It had been a long day for Circenn. One that was still not over, but he felt the exhaustion down to his bones. He ran one hand over his face and into his dark, wavy hair that hung to his shoulders as the cool night air greeted him. He pushed open the door that allowed his freedom from the player's locker room at the arena, overcome with a sense of deja vu. His team had more wins than losses, but a loss like the one they had faced tonight always felt the same way as he left the quidditch pitch. A sense of unfulfillment. An ache for wanting to do it over and do it better. But Circenn had long ago learned that backwards wishing didn't achieve much.
The quidditch player had his broom slung over his shoulder, his attire just as polished and prim as it had been when he had entered, but his body had taken a beating. He had been struck by an errant bludger halfway through the game and though the team healer had lessed the pain, his shoulder ached with the memory. Circenn had lingered much longer than he usually did, reflecting on the game he had played for far longer than was normal for him. It was good because the fans, refs, coaches, and teammates had all cleared out already, leaving him to his thoughts. But it was also bad because it was easier for him to give in to his critical nature when there was no one to break him out of it.
Eventually he realized his hair was completely dry from his post-game shower and that even the cleaning crews were clearing out of the arena. It was probably time for him to go home. Poco was probably looking forward to him coming home, most likely for the promise of food. The thought almost made Circenn smile. The sky was dark with the dusk, though stars seemed to shine brighter tonight, as he made his way to the designated spot for kick off, clear of the arena's security charms. Circenn often opted to fly back to his apartment rather than apparate simply because he loved flying. The flight gave him the time to sort his thoughts and he had become quite handy with a disillusionment charm.
Just as Circenn had swung his leg over his broom, his muscle memory taking over more than conscious thought, he saw movement in the shadows near the towering parapets of the pitch. He stilled for a second, curious, before realizing it was a young woman who apparently was having troubles with her broom. The night air was calling to him and he yearned for an oblivious state that would get him home sooner, yet he found himself walking towards her instead. He smiled as he heard her mutter expletives as she fiddles with the broom. Ah. A Cleansweep One. Circenn was familiar with how as that particular model aged, it became less reliable for start up flight.
He cleared his throat as he drew nearer as to not startle her and then smiled politely, pushing his weariness away. "Anything I can help with?"
