[gravesend] elevation. [tag; harlan]

"He tried to blackball me. Again," Lottie told Peter as she huffed before she shrugged on her jacket. It was outrageous. He could hate her all  he wanted but at the end of the day, he was interfering with her career. His refusal to answer questions and his paltry attempt at barring her from parties only really made him look silly and stupid. Not only that but he was really starting to irk her.

Lottie didn't like to like and hearing it directly from the source (AKA Grumpy Griffin's mouth) was far more powerful and honest. Her pass got her into almost anything press-related but no one was really willing to acknowledge her presence. She didn't like having to ask her colleagues to do her work for her but she was still determined. Harlan was over thirty so mathematically speaking, he had perhaps a maximum of five more years before his bones gave out and he'd have to retire. He'd have a lucrative deal selling calendars or hair potions or something.

Lottie followed Peter, her photographer, into the small press room at the team's stadium. Charlotte loved a good press conference. The Griffins had lost the game, not by much but they'd still been beaten by the Caerphilly Catapults. The Welsh side was faster, more agile and if she was going to be honest, more hungry for the victory. It was interesting to watch. The Griffins were sort of the unofficial bad boys club of the league. They were rough, rude and explosive and their captain embodied that perfectly.

There was a hum of excitement as the team filtered in. Around them, reporters had their notebooks out, she could hear the clicking of the camera shutters and the scratching of quills against parchment. Lottie's big blue eyes flickered over the players' faces before landing on the manager. It was clear he was unhappy but he looked more exasperated than anything else. She felt a pang of sympathy. After all, it must be frustrating to have an overgrown bicep with a beard and a bad attitude run his team into the ground.

There the captain was, sitting tensely, arms folded and his jaw set. Charlotte tilted her head with a smile. Unlike the other journalists, she and Peter remained standing at the back of the room. Before she knew it, hands shot up around her. It was the first game of the summer season and so there was bound to be a lot of interest around the result and the tactics.


The manager handled it well, with humour and was a professional at deflecting questions he didn't wish to answer. It was impressive, really. Lottie knew how horrible it could be to make an enemy with the people who helped determine a fan base.

The sibling pairing of the Chasers were eloquent and humble, readily accepting that they were off the pace as far as the game went. That was nice. Her eyes, however, were firmly locked onto Harlan. There was a flicker, maybe less than a second, of annoyance that creased his face. He wasn't happy with his team, maybe for their honesty or maybe something else. The questions carried on as Charlotte jotted down information before thrusting her hand into the air.

"Charlotte Bright, The Daily Prophet," she announced to the room as she offered the manager a bright smile. They knew who she was. She'd made quite a name for herself. "I have a question for your captain," Lottie replied as she dropped her hand, pretending to consult her notepad. The manager's eyes flicked over to Harlan as though to gage his reaction but the Frenchwoman paid no mind. "You were slower today. Your Chasers' catches were clumsy, your goalkeeper looked as though he was suffering from a concussion and your Seeker seemed to be half asleep."

There was a ripple of laughter from the room as she tilted her head, not so much a question as opposed to a character assassination. "I'd like to ask you what you had in mind for your next game, providing you don't get booed out of the stadium." With that, she offered another sunny smile.




@Harlan Bellamy

The absolute last place that Harlan Bellamy wanted to be loomed in front of him. Press Conference. The four walls of the hallway leading in closed around him with each deliberate step forward. His assurance betrayed the captains disdain as he led his team forward. If there was one thing he knew about losing, the more emotion they showed, the more it would hurt them in the long run. Harlan led his team based on his own belief that talking about how they were going to improve meant nothing in comparison to the work they were now scheduled to put in. The whole idea of a press conference to talk about a game was a waste of all their time, as far as he was concerned.

The chatter of the press buzzed in though one ear and out the other as a few key members of the battered Griffins made their way to the front of the room. He couldn't tell if the vultures were growing louder or quieting down, all he knew was that he was ready to get this over with. Harlan was positioned closest, as he usually was, to speak the most on behalf of his team.

The game was tough. He'd give it to the Catapults, though, they outplayed his team in more ways than one. With that said, a few rookie mistakes from a new player that had taken matters into his own hands, disobeying his Captain, would have certainly put the Girffins in a better place for the win. The kid would most certainly be paying for that in practice. And Harlan had no intention of taking any more chances on him.

Questions moved mechanically forward, the back and forth between the reporters and his colleagues becoming more and more monotonous, as evidenced on Harlan's face. Just as he'd been lulled into the repetition, Harlan's jaw set at the sound of a familiar voice. He didn't even have to look up to know that it belonged to Charlotte Bright. Like nails on a chalkboard. He didn't bother to look in her direction, despite the fact that he knew full well her question was surely to be directed at him.

Once formally addressed, Harlan's steely gaze met her own, not daring to break the contact. He knew the woman was looking for a reaction, as she always was, and he was not going to give it to her. As she paraded through the prelude to her question, Harlan's eyes narrowed calmly. The muffled laughter of the room danced across his skin and left his limbs feeling hot. He could feel the trepidation coming from the side of him as the Griffin's management shifting in their seats, likely praying for his self control.

"The question, Miss Bright," He reminded her. His deep voice, although calm, cut through the crowd and silenced them for once. Their silence, he knew, was only an attempt to catch every detail of his inevitable temper. He'd heard enough of Charlotte's astute reporter observations regarding his profession and quite frankly was ready to simply repeat the two little words she hated most. No comment. Finally, she spat it out. Harlan smiled through his cut lip and bruised cheek. "Winning," His smile dropped to seriousness in an instant. "Winning, is what I have in mind. Thank you, Miss Bright. Next question," He turned to the crowd.

Do it, she urged him silently. Do something. Charlotte knew Harlan better than he thought she did. He wasn't calm and he wasn't logical. He was one of those people who craved excitement, that lived in the moment, that didn't like sitting still. As he ignored her momentarily, Charlotte rolled her eyes and sighed. He could play hard to get but she'd always catch up. He wasn't smarter than she was but he was infinitely worse tempered.

Silence descended and everyone was on edge. In the quiet, Charley could hear the creak of the seats as the journalists all leaned forward, ready. As Harlan spoke her name, she quirked an eyebrow. Strange. It was perhaps the very first time that he'd ever addressed her in a way that wasn't offensive.

Her hopes were dashed as he gave his sub-par response and she couldn't help but feel deflated as her shoulders sank. Unable to help herself, Charlotte snorted with derisive laughter. "Winning," she echoed, her voice deepening in an actual fairly accurate imitation of his voice. As she was brushed aside, she didn't skip a beat. "So, no actual plans?" The petite brunette asked sweetly as she tilted her head, her hand resting on her cocked hip.

"But shouldn't that be on your mind at the start of every game, Mr. Bellamy?" Charley asked again as the reporters' hands were in the air, begging for attention as she ignored them all completely. Winning. "And do you plan on "winning"," Charlotte stated as she used air quotes with both sets of forefingers. "With your new player?" There was a pause. Everyone knew that the poor man's gameplay hadn't been agreed on. He'd clearly been trying to get himself noticed and it had to be one of two reasons; to impress Harlan or to get another team to notice him and offer him a better salary.

"I notice he's not here," she said breezily as her big dark eyes swept down the line of confused and tired looking players and staff before snapping back to Harlan. "You're the captain. Some are questioning your leadership ability." Nonchalantly, she gave a shrug, as though she didn't think the same thing. "With World Cup selections coming up, you shouldn't be so careless."

Harlan Bellamy  was a hot commodity. There was a buzz around him for the World Cup and if he'd win a place in his national team. Charlotte held dual nationality but she considered herself French and she knew damned well that the French national team's Beater, Comtois, would smash him into little pieces. The French team had already been selected and she'd been running profiles for a French magazine and she was due to meet the marvellous Monsieur Comtois later in the week for a spot of lunch.

At the mention of the World Cup, more hands went in their air. Journalists were calling his name as they stood up, waving. They were firing questions at Harlan and his manager; had they heard? Had he been called up? Would they release him for the games? There was a scuffle as reporters clamoured for his attention. It was madness. Taking a step back, Charlotte extended her hand behind her back to receive a low-five from her boss, Peter, and she grinned. Catching Harlan's eye, she mouthed the word "sorry" before she grinned and blew him a kiss.