Into the Cracks PV Aislin Darragh

@Aislin Darragh
December 29th, Afternoon
Mullingar, Ireland

This late into preliminaries, the travel wore on Bridget. At least they weren't muggles stuck to hours in the air or across the ground, but the logisitics of moving from place to place with her team still made match days, especially away games, an all-day ordeal. It had just been Christmas (two days back in her parents' house, which was tricky and emotionally exhausting in its own right) and it was nearly their week-long break (a respite between the end of preliminaries and the kick into high gear for nationals). Bridget moved on a sort of auto-pilot getting herself to the Magic Marinas facilities that morning. At least her auto-pilot was finely tuned to the rhythm of a match day.

Today didn't really matter. Her trio had secured the points they needed to progress to nationals, not that anyone but scouts really cared about League Two nationals. Coach Boyle did seem pleased, though. Maybe she'd promote them to League One next year, if they maintained this performance level, and that did imply a win today. Bridget would be focused by the time they Floo'd in; the dizzying rush tended to wake her right up.

"Morning," Fianna called when she joined them in the lobby. Even her energy was more subdued, and she settled heavily into the chair between Bridget and Arthur. They chorused their own greetings into thermoses of caffeine (black tea for her, coffee for him).

By now, she was comfortable around Fianna and Arthur. All the practices and matches would do that to anyone agreeable enough, which they were; she might even haltingly call Fianna a friend, and Arthur had a kind smile and a mean Tempest Jinx. He was a bit quieter, like her, and seemed equally content to let Fianna lead most of the conversations. He had also spent Christmas with his fiancée, an odd detail that put them at very different life stages despite the two year age difference, but she didn't think about it too much.

Yesterday's practice had absorbed the brunt of Fianna's complaints about the holidays with her mum, Bridget's detail or two of her own time home, and Arthur's polite listening. That left this morning rather peaceful. Once everyone had arrived -- the other Marinas League Two team and their assistant coach, as Coach Boyle was at a three day tournament with the League One teams -- they Floo'd together to the Mullingar-based headquarters of the Midlands team for introductions and directions to the visiting lockers.

The rest of the morning passed sluggishly. The other Marinas League Two team was up first, so her team had little to do but sit around the lockers, review strategy, and go out to watch at game time. By then they were showing signs of life, engaged and supportive of their fellow Marinas, who managed to pull out a win. It was a narrow thing, though; the Midlands team was scrappy. They were a tiny club, so they had to be.

"Stay light on your feet, today," she recommended to Arthur as they funnelled back into the lockers for the final stretch of waiting and lunch, if they wanted it. Arthur was tall so he drew a lot of the fire. Tall and wiry, sure, a classic duellist's build that meant Bridget could beat him when they arm-wrestled, but there was just more to try to hit, more to have to move. Fianna was light and quick, a misplaced butterfly or dancer on the violent piste if not for her command of the match's tempo with her control of split spells. Bridget's own role was foggier. According to Fianna, Bridget was good at everything, but she knew that was the same as being a master of nothing. She took some of the hits, dealt some of the damage, covered some of the healing. She could finish a duel when left on her own, though. Hopefully she wouldn't need to today.

Word Count: 655/2000