beats and broomsticks | open
The night was a reason for celebration. Anybody who said that the Cannons didn’t deserve their win was a complete liar. Her team worked hard, it seemed to be all they did, yet at times they seemed to be the butt of a joke; an embarrassing stain on the legacy that was. It explained the rising mood, the joy that was floating in the air after their hard-earned victory. Emma wasn’t the type to go out and celebrate in the rowdiest of ways, much unlike her teammates. She did nothing except look entertained, sitting at the bar with her drink and taking a sip. Quidditch was her one place of solace, something that she relied on for her sanity.
Tonight, it seemed, her ambitions would be put on the back burner.
Grabbing the mead from in front of her, Emma modestly drank. It was easy after a match, to feel like one was on top of the world, it certainly made the drinks go down easier. Stretching her arms, she’d tapped the bar once more, signalling for another drink. The team was so overjoyed at their victory that they’d opened a tab, it was something she was willing to take advantage of.
Emma was an observant type, she was more than overjoyed to be watching and waiting, to be looking at what was happening around her. She knew that she wouldn’t remember a thing in the morning, she figured that she’d have fun on this evening. Her fingers tapped lightly to the beat of the song that serenaded the bar, foot tapping along. Reaching up to fix her hair, the girl avidly drank. Mead was a dangerous substance, it never really burnt enough to warn you that you should stop. Her mind was concentrating on few things in this moment; the music and mead being the brunt of them.
The only thing that snapped her out of trance was the body stumbling into her, causing her to stumble back.
“-oh.”
She wasn’t really much for words.
Alecto had been under such scrutiny lately that she was trying to make more public appearances. It was hard to be blamed for things if a bunch of drunk witnesses had seen you out at a celebration of revelry and fun, was it not? But it wasn't really her scene... she had tried to dress up, to seem more normal, but still, she seemed almost too stiff among a bunch of dancing banshees screaming about their victory and the people who loved them. Her face turned sour every time a drunkard threw an arm around her and pulled her into one of those shifting back and forth drunken chants.
Almost imagining the look of both amusement and bemusement on her brother's face was enough to make her snap the twig she'd brought to shove inside her pocket, her wand still concealed much further away; she knew if she was to do this having something that could cause mass destruction at her fingertips was probably not wise, but the feel of something wooden and wand-like in a pocket always made her feel safer. The snap was loud, and somehow it calmed her, but only for a moment as a body careened into her, sending her smashing into Emma with the force of a woman twice her size.
"Petulant, abysmal little --" Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her head was turned from Emma to spit a curse -- figuratively, anyway -- at the person who had pushed her, but they'd moved off quickly enough. Eyes still full of fire but trying to reclaim her moment, she returned her gaze to Emma, stiffly offering, "I apologise, I was pushed..."











