“If you’re here to talk to me about Puddlemere’s losses, I suggest you wait until the next edition of Seeker Weekly comes out. I’ve already said everything I care to on the subject.”

“This wind’s a curse, isn’t it? I think I saw a man’s hairpiece blow off earlier -- -  not to mention all the bloody trash flying about.” Not only that, but it had tousled Orion’s robe to the point that he regretted bothering with the cloak entirely. He’d felt dragged in every possible direction before he entered the stadium, though it took very little to fix himself. Cane in one hand, cloak slung over the other, he turned to the nearest person who seemed to be within earshot. “Hopefully it’ll knock Puddlemere off their guard, right?” That was putting it lightly. If anything, he rather hoped it would send one of Puddlemere’s players careening into the nearest tower. 

Maybe a beer and a burger weren’t the best combination for a person trying to get back on their broomstick, but considering she’d done just that an hour ago, Eliza felt like she deserved it. Still dressed in Chudley warmups, hair tied back in a messy bun, she weaved her way along the crowded street in search of that perfect post-workout meal.

With a look that could only be considered “bored, bordering on homicidal”, Jemma glared at her reflection in the (probably charmed to be too flattering) mirror of Madam Malkin’s. “So give it to me straight, think this will manage to shut up my mother, the pickiest priss in the entire damn world, or should I give up the shopping and show up to dinner in gym clothes? I don’t even think it would surprise her at this point. I’ve done worse.”

Eeylops Owl Emporium wasn’t the kind of place Selena would normally choose to frequent for herself, but unfortunate circumstances had brought her back to Diagon Alley and into the dimly-lit store whose only soundtrack seemed to be the soft clicking and hooting of its many feathery residents. Standing in front of a gilded cage whose latch she had been testing for the past few minutes, Selena muttered her way through a half-whispered list of complaints that she normally wouldn’t have thrown on her companion without so much as a proper warning. “I have done more for women in quidditch than most teams have in hundreds of years. But nobody wants to talk about that, do they? It’s always ‘Oh, Selena, did your husband make you interested in sports?’ or ‘Does Wood help you figure out who to trade?’ Then today, someone has the audacity to ask if I’m going to sell the team if they start losing again. Like this is some kind of bloody hobby instead o-- -”

+ Selena

"Did you see that?” Selena touched the elbow of the person nearest her, doing best to subtly nod in the direction of a costume that could only have been described as ridiculous. “What do you think they are? It looks like my nan trying to cross-dress.”