Take One for the Team [Max]

It was strange, to be without an entourage or teammates or friends but Cloé needed to get out. She was at a muggle pub, since she wasn't fool-hardy enough to try for a wizarding one, not alone. Both the team's management and her brother would kill her if she risked getting mobbed in a place where she was well known. In the non-magical part of London, she was simply a beautiful woman having a drink. She felt completely at ease here. She had lived life without magic for quite some time, only coming back to the wizarding world at the request of her older brother. The two had emerged as a powerhouse pair of chasers and had been picked up by the Gravesend Griffins about a year back. Things had been easy for Cloé although her brother César had a rough time of it in the beginning. Now though, things were settled. She was happy about how things had turned out, although she missed the anonymity she use to have. Hence the jaunts into Muggle London.

Cloé wasn't usually a pub girl, preferring clubs with loud music and raucous dance floors but tonight was different. Tonight there was a rugby tournament and she wanted to see it. She was a casual fan, but as an athlete herself she liked watching pretty much any sport and all her wizarding friends would look at her like she was crazy if she started talking about muggle sports. She was dressed casually or as casually as she ever was while still feeling put-together enough to leave the house. Her hair and make-up were also not as fancy, befitting a sports bar currently filled with men in rugby uniforms. Cloé had a table to herself in the back, far enough from the televisions to be less-than-prime real estate but close enough that she could still see the action.

The game was riveting enough that most of the men didn't seem to notice her. A few threw glances her way occasionally but either the game or the fact that she was miles out of most of their league kept them away. Shame, really. If the man wasn't a complete moron or ass she was usually happy for a male companion. She was a flirt by nature and she was currently feeling a little lonely and more than a little feisty. She was even decked out in Gravesend Griffin colors, not that anyone here would get the joke. She was slowly running her finger around the edge of her beer glass when her eyes caught those of a man at the bar. She sized him up and liked what she saw. Fit, young, tattoos. Mmmm, she thought, giving him an open smile and a slightly quirked eyebrow, maybe this night's going to get more fun...

@Maximillion Crowhurst

The first thing that Maximillion had noticed was the woman who didn't quite fit in among the muggles. Despite the fact that the bar in the south side of London was packed with rugby men burlier than Max himself. Not that the woman wasn't the only one there, but she didn't seem to have a man to cling onto, and she looked... well, she was familiar. Max paid enough attention to the magical sport of Quidditch enough to know faces, especially those on the Falcons -- his most favorite team -- but then again, she wasn't on the Falcons. Something didn't quite sit right with the auror, and so he pushed passed a rather stocky older man who was sitting on a stool, completely enthralled by the tube, that he barely thought twice about her. He ordered a drink -- a scotch on the rocks tonight -- and felt already pretty plastered. Most of the night had been already spent drinking, and while he could walk straight, he just wanted more. More of, well, everything. He took a look around, pretending to be interested in the tube as the crowds started to get boisterous, but he kept looking over at the woman. Something... something needed to be done. He needed to say something.

So he did. He meandered his way over, a drunken lob here and there as he sipped his scotch. He ushered to the chair as he approached, a rather gentlemanly grin on his face, despite the feeling of alcohol swimming through his bloodstream, "Do you wish to have some company?" he questioned. Okay, so he was drunk enough that he felt drunk, but not drunk enough to not walk straight or slur his words. It had been a couple of hours since his last drink, he realized, so he wasn't that bad, "I'm trying to figure you out, gorgeous. You look familiar, but I'm having trouble picturing it. Maybe if I sit and talk with you, I'll figure it out."

Not that Max wasn't pretty known either. Being an auror, anyone who followed the news about the dome, it was pretty obvious his name was out there. Alongside, well, all the other people who were trying to get Hogwarts back. Max didn't wait for the woman's response and started to pull the chair out anyways. He was going to sit and talk with her.

And here he comes, Cloé thought to herself, pleased at the way he moved and managed to not slam into any tables or bump too hard into other people. She was never a fan of sloppy drunks and drunk Englishmen were the absolute worst. Her smile was warm and welcoming, maybe a little teasing as well. "Good of you to keep a lonely lady company," she replied, her Portuguese accent pronounced but not overwhelming. "My national team is playing, and none of my friends care about rugby." She chuckled at his comment about her looking familiar.

"We've never met, if that eases your mind," she replied lightly. Tapping her finger against her bottom lip, the Chaser gave him a playful smile. "How about we play a game? You have five chances to figure out why I look familiar." Cloé smiled broadly. "If you can't, then you buy me a drink. If you get it right, then we buy each other drinks for the rest of the night." The young woman hoped he was willing to play along for a bit. Besides being handsome, he seemed nice. Well, at least polite which was a fairly big deal in her book. "Remember, only five guesses allowed, Mr. Auror." Cloé was nice enough to drop a hint for him: she was a witch. While she didn't know his name, she had seen his face among a group of aurors in a shot on the front page of the Daily Prophet a few weeks back and she had an excellent memory for faces.

She sat back, regarding her new companion with a spark of interest and mischief.

The auror barely waited for a response before he was pulling the chair out and dropping into it. He listened intently as the young woman explained that it was nice of him to keep a lady like her company, and then went on to prattle about her rugby team. The half blood's eyes swiveled to the screen, a muggle invention that he wished the magical folk in the wizarding world had agreed about, "Mmm. I'm not a fan of rugby, to be quite honest," and he was being quite truthful, "I prefer other... sports. Like ones that involve flying." He had picked up on her accent, and the way she spoke well before she dropped him the hint by calling him out as his profession. He studied her facial features as one elbow settled on the table between them, and his other hand placed his glass of scotch down. His fingers didn't leave the slightly dampened cup, though; he was going to bring it up to his mouth at any moment and take a sip. He had made an unconsciously decision to not simply drink his weight in alcohol, but now he was curious. Why was she familiar...?

He mulled about it and rested his chin on his free hand, tapping his fingers lightly over the solid jawline and thin lips he owned, "Hmmm. Five guesses, yes?" he questioned. She had clearly known about him, despite the fact that they had, as she said, never met before. His fingers tapped the glass before he brought it up to his lips and took a sip, "You're not a Falcon, I'd know you if you were," he mused quietly. Besides the fact that Max was a huge Falmouth Falcons fan, he basically had connections to the Quidditch Team and was known around the stadium. Oops. That meant that she was probably on another team; how many Portuguese Quidditch players were there in the United Kingdom...?

"Oh," he blinked as he gave her a grin, "clearly if you're not a Falcon, you must be a Griffin. That's why I know you. You're one of the chasers, no?" he rose an eyebrow, "Codoro, or something, right?" he made a cheeky grin towards her. He was well aware of her name, but that's what Falcons fans did, and that's what Griffin fans did. They had a friendly, although very tense, rivalry with each other.

Cloé shrugged at his comment about not being a rugby fan. "Most of our kind only follow one sport," she replied, choosing her words carefully. They were in a Muggle bar after all, and although she doubted anyone would be listening to their conversation she was still cautious about the things she let slip. "Not that I'm complaining." Without Quidditch, her life would be very different. Maybe she would have stayed with her father's financial firm or ended up working in a Ministry office somewhere. Who knew?

She nodded, listening to him work through his thoughts out loud, finger still sliding carelessly around the rim of her beer glass. She wondered briefly if she should switch to something a little harder once the game reached a conclusion. The woman watched the wizard's fingers tapping his glass and said glass's progression to his lips. Yes, she though with an internal sigh as she watched his throat as he swallowed, definitely something harder.

The Portuguese woman repressed an urge to chuckle as he mentioned the Falcons. They were the Griffin's rivals, and Cloé had adopted the inherent bias when she joined the team although she felt little true animosity, friendly or otherwise, towards their competition. One eyebrow quirked up as he figured out who she was more quickly than she would have thought. He must be more sober than she had assumed. She flashed him a broad smile, cheeks dimpling at the corners of her mouth. "You spotted me pretty quickly, which is more than I can say for any of the Falcons." And there it was. The back and forth was about to begin. She flagged down a waitress, needing a new drink. "Since you can't seem to get my name right, first round is on you." Once the girl was at the table, Cloé ordered a tequila sunrise, with the intention of drinking it slowly. She was small and needed very little alcohol to get her buzzed.

"Tell me, were you at the game two weeks ago? I'm curious, were the first string player all out with the flu? Those beaters were so green they should be put to better use and made into wands."

"Mhm. Such a shame, though. Lots of good sports in this world," Max added, although rugby wasn't one of them. Football, on the other hand, was definitely a sport that Max could get behind. He gave a grin as he finished the rest of his drink and placed the cup down, watching the way the young lady across him him reacted to his statement about the Falcons and how she was a Griffin. It was hard for a boy so obsessed with the Falcons to really, well, not know either of the teams. He chuckled slowly, letting the banter come, but not taking it much to heart, "Well, they're busy folks. Do you know how many teams are in the league? A lot," he had added. Truthfully, Max was a pretty avid follower of Quidditch, even if he only followed three or four main teams. Obviously, the Falcons was his main team he followed, and then he followed the Griffins; they were a good team, but not his team. It was one of those little nuisances about Max, honestly.

He sat back and watched as she flagged down a pretty waitress, and Max's eyes lingered over the woman for a long moment before smiling at the waitress and ordered himself another scotch and the waitress took their order and wandered away. He didn't mind paying, to be honest; it was one of those gentleman things that always clawed at his brain, "I don't mind paying either way," he pointed out, a cheeky grin crossing his face, "I mean, I do know your name, you know. I was just teasing you," he added with a wink, a gentle hint of amusement in his voice. The waitress returned just after Cloé's statement about the Falcon's game, and he shrugged as he paid for their drinks. He held his scotch up to clink glasses before he bothered to respond. In the background, the bar exploded into cheers at the rugby game that was playing on the television.

"Cheers," he smirked and then did a little sip, planning on taking his time with the alcohol, "and I can't tell you anything. Confidentiality," he added. He knew most of the Falcons, and they pretty much knew him, too. He sat back in his chair before grinning, "But, Ms. Cardozo, I've heard that the Griffins weren't doing too good, either. What's with your seeker? Is he going blind?" Max rose an eyebrow, "I heard that he barely missed snatching the snitch a few games ago. Got beat by the Arrows by just ten points because of that."

Cloé smiled as he offered to pay for the drinks. "It would be rude for me to refuse," she replied with a smile. "I assumed as much. You seemed pretty smart, even if you're for the wrong team." She said it with a broad smile, not too serious. Of course she would tease a bit, but there was a reason that the Griffins and the Falcons had one of the better rivalries (in her opinion) and it was because the teams were usually evenly matched. The addition if her and César had throw them for a loop when they had first showed up, but they had learned to compensate.

She tapped her glass gently against his, taking a sip, enjoying the slow burn of the tequila. Her eyes flashed to the television when the pub grew rowdy but she already knew her team wasn't doing very well. She shrugged before turning back to him and returning his raised eyebrow. "I like to focus on the things I can control. You'll drive yourself mental if you try to micromanage everyone." She took another small sip. "The Arrows got a lucky break. Another few moments and catching the Snitch wouldn't have helped them once I had the quaffle again." While it might sound like bragging, which it was a bit, Cloé had wracked up almost half the points in the match and if you counted assists she had a hand in pretty much every goal scored. She was good, but unfortunately she wasn't perfect. They would have won that game if she was.

"I know why I'm here in a muggle bar," she remarked, smiling at him. "Sometimes I like to have a drink without a full security detail from my overprotective employers. But what brings you here to a place where no one will know you?"

"Mmm. Not particularly rude. Drinkin' isn't everyone's fun and games," Max pointed out, giving Cloé a little cheeky wink. Then the teasing began, and Max Crowhurst allowed his shoulders to shrug, and the easy going nature not many people saw come out. He was already feeling all the drinks in his head, making him sort of sluggish and probably a little obnoxious, but that was okay. He chuckled at the flitting thoughts of the Griffins verses Falcons rivalry, and wondered if it was similar to the Lions and Snakes rivalry at Hogwarts. He wondered if the school Cloé went to had rivalries, or if all schools were peaceful. His mind was a terrible thing when he was drunk, "Mmm. Wrong team, smong team," he teased with a generous wave of his hand, "there is no such thing as a wrong or right team. It's what you feel here," he had moved to press his hand against his chest. He had grown up with the Falcons, and had so many friends from school who were now Falcons, that it just felt right. Better than most other teams, "Although, honestly, I don't really care for the rivalry, if I'll be honest. As much as we bicker, you all are super cool, too. I hope you guys feel the same way about the Falcons, both players and fans," he pointed out. He downed the rest of his scotch and set the empty glass on the table. Man, did he want another one now.

He nodded as she spoke about the game against the Arrows, and he hummed thoughtfully at it himself, "Unfortunately, everyone makes mistakes. It's how you grow, both as a person and as a player. It either means you need to find a new team, or your team needs more work," he teased. He wasn't being serious, not at all. Well, only a little. Mostly the first part, and not the part about the teams. He shook his head as she turned the questions around on him, asking why he was here where nobody would know him. He leaned back in his chair and eyed the empty cup still resting idly in his hand, despite the fact it was still firmly on the table.

"I guess I'm like you," he finally drawled, "I like to drink without a full security detail from my overprotective employers," he teased. Although, at one hand, it was rather true. Whenever he said he was going to the bar, at least three other fellow aurors offered to come. So Max stopped saying what he was doing, and made it a point to never go to wizarding establishments unless it was with someone like Dieter or Evan. It was definitely one of those little nuisances that the auror took for granted, "Mostly because whenever I go to one in the other world" -- he meant the wizarding world -- "I have people who I don't particularly like follow me. It's a real bothersome time, you know? Buzzkills."

Cloé smiled to hear he wasn't a fan of the rivalry. "Well aren't you a big softie?" she said with a teasing smile, but truthfully she kind of liked it. Most guys who ran into her liked to play big and tough. Max was just the right mix of sweet and competent-looking. "I had more national quidditch pride than team preference growing up, honestly. I like the game, I enjoy it but it's my brother who lives and breathes it." She was sure Max had hear about how the siblings had been acquired together after the Griffins had come to scout César and managed to catch a game where Cloé was pulled from the bench to sub in for an injured player. She was only on the team because César needed her there. "The Falcons are a good team. And their fans always give us a good electric crowd. I couldn't ask for a better team to pit ourselves against."

The Italian chuckled, imagining a cadre of seriously-dressed witches and wizards trailing after the much more casually-dressed Max. "That does sound rather like the opposite of a good time. Almost like having my brother breathing down my neck while I sit at a bar. Nothing quite like an unwanted entourage to kill a perfectly good night." Lifting her glass, Cloé proposed a toast. "Here's to nights without chaperones and all the mischief we can find!"

Giggling lightly, she sipped her drink and placed it back on the table. "Well, Mr. Auror, with all those friends in the business, did you ever find time to play a game or two? Were you on your house's team or were you in the stands?" She was curious about him, it'd been ages since she had found someone who had interested her like this wizard had. There was a bit of an attraction but really she thought she might like him because he seemed unimpressed by her fame or her looks. Cloé wasn't modest and she knew most men found her attractive so the fact that he didn't seem to want into her pants was really nice. "What was your best subject? You must have been good at Defense, yes? But what else?"

For just a moment, Max looked absolutely dumbfounded at Cloé's words, "Pffff. I'm not a softie," he pointed out, but despite his tone of voice, he wore a cheeky smile on his face and his eyes glittered with mischief, "I'm an auror, I can't be a softie," he reminded the Quidditch player. He shook his head for a moment before he leaned back and allowed himself to stretch; he was clearly enjoying this conversation a little too much. He pondered for another long moment before he picked up his drink and sipped at it. A quite little devilish idea floated through his mind, and he chuckled as he spoke, "If I was soft, though, I wouldn't be able to do my job as well as I do. My brothers are softies, though; one has little kids, and he's like a giant teddy bear when they're with him," he added thoughtfully, not missing a beat to continue with another little grin. He sipped for another moment on his drink before he figured they should move their conversation along.

"Yep, definitely nothing quite like an unwanted fanclub," Max grinned, chuckling, "although I guess in my defense a good handful of aurors don't trust me. I'm not quite... on board with the whole ministry is telling everyone the truth boat, but I'm a damn good auror, so they can't just fire me, at least they haven't yet," although in reality, Max's own opinions on the ministry of magic were more on the down low. He swirled the alcohol he had left before dumping into his mouth and swallowed -- a look of sourness crossing his face only momentarily before he shrugged it off, "But it must be harder with you, considering Quidditch is the national pass time, you know? Everyone knows your face -- or, at least, those who follow Quidditch," he added off handedly. He didn't really care whether or not Cloe was popular or well known. Status didn't mean much to the Crowhurst boy; it was more about how one acted and held themselves than what status gave to the person.

"I didn't really pay attention to Quidditch in school, except for the professional teams," Max truthfully admitted, "I played pick up games but being a Quidditch player wasn't really the thing I wanted to do. It's fun to watch, not really fun to play," he pointed out. Max wasn't a bad player when he did pick up games, but he was definitely more of a standby watcher than an active engager, "Defense was my best class, yes, or well... one of them. I do like Transfiguration a lot, as well. My uncle just signed on to be the Professor of Transfiguration this year, and he's written books before, and so he kind of started to talk to me about Transfiguration at a very young age," Max had no concept that other schools worked differently, although he didn't really think all that much, "You went to Beauxbatons, correct? My cousin spent some time studying there during the war. She's squishy and definitely not a fighter. You'd probably like her."

"You're an uncle then?" Cloé asked, amused at Max's denial. "I bet you're the fun uncle; always letting them eat cauldron cakes for breakfast or ignoring bedtimes." She didn't know how old these kids were, or really anything about her companion besides his name and occupation, but she felt like he wasn't one to shy away from breaking the rules a bit. It was in his eyes and smile, the way he ditched his own 'fan club' to be here tonight. "Children are adorable, although I don't plan on having any of my own. I'll simply spoil all of my friends' kids rotten. That's the fun part, anyway."

Cloé shrugged, smiling. "I think it might be less the actual Quidditch and more the photo shoots the female players get asked to do," she teased. "I have less people comment on my saves and scores and more on the color of my swimsuit." It was only slightly true. As a player, she was merely one half of the Cardozo siblings and occasionally people had trouble recognizing one without the other. But she always had plenty of admirers following her around after new spreads came out in the sports magazines. "Honestly, I wish someone would stop me to talk about the games. I earned my spot on the team just like my brother did but everyone seems to forget that." While Cézar was obviously the more talented one, and Cloé never denied that, she was also first string on a very competitive team. It wasn't an easy feat.

The Italian witch nodded, replying, "I did go to Beauxbatons. From what I've heard from the other members of the team who went to Hogwarts, there are things both similar and very different between the schools. We have houses, but only three. And we also have services, where we do something very much like community service, helping out with chores around the school and the town." Her eyebrows quirked up, hearing he had a cousin that had been at her school. "How old, and what house? Maybe we met."

"Guilty. Definitely an uncle, and no, I at least follow the rules. My brother is a huge stick in the mud, so if he found out I was feeding them cauldron cakes for breakfast and letting the littlest one stay up passed seven at night, he’d be trying to take my babysitting job away," the auror teased. He shook his head and allowed himself to lean forwards onto the table a bit as his eyes traveled over Cloe’s face. She was cute, but definitely not his type. Too… he didn’t know, but if anything, too bad he couldn’t swing her home just for the night. He chuckled at his thoughts but nodded alongside her as she spoke about not having children of her own, but how she’d eventually spoil her friends’ kids regardless, "I don’t know. Having children might be a blast, if you find the right one," Max gave a cheeky little grin towards the Quidditch player, and then shrugged his shoulders.

Their conversation kept up, though, despite the fact that it seemed to waiver ever so slightly. "Really? Maybe I’ve been missing the female swimsuit Quidditch calendar; all I’ve found recently were buff, burley men in sexy ass underwear," Max mused thoughtfully. While he wasn’t one to pass up the seasonal Quidditch calendars, he wasn’t so avid about them as other people. He saw the point in Quidditch as a profession, and thought both genders were equal in the game. He could see, though, why Cloe was more concerned with the paparazzi asking about her games, rather than what she wore, though. How… sexist.

"I don’t think you should linger on what other people think, in all honesty," the auror pointed out as he leaned back ever so slightly in his chair. The wood of it dug into the middle of his back and he held back a wince and simply readjusted himself. There, much better. "I think you’re good at whatever you put your mind to. Wow, I sound like I’m lecturing my cousin." He shook his head and chuckled a little, and thought about Gemma’s time at Beauxbatons. "She’s a current seventh year, seventeen. Turning eighteen this year," Max mused, thinking. If he was honest, a lot of Gemma’s years in France were a blur for him; he was too busy with the war, and feeling the unamountable pressure of killing her best friend. He rolled that thought on the tip of his tongue before he studied Cloe, "She was there in her fourth and fifth years? Maybe also her sixth – I can’t remember. That time she was gone was a blur on my part, with the war and stuff."

At least he was being truthful.