i'm in love with my future, can't wait to meet her [quinn]

saturday 24 january 2004

Elsa was pushing at the cuticles of her nails, one-by-one with her opposite thumb, anxiously waiting for International Seeker Quinn Regan to arrive. The Ombrelune had never been to the Chatoeil vineyard before, despite attending Beauxbatons for almost seven years, and so when asked if she wanted a glass of wine while she waited, had declined -- and was now worrying about that, too. Had she offended them in asking for a glass of water instead? She didn’t want Quinn to think she was some sort of teenage alcoholic -- and she had never had a taste for wine, anyway, so what would she have ordered?

Elsa scanned the room again; it was mostly empty at this time of year--January was not a prime month to visit a vineyard--but the few other people who were here were enjoying their wine with charcuterie boards or fine meals, dressed well and casting the odd glance in her direction. Elsa looked down at her outfit--she had worn her nicest dress (other than her Yule Ball gown), which wasn’t that nice--and felt another tug of worry. She had seen photographs of Quinn Regan in the papers and in Quidditch and gossip magazines -- she was extremely pretty, as well as being successful and an excellent Seeker. Elsa had tried to learn as much as she could about Quinn and the Falmouth Falcons in preparation for today,

She wasn’t expecting a contract, but if this went well she might very well get offered one. And she was eighteen now (just), so if she did get an offer she could sign it straight away-- but she was getting ahead of herself. Surely, at most, it would be a reserve position -- but wasn’t being a reserve on arguably the best team in the British League better than being first string for one of the shit teams? And she hadn’t heard back from many clubs, either. The Tutshill Tornadoes and Caerphilly Catapults had said they would be in touch later in the season, and the Montrose Magpies had offered her an opportunity to ‘try-out’ if she could get to Scotland over the Christmas break -- which, even if she had received the owl in a more timely manner, she would never have been able to make it. The Falcons were the only team that had really shown an interest--their Captain was coming all the way to France to meet her--so perhaps whatever they were offering it would be wise to take.

When Elsa looked up from her hands in her lap again, Quinn Regan was being brought over to her table. Elsa sat up straighter, and suddenly thought to wonder if her English would be good enough-- And would it be weird to ask her for an autograph? And, scheisse, she was even prettier in real life. Elsa got to her feet, her chair catching on the tiles in her haste to stand-- she grabbed it in time and avoided the embarrassment of tipping it over entirely. As she turned back to Quinn she simply stared at her. It took a moment to notice the other woman with the Quidditch player -- who introduced herself as Quinn’s Manager in perfect French, and Elsa relaxed an infinitesimal amount upon remembering this was who she had been owling before Christmas-- before Cushla--who spoke very fast--explained she was only here for introductions, ordered Quinn a bottle of wine, and made her excuses.

Elsa stared at Quinn again, before remembering her manners. “Thank you for coming all the way,” she said in (passable) English.


@Quinn Regan

Merlin-- Cushla was a lifesaver, and Quinn wasn’t just being hyperbolic (because she didn’t know what that meant). Merlin forbid she would have to try and navigate Chatoeil without her; Quinn had talked to her mam about it a bit--she had attended Beauxbatons but it had been ages ago so any advice on places to go was so outdated but Quinn had humored her suggestions for all of five minutes--but Cushla had found a vineyard. Quinn wasn’t about to pass up the chance to have a glass of wine for the Falcons, instead of sticking to her usual routine of trying to stay off it during the season. (Celebrations didn’t count.)

Of course, she was there to interest a student in playing for the Falcons, but-- it was nice doing Falcons business without having to put a face on for the press. Plus, she’d stop in at her grandparents’ in Madrid before heading back to Dublin, and she wasn’t so lost in her money that she would pass up a chance for a paid-for visit.

Quinn had dressed warmly--or, was showing far less skin than preferred--because even though she had headed South, it was still January. But it was warm in the room--why had she thought they would be meeting outside? She would have to discuss that misunderstanding with Cushla later--and Quinn pushed the sleeves of her jumper up to her elbows as she followed her manager/assistant/savior to a table. She assumed they were heading toward the nervous-looking girl sitting by herself, which was confirmed a second later when the girl stood up. Quinn’s shoes still didn’t bring her to eye level but that was nothing new; she smiled at her as Cushla made the introductions (she assumed; she hadn’t bothered to learn French just for this), did the wine ordering, and left.

Her smile widened at the thanks (and at the girl’s accent, but mostly at the thanks). “Thank you for meeting with me.” Of course she--Elisabeth--had wanted to, but Quinn was still putting on a bit of a face because she wanted this to be a successful recruiting venture. (Her first and only recruiting attempt had been a very successful one, but the recruit was her cousin so there were probably some other factors in play.) She motioned to the chair Elisabeth had just been sitting in, inviting her to sit again, as Quinn sat across from her.

“So, Elisabeth--” She paused as the waitress returned with a bottle of wine, and Quinn cut her off before she could start explaining the wine because she didn’t want to go through that whole charade; sip and sniff the cork and blah, blah, it was French wine, how good could it really be, anyway. “Am sure it’s fine,” she said with a wave, nodding as the bottle was set on the table between their glasses. Quinn wasted little time pouring herself a glass-- “So,” she said again, moving to pour some for Elisabeth, too. “Cushla says you’re very motivated to play in the Irish and British league.” She picked up her glass and offered a small smile before having a sip.

Elsa was still a little bit stunned--by Quinn Regan, by the situation--and it took her a moment to stop staring. She retook her seat-- and immediately went back to staring at the Seeker, awestruck.

Elisabeth sat straighter than she thought she had ever done (even when nagged by her Oma to do so). Quinn Regan was much shorter in person than Elsa had expected--though, of course she would be small, Seekers generally were--but the Ombrelune’s change in posture was more down to the older woman’s good looks and a desire to not be seen as unworthy in comparison, as if players were picked based on their attractiveness (weren’t they, sometimes?).

Elsa watched as Quinn poured some wine for her too, and resolved to drink it even if it was awful. She glanced back to the brunette and blinked, working through the thick accent. “Yes,” Elsa nodded. “Very motivated.” She reached for her wine glass and lifted it to her lips -- it was tart and fruity, not quite as bad as she remembered wine being but still not something she would pay for herself.

She set the glass back down on the table. “The British and Irish--” had Quinn just said it the other way around? Should she have, too? “--League is the best in the world. And the Fall-mouth Falcons are one of the best teams.” Elsa squeezed the fingers of her right hand in her left under the table.

Oh good. Not that she doubted it, of course, or expected Elisabeth to admit to anything less, but Quinn was pleased that she was very motivated. (Besides, Cushla was good at weeding out those that weren’t, at least.) She smiled as she set her glass down, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands in her lap.

It didn’t bother her at all if she couldn’t say Falmouth correctly--Quinn didn’t exactly feel loyalty to the town--especially since she was saying the team was the best (or one of, she didn’t miss that part; she’d come back to that later). The League was the best, anyway, and Quinn nodded. “I flew for Braga Broomfleet first,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning down. Even though that was the league the Spanish teams were in (and she would have flown for them in a heartbeat) this was all about getting Elisabeth to want to join the Falcons.

“I was very motivated, too.” She had been at the drop-out-of-school level of motivation and had been emphatically told she shouldn’t encourage this girl to drop out, too. She couldn’t mention it being an option, either, even if she was over seventeen.

But that lead her to her next question: “You’re in your last year?” She paused to have another sip of wine, let Elisabeth answer before continuing on talking about herself.  “My mam went to Beauxbatons.” She mispronounced the name of the school, but she didn’t stop to try to get it right. “Bellefeuille,” she finished,  pronouncing that one right at least because her mam must have said it a million times, lamenting about how silly all the Hogwarts houses sounded.