[mcg] sunflower

"Thanks, cheers, thanks, mate—" Oliver was both pulled willingly and reluctantly into an embrace after hopping off the stage, his guitar strapped over the back of his shoulder. Someone's mouth pressed roughly against his cheek and he nearly spilled his plastic cup drink in the process. He grinned, despite it.

Oliver had asked to play at the festival. In truth, it was less of a professional venture than a personal one, his mom had a stand, somewhere, amidst the sea of white tents that were newly dry after the evening shower. It was nothing too spectacular, anyway, a small stage sectioned off and home to various different Scottish performers. Ollie had done his best to pay homage to his upbringing but felt strangely out of place in the process. Sure, he was Scottish. There was no denying that. But he wasn't Scottish like his father, or his brothers.

Running a hand through waves of chestnut hair, he made his way through a crowd of people. Somewhere along the way someone had given him another drink, whisky, by the looks of it. As usual, he wasn't entirely sure where his feet were taking him but he followed anyway.

Eventually, he ended up at the stables, the sounds of the festival more distant the further he made his way in. Green eyes scanned the open air behind as the sun set across the unusually clear Summer evening. It was then that he spotted a familiar face. Narrowing his gaze, he studied the blonde who was holding her hand up to one of the cattle who stood stoically behind a sign that said 'please don't touch Homer's Horns.'

"Ha," Ollie let out a laugh as Freya turned back to him. "Hi," He grinned, taking a step forward. "They really are quite friendly," He looked sideways to her before using his free hand to gently run the tips of his fingers over the wide bridge of the animal's nose.

@Freya Trickett

Freya couldn’t help it, she just really wanted – no, needed – to pat one of the cows. It wasn’t her fault that they were so cute and shaggy... Nothing against cornish cows, of course! These highland ones were just so cute... The blonde bit her lower lip as she reached out slowly, the shaggy creature not moving an inch. Really? Freya sighed, then sipped at the local ale she held in a plastic cup in her other hand. She was a bit nervous to just pat it outright, especially since the sign was quite insistent…

The blonde looked over her shoulder as someone appeared, and for a moment she thought it was one of the friends she’d come here with. Her smile froze a little as she realised that it wasn’t, though.

“Hey,” she said, smiling but frowning a little at the same time, her expression mildly puzzled. “Oliver,” she added, as if to clarify. It was just polite, though; of course she knew who he was. Oliver Rigby was a couple of years older than her, and at one point he’d been pretty good friends with one of her older Hufflepuff cousins. Or had he dated one of her older cousins? Freya wasn’t sure; aside from a fleeting crush in her third year or whatever, he hadn’t really been on her radar during her time at hogwarts.

Either way, they hadn’t really been friends and it seemed a little out of the realm of probable that he remembered who she was. But then maybe that was just her own self esteem talking – the concept that someone famous would actually know who she was seemed a bit outlandish, even though that sounded pretty ridiculous in the British wizarding world, where everyone knew everyone – even to her. Maybe he’d mistaken her for her cousin?

“You were just on, weren’t you?” she asked politely. Freya had caught his first couple of songs, but she’d been whisked away by a friend who’d unceremoniously abandoned her by the cows.

"Oliver," He repeated, distractedly studying the cow with a grin before turning to Freya still beaming. That was the part when he was meant to say her name in return, he figured, but nothing apart from Trickett came to him. She had that same kind of glow that the whole family seemed to effortlessly possess. Ollie knew them of course, the Tricketts, they were a hard bunch to miss.

The wizard tapped his finger along his jaw in thought then opened his mouth in an attempt to find her first name. "Le—" Le? No, that didn't feel right even at the first syllable. Oliver let out a quiet sigh of defeat. "— Trickett," It came out more like a question than a statement but Oliver straightened up confidently. "Trickett, that much I know," He chuckled, sounding more sure of himself, wagging his pointer finger in the hair.

Oliver bent down to pluck a bushel of wildflowers that had grown along the side of the wooden fence, looked back up to the blonde at her question. "Oh, yeah just then," He nodded to the stage. He had quite literally just been on. Standing back up, Ollie rested his elbow atop the fence before leaning into it. "Did you have a listen?" He wondered out loud before turning to have a look at Homer again.

"They like flowers," He commented, holding out his hand over the gate, though it didn't look like the cow had any interest. "Well, I've been told..." He frowned slightly before retracting the offer.