Pink Rover (Mickey)

[sarah jane oliveira]

November 22, 2028

The nearer it got to the holiday season, the more Sarah was dreading everything that came with it. Whether it was figuring out family plans, who would have custody of Sebastian when, or how she was supposed to tolerate yet another Ministry of Magic holiday party, she would have been perfectly happy with ignoring all of it and getting drunk until the new year. Alas, she could only ignore it so much, and she still had to go out and buy numerous Christmas presents. Trying to figure out when to do that was its own challenge, so Sarah eventually sucked it up and decided that she would go after work on a Wednesday to minimize her chances of getting stuck in endless queues, the way she was sure she would on a Saturday.

For a long time, the easiest person she'd had to shop for was Sebastian, but he was getting old enough that Sarah was beginning to realize that she couldn't just buy him whatever looked like it would suit a child of his age and call it a day. Ever since he had started attending MYSTIC, the primary school at Hogwarts, he had actual interests. Shopping for a whole person whom she had created rather than shopping for a being with little awareness of his own existence was weird, frankly. Some of the toys from the toy shop were probably too "babyish" for a seven-year-old, Sarah considered, but what else was attractive to kids?

Ding, ding, ding! Quidditch. Sebastian wasn't old enough for a proper racing broomstick, but there must have been something in Quality Quidditch Supplies that would work well enough. Maybe she would even earn a few points with him for being a "cool mum", Sarah thought. Beating Ares at anything was good motivation, and so she made her way into the Quidditch supply shop, ready to keep an eye out for the ideal Christmas present for her son.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

▲

Obligatory meet and greets could go one of two ways: be absolutely dead because almost no one outside of Ballycastle was a Bats fan these days, or packed because why not get some merch signed and a photograph with their Keeper and Captain? As much as Mickey despised hours long social engagements, running his battery towards near zero every time he had to commit to one, meeting fans was never a bad thing. It definitely beat flying around the pitch post-match signing jerseys. He got very little out of that despite it making fans happy. He preferred having a brief conversation and whatnot, which is what an event like today was supposed to provide. Unfortunately, it had turned out like the former, where only a smattering of people showed up right when it started, and a couple more had trickled in throughout since. That in itself wasn't necessarily a problem, but it was definitely boring. More enthusiasm for him being there was coming from the shopkeeper, who was overly chatty because he wasn't getting customers either. A creeping headache had started to form in the back of his head, directly resulting from the tension of sitting, waiting, and being talked at by the owner of the store. Only a few more hours and he was free. Then he could drink the headache away.

The door to the shop chimed open as Mickey dreamed of tequila shots, bringing him out of the stupor he had been placed in by the shopkeeper's yammering. Blinking a few times, Mickey tried to put on his best face, the one he used for post-match interviews when they won. Everyone always seemed to like that, even if he didn't think he played all that great. There was always something to work on when it came to Quidditch after all.

The shopkeeper had run off by now, most likely to find the potential customer, finally granting Mickey some peace and quiet. The table he was sitting at was near the back of the store, and he was surrounded by Bats merch and a pile of Famous Witch and Wizards cards from their Quidditch themed packs. His card was in there somewhere, amongst the rarer ones of actual famous players. Just because he was a captain and made the national team didn't mean he had achieved that goal yet. Sitting patiently, he waited to see if the shopkeeper brought the customer back to him or if it was just a normal perusal of the store.

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[sarah jane oliveira]

November 22, 2028

Once inside Quality Quidditch Supplies, Sarah glanced around at what was available. Though "supplies for playing Quidditch" was the obvious answer, there were more items for purchase than she had expected. It wasn't just bats and balls and broomsticks for the adolescents who imagined themselves as the next big Quidditch sensations; there was a lot of memorabilia related to different teams, too. Sarah knew that she would have been absolutely stupid to buy some of those items for Sebastian at his age; some of them were too expensive to justify buying for anyone, in her opinion. Nobody needed to walk around wearing replica Quidditch robes for a professional team as an adult not in attendance at a match. That was too strange.

Just as she was thinking about what in Merlin's name she could get Sebastian that would wow him and outdo Ares without going broke, someone who looked like they must have been the shop's manager or owner (or whatever rank was of similar importance) approached her, moving from the back of the shop towards the front. After some conversation back and forth, in which Sarah feigned being aware that there was a meet-and-greet session for a professional Quidditch player going on, she walked back to the table at which a man slightly younger than she sat.

Of all the things Sarah expected to find in Quality Quidditch Supplies, a professional Quidditch player sitting there for autographs and photographs was not one of them. Obviously, Quidditch players had to purchase their supplies from somewhere, but they had teams of people to do that on their behalf. Sarah wasn't sure what she had done right to end up standing there without a queue in sight, but she wasn't going to miss out on a golden opportunity.

From what she had been told, the player seated there was Mickey McLaggen. It was the sort of situation that made Sarah think that she probably should have known who the guy was, but alas. The wide selection of Ballycastle Bats merchandise nearby gave her some indication, at least, and she nodded as politely as she could to McLaggen before going to look for a children's T-shirt in Sebastian's size.

Sarah found what she was looking for and glanced over at Mickey McLaggen. "Sorry. Er, should I buy this and then have you sign it, or…?" she questioned, unsure as to how the process was supposed to work. "It's for my son." Chances were, that was apparent enough by the miniscule red shirt she was holding up, complete with a graphic of a cartoon fruit bat that must have been the team's mascot.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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The muffled sound of chatter could be heard through the rows of team jerseys, playing robes, and boxes of overpriced practice Quaffles. Mickey made sure to straighten up in his chair, lest he be caught slouching. Even if the customer wasn’t a fan or had anything signed by him, impressions were key. Of all the tidbits of unsolicited help that his father had given him in the years preceding his time as a professional player, the one that was actually useful was to be respectable and a better person at all times. Which, ironic considering Cormac’s crash and burn from the league all those years ago. Over the last few years, Mickey had finally learned that he didn’t need to compare himself to the McLaggen patriarch when it came to Quidditch: because he was better at it and more successful now. He was sure that didn’t sit well with his father. He heard the comments occasionally about how everything he accomplished was because of Cormac. Whatever.

Goofy, media presenting smile slapped onto his face and perfect posture, Mickey waited to see if he was going to be doing anything this time. Eventually the voices died down and he figured that meant the person was browsing. How they managed to get the shopkeeper to shut up was amazing. Having been in the store all day, Mickey’s one good ear had learned to audibly track where people were as they walked from aisle to aisle. He knew that the person was getting closer and maintained his mannequin-like stance just in case. A woman finally came into view and observed the Bats merch that surrounded him. Was she a fan? At this point, people were shopping for Christmas already. A few of the non-fans earlier in the morning that he had talked to decided that his signature was better than no signature. Which, fair. He used to be the same way.

”Yeah, I believe that’s the policy,” he answered in return, as she mentioned that the small shirt was for her son. Unless she was a contortionist, he hadn’t even considered that she would be able to fit into something of that size. ”But I won’t be going anywhere,” Mickey added cheesily. Finally, he had something to do.

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[sarah jane oliveira]

November 22, 2028

"Yeah, I believe that’s the policy," Mickey McLaggen replied to answer her question about if she was supposed to purchase the shirt for Sebastian before or after he signed it. "But I won’t be going anywhere," he assured her, with the sort of charm that made Sarah wonder if he was trying to flirt with her or if that was how he was with everyone he encountered to make them feel as though he was. He was probably around the same age as Ares, she guessed, trying to place what year he would have been at Hogwarts.

"Brilliant," Sarah told McLaggen quickly. "I'll be right back."

And so, child's T-shirt in hand, she went to the till. After what felt like ages because she had ended up stuck in an unnecessary conversation with the shop's owner before she could pay for the damned thing, forcing her to continue pretending that she had an interest in professional Quidditch, she returned to where McLaggen sat.

"Sorry about that," she apologized, though she felt more sorry for herself that she had been suckered into wasting her time. "If you could personalize this for Sebastian…? S-E-B-A-S-T-I-A-N?"

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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Except maybe he had counted his jobberknolls before they hatched. The woman wandered away to find something to buy, and while that seemed fast, he soon heard voices start up again in conversation. The damn shopkeeper. He could chat endlessly, and while there were some interesting tidbits to glean about Quidditch with him, it became tiresome more often than not. Especially when Mickey was stuck with him all day like this. That was on his agent though. They should have scheduled a morning and afternoon block, and allowed him to get absolutely tank at lunch. At least then it would have made the meet and greet part more tolerable. Not for his image though.

Twiddling his thumbs and patiently waiting for the conversation to die down, Mickey didn't dare pick up his phone to kill time. That would be the exact moment the woman came back, and then he'd look like he was bored or impatient. It was much easier in between customers, when he could use the bell over the door as a warning.

"Its totally fine," he smiled as the woman finally returned, shirt in hand. Mickey popped the top off of his never-fading permanent marker, the kind that shined brilliant under every type of light. He loved these things, as it really made signatures pop. His own collection of autographed merchandise was the same way. "Absolutely," he agreed as he spelled out the boy's name. His final message above his signature read:

To Sebastian
May you catch every Quaffle that comes your way

It made him sound a lot more sage-like than he actually was, but parents seemed to always like the positive affirmations. He wished Cormac had been the same way, instead of the drill-sergeant approach he'd taken. "How's that look?" Mickey asked as he finished writing. He also pulled out one of the current year's Famous Witch and Wizard's cards Quidditch Edition, with his face plastered on it. Quickly, he scribbled his signature over the free spot on the back. The portrait version of himself hated when the real one wrote over his face.

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[sarah jane oliveira]

November 22, 2028

Though patience wasn't something at which Sarah excelled, not having to wait in a queue for an autograph meant that Sarah remained relatively calm while Mickey McLaggen autograph the shirt for Sebastian. It didn't take the Quidditch player long to put his signature on it, but when he asked for her confirmation that it was alright, Sarah was pleasantly surprised to find that it looked better than she had anticipated.

To Sebastian
May you catch every Quaffle that comes your way

It was sort of cute—not something that she would have wanted on her own shirt, but cute for a kid. And hopefully a special piece of memorabilia, et cetera. "Oh," Sarah replied as she looked it over, "That's great. Yeah." She couldn't have asked for much better, especially since she didn't have the kind of money to buy some diamond-encrusted Snitch or something.

McLaggen also went to sign an additional item—a Chocolate Frog card, by the look of it. "Sorry, er, is the card extra, or…?" Sarah spoke up. She didn't want to assume that it was a two-for-one deal, but she hoped that was the case.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

▲

What age did kids even start learning how to read at anyways? This thought ran through his head frequently enough whenever he was asked to sign something for a child. Typically, he was of the belief that it was actually for the adult, and they were merely saying it was for one of their children to soften the nervousness of meeting him. Which was fine with him, but a little weird too. Quidditch was loved by people of all ages. There was nothing to be embarrassed about when it came to having a favorite player or team. Fan clubs existed for a reason. If anything, those were the witches and wizards that made him anxious when it came to signing sessions. They tended to dictate how things went and were just obnoxious enough that it tended to ruin the whole vibe for the normal fans in line. Luckily, none of them had showed up today. He unfortunately knew quite a few of them by name at this point, and faking excitement and friendliness was one of his worst traits.

Regardless, little Sebastian would probably understand the message at some point. It applied to everything in life, really. Mickey had definitely stolen it from a book on positive thinking he was gifted at the start of his career. No one ever wanted to deal with the gloomy rookie Keeper. Now they saw him only like that sometimes. It didn’t really matter to him as long as the team functioned correctly, and they didn’t lose too often. They seemed to be doing an okay job in recent years.

The woman seemed pleased with what he had written down on the shirt, and then asked if the Chocolate Frog card and signature was extra. It usually was, but at this hour in the day and without a line, Mickey really didn’t care. He had probably signed hundreds of these at this point, and usually while trying to make his way past the crowd post-match. Charging for something he did so often felt silly to him. The only ones he actively refused to do without proper authentication now were his rookie cards, since those had actual value to them. The collectors all knew that too. ”Nope. It’s part of the package,” Mickey lied easily. ”He can show it off to all his friends at Hogwarts.” He honestly couldn’t tell by the size of the shirt he’d just signed if that was big enough for a student or not.

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