Maisie wasn't even sure why she was here.
She'd tried to get out of it. A few times, actually. Her boss, as always, was firm. And she was a pushover. That was why she was currently standing in the VIP box at the Montrose Magpies Quidditch ground. It was a beautiful day in Scotland. Clear and crisp with a heavy dusting of snow. It was bitter outside, she'd realised as she came up from London.
The snow down south was much more different. It was grey and slimy and was always pigeon-pocked before she'd managed to get her boots on but here? Here was magical. Despite the cold weather, she could hear the crowd screaming on their team. From her vantage point, she could see black and white flags and scarves. It was impossible not to be moved by the show of solidarity by the fans.
This was nothing to do with her. Someone higher up was after some sort of sponsorship deal or endorsement. There was a large table and seated around it where men she didn't know. A tall be speckled man from the Prophet with keen eyes and a quill at the ready. A balding man in an ill fitting suit with a gold tooth who seemed to want to chat. Her boss and a few other people from her department. It was like a meet and greet, apparently.
Maisie had been brought along to take notes and so she did. She'd
dressed plainly, her long dark hair in a bun at the base of her neck as she scribbled. She hadn't sat down because she hadn't been invited to. They were all chatting and hollering, drinking the free drinks and eating the food laid on by the team.
For people who wanted to speak to the players, they didn't seem interested in watching them play.
An almighty boo shook the stadium and she looked up sharply. The Magpies were losing. Badly. It didn't seem fair because they were playing well. They were just seemingly outclassed. The other team, from her perspective, were playing rather dirtily. There were a lot of stray elbows flying and she felt behind the fans as they yelled at the opposing players. Soon enough, the whistle blew for full time and Maisie's heart dropped in sadness. Not for her but for Circenn.
"What do you mean I can't leave?" The petite brunette asked, her clear eyes wide in shock as she reached for the door handle. She'd made the notes she was asked to make and now she wanted to go before the players came in. That was her stipulation.
Circenn haunted both her daydreams and her thoughts. It had been weeks since they'd had that terrifying and comforting camping experience. She'd left in a terrible way and she hoped he wasn't upset that she'd left without saying goodbye. It wasn't her style but she hadn't wanted to get him accidentally swept up in her mad family. She'd been polite and so, she trusted that he wouldn't mind too much. He seemed too easy going to be hung up on the actions of a silly girl like her.
Duly chastised, she held her leather-bound notebook to her chest and took her spot again, her back against the wall and her eyes fixed firmly on her sensible black court shoes. She didn't know how many players were going to meet with her employers this afternoon. It was about three o'clock or so and the sun was setting, snow was starting to fall again as she waited patiently as the fans began to leave, some more disgruntled than others.
Maybe it won't be him, she thought brightly, thinking of the taller man. The thought lifted her heart before she realised that duh; he was the captain. Like summoning a genie, the door opened and in he walked. Maisie's mouth ran dry as she tracked her eyes over his shoulders and shifted uncomfortably. Ever the shrinking violet, she recoiled and moved out of the way a little, trying desperately to blend in.
Please don't, please don't, please don't, she prayed like a mantra, hoping Circenn looked right through her like everyone else did. The last thing her boss needed to know was how she'd spent the night in a quidditch star's tent.
@Circenn Kekoa Teague 
