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03-01-2015, 06:47 AM
@Leander Grantham
@Kingston Shacklebolt
Though he supposed it might be more than the number to be found in Irvingly or into the Highlands, Edward knew there were not a large number of men sporting dark skin to be found in Hogsmeade, and so whenever one was spotted, it gave the wizard a moment of panicked pause as his mind desperately tried to match vague characteristics to the face—the body—he knew so well. Always before, his heart would return to its normal rhythm, his breathing would begin again, and the panic would subside as the beater concluded that no, the man was not him, that he would not have to endure that particular form of torture.
There was, it would seem, a first time forever—how utterly predictable that it would, of all places, happen in the quidditch shop.
It should have proven a quick errand; Ted merely needed a new set of shears to touch up the ends of his broomstick. Then he had been distracted by the Latest And Greatest model available—well out of his price range, alas—and then run into a colleague. Now, shears in hand, he faced a new obstacle, one that stood between him and the cash as well as between him and any hope of escape: Kingston Shacklebolt.
To say he hated his ex-lover was not entirely true. To say he still cared for his ex-lover would have been less true still. To say he wanted nothing more than to be far far away, however, would have been quite on the mark.
Unable to make any sort of dignified flight, Ted elected to be decidedly interested in the jars of wood polish lining the nearest shelf.
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AGE | BLOOD STATUS |
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50 | 15 Likes |
Kingston might have been retired from Quidditch (and rather regrettably settling into a desk job at the Ministry) but that didn't mean he'd left it behind by any means. If his life hadn't been so saturated in it he'd say it was a habit he couldn't seem to kick. But it was more than a habit. Nearly everything in his life had been tied to quidditch. The things he did, the people he knew, his wife, the best and worst times of his life... it was all there with a common backdrop of Quidditch.
So yes he'd come to the store to get his fix. The toy broom he'd purchased was just formality of that. Rosanna would be two this year and he knew she was a bit young to be flying just yet but with parents like hers it was only a matter of time. Plus he couldn't leave empty handed. He turned away from the cashier and halted in his tracks.
The unmistakable profile of Edward Bobbin stood only a few yards away. After weeks of seeing apparitions of him, writing them each off as a trick of the mind, he was now faced with that nightmare in the flesh. King's jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth. Moving to Hogsmeade had always included this risk, a risk he thought he was steeled for. Instead he found himself taking to the opposite side of the store, hoping to make it out before he looked up. Naturally he underestimated the space between a woman's bustle and a display of broomsticks. They clattered to the ground, peppered by the sound of his muttered curses.
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It was only the sound of a commotion that drew the beater’s eyes, and only the rediscovery that, yes, it was Shacklebolt prompted him to shift them right the hell back. It was bad enough the bastard was here at all—he had to make a scene, too!?
SO SORRY. Thought I’d replied eons ago >.<
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AGE | BLOOD STATUS |
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He managed to catch a few before they fell to the ground. At least he was retaining some of his athletic coordination. He might have caught a few more if he hadn't been so busy checking to see if the noise had caught the attention of a certain someone. Kingston looked up just in time to see him quickly looking away, like the guilty snipe he was.
" Problem, Bobbin?" He spat before he could rein it back in. It was bad enough knowing the man was somewhere out in the world ignoring him but to do so so flagrantly when they were in the same room together? Infuriating. Just the sight of him was a wrenching reminder of... of everything. How he'd abandoned him. What they'd been together. Or even worse: what they'd done together. There was a witness to what King was, simply floating around the town he intended to make his home.
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And he’d been seen. Not only seen, but seen without the decency to pretend he wasn’t. How Ted had ever fancied himself in love—what a twat of a notion!—with such an inconsiderate ass was beyond him. Now his heart was full only of resentment and probably still a little love because Kayte enjoys ruining Ted.
“I’m not the one knocking over displays,” he replied coolly, unwilling to be the one to run off with his tail between his legs now that Shacklebolt had broken their apparently too unspoken agreement to ignore each other. Fine. He would ‘win’ the conversation, whatever that entailed, and look damn good doing so!
“I see now why you retired when you did—how long has simple coordination been failing you?” They were, unfortunately, too close to have to yell, but at least their…banter would not cause further commotion.
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He should have just left. It would have felt an awful lot like running because that's exactly what it would have been but at least he wouldn't be stuck here exchanging words with him. His grip tightened around the broom he'd managed to catch. He faced his nemesis squarely as the woman he'd tried to brush past tittered around him, picking up the fallen brooms.
"Don't you have anywhere else to be? Someone else's afternoon to ruin?" Flashy comebacks were not really his strong suit. They never had been. It did not help that the Arrows were doing so well this season other wise he'd had a ready insult about the man's performance.
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Ted had never been the one to ruin things. No, that had been purely Shacklebolt’s cross to bear. The beater wasn’t sure which he loathed the other man for more—starting things or ending them. Both were unforgivable slights to his pride if nothing else; to retain what shreds of it remained intact, Ted refused to acknowledge that the man might have damaged anything else similarly unseen to the naked eye.
“This, Mr. Shacklebolt, is my job. It’s entirely understandable that I might be here. You, however…” he trailed off smugly. Age hadn’t caught up with Ted, at least not yet.
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"Yes, I remember well how you made it your job to be a nuisance." He had not known it was possible to hate someone so much but somehow this man just brought out the absolute worst in him. It was not fair that he could stand there and so cooly mock him. He just didn't seem to appreciate how angry he was because if he did he wouldn't dare be so snide.
It was so childish but for every once of rage he felt, in equal measure he wanted the man to some how understand how lethally angry he was. He was just a breath away from hitting something or stomping his feet just to make the point. King was going to get arrested, he could feel it. It might be worth it if it meant he could knock the man on his ass for a while.
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“Careful, Shacklebolt,” he chided patronizingly. “Someone might think you’re jealous that I was always the better player.”
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"I'll take the risk. Anyone who has seen your playing would know better." This was so like him. How could King have forgotten how awful he was? It was as if in all the time King had spent thinking about him after the wedding his memories had distorted Edward into a person he'd never been. He couldn't believe he'd wasted 2 years on this man. Even worse, he couldn't believe he'd spent another whole year wishing he'd come back to him.
His rage-turned-contempt spilled out of him with a derisive snort. "The Wasps were better off the moment you left." Maybe he was talking about their old team and maybe he really meant himself.
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“Why?” he retorted hotly. “Fewer distractions?”
It was only as he said it that Ted realized how fortunate he was that, even in his anger, his words were vague. All it would take to ruin things—as if they could be ruined further—was one slip of the tongue, but the beater was too cautious for that.
Fewer distractions for whom, though, that was the question. Ted could not have answered that if he tried.
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King's eyes widened just a fraction. It was clear enough that Ed had little reserves about aggressively provoking him but King really hadn't thought he would be so bold about things that should not be said in public. Men who bedded other men were abominations technically criminals. At least that's what King tried to remind himself when he caught his mind straying in that direction. It wasn't just that what they'd done was unnatural and reprehensible. It was illegal.
He could only manage a snort in return but it did not carry the same force as before. There was a fresh tinge of fear in his resentment. With a shake of his head he turned for the door, breaking eye contact for the first time since their little showdown had started. He pushed open the door and muttered "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
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Though the desire to have the last word burned bright, Ted let the other man go. He had, after all, won: Shacklebolt was in retreat. But why, then, did he not feel the surge of victory? He felt anger, and a twinge of smugness, but an empty feeling persisted that happiness did not even attempt to fill. It was a hollow victory, a sham.
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