fly on wings of speed [harlan]

The London streets were alive with chatter and swearing and orange burning cigarettes at the lips of those that were privileged enough to know about this. And Tara felt right at home. She was dressed in all black, tight black pants, a sleeveless tank, and a black hat with her signature ace of spades on the brim. She had her broom over her shoulder and she nodded in greeting as she passed some of the usuals she knew well. It was a good crowd tonight, one of the largest in a while, and she could only hope that meant that the bets would be free flowing as well. She was out to make extra cash and she wanted her pockets lined with shiny silver sickles before the night was over. Besides, she knew who she was facing off against and she was confident.

"Ace," a deep, familiar voice called to her as she sidled up to the betting station. Tara grinned and extended a fist that she knocked against Chum's and then laid down her own money. "The usual," she told Chum as he palmed her money and then she glanced behind her. "Got a lot of new ones," she commented, noticing several faces she's never seen before. Then she glanced sidelong at Chum with a sly grin, "Means more money for us."

She chatted for a moment with Chum, about the course, about the weather and if it would hold, about her opponent and what others were saying, all while he continued taking bets. Tara had placed a hand on Chum's shoulder where he sat as she got ready to move away, but then a tall figure with dusty blonde hair caught her attention. He was a few back in line for Chum and it took a moment but her green eyes lit with recognition and she eagerly waited for him to get closer.

Distancing herself a few steps from Chum, with arms crossed and hat pulled over her eyes, she casually fell into step beside the guy who she had recognized all too easily. Only to hear him say he was betting on his friend Razor for the win. It was Razor who Tara was set to face off against tonight and she couldn't help herself from commenting. "A lot of people would say it's not money well spent to bet against Ace, y'know," she offered as she glanced up at him briefly from underneath her hat. "What makes you so sure Razor will win?"

And the best part about this whole thing was that she was pretty sure this guy had no idea who she was or that she knew exactly who he was. Harlan Bellamy, chaser and captain of the Griffins, had just walked into her domain and was already making all the wrong bets. It was a game she was eager to see play out.

"Razor...? Razor." Harlan Bellamy couldn't help but smile inwardly to himself, casting a skeptical glance over to his mate formerly known as Dan Wellington.

"Mate, the least you could've done was come up with something badass," The Quidditch players last words were met with opposition in the form of a thrown half empty goblet of firewhiskey which Harlan dodged between deep bellows of laughter. Dan had been going on about the underground racing scene he had been a part of for ages, but this was the first time that Harlan had tagged along for an event. Apparently, he timed his interest well though, because Razor was slated in one of the biggest races of his career... or at least that's how he told it.

"I'll leave you to it then, Raz," Harlan clapped a hand on his friend's back encouragingly, giving his neck a little squeeze before heading back to the crowd of people that had gathered in the London streets. It looked as if Dan wasn't kidding when he said it was kind of a big deal. "I'll be sure to put my galleons on the other bloke," Harlan shot a final glance over his shoulder before he left his friend to prepare for the big event.

Murky eyes scanned the crowd of people clad in leather and dark colors before focusing on what he could only assume was the bookie. Harlan made his way through the crowd with ease and headed right for the man behind the betting station. "On Razor," He dropped a burlap sack of galleons on the stand and took his ticket, his eyes immediately shooting around the crowd for an area he could find some solitude. The last thing he wanted was to be noticed -- not because he was scared of the press headlines, but more that he wasn't interested in talking to some heckler or super fan.

A female voice practically purring at him from somewhere to his left caught the Quidditch player off guard but he maintained his composure. Waiting a few moments to allow her words to soak in, Harlan glanced over his shoulder to see a stranger. This was a surprise. He was certain the voice had to belong to someone he knew. Instead, standing next to him was a brunette witch hiding under a black cap. He squinted his eyes in thought, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

"I like my odds," Harlan's eyes shot in front of him again to scan the scene where the race was slated to begin, only momentarily flicking back to the stranger's to try and get a better idea of who she was. Whoever the mystery woman was, she had piqued his interest, that was for certain. "You disagree?" He folded his arms across his plaid clad chest, his gaze meeting hers if only for a moment. Harlan couldn't help but imagine that he had seen those eyes before. 

"After Razor takes this," The Englishmen reached into his pocket for his small, personalized box that contained a single cigar before bringing it up to his lips in preparation to inhale. "I prefer whiskey," Harlan flicked his wand and the thick top of the cigar burst into a small explosion of light before settling an amber orange. His grey eyes flicked back to the witch as a billow of smoke escaped his mouth.

Tara made a study of him from under the brim of her black hat with her sharp green eyes. She had never spoken to him in person, but she had seen him plenty and knew him on paper well. Traded a few months ago to the Griffins, reputation on and off the pitch for rough and tumble behavior, and a rocky relationship with the media. She wasn't exactly surprised to see him here honestly, but he did earn a little respect in her book for being friends with a racer like Razor.. even if he was betting on him instead of her.

The brunette smirked and shrugged lightly, perking her brows as she said, "It's your funeral." She had noticed the rather hefty looking bag of coin he had set down for Chum and she was all too eager to take that home, but she was curious to get a read on him too. "Loads of people have been saying Ace has this race hands down," she added casually, as she faced forward, arms crossed, and looked at the wizards gathering by the starting line. She glanced sidelong at him and smiled sweetly as she said, "but who I am to say?"

Tara breathed in the familiar scent of the cigar he lit, watching with green eyes as the smoke slid past her into nothingness. Whether because it was dark or because this crowd wasn't naturally given to fanaticism, it seemed like he was going unnoticed. But that didn't mean she didn't want to play with him. "I thought though," she said lightly, touching her chin with her index finger, "that players weren't allowed to involve themselves with any sort of gambling. Punishable by suspension of five games if management finds out, right?" By trade, by family name Tara was well-versed in the minute details of player contracts and she knew that one to be fact. She glanced at the chaser beside her with a coy smile.

The air and the energy morphed into something edgier, a thrill of adrenaline surfing the crowd of voices. And Tara felt more than knew that the race was close to starting. "I'm more of a tequila girl so remember that once your friend goes home crying." Tara said and then with a lop-sided grin she touched the brim of her hat where the ace of spades sat and said, "Wish me luck." She strolled away toward the starting line, grabbed her broom, and greeted the wizards officiating the race, shaking Razor's hand tersely. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and then threw a leg over her broom, gripping the handle with ease and familiarity. She tried to calm herself, compose her mind and focus on the race, but Tara couldn't hold back the smile that spread across her face. She fucking loved racing.

His funeral? Harlan's lips parted, letting out a dry, singular laugh that was more an escape of air than anything else. Who did this one think that she was? Although he would never admit it, even to himself, he was dying to know the answer to just that. Who was this woman?

"Who are you to say?" The Beater dared, maintaining the stranger's verbiage as his grey eyes shot to the left before lazily carrying back to the crowd.  That seemed to be the question of the night, after all. Who was she? Harlan tried and failed again to get a better look at the individual who had challenged him. "As I said," The wizard cleared his throat, his self assurance deliberate and clear in his voice, impossible to misinterpret despite his internal frustration. "I like my odds," He was short and to the point, precisely how he had set out to be.

Harlan's breath caught momentarily in chest as the brunette continued her belabored speech about professional quidditch players and the rules they abided by. She knew him. The Englishman, although phased by her statement, kept his composure and didn't allow her the satisfaction of knowing that she had won whatever game they were dancing around. He expected at least a handful of people to recognize him as a professional athlete, but not like this. A few calculated moments of thoughts later, Harlan spoke again, slowly and with much thought.

"And who's telling management, then?" He quipped, his gaze steady on the crowd in front of him as he took another long drag from the cigar that was planted between his lips. Harlan was completely unaware that this particular stranger had every power to remove him from the Griffins for good, and this was obvious in his demeanor.

In another blink of an eye, the mystery woman had left his side, leaving him utterly confused as to what had happened. One moment she was talking tequila and the next she was hopping on the broom at the starting line. Although it took him a few moments to piece the series of events together, Harlan eventually caught on. She was ace. "Fuck's sake..." The wizard shook his head, unable to hide the grin from tugging at the corner of his lips. As much as he hated to admit it, Harlan was pleasantly surprised to watch his opponent saddle up for the race. This was going to be good.

His look with sharp eyes and that easy casualness made her smirk in return and she lifted a shoulder. Don't believe me. That's fine. Tara sparkled with the challenge, with the game. He was so confident, so sure of himself and of his bet and she couldn't wait to see his face after she won. She would win. As she glanced forward, her green eyes became sharper, her lips tightening. She needed to win this and she would, she thought. Easy as that. Plus, now that she had seen Bellamy here so sure about something he knew nothing about, she had extra incentive to cross that finish line first.

Tara watched closely as she hinted at knowing him for who he was, but was slightly disappointed when he didn't give anything away. The pause, the silence that hung between them for a few beats, had her hopes rising but he stayed cool. Dammit. Like him, she gazed out at the crowd instead of looking at him even though she was very aware of him, but found herself shrugging one shoulder lightly without care. "Not me," she told him honestly. She wasn't a narc, never would be. But that didn't mean she necessarily liked him being here either. Her parents would probably Imperio her. She pushed that thought away though, not liking the prickly feeling it gave her. She could do whatever she damn well pleased and if morons like Bellamy wanted to throw away bags of money in an ill-educated bet then bring it on.

She left those thoughts behind with the tall Beater as she moved away toward the starting line. Tara nodded a thank you with glittering eyes to her friend who held out her broom to her. And it was only a few short minutes before the red sparks that signaled the start of race shot up into the black, black sky. And then it was just her, the wind, the route, and her opponent. Tara was bent over her broom, her slim body flattening but with eyes steady ahead. Razor was quick and ruthless, an apt name for the racer, but she had more experience. She cut corners with grace and speed, her focus was unparalleled, and her broom modifications propelled her ahead in those last few moments.

Ace crossed the finish line and slowed, finally allowing the wide smile to cross her face, the roar of the crowd finally infiltrating its way into her mind, registering in her ears. Her raven hair whipped around her as she slowed and came to a stop, friends and fans coming up to her to congratulate her. She did find herself scanning the crowd for him though. She wanted to see his reaction, wanted to rub it in. She thought of the Beater and thought of everything she knew about him. Bad Boy of Ballycastle. Brawls on and off the pitch. A jerk to media. Plus there were those whisperings of him sleeping with his teammate's girlfriend. Tara wanted to laugh. Now she could add 'hopeless gambler and class A moron' to the list.

Her steps were light as she made her way over to Chum, a triumphant grin on her lips, eyes bright. "Thank you Chum," she nearly sang as she accepted her rather hefty bag of winnings and knocked her knuckles against his. She turned to find her friend, perhaps offer to buy the first round, talk to Craig about the next upcoming race and if she could get a few extra slots, but that's when she spied that broad pair of shoulders. And she couldn't help herself. She closed the distance between them and jingled the bag purposefully, the coins tinkling happily against each other as she fell into step beside him.

"So what was it that you were saying about your odds again?" she asked as she peered at him from beneath the brim of her hat. And then she smiled, slow and easy and impishly.

Harlan, despite every fiber in his being screaming at him not to be, was invested in this race from the moment the red sparks that translated to 'begin' shot into the abyss of the London night sky. The more he dwelled on the brief encounter that had ended with a proud stride to the starting line, the more it baffled him. Why had this Ace character chosen him as a target for her questioning? Surely there were dozens of people betting against her without so much as a second glance on her part.

Although he was left with many questions, the Englishman maintained a straight face. No one, especially not her, was going to see him sweat. Harlan stood his ground to the right of the starting line away from the bulk of the crowd, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the lit cigar between his lips.

Grey eyes watched every turn and stealthy pass of the race with an intensity that even he was not expecting. The very last thing he had thought would happen had unfolded before his eyes; Harlan was hooked. Dan, formally known in the underground world of racing as Razor, had been ranting about the scene for years but Harlan had always brushed it of in typical Harlan fashion. Once his mind was made up, there was no convincing him otherwise and this was no different.

The very moment that Ace had taken the race, turning the final corner what appeared to be a millisecond before his fiend, Harlan had already turned away. The only thing the wizard hated more than losing was to see the satisfaction on the winners face. He certainly was not going to give this one that pleasure. Immediately he made his way to the bar, stopping only briefly to dispose his cigar, not bothering to look over his shoulder to the celebration.

Whiskey neat. Double. Harlan took a drink, allowing the familiar flavor to envelop his senses, momentarily removing him from the present. A voice along with the distant sound of coin had triggered his sense of reality and brought him back to the current time and place. Although he much preferred where had been at, his cloudy eyes cooly snapped to his right to make contact with the very last person he wanted to see.

Harlan, never one to shy away from conflict, raised his glass to the woman. "We all have our nights," He shrugged as he tipped the glass of amber liquid in her direction with eyebrows raised. "Whiskey, right?" Cheeky as ever, the Quidditch player strong-armed the drink into her hand with a grin, knowing full well her preference for tequila.

"So tell me.." He paused, his eyes narrowing on the symbol on her hat. "You go around harassing anyone who bets against you, then? You must be a real crowd favorite." Harlan forced a straight face as he held their eye contact, not daring to break it even for a moment. "The gem of the underground racing scene..." He quirked a brow, unable to hide the smile that tugged on the corner of his lip.

Tara leaned against the bar, elbow on the counter and leaned her head into her head as she let her eyes run over his face. He seemed stiff. Unhappy. She wondered if he was pinched by his loss. I sure hope so, she thought, recalling all the things Roxy, teammate and Co-Captain to Bellamy, had told her about this Beater. Tara knew her friend had smoothed things over with him, but she was sure she'd see that spark of amusement in her eyes when Tara told her how much he had lost tonight.

She looked at him with a smirk that pulled up the corner of her mouth on one side. She was curious to see just how right Roxy was about this guy. She wondered if 'his brain really was as tiny as his dick' and how much that had to do with him having an 'superiority complex'. Maybe him losing this much would mean that he wouldn't come back? She didn't like the idea of so many Griffins frequenting her domain. Roxy was enough already. But then an even more entertaining thought occurred to her. What if he wanted to race her himself? The thought sent a thrill through her, of adrenaline, of competition, of victory. She knew his style of play and while he was a force to be reckoned with when he had a bat in his hand, Tara was the epitome of speed on a broom.

"I guess," she gave him as she gazed at him, green eyes bright. "But it could have been your night too," Tara said. She was purposefully prodding as she tried to get his measure for herself. Her brows perked and she glanced down at her hand as he forced the drink into her hand, flicking her eyes back to his face for a moment. That grin. Yep. He knew exactly was he was doing. Tara cocked her head to one side. "Yeh," she said shortly before extending her arm to the side and with one quick rotation of her wrist, she turned the glass upside down and heard rather than saw the amber liquid splash to the floor. "Whiskey," she agreed, sarcasm and impertinence evident in her eyes and tone.

She placed the glass back on the counter as she smirked and then looked away, focusing on Scott the bartender who nodded at her in recognition. She smiled back and ordered her usual, a tequila sunrise, and then tapped the bar again and held up two fingers. She turned her head to gaze at him when he spoke and she tried to hold back the smile that she felt when she noticed him looking at her hat. Finally noticed that, did you? His thinly veiled insult had her brows raising high on her forehead, hidden beneath her cap and she narrowed her eyes in assessment. "And by harassing people do you mean trying to educate the dolt who come here thinking they know what they're doing around here?" she asked as she held his gaze, his challenge answered in her eyes.

The bartender got her attention and she looked away, glad somewhere in the back of her mind for the interruption. She gave him her own smile as she offered him a glass. "This one's on me. I'm not sure you'll be able to afford anything else tonight." She sipped at hers, the liquid sliding cool and hot down her throat as she looked at him over the rim of her glass. "Should I order one for your mate Razor too? Maybe you could thank him for giving you such great advice on the race tonight."

Harlan Bellamy was careful to keep from staring at the stranger who had decided to make it her personal mission to berate him. The last thing he needed on his plate was this one noticing that she had any sort of effect on him, even if it was just an attempt to try and figure out who she was underneath that silly black hat of hers. Although her words were veiled in the cacophony of the crowd, they reached his ear loud and clear as if it were the only voice in London.

As opposed to watching his drink splash across the concrete, the quidditch player opted to listen as he actively forced himself not to flinch. From what he could tell this woman was much like himself, and because of that he knew that ignoring her was his strongest weapon, he knew better than to give any sort of reaction. Grey eyes maintained their unbroken contact with her own, narrowing only in the slightest as she spoke. There was no doubt in his mind now that she knew was she was doing.

"Educate?" Harlan repeated, sliding the glass the brunette had so delicately disposed of to the bartender without even a second look. "Ohh I'm sure you wouldn't want that now," His gaze flicked over to her, his eyebrow raised. "If you went around educating this audience, I can't imagine you're earnings would be so substantial as they were tonight," Harlan nodded toward the sack full of coin. "You're welcome, by the way," He added tapping the top of his emptied glass, ignoring her attempt to hurt his pride. It would take a lot more than her petty jabs to shake him.

"So what is it, then?" Harlan ignored her comments about his friend, leaning his elbows comfortably on the back of the bar as he scanned the waning crowd. "Die hard Falcons fan?" He glanced over to her briefly, masking his insatiable need to know more about the stranger. "Skeeter enthusiast?" He prodded with a shrug. "You've made it quite clear you know who I am," Harlan added as he took a sip from his drink. In his mind, that was the only plausible explanation for her singling him out -- she had to have known him.

She made a study of him as her drink-spilling antics didn't faze him. Was it a bad thing that she was deliberately trying to provoke him? Nah. She was a little disappointed that he was so impassive. Tara had expected him to be this hotheaded, reckless, no-holds-barred kind of guy and she was surprised to find something.. cooler. She refused to acknowledge the twinge of respect that thrummed through her. Him not being a complete meathead was no reason for her to like him. Nope, not at all.

When she realized she was tracing his profile with her eyes, she forced herself to look away. Tara focused instead on her fingers curling around her glass and then flicked her dark green eyes up to gaze across the bar, across the way, and into the crowd of people slowly dispersing as the night's activities came to a conclusion. She slid her gaze back to him as his low, gravelly voice seemed to envelop her in a way that was just too close.

She laughed in surprise, her eyes bright with amusement as she gazed at him from across her shoulder. Tara nodded once in concession and lifted a shoulder in a light shrug. "True," she admitted. She hadn't thought that one all the way through, but she grinned at him with a wide smile. "Thank you," she replied brightly as she patted her sack of coin with pride. "Should I send a thank you note to your personal assistant?" she asked tartly.

Ace sipped at her drink as her gaze wandered the crowd, but yet her body was oddly aware of the Griffin. She was telling herself that this was all just to assuage her curiosity of him, of the team captain that was so often talked about. His questions had her smirking, the smile curling on her face sly and smooth. She wondered how long it would take him to get to this part. Her ego wasn't so big that she was wounded by the fact that he didn't recognize her, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to play with him.

"F*cking Falcons fan?" she scoffed a 'yeah right' and sent him a you're-batshit-crazy look at him. "That's all you got? Be a little more creative, Bellamy," she told her, using his name for the first time and watching him with glittering eyes for a reaction. "I know more about you than I ever wanted to," she muttered lowly, more to herself than him, as she finished her drink and quickly debated on ordering another. Glancing at the Griffin, she decided not to. She was planning on getting drinks with Roxy anyway and she wanted to get out of here before he realized who she was. "I do," she answered simply and then smirked. "And that's why I know you have no business being here. Probably isn't a good idea to come back either. I mean.. unless you like losing money.." she said, trailing off in question.

Harlan's eyes flicked with precision to the coins that Tara had won on the race, a hefty portion of them had once belonged to him and he was having a hard time coming to terms with the loss. Money, though, was the farthest thing from his mind. The Beater ignored the pang of losing that lay somewhere in his chest where his pride lived and looked back to her with a forced smile. "I suppose you've got the address already, then?" He didn't bother to look the stranger in the face and instead found interest in the amber liquid in his glass.

Despite their heated exchange, Harlan couldn't help but be intrigued by the racer. It wasn't often that he lost and it certainly wasn't often that a girl had treated him like this. Years in the spotlight had jaded the man. He had become so used to getting everything that he wanted in a world where everything was disposable and replaceable that the breath of fresh air nearly choked him. Grey eyes peeked over at Tara again, curiosity brimming in their every movement.

A small, hard laugh escaped the man's lips. Falcon's fan she was not. Although he had to admit this was an exciting development in the plot, Harlan couldn't help but feel more perplexed than before. If she was a Griffins fan, why was she berating him?

"Ohhh," The wizard cooed as he watched with disinterest as replays of the race flashed on all the enchanted displays on the buildings around them. The race really was close, he declared as he watched Ace turn the final corner just before his friend, Razor, had. "So you've just got a crush, then?" Harlan concluded, taking a drink before looking back to gauge the reaction that he could only hope was just as intriguing as the rest of their banter had been. Secretly he hoped that she wouldn't give in so easily.

"A racer and the moderator of the underground scene?" He quipped, his eyes narrowing in jest. Her attempts to intimidate him were only fueling the fire. "I don't suppose, then, that I'll have the pleasure of learning anything besides that?" Harlan's mouth hardened into a line. "Or will I be left calling you Ace?" He asked, his voice harsh.

"I'll have my people reach out to your people," she said nonchalantly with a careless smile and sarcasm ringing in her tone. She couldn't help but wonder just how much it bothered him that he had lost the bet tonight. Roxy had told her he didn't like to lose, but really who did? She took his tight smile as an indication that he wasn't happy about it in the least. Perfect.

Her eyes flicked back to him when he laughed and she found herself smirking even more. Hating the Falcons may well be the only thing they had in common and Tara tried not to be distracted by that. She chuckled out an incredulous laugh as she slid her gaze back to him and shook her head. "A crush on you?" she asked and then paused, tilted her head as she studied him. Flicked her green eyes down to his boots and them back to his eyes. Tara smiled wide, shrugged with one shoulder, and then said. "No, you're not my type." And that was the truth. Tara didn't date quidditch players and for good reason. Especially not ones who played for her family team. She didn't need complications like that.

And yet she found herself wishing... No. Nope. Not thinking that. She sat her glass back on the counter, danced a step away from him and shook her head, her dark hair falling softly around her shoulders. "I think that's all you need to know," she told him with an impish smile as she took a step away from him. "That and that you should probably bet on me next time." She hefted the bag of coin up in one hand and then wiggled her fingers at him in goodbye with the other and then apparated away, leaving only a crack in the air and the flash of her grin fading into thin air.