đđđđđđđđđđđđ; a dependent multi-muse blog for @championshq as penned by bee (twenty-seven, aest/aedt).
đđđđ đđđđ ââ bernard 'fitz' fitzgerald. emiliano cruz. georgina sinclair.
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@sunburntsilk
đđđđđđđđđđđđ; a dependent multi-muse blog for @championshq as penned by bee (twenty-seven, aest/aedt).
đđđđ đđđđ ââ bernard 'fitz' fitzgerald. emiliano cruz. georgina sinclair.

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who: @s1ipns1ide !
sofĂa spots her before cruz does. one second she's got two fingers wrapped around his hand, the next she's gone, threading through the crowd with zero hesitation. "mamĂĄ!" cruz follows at a more reasonable pace, hands in his pockets. "hey," he says, when he gets there, glad his hands are tucked away so he doesn't reach for her.
" and i'm its favourite mistress.  " she scoffs, almost coy, brandishing a smile despite her best judgement, or rather the innate paranoia of being condemned. something tells her, however, that's not the case here. not with him. it's awful just how easily she could get used to the feeling. " we can pretend that we're good, and that our days are good, and you know what, if we pretend for long enough, maybe it'll come true. "  it's childish at best, the worst sort of teasing, but all it takes is one look to realize that he's broken her veneer. " i do indeed, thank you. it's vodka tonic. "Â
he flags the bartender down, orders the vodka tonic without a second thought, and pushes his own drink towards the bartender while he's at it. might as well try and start fresh. "pretending," he says, like he's testing the word. "yeah, i've built a career on it." not bitter, just honest in the way tired people get when the hour's late enough. he slides the drink toward her when it arrives, unhurried. "tell people what they need to hear long enough and sometimes it sticks." a beat, something quieter underneath it. "doesn't always work on yourself though." he glances over, and there's something almost wry in it. "vodka tonic's a good choice for a woman running on no sleep and optimism."
parts of his own career had unfolded in the same way, sustained by caffeine and adrenaline, with the belief that exhaustion could be postponed until the season eased. the season never eased. "good decisions take effort," teo added. "bad ones usually just show up." a fresh glass settled on the bar in front of cruz, teo offered a slight nod. "reset helps though."
cruz looks at the fresh glass for a moment, then picks it up. the first sip is slower than the last one, more deliberate, like he's remembering that drinking is something you're supposed to actually do and not just hold onto for the company. something in his shoulders shifts. not gone, just redistributed, like he's put something down without quite letting go of it. the reset helps, he'll admit that much, even if only to himself. "you talk like someone who's been there before," he says. not really a question. he picks up the glass again, easier this time, and waits. easier to listen than to keep handing pieces of himself over to a stranger at a bar, even a decent one.
true, the reason he had been locked up was because of his own gambling, insider trading, as the court documents say, but that was why his team had hired cruz's team to begin with. now, reputation tarnished but still a couple hundred grand richer from smarter investments since he got out, kai was still looking for someone to blame, other than himself.
"surprise." kai said, his tone flat. "i think it's about time you and i have a chat." he murmured, hands resting on the bar counter with a restlessness he was never able to shake since prison. "you've done well for yourself, i see." amidst how much you've failed me, kai thought.
the chuckle that escapes his lips is quiet, unbothered, the kind that comes from a man who's been told worse and slept fine. "you sound like my mother," he says, voice shifting just slightly, softer and a little warmer, "'you've built such a nice life, mijo.'" he takes a sip of the bourbon. "she's more sincere." he's been clawing at something his whole life and he knows it, and he stopped apologising for what that looked like a long time ago. he sets the glass down and glances over, unhurried. "you needed me years before you came to me," he says, easy, almost conversational. "that's usually how these go." a beat. "but i'm listening."

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the word "models" pressed his jaw muscles into a brief clench. the shift was slight, easy to miss. he still recalled those nights. spreadsheet columns glowed on the screen until 2am, rows held cost estimates for a larger stadium, upgraded cables, extra training wings. he had assembled what he expected to command. among all sinclair assets, the outlaws alone seemed to pulse. after that, the balance broke. "of course you did," he said after a pause. georgina had always closed what others left half done. his stare rose to the twin shapes mirrored in the pane. "they were solid projections," he murmured. "they deserved to be used."
down on the tiers the crowd thickened. voices climbed the ramps and rebounded off concrete. declan had listened to that same murmur from this floor back when the plan was still his. she spoke of their father praising the project, declan kept his eyes on the floodlights, on the gold sheet they poured across the turf. "recognition's not really his style," he replied at length.
her invitation hung in the air between them. "i wasn't planning to," he stated. he had promised himself to stay away after the reassignment, after the unspoken verdict that this province of the company no longer fell under his rule. "but if there's a seat," he went on, "i suppose i could stay a while."
she didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at his reflection in the glass. it struck her distantly that this might be the most honest conversation they'd had in years, and that they were having it sideways, both of them looking at the other through a pane of glass rather than directly. she understood why. some things were easier to say when you weren't quite facing them. "there's always been a seat," she said quietly. she left it at that. below them the crowd had thickened, the noise of it pressing up through the floor in a way she'd never quite gotten used to and had stopped trying to. "he didn't make it easy, for what it's worth." she kept her eyes on the turf, the slow gold spread of the floodlights. easier to say it to the glass than to him. "he brought me in to be the sinclair in the building and then spent three years second guessing every decision i made. blocked promotions i'd earned. i gave up everything he asked me to give up to be here, and then had to fight for every inch of it anyway." a pause, something tightening briefly in her jaw. "while you still had a title and a salary and a soft landing. even after." she stopped. she was still his older sister, and there was a version of this conversation that went further than she was willing to take it tonight. "i'm not saying that to hurt you," she said, quieter. "i just need you to know it wasn't what you think it was from the outside." she finally turned from the glass and looked at him directly, just for a moment. "so if you came here to remind yourself why you resent me, i'd rather you say so now." she moved toward the door and held it open, finally letting her eyes meet his, chin held high. he would never be a fixture in this world again, but if he stepped through the door with her, maybe she could put her pride aside and allow him to be a guest. "food's getting cold. it's your call, dec."
zane saw her fingers shift on the racket handle. "see?" he murmured. "it's already there." he returned to the court and gathered three. "you don't forget something you practiced that long," he told her while he looked back. he stopped on the baseline and let the ball hit the ground then hit it again. each bounce gave a clear thud in the still air. "no score," he said in the same calm tone. "no pressure." he lobbed the first serve so it crossed the net in an arc that let her watch its path but forced her to act. "just hit it back."
the ball cleared the net and she moved for it without thinking, which was probably the point. the return wasn't clean, a little late, the angle slightly off, but it cleared the net and landed somewhere in the service box and she felt something loosen slightly in her chest at that. not pride exactly. something quieter. the particular relief of a body remembering something the mind had decided was gone. she repositioned, turning the racquet over once in her hand. the grip still felt slightly foreign but less so than it had ten minutes ago at the fence. "okay," she said, mostly to herself. "okay, there's still some knowledge in there somewhere." she looked across the net at him, something settling in her expression, more focused now, less self conscious. "again, please."
madden had ducked into the shade a few minutes earlier, grateful for the break from the heat that was already starting to press down on the afternoon. march in texas was way stronger than march in north carolina and she was still getting used to it.
she leaned lightly against the tent frame, arms crossed, watching the crowd move in slow, noisy waves until the voice beside her pulled her attention over. madden glanced at the dark shirt, the warming beer, then back up at fitz with the faintest hint of amusement.
âyeah,â she said, tilting her head toward the far end of the vendor row. âyou passed it about three loops ago.â her finger raised to point him to the line of people. âfollow the line of people who look like theyâre about to pass out from hunger.â
fitz turned to look in the direction she pointed, and sure enough, there was the unmistakable cluster of people with the thousand-yard stare of the genuinely starving. he let out a breath that was mostly a laugh. "three loops," he repeated, like he was processing a personal failure. "three." he pushed off the tent post, squinting down the row. "in my defence the layout of this thing makes no sense. whoever planned the vendor spacing has never been hungry in their life." he glanced back at her, then at the shade she'd clearly had the foresight to find early. "you been here long or did you just have better spatial reasoning than me from the jump?" it wasn't really a question, more the kind of thing you say when you're stalling before walking back out into the sun. he looked at his beer, already resigned to its fate. "i just hope i can make it there and back before this is completely undrinkable."
who: @driv3s !
"you're either following me or we have the same terrible taste in places to be."
who: any character of your choice ! ( @arc4d1a )
"someone told me this was worth the drive and i'm starting to think they lied to me."

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anya had stepped into the shade a few minutes earlier, her camera rested against her chest while she reviewed some photos she had taken. the heat made the park appear bright and hazy, even the breeze carried warmth. she heard fitz's voice beside her and looked up right away. the sight of his dark shirt and the beer that had started to warm made her laugh quietly. "oh, fitz," she shook her head and smiled with amusement. "rookie mistake. dark shirt in texas sun? you were doomed from the start." she leaned slightly against the tent post and pointed past the tents toward the far end of the park. "you're close though, food's at the end of vendor row. keep going past the raffle booths and you'll hit the brisket stands." her gaze returned to his beer. "honestly, i'm more concerned about you surviving the walk there." her smile grew a little wider. "come on, i'll show you. you clearly can't be trusted to navigate this place alone."
fitz made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a concession. "yeah, alright, i walked into that one." he fell into step beside her without much resistance, which probably said something about how long he'd actually been wandering. "in my defence," he said, "i own exactly one light shirt and it's got a hole in the sleeve." he glanced sideways at her camera. "get anything good today or just documentation of my suffering." he was quiet for a beat, easy enough in the way he moved through the crowd beside her, letting her take the lead without making it obvious that's what he was doing. there was something about anya that made it simple to just exist next to, the way it was with people you'd known long enough that silence didn't need filling. "brisket," he said, mostly to redirect himself. "okay. that's the best thing anyone's said to me all day." he looked over at her. "what do i owe you for the rescue. you want a beer, i'll get you a beer. mine's basically hot tea at this point anyway... just, uh, beer flavoured." the thought made his stomach churn.
"all those hits on the ice make you blind or something?" marcy asked as she held onto a portable handheld fan. while she was used to the heat - texas sun sometimes felt right on par with brazil sun - she didn't want to ruin her hair before she even went up on stage at the party later on for her set. "here. water's more important. you're tall so you're closer to the sun. food can wait." marcy said, handing over her bottle of water with a frown. this could be her one good deed of the day. "you literally got a bird's eye view, you tree, and you still couldn't see where the food is?"
fitz took the water without arguing â hydration first, pride second, he wasn't an idiot â and let the insult land with the kind of easy grin that meant he'd clocked it as a compliment in disguise. "blind, no. concussed, probably." he twisted the cap off, drank half of it before he came up for air. "and cheers for that, genuinely." he squinted down at her and then at the fan like it was a personal affront to him. "also i'm not a tree, i'm a landmark. different thing entirely. much more impressive." he handed the bottle back. "and for the record, bird's eye view only works when there's actually something worth seeing. all i've got up here is hat brims and people's terrible sunscreen application." he nodded toward the fan. "does that actually do anything or is it purely psychological? genuine question."
who: open to all ! where: seeking relief in the shade !
the texas sun in march had no right to be this aggressive, and fitz had made the rookie mistake of wearing a dark shirt, which he was now paying for somewhere between the vendor row and the main stage, beer getting warm in his hand faster than he was drinking it. he found a patch of shade, leaned against a tent post, and glanced sideways at whoever had the good sense to end up in the same spot. "please tell me you know where the actual food is," he said. "i've been walking in circles for twenty minutes."
part i. the brief introduction.
[ jacob elordi, 29, cis male, he/him ] - was that BERNARD 'FITZ' FITZGERALD i saw around town today? i heard that they work as a DEFENCEMAN FOR THE TEXAS TWISTERS and have been in town for 6 YEARS. they have a reputation of being MAGNETIC & AVOIDANT and people in town usually associate them with a phone call home that goes longer than he planned, the specific din of a locker room after a win & the accent that comes back thicker when he's tired. canât wait to see them at the next game!
the  sound  of  metal  against  the  wood  rings  as  she  sets  her  keys  on  the  bar  first,   taking  a  seat  next,   hand  signing  for  tequila.   his  words  only  catch  her  attention  after  a  few  seconds  after  they  land  and  she  turns  her  head  slightly,   green  orbs  flickering  to  the  bourbon  in  his  hand.   â  bold  of  you  to  assume  those  are  the  only  two  options,  â   her  voice  is  light,   corners  of  her  lips  slowly  moving  up.   â  you  look  like  you  solved  three  problems  and  created  four  more,  â   despite  the  words,   her  tone  isnât  judgemental   -   observant  only,   sheâs  good  at  that.   her  body  shifts  on  the  stool  to  face  him  slightly,   the  corner  of  her  eye  catching  the  bartender  setting  her  drink  down.   â  i  think  youâre  wasting  a  perfectly  good  bourbon  too,  â
the comment about the bourbon pulls a short huff from him, not quite a laugh, but close enough. he lifts the glass and drains what's left in one long pull, doesn't even feel the burn anymore. sets it down with a soft thud. "four is being generous. twenty sounds more accurate." there's recognition in the way he looks at her now. he takes her in: the keys, the tequila, and something in his brain clicks into work mode before he can stop it. she's here because she needs out, and he's the guy she calls. he's never charged her for it. probably never will. there's a kid at home who needs her money more than he does. "bad day or just needed the drive?" his tone is easy, familiar. they've done this before.

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if he were a weaker man , he might have faltered under her stare . sure he had lost the ability to feel his legs around ten minutes ago but that didn't mean his gaze fell from hers as she looked at him . remy could see why she was good at her job though , he wanted too . he had just also been raised by a strong and powerful woman and he long since learnt how to hold his own .
he just wouldn't breathe when he thought about this moment for the rest of his night .
" sure why not ? " remy shrugged as he looked back at her . it happened to him more often than he cared to admit . the male social media admin was more rare in their sport than most would think so he often found the random encounters the girls got up too , he was dragged into it for all the wrong reasons . " i mean he might call , but really you should tell him that he should call rebecca , she's been trying to use our work accounts to get me to go out with her for like 4 weeks now , i met her once she wasn't supposed to see how cute i was and go off of the deep end like this . "
"four weeks," she repeated, something shifting slightly in her expression. not quite sympathy but close enough to it. "and you've just been dealing with that." she looked at him properly then, less like his boss and more like someone who was genuinely checking in. "okay. that's annoying and i'm sorry you've had to navigate it." a beat, then back to business, because she couldn't help it entirely. "i'll call their GM tomorrow, tell them to keep it professional." she held out her hand. "let me read the whole thread from the start before i decide how aggressive to be."
she wasn't sure who she had been expecting when the door had gone , but it wasn't her big sister . in fact , her family was often at the very bottom of her list when she wondered who might be popping by for a social visit . because they never did , at least not normally without conditions and as she cautiously opened the door to her eldest sibling , she wondered what they would be today . for a moment she paused , looking back at the brunette she always thought looked nothing like her , a wary gaze falling on the coffee in hand . " quad shot . brown sugar . splash of heavy cream ? " strong and sweet , just the way she liked it .
georgina held the cup out. "still got it," she said, something quietly settling in her chest when delilah recited the order back. she'd second guessed herself twice in the queue and ordered it anyway on instinct, which felt like it meant something she wasn't going to examine too closely on a doorstep. she caught the look on delilah's face. the wariness. she understood it, probably deserved it, and didn't try to talk around it. "i'm not here with anything," she said. "no agenda, no family thing, nothing dad sent me to say." she glanced briefly at the second cup in her own hand. "i was on this side of the city and i thought about you and then i was here." she lifted a shoulder, small and a little uncharacteristic. "i can go if it's a bad time."