teresina - all eyes on you - honey

Brazil, for most other than Harlan Bellamy, was an absolute paradise; mild in winter, lush in vegetation, and covered in an inexplicable warmth across it's plains. The people were welcoming, so much so that the quidditch player assumed that there had to have been an agenda. No one was that nice without reason. It was a similar feeling that had plagued him any time he visited South America. Every bit as cautious of the niceties as he was drunk on them. Or perhaps he was just drunk? It had been a long week, after all.

The World Cup was sanctioned away, of course, tucked into what felt like a tropical jungle to the Englishmen. He'd sworn countless times over his stay in tent city that he'd heard the call of jaguars, ocelots, maybe, though he couldn't be sure. What was the difference again?

Hot and sticky sweet air was suffocating in the enchanted tent that he and the rest of his national team found themselves in. The loser tent; filled with all those who hadn't advanced, those who'd given their blood, sweat, and tears to make it, to no avail.

The weekend before the final was meant to be spent in full concentration mode, gearing up for the game that would no doubt change your life in one way or another. For Harlan, his team's loss marked a pivotal point in his career. This was his chance to make a name for himself on a global level, and he had failed them. While the loss was of course not entirely on him, he carried it on his shoulders as if it were. The days following were filled with a doubt unlike any the man had felt before.

Despite his best effort to escape reality, nothing had any impact. Workouts were geared to numb, nights with complete strangers orchestrated to do the very opposite, and neither made him feel any better. Tonight though, he'd been convinced to play along with a themed party. If there was something that he hated the most it was a themed party.

The event was exclusive as far as The Cup was concerned, only those intimately involved with the teams were included. It was far from formal, though, an ode to the most colorful of Brazilian events, Carnival. There would be music, traditional foods and of course vibrancy. Harlan, wearing track pants and a white shirt, opted to occupy a space in the corner of the tent. He did, however, succumb to florescent chest paint that had made itself known under the fabric.

All things considered, it was a small space. A bar in the corner, music pumping from the very ground itself, and people sprawled across couches, benches, and dancing in place. It was small enough to catch a familiar face almost immediately. Honey Bea Flume. Harlan smiled. He of course had expected her appearance at some point in the evening, but he felt mixed emotions at the prospect. No Krum in sight, yet, but he kept his distance.

@Honey Bea Flume

It was such a sacrifice to even be here; sure she was being supportive and showing her enthusiasm for Bulgaria of all places (this might have gone differently had Scotland even made it to the group stages) but it was exhausting. Honey couldn’t very well close shop just to be at a match, so she had been working as long as possible before catching a late portkey out for them. Her family was in Brazil on a more permanent basis and even though her father had offered to help her with the shop, she had repeatedly declined. It was Brazil, after all, and after Honey’s last summer in the Caribbean, she wasn’t exactly a fan of the general area. It was warm, impossibly so. Her desire to appear as supportive as possible couldn’t make her deal with the weather for longer than necessary.

But it was the night before the final so there she was — the shop was closed for the next twenty-four hours -- and she was doing whatever she could to not think about it. So, she was drinking. And, it being the night before the final and her boyfriend being one of the successful quidditch players, she was flying solo. Her brother had been with her for a while, but he had either gotten lost or overly annoyed with her; her parents were still on Majorca time and had been asleep since five o’clock. But it was fine. She was there to be supportive and enjoy some quidditch and certainly not dwell on the fact that someone else’s schedule was really dictating her own these days. It was fine.

The bartender chuckled as Honey repeated her drink’s name back to him, too obviously amused at her pronunciation of ‘caipirinha’. That wasn’t the important part, though; the important part was that her third glass was much sweeter than she remembered her first had been. Honey rolled her eyes as she turned away from the bar, taking swallows as large as she possibly could with the ridiculously tiny straw she had been provided. She had told Fernando -- that was his name, wasn’t it? -- that she would be right back but as she scanned the room, she figured she might be able to find a much more interesting Fernanda.

Or, Harlan Bellamy. He was here because of course he was. She had spent so little extra time in Brazil that she had hardly seen him, but she had certainly felt the lack of his presence in her life the past several weeks. They had a pretty good thing going -- again -- despite his previous aversions to sharing her with another man. She wasn’t sure what that said about his opinion of Viktor; well, she did, but she was very good at not thinking about her boyfriend unless she absolutely needed to.

Anyway, he was probably the most interesting person at this party, if one could even call it that. People were gathered and drinking and ‘dancing’, sure, but it wasn’t that exciting. It made perfect sense for him to be there then, she reasoned with a smirk. She did a quick check to ensure Viktor hadn’t decided to forgo all professional advice and sneak out for the evening before walking over to him, leaving a very respectable foot of space between them as she sat next to him.

She did her best to size him up -- he was, perhaps, the most dressed down she had ever seen him, and certainly looking more festive than she was. Honey had dressed for comfort rather than fitting the theme: linen shorts and a loose button up that weren’t really helping her stay cool. Another cold drink would probably help, but she was letting her mind wander. “Are they letting you drink again? Or…” She glanced down at Harlan’s glass before refocusing on his face. “I think I’m getting good at sneaking you drinks.”

Honey Bea Flume. Though he'd expected, and thus prepared, to see the woman at The World Cup, he had almost completely forgotten that they had put in place their various contingency plans in the event that they bumped into one another in public; how they would interact if the press was around, how they wouldn't interact if it were just Quidditch professionals around (Viktor Krum specifically), but one thing they hadn't planned out was what would happen if they were to see one another along. Well, relatively alone.

It seemed those around them were more interested in drowning their sorrows to notice that the once pairing had crossed paths. Honey and Harlan had a good thing going for weeks at this point, despite her looming relationship status and his inability to settle down, if even for a week. Harlan knew well enough to know that it wasn't sustainable at the rate they were going; the inevitably of the demise of whatever relationship it was that they had forged in secrecy was present somewhere in the back of his mind.

The loss in the match, the feeling that he'd let down so many people, the weight of it all was enough to throw him in any direction, and it seemed that his decided direction had placed herself directly in front to him. Timing was a peculiar thing like that.

"Oh there are no rules now, haven't you heard?" Harlan raised his glass unenthusiastically. His once handlers would have a hard time stopping him at this point, though he'd much have preferred to be not drinking and preparing the big match, as he'd imagined Krum was at that very moment.

Harlan pulled himself from his own self depreciation, and turned to Honey. It was strange to see her in a different environment than he had previously. For the most part, their rendezvous were spent across Europe, in familiar climates that apparently both the Hogwarts graduates appreciated. Warm, tropical weather, despite it's charm to others, was not something that appealed to the Quidditch captain.

"Even they know I need a drink," He nodded to no one person in particular before taking another generous mouthful from the mug held tight to his hand. Noting the obvious distance that Honey kept from him, Harlan scanned the room before speaking again. Although they seemed to be flying under the radar, he was aware there were always eyes on him, even more so when his red-haired weakness was present. "When did you arrive?" He kept his eyes on the crowd for the most part to maintain the part of casual conversation.

Honey shrugged one shoulder. “I might’ve.” Heard, that is. She didn’t toast to his failure -- if that’s what they were calling it -- but drank anyway, conscious that she (and her lips, specifically) needed something to focus on that wasn’t the man seated next to her. England not progressing very far wasn’t really Harlan’s fault, but she wasn’t about to try to cheer him up by reminding him of that fact, either; she knew it wouldn’t really work, anyway. She hadn’t seen the match, far too busy with her own job, but she didn’t assume that fact would cheer him up either. He wasn’t exactly a cheery person to begin with, was he?

Raising an eyebrow as he turned to her, Honey dropped her gaze in what she assumed was a pretty obvious sweep down Harlan’s body. Was it too early to be planning an exit strategy? They had shared maybe twenty words in as many seconds, but what else was there to do? The ‘friendly chat’ ruse while in public was only fun for so long, but ruining things by being careless was less fun, she supposed. It was easier not to put a name on what they were doing; it was much easier to not feel bad about it when not actively thinking of it as an affair.

“Do they?” She followed his gaze out to the crowd, to the other people who clearly also needed drinks, the other people who clearly weren’t paying them any attention. Harlan must have noticed the lack of eyes on them, too, but he hadn’t made any move closer to her or any indication that she should? The thought that he might have been expecting someone crossed her mind but she bit the question back; she didn’t want to come across as desperate, but she also wasn’t about to let another man put her aside for the evening.

She looked at him as he spoke again, though he wasn’t looking back. Her drink(s) were making it hard to decipher the underlying vibe of their short conversation, but the heat was making it hard to not drink. She didn’t miss that he hadn’t immediately asked her about business, their usual ‘asking you about something but not actually asking about that’ kind of phrase; the alcohol (or the heat) was apparently making it hard to not care.

“Been a few hours. Enough to have the grand tour of Brazilian liquor.” She held up her glass, noting with a hint of sadness that it was already half gone. The other times she had made the trip she hadn’t taken the opportunity to drink that much, really only there for the match before hurrying back to Hogsmeade. She didn’t take her eyes off of him, confident that they still weren’t being paid any mind, and took another large sip of her drink, or as large as she could through the small straw.

Honey shifted, pulling her legs up under her and turning just a bit more towards Harlan. “You look--” she paused, searching for the most appropriate word “--comfortable.” She smirked. “Shame, I didn’t get an invite to the pajama party.” She shrugged, knowing full well that he wore far less to sleep. “Too bad because this party was sort of my last resort and it’s a little…” She grimaced to make her point. Sure, the real party would be after the final, and she would be otherwise preoccupied with her quidditch player, but she was here, now, with her other quidditch player, and that almost seemed more enjoyable.

Though aware of Honey as she spoke, Harlan maintained a firm gaze toward the crowd, only deviating when the mass of people, acquaintances at best, made a collective movement enough to jolt his attention. For the most part, the quidditch player was looking for anyone who was looking back at him, and as of yet, nothing. Could he possibly go under the radar for the night? Were the people around him so preoccupied with their own hedonistic endeavours in a foreign country that his, for once, were not the direction of their attention? Harlan, confirming the most "Harlan" of his qualities, had no intention of getting his hopes up. The night was young, after all.

A smile, albeit vaguely, played across the features of the Englishman before reluctantly turning to face Honey to get a better look at the drink in her hand. "Brazilian liquor being the first item to tick off on the travel agenda?" He just couldn't help himself. Most travellers for the cup made priority to visit the markets, the casinos, venture into the Amazon, or even, visit with their world class athlete of a partner who had advanced to finals. Honey, though he should have known based on her aversion to tradition, had seemingly decided to forgo those options.

"My sincere apologies," Harlan put on his best interview tone of voice and moved all too naturally into the shift in her position, bridging the initial distance placed between them. "I'd received official, World Cup..." Emphasis on the entity. "...intel that you'd already committed to a late night safari?" He kept a straight face for the most part but the mischief that sparked in his otherwise unfazed eyes betrayed him. "Tour end early?" He touched the fringe of her khaki shorts before catching himself and averting his motion to her drink. He was so used to having to hide their interaction now that it came almost as second nature.

"Shit," He finished her statement matter of factly before taking a sip of said Brazilian liquor that she had been so keen to explore upon her arrival. "Merlin," Harlan nearly spat the drink out but controlled himself instead. "You know, it's almost as bad as that drink," He returned her cup to her miserably, taking a gracious swig of his own drink to wash the taste from his mouth. "The event of the year," Harlan mimed the words that had been engraved in it's guest's ears upon their arrival, his rendition far more sarcastic.

“It’s more like items three through twelve.” Honey had lost count of which number she was on, but she thought that was a pretty reasonable estimate. She probably would have been stopped a bit sooner, had her brother not found other, more interesting people to spend time with. Plus, in his words, what sort of trouble could Honey really get herself into tonight? Her parents were in the area, her boyfriend was asleep in a nearby tent, she hadn’t exactly been totally forthcoming about the new, revived thing she had with Harlan.  Still, it wasn’t like she was very interested in seeing the sights; she wasn’t about to give up working just to play a tourist.

Harlan inched closer and she lowered her glass, holding it in her lap and appreciating the coolness of the condensation against her skin. “Official World Cup intel,” she repeated with a smirk, eyebrows raised. “Very early,” she confirmed, not taking her eyes off his. She was close to reminding him that they hadn’t made any contingency plans for this during the Cup because he had expected to be much busier, not fall out of the tournament in the first round. Honestly, she was surprised that he was still hanging around, though she had a suspicion that being here wasn’t completely by choice.

She barely had time to register that his hand was on her leg before he had already moved it, hand already moved to her drink instead. She didn’t bother warning him that there was a pretty good chance he wouldn’t care for it; Honey had a pretty good idea that he was just playing off making any sort of physical contact. Had he not noticed that no one was playing any attention to them, still?

Her hand was already extended to take her drink back before he had finished his taste test; her lips were set in a hard line as he criticized her choices in free alcohol. She let her fingers brush up against his as she took the glass back, lingering for a second or two before finishing what was left of her drink. “Almost,” she said, a bit skeptically. She doubted that the drink was really any worse than the party, but she didn’t really want to pass the time by arguing over semantics

She was feeling better about their conversation at this point; he seemed a bit more interested, still just as wary to be caught out as usual. It was obvious that Viktor wouldn’t be joining her any time soon, right? The press wasn’t allowed this far back. No one seemed interested in one of England’s players and the redhead sitting next to him; she didn’t think she had seen anyone else she had recognized in the first place.

“Could be worse,” she reasoned, her eyes on his, her free hand now resting lightly on his knee. Honey stayed like that for a few seconds before repeating his move from before, inching a bit closer to take his drink from him, though she didn’t move back or hand his drink back once she had taken a swallow. “I think everyone’s a bit too depressed to care about much right now,” she said, taking her eyes off of Harlan to look at the crowd for a few seconds before looking back to him. “Including how shit the party is."