Hat Trick [Charlotte]

"Bloody hell!  It’s not like I’m meeting the Queen or anything!” 

Dark curls rippled as Alannah shook her head in vehement rejection of the string of pearls offered by her PR manager.  Whilst she was all too aware of her bad history with the media, it grated on the 25-year-old that everyone felt like she needed someone to oversee her public image.  In particular she resented being dressed up like a doll.  It was only because of her dedication to her new team that she begrudgingly put up with the stuffy old witch they’d hired to help improve her reputation.  Ultimately Al did really want to represent the Gravesend Griffins as best she could.  Still, as the brunette tugged moodily at the hem of the cream sweater dress she was wearing, she wished she could be wearing jeans and a jacket instead.  Or at least one of her own dresses.  This soft and feminine look didn’t feel natural.  If it was up to her, Alannah would much rather look serious and tough.  Like an athlete should.

“That’s enough!  I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.” 

With an exasperated sigh, Al waited for the PR witch to deem her suitable to be seen in public.  It was difficult to be patient when she knew that this was only the beginning of the tediousness the Griffin’s Seeker was going to have to endure today.  Of all things, she had an interview.  Dealing with the press was definitely Alannah's least favourite part of being a professional sportswoman.  She lived for the pitch, for flying and competing, for the elation and adrenaline of playing in front of a roaring crowd.  Not this… people pleasing nonsense.  Unfortunately Quidditch was still a money-making game at the end of the day and money came from fans.  People were more likely to buy tickets and merchandise, if they liked and felt like they knew the players.  It wasn’t as though Alannah didn’t have any admirers, but they generally liked her for the wrong reasons. 

At least I'm allowed to go unchaperoned, Alannah reflected wryly as she finally escaped the clutches of PR bitch and began to make her way to the scheduled rendezvous.  She was glad she’d been able to make a compelling argument that sending a babysitter along to the meeting would give the impression that they didn’t trust her.  Al hated being treated like a child.  As it was, she’d had to make many promises to be on her best behaviour and not cause trouble.  Alannah didn’t think she was ever the one who made trouble, although history proved that it had a way of finding her.  In her defence, trouble only started when people didn't treat her – or someone she cared about – with respect.

Upon arriving at the venue, Al couldn’t help but roll her eyes at what she saw.  PR bitch strikes again!  Sure, it was nice place with its bright lighting, crisp white linens and elegant tableware, but Alannah’s personal choice would’ve been someplace a little less snobby… and with low lighting and music, so she could avoid looking at and listening to her interviewer as much as possible.  A prim waitress quickly ushered Alannah to a reserved table, where an unenthusiastic glance at the menu revealed that they only served some kind of fancy high tea.  Great.  The embossed pieced of card was unceremoniously tossed back onto the table as Al made mental plans to find somewhere to get a burger later. 

The young witch slumped in her chair, one elbow on the table, with her chin propped on her hand.  Alannah stared glumly at the entrance as she waited for the human-piece-of-trash journalist to arrive.  She knew that her posture no doubt clearly screamed her desire not to be there, but couldn’t bring herself to give enough of a damn to change it.  Al didn’t like reporters.  Al didn’t trust reporters.  She didn’t believe she’d had any particular dealings with this one before but she had heard all about the Frenchwoman from her colleagues (or rather, been warned about her).  @Charlotte Bright had never been a friend of the Griffins; however, she was the one that the Daily Prophet wanted to do Alannah’s profile and so they were stuck with each other.  Al supposed that she should be somewhat flattered that, now she was getting into her first season with the Griffins (and doing well at that), she was finally important enough to warrant a real interview.  The press had previously been quite happy slashing her character and writing gossip about her without any formal appointment.

Spotting a pretty witch enter (who matched the description she’d been given), Alannah grudgingly rose to her feet and a plastered a fake smile on her face. 

Alright, let’s get this ordeal over with.

“Hello Charlotte.  I’m Alannah.  It’s a pleasure to meet you."

"La vache!"

With a squeak of surprise, Charlotte's big blue eyes widened as she flipped through the sheaf of papers she'd been given. Christ alive, this girl was absolutely certifiable. The more she read, the more Lottie feared for her personal safety. Teams didn't like her because she had an uncanny knack of getting exactly what she wanted. She was an only child and she'd developed the skill of pitting her parents against one another to get what she desired. Quidditch players were no different. Charlotte managed her relations the same way Napoleon managed his troops.

It didn't take much, usually. As a general rule, players were hot blooded creatures. Always on edge, always uptight, always alert. Too alert. A well-placed eye roll or a smirk could so wonders. Charlotte was tactile and graceful. She'd been called many things before; a bitch, a bulldog, even a traitor when she accidentally exposed the French captain's mistress which then got him booted from the team.

But this girl? She had a rap sheet a mile long. Drinking, fighting, swearing, partying. As she read, Charlotte winced visibly. It further cemented the fact that she'd always assumed the Griffins simply employed hooligans. She hadn't seen or spoken to Harlan in months, not since "that night" and she'd been focusing on the European games. Why? The play was more graceful and the weather was better. She had no want or need to see the captain but she was sure that once he got wind of Alannah's interview, he'd have some strong feelings on the matter. Then again, if he had the balls to meet her, the paper might have picked another reporter.

The heels of her brogues echoed on the cracked pavements underfoot as she weaved through the early throng of Christmas shoppers, her tailored suit jacket just peeking out of the collar of her camel coloured trench coat. Charlotte had no wish to spend Christmas in London. She was going to spend the wretched day in her dinky little apartment with two bottles of red wine, old black and white movies and a box of macarons. The world was a mad place and the festive season brought out the worst in people.

Her thick dark hair swung gaily from its ponytail, swishing back and forth as she drew closer. Alannah Dupont apparently had a history of smacking reporters in the face. Lottie was undaunted because she'd been thumped plenty of times and she wasn't scared. She was a Seeker. They were usually the lightest, smallest and daintiest of the team. Besides, after been knocked out cold by Veronika "The Powerhouse" Petrova, she was assuming it would all be tickety-boo.

The Prophet was paying for the meeting and the choice of venue had been Miss. Dupont's - or rather her manager's - and the place serving high tea made the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile as she ducked inside. With care, she slipped off her coat, which had been hanging on her shoulders in a very Gallic way, to the hostess with a smile. Politely, she declined the offer of help as her guest was visible from here.

The first realisation that hit her was that the Griffin's Seeker was hot. Her initial thought had been holy shit, closely followed by I should ask her out for a drink.

Charlotte strode forward down the grand dining room, pleased and surprised at Alannah's politeness as she stood up. It was a pleasure to meet her? Lottie's smile widened just a tad. Oh babe, you have no idea. "Miss Dupont, the pleasure's all mine." With that, she extended her hand across the table for the Quidditch star to shake. With the formalities complete, she took a seat and dumped what was effectively a dossier on the woman in front of her, on the chair closest to her.

"I'd really love a tea, please," Charlotte spoke to the waitress who had come over quickly. Her accent was difficult to place. It was somewhere middling European. Her words were very British, the pattern of speech decidedly from Blighty but her tone was something completely Parisian. Charlotte's eyes slid to Alannah, noticing her dress and how she seemed both bored and uncomfortable to be there.

"So," Lottie said smoothly, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on an upturned palm, the picture of ease as her eyes glittered and she leaned forward an inch, just enough to be noticed. "Congratulations on finally making the first string." It a barb at her failures in her past but a thinly veiled on, a backhanded compliment at best. "How're you settling in at the Griffins?" She asked, smiling at the waitress as she deposited the drinks and she dropped two sugar cubes into it. "Gravesend is a lovely part of the world." It was almost impossible to tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

Alannah noticed the folder and the soft ‘thump’ it made as the other witch set it down on a chair.  She rolled her eyes at it while Charlotte was ordering tea.  No doubt this reporter considered the false stories and gossip she had gathered about Alannah to be ‘research’.  It was quite likely she had already decided what to write about the Griffin’s new Beater and the purpose of this interview must just be to see if she could shake up any fresh drama.  Well, Al was determined not to give her satisfaction by getting shaken.

She accepted a cup of tea just so she'd have something to do with her hands.  Too bad it’s not beer.  Although Al didn’t know whether or not the consumption of alcohol would help or hinder the interview… probably the latter.  A frown creased her face at the opening comment about making first string.  It might not have been intended as a dig but Al was ready and willing to assume that everything and anything the reporter said was intended to belittle her.  The media had always been more interested in undermining her success than celebrating it. 

“Thank you.”  She responded stiffly.  “I've worked very hard to get where I am today.”  Alannah’s career may have been slow to progress but she hadn’t taken any shortcuts to success.  She’d always found that to be the most ironic part of the rumours about her promiscuity.  If she had really been sleeping her way to the top, wouldn't she have gotten there sooner?

“I’m settling in very well.  I should think that our performance in the season so far should speak for that.”  The Griffins were only second on the table and off to a very good start.  There was still plenty of time for them to bump the Harpies out of first place. 

“Gravesend is lovely.”  She agreed with only a flicker of hesitation as her eyes dropped to the table.  It wasn’t a lie – Al did think Gravesend was lovely – but she missed her hometown in Ireland.  A part of her heart would always belong to Kenmare.  Distracted for a moment, Alannah took a sip of tea and grimaced.  Yuck!  Returning the cup to its saucer, she resolutely pushed it to the side of the table.  It wasn't worth trying to pretend she liked these things.  At the end of the day Al didn’t really care if this chick thought she was classy or not.  Clearing her throat, she continued.  “I'm fortunate to be able to work in such a great place with such a great group of people.”  That was the trick, she figured; just kept spouting pro-Griffins comments.  It wasn’t really her style to waffle but the young witch did love her team so it wouldn’t be too difficult to come up with nice things to say about them. 

“I think we mesh really well together.  It's great to be with a team that has my back.”  Internally Al reflected that she probably shouldn’t have said that last part.  It had sounded a little bitter.  Oh well.  She shrugged it off and pushed forward with more positive Griffins spiel.  “Harlan is a superb Captain and I know he’ll see us through to the championship.”

Alannah doubted that this Charlotte was going to satisfied with a casual chat about how wonderful the Griffins were.  These were only the opening moves of the game.  Squaring her shoulders, Al lifted her chin challengingly in the other woman’s direction and met her eyes with a steely gaze.  “So, what would you like to know, Ms Bright?”

“Of course,” Charlotte conceded with a smile. She was very aware just how hard Alannah had worked to get there. It had evidently been a long slog for the brunette and rumours were rife. If sleeping her way into the first team was true, the poor love must have been bonking the wrong sort of person. It was clear to her that Miss. Dupont was not a fan of reporters and it struck her as strange. Most Quidditch players didn’t like those in her profession and she couldn’t understand it. Journalists wrote about their performances. It came with the job, being open to criticism. Surely that was expected? Charlotte helped boost their fanbase, their fame, their notoriety. It might be nice not to be labelled as a lepper once in a while.

Charlotte’s big bright eyes blinked in surprise at the other woman’s forwardness and it caused her to drop her sugar cube into her tea cup with a sploosh. “There’s always room for improvement,” came the smooth response with another smile. They were in second place and if you weren’t first, you were last. “The Magpies have had a couple of new signings,” she added casually. “They’re looking strong.” This wasn’t said to aggravate Alannah but rather, it was just common knowledge. As a professional player, it would make sense that she’d have her finger on the pulse of news about her rivals.

As she pushed her tea away, unimpressed, Charlotte picked hers up. She curled her slim fingers around the white porcelain and blew delicately across the top of it before taking a small sip. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask of Alannah might prefer a bottle of beer before she swallowed the rude comment. A whiskey, perhaps. With a chaser.

This all sounded a little bit like Stockholm Syndrome. She was trying to convince Charlotte - or herself - that the Griffins were a good fit. She’d used the word great twice in the same sentence she felt herself smirking. “Well that’s just lovely,” Lottie found herself replying, sounding saccharine sweet. She didn’t know her captain the way she did.

“Oh?” Charlotte asked, interested. “And you don’t feel the other teams awarded you with that experience?” With a tilt of her head, she continued. “I don’t wish to be rude,” she was about to be, “but considering your time at the Kenmare Kestrels, you --” pausing, she opened the dossier and red from the pages. “Had a physical altercation with the captain, a fan and a reporter.” Pausing, she flicked her eyes up to Alannah’s. “And you were somehow surprised at being demoted from the team and asked to leave?” She’d had issues trying to get signed since that and while Charlotte could sympathise, she understood that the teams needed to keep their fans and investors happy.

Ah, Harlan.

Charlotte smiled again. “I’m sure he’s very capable,” she added lightly. She didn’t mention that he was the captain of the English team that had failed to qualify for the World Cup. Or that Harlan had a bad reputation, much like Alannah did. Or that her captain was decidedly boorish. Every time they’d met, he’d been decidedly beastly to her. “He’ll see you through, alright,” Charlotte added as an afterthought. “But the way he’s been lately,” here, she paused and pulled a face, whistling through her teeth as though she was about to impart some very bad news. “I dunno.” She shrugged. “Do you have a therapist on staff?” Lottie asked sweetly. "He really does take losses extremely poorly. I don’t think that’s the best headspace to be in leading a team through the League. Does the pressure get to you?” She asked, her quill poised above her notebook, half expecting Alannah to give her the traditional oh no, nerves fuel me, I loooove pressure spiel that all new recruits did. It was actually quite sweet.

So, what did she want to know? "Everything about you, Miss. Dupont," Charlotte countered with another smile. "Our readers want to know all about what makes you tick. They’re interested in the Griffins’ new signing. They’re keen to know if the former bad girl of lower league Quidditch has been reformed." Pausing, she took another sip of her tea. "You’re a hot commodity. I’m simply here to make sure my readers are fully informed before the next game."

The Magpies?  Alannah made a non-committal sound and shrugged.  Fair comment or not, she wasn’t really interested in praising or bad-mouthing other teams.  This reporter was slick.  The smiles which were probably designed to put Al at ease were having the opposite effect and making the Griffin’s player progressively more uncomfortable.  The exaggeratedly sweet way she sometimes spoke was also beginning to make Al's skin crawl.  Reflexively, she sat further back in her seat to put more distance between herself and something she found unpleasant.  Arms crossed over her chest, Alannah’s posture was closed and unreceptive. 

I don't wish to be rude…  If ever there was a phrase to make Al want to punch someone, it was that one.  Saying such a thing only served to draw attention to one’s rudeness and was only used by people who knew they were being rude but were going to do it anyway.  Her eyes narrowed in anticipation of Charlotte’s forecasted discourtesy.  Physical altercation?  A snort of amusement escaped her.  What a perfectly civilised way to describe smacking someone in the face!  The question posed was a bit of a dumb one though, in Alannah’s opinion.  She wasn’t a complete idiot so of course she hadn’t been surprised when the Kestrels kicked her.  Hurt and betrayed, though?  Most definitely.  However, this was a subject she had been warned to avoid and didn’t particularly want to discuss anyway.  Yet, she couldn’t help pointing out grumpily, "You're taking those incidents completely out of context." 

Alannah knew that she had a temper and maybe could've handled certain things better.  However, it never ceased to suck that people were more interested in passing judgement on her for what she had done than on what those people had done to deserve it – as if hitting someone was somehow the worst thing you could do to them; rather than the crap they tried to pull on her.  Al figured it simply upset people because they liked their women demure and easily controlled.  It had been the inability of certain individuals to take ‘no’ for an answer that had spawned most of the trouble in the first place.  "I've never hit anyone who didn't have it coming."  Alannah commented with a glare for Charlotte.  No threat was intended but she could go ahead and take it as one.  Alannah was starting to form the opinion that this reporter had a very punch-able face.

Despite her promises to management and herself that she would keep her cool, Alannah couldn’t stop herself from rising to the bait.  The way he's been lately…  The facial expression and extended whistle put on by Charlotte…  “What the f*ck is that supposed to mean?!?!”  She burst out angrily, her raised voice drawing shocked glances from the other patrons around the establishment.  “Are you trying to suggest that I need therapy?!?  That Harlan what, scouts unstable people?!  Or that he's some kind of unhinged abusive jerk that turns them mental himself?!”  Al was furious but stayed in her seat.  As tempted as she was to walk out right then, she had made a commitment to try her best with this interview.  Admittedly it wasn’t going great so far, however, she hadn’t done anything unforgivable yet.

“Look, I'm not going to pretend that he's always a peach to work with,” she continued in a lower voice, still fuming but trying to keep a reign on her temper, “sometimes he can be a right ass, but everyone’s like that.  We all have bad days.  I can admit that there are times when I’m probably difficult to deal with and I’ve no doubt that you yourself are not always pleasure to be around.”  Like now.  The tilt of her head and focus of her gaze communicated clearly what Alannah was thinking of the other woman.  “But trust me when I tell you, Harlan is one of the good guys.”  Her tone of voice was firm, her face set.  It was a point on which she would brook no argument.  Alannah’s support for her captain was unwavering. 

“Look, it can be a stressful job.  Everyone knows that.  I'm not going to bullshit you.  We're all just people and we're not perfect.  Some days things don't go so well and you just feel like crap and you lose your temper.”  Alannah shrugged as though this was no big deal and in her mind it wasn’t.  Just because they were public figures that shouldn’t mean it was completely inexcusable for them to act like human beings from time to time.  “It's just a matter of finding the right ways to let off steam.”  She attempted shift the conversation back to a more positive note.  “And it helps to know that your team mates are there for you.  We all look after each other.  Harlan included.”

“Reformed?”  She repeated blankly.  This was the part where Alannah knew she was supposed to claim remorse for past behaviours and promise to be better going forward.  Yet the Griffin’s Seeker hesitated over the scripted responses.  Considering how off the cuff she had already just been, Al didn’t believe that Charlotte would buy into the story she was now some sort of genteel lady; plus, it was crappy and unfair.  Alannah wanted to do right by her team, but she didn't think she should have to pretend to be a completely different person to do so.  Sure, being likeable was somewhat important.  However, Al had never been one to pander to the wishes of others and personally thought she ought to be bloody well likeable enough as she was.

So instead she said, “F*ck, I don't know.”  Reaching up, she pulled out her pearl earrings and dumped them on the table.  A petty protest maybe, but it made Al feel a little better.  “I'm not sure I like everyone's idea of reformed.”  Compared with her earlier outburst, the witch’s demeanour was now positively calm.  Still an undertone of frustration persisted in her words.  “I just want to play Quidditch, not kiss everyone's asses.  I work myself half to death trying to be the best player I can be, and for what?  To be told I'm supposed to just batt my eyelashes and giggle when someone talks shit to me?”  Alannah shook her head in disgust.  “I'm not that kind of girl.  Feel free to inform your readers of that.  I'm not going to apologise for who I am.”  And there it was, she was taking a stand.  If she was going to be judged anyway, let it be for her true self rather than some made-up doll.  Alannah then caught the reporter’s eye with a look that was all sharp edges and no softness.  “Are you actually interested in knowing who that is though? Or do you just want to go ahead and label me the ‘bad girl’ based on shit you don't even understand?”

Well, damn.

Charlotte's eyes widened as Alannah decided to pop off. If the Quidditch player left the interview now, it would be a new record. Absently, she checked her watch; six and a half minutes. "Am I?" She asked, surprised as to how the other woman thwacking someone in the face could be taken in any other context. Still, she smiled. "And you're the ideal judge of who," she checked her notes, "had it coming"?" She stirred her tea. "Unfortunately, in this game, you don't really get the chance to determine how people see you. I, however, think it's a hoot," she smiled at Alannah placidly. More, please.

At Alannah's outburst, Charlotte blinked calmly. Someone near them dropped their teaspoon with a clang! "Mental wellbeing isn't anything to be ashamed of," she countered, her voice even. "You work in a fast-paced, highly stressful environment. My comment shouldn't be a stretch." Did she think Alannah needed therapy? Charlotte didn't answer. But she did think the other woman needed her bad attitude knocked out of her somehow, by talking or by a Quaffle to the face.

The comments about Harlan earned Alannah a knowing smile. The Prophet had a long list of things Harlan had smashed up when he was in a rage. She didn't agree with what he did but she would admit that he did fascinate her, in a perverse kind of way. He seemed to be angry but she'd seen hints of softness around the edges. Not that it mattered because he had always been a dick to her.

In the corner of her parchment, Charlotte had a swear tally as she listened to Alannah chat away. An eyebrow was arched as she launched an attack on her character and remained silent because she knew she was a delight to be around. A look of concern crossed her face as Alannah seemed to pledge allegiance to the cult of Harlan Bellamy. "This all sounds a little bit like Stockholm Syndrome," she added lightly. "You know he's just a man, right?" Charlotte asked as she flicked her eyes back and forth across the other woman's face. Crikey. Imagine what state Alannah would be in when Bellamy decided to retire. He was over thirty years old now, his body wouldn't be able to take the onslaught for many more seasons.

Another mark was added to the swear tally. The earrings Alannah slammed down on the table were pretty but obviously not her style. "So, what is your idea of reformed, then?" Charlotte asked, as she leaned forward, interested. Alannah hadn't apologised for her downright terrible behaviour thus far so maybe reformation, to her, was all relative.

"And that's what you think?" Charlotte pressed her. "That you're supposed to wear dresses and lipstick and mind your Ps and Qs?" She asked, amused. "Babe," Charlotte began as she sipped her tea once more. "Fire your stylist," she commented, nodding to her dress. "You never should have agreed to wear that. You look uncomfortable." And angry. "If you think you've got something to prove, then prove it," Charlotte added, spreading her arms wide. "If you think everyone is out to get you," which she clearly did, "shut them up."

One more mark on the swear chart. "Me?" She asked, looking up when asked if she was actually interested in getting to know her. Her answer was instantaneous. "No," she replied honestly. "But that's not what I'm here for. But do tell me about the shit I don't understand." Charlotte smiled, giving Alannah her full attention. Thus far, she hadn't disproved any of her notes or ideas. All Charlotte had discerned was that Alannah was somehow angry that people weren't taking her seriously. After all, she was the one that was in national newspapers, advertising broom polish in her bikini.

Alannah really wanted to hit something or someone – or rather a particular someone sitting across the table from her and sipping tea with a smug look on her stupid face.  Fortunately for Charlotte, just being a bitch wasn’t quite enough to drive Alannah to physical violence.  She hadn’t actually wronged Al in any way – yet; all she was really doing was just parroting the sort of crap that other people said all the time.  Besides, punching Charlotte in the face would be like admitting that the reporter was getting under her skin.  Al didn’t want to give her that satisfaction. 

The most frustrating part was that there was a sliver of truth to the suggestion that Alannah needed psychiatric help.  She didn’t know how to deal with her emotions other than getting angry and lashing out, against others, against herself.  The team had in fact arranged for the Seeker to have counselling about her temper (though they’d had the good sense to call it “coaching”).  Trying to remember those sessions, Alannah made herself count slowly to ten in her head and took a deep breath.  This simple exercise did help bring her anger back down to a simmer.  She still thought the interview was a complete joke but Alannah didn’t want to play right into Charlotte’s hands.  Keep your shit together, Al.

The suggestion that she could be suffering from some kind of Stockholm Syndrome just about set Alannah off again.  The idea that she was some kind of victim enamoured with Harlan, her supposed abuser, was just so so wrong.  Al ground her teeth angrily but otherwise managed to keep a lid on her temper.  “I know he’s just a man.  Do you?”  She countered sharply with a pointed look at Charlotte.  “Of course Harlan is just a man,” she scoffed, “but he’s much better than most men.”  Despite his rough exterior and crabby moods, Alannah knew he was just a big softie on the inside.  Clearly Charlotte was clueless if she thought Harlan was really one of the bad guys just because he was occasionally short-tempered. 

“The real monsters are the ones who talk and act pretty… who will smile sweetly while they screw you over and then expect you to thank them for it.”  The 25-year-old had met more than her fair share of nasty types.  There were experiences she would rather not remember but still they came to mind, causing her chest to feel tight and restricted as she tried to take a deep breath.  Alannah avoided meeting Charlotte’s eye as she clenched her jaw and tossed her head angrily again.  She was infinitely thankful that she didn’t have to worry about any funny business with her current Captain.  “What is it that you have against Harlan anyway?”  She fired back abruptly.  “He’s never said anything about you, but you seem to have your panties in a real twist about him.”

“You’re not wrong, Charlotte.”  The comment that she should fire her stylist almost made Alannah crack a grin.  Instead she shook her head sadly in reflection.  “Listening to what other people think I should do has never done me any good.”  At that she did manage a light smile.  Did she think people were out to get her?  Alannah didn’t subscribe to being a victim but she’d been burned too many times to not be cautious.  It was true that she found it hard to trust strangers.  She was so used to people making assumptions about her that she’d started to make assumptions about them in return. 

“No?”  Alannah was momentarily taken aback by Charlotte’s honesty.  She had expected the reporter to try and butter her up with false compliments, feign interest in Alannah’s life story.  “Good.  We don’t need to pretend to be friends then.”  A genuine smile arose on her face for the first time during her whole interaction with Charlotte.  It was easier to feel a little more relaxed now that she’d completely given up on sticking to the guidelines for the interview. 

Now that the reporter was apparently turning more serious attention to what Alannah had to say, she contrarily found herself more inclined to goof off.  “Ah shit, I don’t know.  You caught me, I’m just a dumb brute and there’s nothing deeper to it.”  She fiddled with a teaspoon on the table, briefly amusing herself by imagining how much fun it would be to use it to catapult sugar cubes at all the snobs in the café.  Then Alannah sighed deeply and used both hands to tuck her hair back behind her ears.  It was a bit stupid to complain about no one ever taking the time to find out about the ‘real Alannah’ and then just cracking jokes when there was opportunity to share the truth.  But how did one even begin to explain who they were?

“I’ve never been a natural flier,” she started softly, her voice oddly subdued.  “Hell, until I turned eleven I didn’t even know there was any such thing as Quidditch.  I never touched a broom until I got to Hogwarts.  Still…”  Alannah’s face lit up as she remembered experiencing these things for the first time.  “I had never wanted anything more than to fly.”  She didn’t look at Charlotte, finding it easier to talk if she pretended she was telling a friend.  “Can you imagine,” she grinned widely, “a whole new world of magic had just opened up to me, and what did I want to do?  Get on a broomstick and go as fast as possible.”

“I begged my parents for months to buy me a broom – and them not knowing anything about brooms at all.”  Alannah chuckled lightly and shook her head.  “And then, and then, I wasn’t even any good!  Not like the other kids.  Flying wasn’t as easy as I’d thought.  But I practiced and practiced…  I spent every spare minute I could on the pitch.”  The humour faded from her expression as she drew to the less enjoyable memories.  Noticing a spot of spilled tea on the table, Al began to draw circles in it with one fingertip. 

“I never wanted to model…  But when I didn’t immediately get scouted for a Quidditch team, I had to do something with my time.”  Alannah shrugged in feigned nonchalance.  “My dad is a photographer, my mother a seamstress.  They were excited for me ‘cause here was a part of my world they thought they could understand.”  It hadn’t always been easy for her Muggle parents to cope with having a witch for a daughter but she appreciated how they had always tried to muddle along with things, always supported her even when they didn’t know what was going on.  “I didn’t want to disappoint them,” she admitted with a sad smile.

“I never stopped wanting to play Quidditch though.  Despite –“  Alannah paused, hesitant to go into detail about all of her rejections, mistakes and regrets; the dark places she’d been and barely escaped from.  “Everything.  Despite being consistently told that my talents lay elsewhere.”  It was hardly like Al was trying to make out like she was somehow inspirational for preserving in the face of adversity.  She didn’t feel like deserved a trophy or anything.  All she wanted was some damn respect.  It had been a long slog to the top so it really sucked when people kept trying to pin her success on her sex appeal rather than her hard work.  They didn’t appreciate how much being in the league meant to her after being told ‘no’ for so long. 

“I didn’t get into Quidditch for the fame or the money.  I’m not in this to be popular.  I’m here because when I was a little girl and I learned I could fly, I decided I never wanted to touch the ground again.”  It was cheesy.  She immediately realised that it sounded really cheesy.  Genuine though she was in what she said, Alannah was aware that words were not really her forte.  There were plenty of people who would probably be able to express themselves better.  “Ah… shit,” Al cleared her throat awkwardly and then laughed.  She hadn’t actually meant to launch into her life story – even if it was an abridged and positively-spun version.  “Sorry for getting all sappy there for a minute.”  Alannah was surprised at herself but not embarrassed.  It wasn’t like she really cared what Charlotte thought anyway.  The reporter had already made it clear that she wasn’t interested on a personal level. 


wow, sorry it got so long lol. Let me know if you'd like anything tweaked

Did she realise Harlan was a man? "You're kidding," Charlotte replied, her big dark eyes wide in mock surprise. "And here I was thinking he was a flamingo." She was well aware that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit but when dealing with people of Alannah's calibre, she could stoop to their level. Oh, cute. She thought he was better than most men. It took all of her strength not to ask how many men the Quidditch player actually knew.

Charlotte sat in mild surprise as Alannah continued with her verbal diarrhoea. It honestly sounded like she'd been cheated on and she was still bitter about it. She couldn't keep up and she was swinging wildly from feeling a bit sorry for the Irishwoman and wanting to slap some sense into her. Then again, that was part of her job as a new celebrity; people loved you or they hated you and Alannah would surely be decisive.

Despite that, Charlotte smiled. "He has no effect whatsoever on my panties," came the smooth reply as she offered a nonchalant shrug. "I just think he's a bit of a dick," she replied truthfully as she blew at a lock of her dark hair and reclined in her seat. Charlotte was pleased Harlan hadn't mentioned her because she wasn't sure she liked the idea of her name being in his mouth. "Yeah, he's hot," she continued, sounding uninterested. "But he lacks the charisma and charm that makes people want to date him. You know what I mean?" She asked Alannah with a tilt of her head. Harlan Bellamy was a one night stand kind of guy. Once anyone got past the actual act, she didn't think there would be much to talk about afterwards. "He's a chapter, not a whole book. Great ass, though."

Alannah's smile made Charlotte laugh, high and clear as it cut through the stuffy atmosphere of the restaurant. "Fear not, you aren't on my Christmas card list."

Sitting with Alannah was feeling like a rollercoaster. One minute she was deep and insightful and the next she was pissy and childish. Charlotte smiled again, silently agreeing with her self-analysis of her being a brute. "No one's a natural flier, hun. You're not an owl." The words were out before Charlotte could stop them. Soon, the Parisienne pulled a face. While she admired the Quidditch player's passion for flight, Charlotte found the entire thing absolutely terrible.

As Alannah spoke, Charlotte's quill flicked back and forth across as she detailed her home life and her childhood. It sounded fine, not particularly full of horrors. She could be endearing. A lot of people still tended to root for the underdog, so she could earn herself some more fans. "That bikini thing still haunt you?" The shorter woman asked.

Alannah had Muggle parents. As the other woman spoke, Charlotte paused, her quill ready and her eyebrows arched, silently coaxing her to continue. Everyone had been told no once in a while. It was good for the ego for it to be checked occasionally. But whatever Alannah was selling, Charlotte wasn't completely buying. "You're sure?" She asked her when she said she didn't want fame or money. "If that was the case, why did you fight so hard to come to the Griffins?" She blinked. "Surely a lower league team would have you achieve the same thing, no?"

It was cheesy and that might be why Lottie wasn't totally sold. Still, she smiled. Her readers would love Alannah. Tall, beautiful, almost sane. She was talented with an edge of mystery. Charlotte wondered if her team had briefed her on the fanatical fans. Charlotte began to speculate how long it would be before the other woman received a pair of pants in the mail.

Wordlessly, Charlotte held out a napkin to Alannah, just in case she got a bit teary. "No worries," she replied cheerfully. "I crack people like walnuts. It's really not your fault," she added with a bright smile. "So," she clapped her hands briskly. "How're you feeling about your first game?"




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