Post by Deleted on Nov 3, 2020 9:53:18 GMT -7
TW/CW: Mentions of alcoholism, death
October 2025
Freiburg, Germany
Freiburg, Germany
If there was one thing that Claricia Freund had been pining after since the Quidditch disaster had occurred, it was an opportunity to get away from Britain and Ireland and return to Germany. While her initial aim had been to flee the country, more or less, in the wake of all of the media attention that she had neither asked for nor wanted, even the briefest escape from it all that wasn't completely self-destructive was about as positive as anything that she could hope for. She was known in Germany, too; she had played there before switching to the British and Irish League, but it felt different somehow to return to the country of her origin.
Maybe it was the mere thought of escaping that she liked more. Regression or something, was that what it was? That sounded too infantilizing for Claricia's tastes, anyway. She was a grown woman who had been making her own decisions for years. She knew what was best for herself—at least most of the time. Scratch that. She figured that she knew what was best for herself more often than most other people knew what was best for her. Admittedly, she had been wrong before on that front and had to wing it on occasion, but she had lived and learned from those experiences. Besides, there was also the part of her that was inclined to do certain things even if she knew that they weren't exactly the best for her. Take, for instance, drinking instead of actually dealing with her problems. She had been down that road before, and she was determined not to let it end up becoming full-blown alcoholism. Just because she was retired from the game didn't mean that she could slip up like that. She still had eyes on her, after all, even as a scout.
That brought her back to one thing—or one place, more accurately—and that was Germany. To be more specific, Claricia had arrived via Portkey to Freiburg im Breisgau, Baden-Württemberg, which was also known as just Freiburg. It was the place that she considered to be her hometown, although she had been born in Munich. Freiburg might not have been the largest city in Germany, but it was a city. Its position near the famed Black Forest had made it an interesting location in which to grow up, and Claricia was grateful to be back even if for only a long weekend.
She might not have lived there for years, but it always felt like home to Claricia to return to Freiburg. The pace was more leisurely, and she could breathe more easily than in someplace like London. There were far fewer people around, and even the sickening feeling of being contorted while traveling by way of Portkey was lessened by the knowledge that she could just… stop for a moment, like pretending that the rest of the world didn't exist.
All that she had wanted in coming there was to be able to pause time temporarily, and a little break in Germany with her family was as close as she was going to come to that. Some people did stranger things to find some sense of peace or comfort in the midst of absolute chaos, thought Claricia. There were yoga retreats, meditation, chanting, hypnosis… and she wasn't exactly a fan of any of them. She wasn't spiritual; she didn't see some higher calling attached to what she had been through. It simply sucked that she had been through it, and Claricia wasn't sure what else to say about that. What was there to say about it?
For Claricia, the best part about returning to Freiburg was that it came without feeling as though she had to do anything or be anything. Her father and stepmother weren't oblivious to what had happened or to the stresses that she was under—both self-imposed and not. She didn't speak openly with them about her problems, nor did she rely on them very much, but she could rest assured that she wouldn't have to worry about intrusion into her business.
She also hadn't hidden why she had decided to come there. She was frank, in fact, about the fact that she needed a weekend away from Britain in order to decompress—but adamant, too, that she didn't want their sympathy or to be treated like a child under any circumstances. Her other request was that there would be no talk of Quidditch during her stay. (That alone was highly unlike her, and it was difficult when something that she loved so much brought her so much stress.)
Breathing slowly (in and out and back in again) as she regained her bearings in the field in which she'd landed. Traveling by broom over such a far distance would have been strenuous, and she didn't need to worry anymore about the extra training that something like that would have provided. In the not-so-distant past, Claricia knew that she would have taken that as an opportunity to test her endurance—to see how long she could actually fly without tiring—but she didn't really see the point. If anything, it seemed awfully stupid.
While she wasn't one for any of those trite sayings that emphasized the importance of the journey over the importance of the destination, whatever got her there was better than being stuck in England and wishing that she could be anywhere but there. It was hard, and she was stressed. The worst part about it, too, was that Claricia knew that she really shouldn't have been stressed anymore. She had had time, at least in theory, to be able to process the way in which the final match of her Quidditch career had ended. She had people around her who had reminded her, time and again, that it wasn't her fault. Scouting, supposedly, would be a piece of cake. She knew what made a good player; there was a gut feeling that came with seeing someone who knew what they were doing on the pitch. She didn't have to train long hours to hone that skill; she'd already developed it.
There really wasn't much to it: She had to show up and be present. That took a different kind of stamina, though, and Claricia had only found that one depleted. She didn't want a pity party. There was no point in being asked what was wrong anymore, when she couldn't pinpoint what it was that was keeping her from being able to move on with her life. Either everyone else in the world was secretly a skilled Occlumens, or… Well, Claricia didn't know what the alternative was or what that might have really meant for her own shortcomings.
Where shortcomings were concerned, Claricia was aware that she had a few. She had a short fuse at times, and she wasn't always forthcoming with her true feelings, which just about summed it up, didn't it? Blocking out negativity wasn't a simple thing, especially when it came from within her own head. There was so much to consider. She could have done this, or she could have done that. She could have made herself more available to her teammates, to Edmund's siblings, to the league, to somebody or something other than herself, but she had shut herself in and shut herself down like a recluse. How she had ever been capable of processing everything that went on in gameplay was a mystery, she felt, but life outside of Quidditch didn't come with the same rules or padding.
So often, it was everyone for themselves, in the way that Claricia must have looked if any Muggles were to have seen her carrying a small suitcase of clothing and toiletries in hand through a field until she could focus enough to Disapparate from there and arrive at her actual destination. Life didn't always come with a team standing behind her, ready to come to her defense. On second thought, perhaps she really was in a better position than most: She had a team behind her, and it wasn't just in Quidditch. She had her family, too.
Maybe it was the mere thought of escaping that she liked more. Regression or something, was that what it was? That sounded too infantilizing for Claricia's tastes, anyway. She was a grown woman who had been making her own decisions for years. She knew what was best for herself—at least most of the time. Scratch that. She figured that she knew what was best for herself more often than most other people knew what was best for her. Admittedly, she had been wrong before on that front and had to wing it on occasion, but she had lived and learned from those experiences. Besides, there was also the part of her that was inclined to do certain things even if she knew that they weren't exactly the best for her. Take, for instance, drinking instead of actually dealing with her problems. She had been down that road before, and she was determined not to let it end up becoming full-blown alcoholism. Just because she was retired from the game didn't mean that she could slip up like that. She still had eyes on her, after all, even as a scout.
That brought her back to one thing—or one place, more accurately—and that was Germany. To be more specific, Claricia had arrived via Portkey to Freiburg im Breisgau, Baden-Württemberg, which was also known as just Freiburg. It was the place that she considered to be her hometown, although she had been born in Munich. Freiburg might not have been the largest city in Germany, but it was a city. Its position near the famed Black Forest had made it an interesting location in which to grow up, and Claricia was grateful to be back even if for only a long weekend.
She might not have lived there for years, but it always felt like home to Claricia to return to Freiburg. The pace was more leisurely, and she could breathe more easily than in someplace like London. There were far fewer people around, and even the sickening feeling of being contorted while traveling by way of Portkey was lessened by the knowledge that she could just… stop for a moment, like pretending that the rest of the world didn't exist.
All that she had wanted in coming there was to be able to pause time temporarily, and a little break in Germany with her family was as close as she was going to come to that. Some people did stranger things to find some sense of peace or comfort in the midst of absolute chaos, thought Claricia. There were yoga retreats, meditation, chanting, hypnosis… and she wasn't exactly a fan of any of them. She wasn't spiritual; she didn't see some higher calling attached to what she had been through. It simply sucked that she had been through it, and Claricia wasn't sure what else to say about that. What was there to say about it?
For Claricia, the best part about returning to Freiburg was that it came without feeling as though she had to do anything or be anything. Her father and stepmother weren't oblivious to what had happened or to the stresses that she was under—both self-imposed and not. She didn't speak openly with them about her problems, nor did she rely on them very much, but she could rest assured that she wouldn't have to worry about intrusion into her business.
She also hadn't hidden why she had decided to come there. She was frank, in fact, about the fact that she needed a weekend away from Britain in order to decompress—but adamant, too, that she didn't want their sympathy or to be treated like a child under any circumstances. Her other request was that there would be no talk of Quidditch during her stay. (That alone was highly unlike her, and it was difficult when something that she loved so much brought her so much stress.)
Breathing slowly (in and out and back in again) as she regained her bearings in the field in which she'd landed. Traveling by broom over such a far distance would have been strenuous, and she didn't need to worry anymore about the extra training that something like that would have provided. In the not-so-distant past, Claricia knew that she would have taken that as an opportunity to test her endurance—to see how long she could actually fly without tiring—but she didn't really see the point. If anything, it seemed awfully stupid.
While she wasn't one for any of those trite sayings that emphasized the importance of the journey over the importance of the destination, whatever got her there was better than being stuck in England and wishing that she could be anywhere but there. It was hard, and she was stressed. The worst part about it, too, was that Claricia knew that she really shouldn't have been stressed anymore. She had had time, at least in theory, to be able to process the way in which the final match of her Quidditch career had ended. She had people around her who had reminded her, time and again, that it wasn't her fault. Scouting, supposedly, would be a piece of cake. She knew what made a good player; there was a gut feeling that came with seeing someone who knew what they were doing on the pitch. She didn't have to train long hours to hone that skill; she'd already developed it.
There really wasn't much to it: She had to show up and be present. That took a different kind of stamina, though, and Claricia had only found that one depleted. She didn't want a pity party. There was no point in being asked what was wrong anymore, when she couldn't pinpoint what it was that was keeping her from being able to move on with her life. Either everyone else in the world was secretly a skilled Occlumens, or… Well, Claricia didn't know what the alternative was or what that might have really meant for her own shortcomings.
Where shortcomings were concerned, Claricia was aware that she had a few. She had a short fuse at times, and she wasn't always forthcoming with her true feelings, which just about summed it up, didn't it? Blocking out negativity wasn't a simple thing, especially when it came from within her own head. There was so much to consider. She could have done this, or she could have done that. She could have made herself more available to her teammates, to Edmund's siblings, to the league, to somebody or something other than herself, but she had shut herself in and shut herself down like a recluse. How she had ever been capable of processing everything that went on in gameplay was a mystery, she felt, but life outside of Quidditch didn't come with the same rules or padding.
So often, it was everyone for themselves, in the way that Claricia must have looked if any Muggles were to have seen her carrying a small suitcase of clothing and toiletries in hand through a field until she could focus enough to Disapparate from there and arrive at her actual destination. Life didn't always come with a team standing behind her, ready to come to her defense. On second thought, perhaps she really was in a better position than most: She had a team behind her, and it wasn't just in Quidditch. She had her family, too.
