— flood tide

“You should get out, go see the sights. There’s only so much you can do in a hotel room.” There was also a much smaller chance of being caught sneaking around if Rafferty was off doing something other than brooding. Selena accepted a kiss on her forehead and went through the motions of leaning into him before he stepped away and began to undo his shoelaces. The next question was pivotal, though she hadn’t prepared for it. Still, the lying came easily and she could nod along so convincingly that even she almost thought she had a late night lined up with Wood and Mooney. “He will. Wouldn’t be fair not to include him, would it?”

The cracks in her excuse were made visible by a simple statement of fact – - Wood and Mooney could have sorted everything out on their own, but Selena wasn’t letting them in her entirely made-up situation. “I like to be involved,” she tried. “Easier to stay on the same page if I’m actually there. I’ll make it up to you, though. I really hate having to leave you here… At least order room service or something.” 

“The most I want see to of Scotland is right here.“ Rafferty scoffed. A week of freezing his arse off in Russia left him with little to be desired outside of sleep & a lack of snow. “Understandable.” Rafferty mused. Selena’s dedication appeared unwavering when it came to a commitment to every aspect of the team which worked just fine for the pair of them. “Don’t worry about me. -- I’m sure I’ll find something to do.” As little questioning as possible tended to serve them as well, but something dragged angrily at the corner of Rafferty’s mind. More than likely it was nothing but an opportunity to see if Selena would squirm or spin another silky lie. “I ran into Wood earlier at the pub & you know - he said something about spending time at home with his parents this evening - maybe he misspoke though.”

“Ah! Rafferty. I’m glad I caught you.” Selena gave the impression of a coworker wanting to ‘pop by’ rather than a loving wife who had been staying in the same hotel room as her husband for the past two nights. A quick kiss would be the subject of tomorrow’s regrets, but she placed her hand on his chest in the hope of stopping him in his tracks. 

“I can’t make dinner tonight.” The excuse she formulated was flimsy, at best, but the abruptness of her departure could be to blame. “Wood and I have some last minute things to go over before the match, now that we’ve got the practice schedule. I need to head back to work as soon as I can. You’ll be alright alone, won’t you?”

@raffertynewf

Oliver flashed the man a smile, nodding as he picked up the umbrella and wiped at the seat to ensure it was free of any lingering raindrops. “Of course not, Mr. Newf. It’s all yours.” He dropped the umbrella onto the floor next to his bag before turning back to the man.

Rafferty nodded his thanks as the man moved his umbrella. “Wood.” He regarded the man, sticking his hand out to shake the other’s as he took a seat. “Good to see someone with a bit of foresight.” He smiled pleasantly. Half the other patrons appeared to be soaked to the bone with rain. “Excited to be home?”

“I thought the point of these things was to get everyone liquored up and have them whip out their pocketbooks.” He swirled the drink in his hand, eyeing the way ice reflected the light of the room. “At this point, I’d give them every last sickle I have if it means they’ll let us go.” Regarding his company with little more than a shrug, Orion looked out at the sea of witches and wizards in their finest dress robes. “All this for some bloody owls. Someone’s going to cook one of the birds they’ve rehabilitated if they don’t get on with the show. Who do you think has time to come up with this bullshit, anyway? You’d think they’d be collecting money for St. Mungos. That may be playing it too safe, though.”

Rafferty’s brow rose in agreeance. What else could be the point behind mundane small talk & an open bar? “I don’t know that it’s a hostage situation just yet,” Rafferty commented, eyeing the man next to him. It took him a moment but he recognized the face of the eldest Beaumont child. He was the head of the company that made the very cloak he’d worn tonight. If he were to give all his sickles to get out of the gala, it would surely save whatever wretched breed the Sinclair’s were pining after this year. The mention of cooked birds brought an unexpected smirk to his face. “That’s probably what’s going around with the servers now.” He added dryly, eyes drifting after a waitress as she hoisted horderves through the crowd. “Can’t send the invitations to the children’s hospital benefit without the owls I suppose.” He gave his head a small shake of contempt.