#rid.event01

[lcmos]

open starter

location: the quidditch cup fair.

"fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." the procession of swear fell from their lips as myron wagtail wandered the fair almost frantic. dodging fans left and right with hands held up... probably made them seem like an asshole but they were genuinely upset. until they ran into another. "fuck ! sorry ! now is not the time for an autograph , lovely. got a missing drummer hours before show. and i'm in full panic mode and might forget to breathe !" they missed the small time gigs now - the silly shows in the hogwarts courtyard with the fellow students. makeshift karaoke night in the hufflepuff common room.

[wormstails-a]

⬐[event rp starter for @siriusmistakes]⬏ ━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━

peter is all energy today - he has been for the week leading up to the world cup, and he's showing no sign of stopping now that they're actually here. it's the sort of wound-up almost-nervous excess of energy reminiscent of wormtail when offered a bite of peach. (things are simpler when you're a rat, and no less joyous for it. things like peaches.)

he's circling sirius as they move through the crowds, puffing lightly with the effort of herding his fellow marauder while chatting nonstop to him, a big cheery grin on his face. "-be a great game, it has to be, but obviously the harpies are gonna win, i mean - come on, it's the harpies. and i'm not even biased," he brags, while decked out in green and sporting talon earrings. and then he whoops, hooking his arms around sirius and spinning him suddenly.

"we're here!" he repeats for the fifth time. "aren't you excited, sirius?"

[wormstails-a]

⬐[ event rp starter - open ]⬏ ━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━

peter pettigrew is certain a number of people know him, first and foremost, as james potters' shadow. he's always been the tagalong, the afterthought of the marauders; less impressive and less likeable. and as much as peter dislikes the group events he's used to? this is no death eater meeting or stifling formal event - or even a rowdy get-together at the pub. this is the world cup. peter is more of a faceless nobody than ever, which means he is in his element. he can work a crowd like he was born to do it, he can pluck just the right strings with strangers to make them friends, and he can rile up a group of his fellow quidditch fans like nobody's business.

here, people like him - maybe because they don't know him.

which is why he's a bit disappointed to run into a familiar face while bouncing between crowds of strangers. he takes it in stride, only a brief flicker of surprise on his face giving him away, and throws his arms out in greeting, fake smile solid and easy on his face. "what's your team?"

[wormstails-a]

⬐[ event rp starter for @mccnylupiiin ]⬏ ━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━

the tent is easy to pick out by the time remus finds the directions peter forwarded to him. the outside is decidedly muggle-looking, an unappealing grey and mustard-yellow canvas dome with a few stitched-on patches. (those will probably be from the time prongs fell into it antlers-first.) the bits of navy and maroon don't make it any more appealing to look at, and the green ribbons strewn around it tie an ugly bow on the whole thing.

the interior is decidedly much more pleasant, and far cozier, a nice two-story affair stuffed with worn secondhand furniture from the rat's nest. pete's definitely spruced it up since the last time they pulled the old tent out, and there's almost no sign of the previous damage from the last time they pulled it out. patterned rugs cover every inch of the floor, and every single spare blanket, rug and wall hang is green.

peter is just as green. green jumper with the harpies' talon on the front, green streaks of paint on his cheeks, and when he raises his good hand to wave remus in, green nails. "moony! i was beginning to think you got lost, mate!" he wraps his arms around remus before his friend can protest, squeezing him as tight as he can. "what do you think? cozy, right, moony? can't even see the burn marks anymore!"

[lcmos]

a mini lyric starer for rita @skeeterscribbles

" don't you tell me what you think that I could be "

his voice was sharp - his eyes piercing as he looked at her. of all the places....... he had been wandering the fair when he ran into her. "i will not listen to that poison tongue of yours , skeeter." he hissed at her. "you do not know me." looking down towards the daily prophet in his hands. "i assume you are here to write some more nonsense."