the quidditch shop thing, too. She had dressed down and wore shades, hoping to mask herself. Still, she was famous and famous people got recognized. She couldn't be too mad about that. She would have liked it better if the person approaching her was a fan or someone that would be nice to her... or possibly a store clerk, because she really wanted to get out of there.

Then she saw a flash and heard a click. She looked quite shocked in the photograph the man took of them, but at least she wasn't scowling. She offered him a light smile, then turned back to Quinn. “Yes, of course.” he managed between gritted teeth. She wished Jane was there. Jane wouldn't let this girl walk all over her, and Morwen really shouldn't wither. What could she do, though? She wasn't good at witty comebacks and she couldn't pick a fight. At least Quinn seemed ready to leave it be, taking her latest sly comment as a final blow before bowing out.

Wen was really regretting her decision to come out today.

Quinn sighed, albeit not as dramatically as usual, at the other woman’s claim that she was being friendly. If that was what she wanted to call it, that was absolutely fine with her. She could understand now why she might have come into the shop anyway; with her signing and Q&A panel today, it should have been easy for the Chaser to go unnoticed. It was an easy mistake anyone could make. She held her tongue, having to remind herself they were still in public. Surely there would be plenty of opportunities for them to do this some other time, preferably off the pitch.

She offered one last smile, turning her attentions back to the photographer, the Prophet writer standing next to him with a notepad and quill in hand. “Oh yes, just passing along my congratulations on a good season.” She might have done that if she hadn’t been so rudely interrupted by Rhydderch’s friendliness, might have sincerely passed along her condolences to Markington. Too bad.

The Prophet people walked with her back to where her manager stood, still figuring out the logistics of getting as many copies of the magazine back to Falmouth as Quinn wanted. Oliver would be needing a few of course, not to mention the countless family member who would want one, too.

It seemed the wicked bitch of the west was finished with her for the moment, and Morwen turned back to the broomsticks, trying to get over her anger, trying to calm herself down. She wanted to be on the pitch, hurling something heavy at a target. That would take some of the stress off. That, or she wanted to be in bed at home with her best friend whispering assuring words in her ear. She was a little pathetic, wasn't she? She supposed maybe a little, but she couldn't be too sad about it. Beka was the best thing to ever happen to her and she wasn't ashamed of her dependence on him. He put up with it, anyway.

She took a few deep breaths, then the shopkeeper finally came over to her. She spoke with him for a few minutes, asking about broom models and seeing which one was the newest. She wasn't the shopkeeper's usual clientele at all. He recognized her from one of the Harpies' promotional posters. She knew she wanted a firebolt, because it was the still one of the best brooms on the market, but there were so many to choose from, and she wasn't sure which one was best. She had done her homework and had decided on the newest model, due to the enhanced features, but seeing them all in the flesh made her second guess herself. She wanted them all. She had a feeling Quinn would know, but maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she just rode whatever her sponsors gave her with no thought to the quality. That thought comforted her a little. She liked thinking negative things about her—it somehow made her feel better herself.

She tried not to sneak any glances to see if the other girl was still there. She tried to focus on the broomsticks. Ultimately she left with the one she had originally decided on. She went up the counter and paid for it and gripped it tightly in her hand. She signed a postcard for the owner at his request, despite her bitterness, then took her new broom and exited the shop. She needed to go test it out, maybe. That would take her mind off of things, maybe.  Flying usually made her feel better.