Misjudged

[Armando Pereya]

When Armando had gotten his letter from the Salem Wizard's Institute, he'd quickly given up most of his muggle behaviours in favour of wizarding culture, and it had been working well for him for over thirty years. There was one pleasure, however, that most wizards knew nothing about, and that was driving. Being muggleborn had its advantages when it came to better protection in a vehicle, or rather of the vehicle. At this point in his single life, Arman couldn't care less about getting into an accident, insofar as his 1983 Chevrolet El Camino was untouched. The navy blue car hadn't seen a scratch since the day he'd bought it and as he flew down the highway at seventy-five miles per hour, no one was getting close enough to check that fact.
The National Wizarding Wireless spewed out last night's Quidditch scores which Arman ignored. He twisted the dial, rolling his eyes at goblin grunge and twisting past Celestina Warbeck (why was that woman still alive, let alone singing?) till it settled on a fast, lyricless beat that had him tapping the steering wheel with his fingers.
Arman had slowed with the flow of traffic as he approached the Hidden City in Colorado, a massive haven for witches, wizards and all other magic-using creatures closest to Denver. He felt the fizz of the city-wide Notice-Me-Not Charm under his skin as he pulled into the exit lane that the muggle cars obliviously ignored. As far as they were aware, Arman had driven off-road onto a dirt lane that lead to a 'broken silo' and an empty paddock. The fizz dissipated but the tingle of magic never left. Suddenly the road became much louder with wizards slowing to shout greetings to each other and Armando shaking his head and swerving around them. There weren't many official driving laws in Wizarding Cities. As far as the Ministry was concerned, if you could cast a strong enough shield charm, you could drive in the Hidden City. Charms weren't enough to mitigate Arman's almost terminal bad luck that day, as one wizard merged happily from the exit lane directly into his Chevy without indicating.
Suddenly the increased traffic made sense. Life stopped being linear and continued in bursts of clarity. Arman glanced to the side, took in the banners welcoming the Chudley Cannons to their fifth away game pinned on streelamps, the orange scarf wrapped tightly around the idiotic wizard's pudgy neck, the clink as his side-mirror clipped the Chevy, and then life rapidly returned to speed. Tires screeched as cars swerved to avoid Arman's Chevy as it was pushed into the third lane. He gripped the steering wheel, swearing as the guardrail shattered his right mirror. He didn't feel the pain of the door crushing his left leg until both cars had skidded to a stop. Arman was pinned, swearing in three different dialects of Spanish while the other driver hurried to tear his scarf from his eyes where it had flipped in the wind. The chaos on the street quietened as witches and witches stopped in horror to stare at what was probably their first experience of a car accident. Arman ignored all of them in favour of checking his leg. It was quite stuck, and probably pierced by broken metal which would explain the pain and small amounts of blood, but no bones were broken on a cursory inspection. He didn't spare the time to respond to the offending wizard's desperate apologies, nor to the gathering crowd who'd moved forward to help him out of the car.
"Get out of the way!" he growled. People scattered as he cast a Reductowith slightly too much force, which blasted the door from his leg and allowed him to stand.

Ten minutes later and Armando had limped his way well out of the crash zone, leaving the ministry officials to pick up the pieces. At least there were no memories to be wiped, but it was a small consolation when his beautiful Chevy was totaled. He'd waved off the attempts of the mediwizards to get him transported to the nearest hospital and trudged towards the location of the diner he'd originally been heading towards. People dressed in Cannon's jerseys and Colorado's home team's stared at the limping Spaniard in the dark grey jacket. A knot of fans ahead almost got him to cross the street until he realised that they were clustered around a few Quidditch players in orange jackets. Armando felt a sudden surge of anger and limped a little faster, pushing through the fans to stand in their midst before the players in front of him, including a Cannons Beater. She was a pretty, dark-haired woman that he might have been willing to pursue under less aggravating circumstances.
"So what is this?" said Arman, spreading his arms. A few witches gasped at the shard of metal sticking out of his jean's leg at thigh level and the growing bruise on his cheek. He was a spectacular mess.
"Cojeme*, a man cannot just take his car into the city for food, no." said Arman in his thick Spanish accent. "He has to wade through this chicken mierda to find his own ass."​

Out of Character:

*I am not translating this!

 

[Ebony Aerius]

He is so lucky that she doesn't speak Spanish.

---

Sometimes, Ebony forgot just how dedicated the fans of the Chudley Canons were. Where ever her team played, whether they won or lost, the teams fans would be there. Some would be crying, some would be screaming and some would be trying to chat-up a member of the team. It was always fun to watch that, especially since most of the members were either married or had steady relationships. Well, everyone seemed to have a relationship except Ebony, who felt a little isolated at times. It was nearly impossible to find a nice guy, let alone think about dating someone. She was surrounded by men on a regular basis, she felt like she was turning into one! Even the boys joked about it happening. Even the fans considered her 'one of the guys', never did she find herself being chatted to by a good-looking bloke that was actually interested in her. Ebony sighed quietly as she left her room. She was ready to embrace the lonely life of a hag. It was so obviously her calling. She couldn't communicate with her family, her only friends were a bunch of sporty guys that saw her as an unofficial bloke and she was over thirty years old. Never had she been married, she had no children and she was a beater for an international team. A bitter smile grew on her face. "I'm a hag. Cool."

Bonnie walked out of the hotel, being greeted by her fellow beater. Jack was quite childish at the best of times, and he was in one of his child-like moods. Honestly, it was like she was his babysitter. The duo walked down the streets, but it did not take long before they were totally swamped. She soon lost sight of Jack, who was pulled away by some beautiful women. Ebony put on her game face and smiled at the fans, nodding to their suggestions, laughing at their jokes and signing whatever was thrown at her. Honestly, her natural reaction to all of this attention was shift and fly away. That was why she became an animagus, well, one of the reasons. Crowds were disturbing. She was only ever comfortable if she was straight off the pitch. Coming straight off the pitch meant that she was still in her game mode. She was still the brutish, tough beater when she was in the changes rooms and talking with fans at the venue. But right now all the adrenaline of the game was gone. It had been so close. There seemed to be a parting in the crowd, and Bonnie prepared herself for an obsessive fan. They were always the pushy ones. But, being one of the numerous faces of the Chudley Canons, that came with responsibilities. If she went bonkers at a fan, she would be dropped very quickly, whether she was a good player or not.

The man that appeared seemed rather angry, and was injured. Bonnie's eyes betrayed her and revealed her shock. What had happened to this man? Had he been in some sort of accident or something? Her eyebrow rose in question when he started yelling at her. She kept her cool and did not allow her smile to fade. The reputation of the team was far more important than her feelings. She had no idea what he said to her, but she doubted it was a compliment. "Well, I'm sorry that finding food has been so difficult for you. But I don't see how it is my fault." Surely a little crowd wasn't too much trouble. He could just apparate somewhere. That's what Bonnie did, unless she was feeling cheeky, then she'd fly. Her attention was then stolen by another fan, whom she quickly quietened by signing the girl's collarbone, and she looked back at the man. He was injured. She couldn't just leave him standing there creating a scene. "Do you need some help? You're injured." Injuries were commonplace on the pitch, so she was sure she could help fix him up if he needed help, as long as he actually wanted help.
​

 

[Armando Pereya]

Armando did not take kindly to being ignored, if only long enough for the Beater to sign somebodies ... what, skin? People were absolutely crazy these days.
"I am not an imbecile," he said bitingly, leaning on his good leg. The few people that had dared move forward to assist him quickly backed away. "It was not the pursuit of food that lead me to become injured, but some-" Arman paused as one apparently Spanish-speaking wizard gave him a sharp look "-person who thought that a writing from one of you was more important than other people on the road." Autograph wasn't an easily accessible word in his English vocabulary, but it seemed that most people got the point. A pushy fan who had sidled closer to Bonnie for an autograph during the pause whipped a proffered notepad behind her back at this and looked guilty.
Arman took a moment to size up the Chudley Cannons player who had offered her help. She stood indelicately, not feminine and certainly not provocatively like many women who knew they were beautiful, but she was attractive indeed and appeared uncomfortable in the crowd. Arman's expression faded from irritation to inspection as he folded his arms.
"As for this, this is nothing." said Arman, waving at his leg and glancing down. Almost immediately he looked like he wanted to retract that statement when he spied the jagged edge of aluminum poking through his jeans. He stared blankly for a second, then appeared to wobble a bit with the delayed shock.
"Ah ... on first thoughts-" he mumbled, misusing an idiom, "I think I would like to sit down."
Ebony's fellow Beater, meanwhile, had done a stand-up job of distracting the fans, and it became apparent that they were now being left to their own devices as he continued to sign more t-shirts and omnioculars. Armando sat heavily down on the curb to inspect his leg, feeling slightly embarrassed by his anger but stubbornly unrepentant.​

 

[Ebony Aerius]

The man still seemed irritated, and Ebony wasn't quite sure on what she was supposed to do. She could handle die-hard fans. She could handle people that hated her team. She could also handle children. But this guy was a little different. He was injured and didn't seem to care, and he also appeared to remain irritated. He was making people uncomfortable and Ebony needed to work out a way to get this situation back under control. She kept her eyes on him, but also sighed a few other things for people, until he continued to speak. His accent... it was nice, but she was not entirely sure where it was from. Bonnie never was good with picking accents. Under different circumstances, she would have asked the man where he was from, but now was not the time. Ebony folded her arms across her chest. She wasn't a doctor, but she knew injuries. He wasn't going to die or anything, not yet anyway. That thing could get infected if he wore it like a medal any longer. Thankfully, the man seemed to realise the damage when he actually took the time to look at the wound. Finally, he seemed to make some sense, even if he did not verbally confirm it until after a few moments. His grasp of the English language was good, well enough to make sure that he could be understood. He spoke English like Ebony spoke Finnish. Languages were such difficult skills to keep.

Ebony looked around, locking eyes with Jack, who was doing a fine job at absorbing attention. He was good to have around. Every would flock to him rather than Ebony. He was far more charismatic, while she would stand around like a dying wallflower. Ebony stood closer enough to the man so she would be able to catch him if he fell. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to keep him up, but he didn't look that big and she was a beater. She was accustomed to using her arms. Bonnie looked at the man as he sat on the curb. She couldn't just leave him to sit there. She'd stay up all night wondering if he was okay. With an inward sigh, Bonnie sat beside the man and looked at his leg. "Can I look?" She wasn't about to touch him without his permission. That could lead to assault charges and that was the last thing she needed. She was already on the radar for being 'too aggressive' in the game. yesterday It was just a bludger to the face, the chaser didn't die or anything. Either way, an attempted assault charge from a civilian would just be hitting the last nail in her career's coffin. "I can take you back to my hotel and help you get cleaned up there. We've got a healer with us, he could take a quick look at you and fix you right up." She smiled slightly, trying to look friendly. Unfortunately, her smile came off more as awkward than appealing. It was the best she could do.
​

 

[Armando Pereya]

Armando glanced at the Quidditch player when she sat beside him. He shook his head to himself, mostly at the situation and not in deference to her question.
"I don't think there is much to look at," he said. Taking care to make sure they were being ignored, the Spaniard carefully pealed back the split fabric around the wound at his thigh. It looked worse than it was, thankfully. Already his coffee-coloured skin was beginning to bruise heavily, but the blood flowing sluggishly from the broken skin had ceased to flow. Armando gave Ebony a half-grin that turned his character features handsome.
"Perhaps it would have been better to explain why I had this before getting angry. It doesn't matter anymore, anyway." He sighed. "I did not lie, though. This tonto in his car hit me in mine. All I saw was that offensive orange you Cannons wear around his neck. I did not stay to look." Armando shrugged and poked his leg wound with the wand he'd fished out of his pocket.
"I don't want to go to a Curador- Healer," he supplied the correct English interpretation. "They waste so much money on charms I could do myself. But this," said Armando, furrowing his brow and indicating the metal still embedded in his thigh, "This I do not want to touch. Not yet. Perhaps I will take you up on your offer for the hotel, yes?"
Despite himself, Arman was charmed by Ebony's awkward little smile. There was something very intriguing about women who did not know their own desirability. Now that he was in slightly less pain from not walking, his head was clearer and more inclined to his usual womanising self.
"Do you carry your own portátil-llave for the room?" asked Arman. He waved his hand, fumbling irritably for the words. "Portable, port-key." He knew that in this city they were very fond of advertising the fact that they provided port-keys that could be activated on the will of the holder, rather than on a timer, for some of the larger establishments. "I don't think I will walk any further with this leg." Armando tried not to worsen his mood by reminding himself of the circumstances that lead to his being injured.
"I am Armando Pereya," he said to Ebony, finally introducing himself. "Arman if you think is too long. Sorry if I don't know yours ... I am not a Quidditch fan." he added non-apologetically.​

 

[Ebony Aerius]

Ebony pulled a face at the wound. It looked nasty. However, the man did not seem too bothered by it. At least the bleeding had stopped, but that thigh was going to have a horrible bruise for quite a while if not healed properly. He smiled at her slightly, and Ebony felt her mouth twist into a smile. He was easy on the eyes. Ebony blinked her thoughts away. This was not the time, the poor man was injured and she was possibly one of the most awkward women on the planet. It would be useless. As he began to explain his anger, Bonnie nodded slowly. It sort of made sense, in an odd way. She understood why he was angry at her fans, considering a fan was who hit him, though why he felt the need to single her out was vague. It was probably because she was there and was lucky enough to be singled out first. Ebony sighed quietly. She always got the odd ones, but it wasn't all bad. He seemed quite decent now. "Our fans can get a little... okay, they can get pretty insane at the best of times. They're very passionate. I usually find it flattering, in a strange way. But I suppose you feel anything but flattered." He did have a piece of metal in his leg, so flattered was most likely not something he'd use to describe his feelings.

The man pulled out his wand and continued to speak. He used a word that Ebony could not identify, solidifying her belief that he was not from around here, and that he did not usually speak English. However, even with his accent she was still not sure where he was from. Accents seemed to morph together after a while. He was still talking, so the brunette restrained her curiosity and nodded. He made a wise decision. "Don't worry. The room is quite large, you'll have plenty of space. There's also a mini bar." She felt stupid for saying that. Mini bar? Really? No wonder why people considered her a man. She practically was one. She really needed to find some women to hang out with. Ebony was once again pulled back to reality when he spoke to her in some other language. "Pardon?" He repeated himself and she nodded. She did have one of those, though she had yet to use it. Bonnie much preferred to either walk, apparate or fly to places. Never had she been comfortable with using a port-key. "Yes I do, though I have yet to use it." She pulled it from her pocket so he could touch it. It was shaped like a hotel door card. "I prefer to apparate, but I think I can make an exception tonight."

They were in her hotel room after a few moments. Ebony placed her hand on the wall in discomfort. Damn port-key. She looked over at the man when he addressed her once more. She smiled. Armando was a nice name. It was also strangely relieving to hear that he was not a fan. She knew she could trust him not to go crazy if any of her team mates came into the room. "I am Ebony Fierce, but you can call me Bonnie if you like." She walked to the mini bar and pulled out two bottles. One was of butterbeer, the other was firewhisky. "Do you want a drink?"
​

 

[Armando Pereya]

Arman could get used to hanging out with a Quidditch player. The rooms that the woman, Ebony he knew now, had taken them to were spacious and tastefully decorated. He made no attempt to hide his smile when she offered drinks from the minibar.
"Ah, a woman after my own heart," he replied, accepting a small bottle of firewhiskey. The first mouthful when straight down his throat like an accomplished drinker, and the second he trickled over his gashed thigh, hissing as it left a watery red trail down his leg. "I think I am going to need this." said Arman after a moment. The Spaniard sat himself very carefully down on a two-seater sofa in order to rip off the remainder of his left pant leg. Shrugging, he also kicked off the casual black boot and set it and its sock aside. "Ruined," he sighed to himself, glancing up at Ebony with a smile in his eyes to say he was joking.
"It is not the pants that make me cry, though. It is my car." Arman shook his head. "The Camino and I go a long time back together. No more, it seems." He let the rest of the pure firewhiskey run over his leg as he spoke, pooling at his left foot where he'd placed the remains of his dress pants. A low hiss started in the depths of his throat at the burn of alcohol in the wound. He grunted as he continued his work.
"Totaled, I think. The car." Without further warning, Arman took a strong hold of the metal shard still glinting at his thigh and ripped it out. "Argh, joder! She left me a parting gift though, eh?" He chuckled as he held the piece aloft. Freed from his leg, the true extent of the aluminium piece was revealed, approximately half a palm-sized. He frowned down at it.
"I admit, this is worse than I expected." He took another swig of firewhiskey for good measure.
"Still, it is not the worst outcome. I come here for food, drink and rest, and I get pain, drink, and a beautiful woman." Arman told Ebony. "And you are a beautiful woman. Patient too, yes, too take me here and offer me rest after I cursed at you."
For the first time since they had met, Armando looked slightly ashamed at his behaviour towards the Quidditch player. He tossed the piece of car door onto the coffee table where it hit with an unpleasant splat. Arman looked down. "My mama would be ashamed of me, to have spoken to you in that way." He returned Ebony's gaze with deep chocolate eyes filled with genuine remorse. "Please forgive me."​

 

[Ebony Aerius]

Ebony grabbed the bottle opener and opened the bottle the muggle way. She was, after all, a muggle-born, and she still liked to do things the way she had been raised. Even if she and some of her younger brother had been thrown away by the family like old shoes for being magical, it was hard to ignore the urge to be abnormal and not use magic all the time. She chuckled at the rather common response of Arman. A lot of men had said that to her - not that it ever came to anything. In the end, there would be talking, joking and then she would get the distinct impression that they saw her as a man. She might as well wear a sign or go the whole nine yards and just be a man or get a girlfriend. There were only a few problems - the fact that Ebony was happy as a woman, and she didn't want a woman to spend time with. "My faithful companion," she held up her freshly poured glass of butterbeer and firewhiskey - enjoying the flavours of both mixed together as apposed to having them separately. "Firebeer, or butterwhiskey - I've yet to decide." She took a swing of her glass and sighed at the nice, familiar burning sensation.

Ebony observed in silence as Arman poured the alcohol over his leg. She knew that it had to be painful and it was done commonly by herself and others if their healer was being lazy and it was a particularly bad wound - and if they needed an excuse to as to why they smelt of firewhiskey. However, she couldn't help but feel that it was such a waste. However, she kept silent and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, drinking her drink mixture. However, she did smile as he spoke - and nearly snorted as he mentioned his car. However, her mouth dropped when he pulled the shard from his leg. "Sh!t!" she covered her mouth, cleared her throat and smiled wealkly. "I mean, deary me - that's quite the gift." It was possibly the biggest chunk of metal she had ever seen being pulled out of someone's leg - not that that happened often. However, her eyes left the metal when Armando spoke again - this time saying a compliment. "Thank you, Armando. But I would have done it for anyone - you were bleeding on the side of the road and yelled at me. And let us remember that I have no idea what you said," she smiled slightly. "Let's keep it that way. I'd hate to slap a bleeding man on my couch." she would have continued, but once again Armando caught her off guard with an apology. She nodded awkwardly. "You're forgiven." she then clinked her glass against the bottle. "Want another one since you've managed to pour most of it on your leg?"
​