There were both pros and cons to being a professional Quidditch player and today was most definitely a day where the negatives outshined the positives.
Thomas preferred the company of himself though was not the type to shy away from any form of attention were it given to him. This was one side effect that came from being a Quidditch player for the oldest Quidditch team around and more often than not, he could cope with that. It was only on occasion when someone would recognise him away from the field and that amount of exposure, to Thomas, was more than okay.
Unfortunately for him today was one of those 'than not's'.
Thomas had elected to travel to Diagon Alley for some supplies. There was a nice broomstick store he had been meaning to check out that had received some outstandingly positive reviews from his peers and that alone piqued his interest. Thomas, however, was finding it increasingly difficult to remember the name of the place and as he looked around Diagon Alley wearing a simple loose fitting black robe with a light grey undercoat and black fitted trousers, an almost tormenting scream burst into his ear drums like a spear through fish.
"Mr. Tilcott!" The person shouted; an air of excited bliss emanated from their words and when Thomas looked up to see where the noise was coming from, he was suddenly filled with dread.
Usually Thomas would have no issue with a bit of fan service but this person was known to Thomas. He'd caught them at several games of his and had good reason to suspect they'd found his home. They never really said much beyond his name and that they would be good friends - usually incoherent amidst the nervous laughter - and something about their demeanour made him feel particularly uneasy.
Thomas turned abruptly around and darted into the nearest store he could. It smelled like perfume, tea, and the very seat of luxury with the faintest hint of cinnamon.
Moving cautiously around the store, Thomas nodded and smiled politely toward a few people as they looked toward him; his gaze fixed on the store entrance.
It would be wise to mention at this point that though Thomas was very much aware of the advice to pay attention to his surroundings, he wasn't one to listen to advice very often and no sooner had he entered the store, had he felt a sharp nudge to his side from what felt like someone's elbow.
Thomas looked toward the person and opened his mouth to apologise though it seemed she was intent on speaking first, "I'm terribly sorry. I'm afraid I was distracted by—" A pause. She was very well spoken. Thomas smiled. "What I meant to say that - um." Another pause. Thomas was still smiling though this time it was more amused than polite. "I meant to say that I'm sorry, yes!"
Peering toward the entrance briefly, Thomas focused his attention on this very well spoken, very good looking individual.
"It's, erm, alright." Tommy smiled sheepishly.
It was strange. He was accustomed to being around people - hundreds, sometimes thousands, of them - though one well-spoken lady and poof! All knowledge of social interaction had vanished.
"You did me no damage." Wait. That wasn't right. Thomas was talking to an upstanding woman and needed to ensure his diction was infallible. "Erm, I mean, you done me no 'arm." Now hang on. By this point, Thomas was visibly flustered. "Uh.. You didn't hurt me."
That would have to do. He looked around - finally taking in the sight of the store; he must have been in some sort of fashion place.
"This is beautiful. You must come 'ere a lot," Thomas turned back to the woman whom, by any accounts, was just as appealing for Thomas to look at as the store itself and suddenly he was reminded that he was very much in the presence of somebody who likely spends their loose change on expensive garments like the ones on display, "Mr. Thomas Tilcott. I'm most pleasured to meet you and, er, make your acquaintance."
Being a gentleman wasn't so hard.
Thomas preferred the company of himself though was not the type to shy away from any form of attention were it given to him. This was one side effect that came from being a Quidditch player for the oldest Quidditch team around and more often than not, he could cope with that. It was only on occasion when someone would recognise him away from the field and that amount of exposure, to Thomas, was more than okay.
Unfortunately for him today was one of those 'than not's'.
Thomas had elected to travel to Diagon Alley for some supplies. There was a nice broomstick store he had been meaning to check out that had received some outstandingly positive reviews from his peers and that alone piqued his interest. Thomas, however, was finding it increasingly difficult to remember the name of the place and as he looked around Diagon Alley wearing a simple loose fitting black robe with a light grey undercoat and black fitted trousers, an almost tormenting scream burst into his ear drums like a spear through fish.
"Mr. Tilcott!" The person shouted; an air of excited bliss emanated from their words and when Thomas looked up to see where the noise was coming from, he was suddenly filled with dread.
Usually Thomas would have no issue with a bit of fan service but this person was known to Thomas. He'd caught them at several games of his and had good reason to suspect they'd found his home. They never really said much beyond his name and that they would be good friends - usually incoherent amidst the nervous laughter - and something about their demeanour made him feel particularly uneasy.
Thomas turned abruptly around and darted into the nearest store he could. It smelled like perfume, tea, and the very seat of luxury with the faintest hint of cinnamon.
Moving cautiously around the store, Thomas nodded and smiled politely toward a few people as they looked toward him; his gaze fixed on the store entrance.
It would be wise to mention at this point that though Thomas was very much aware of the advice to pay attention to his surroundings, he wasn't one to listen to advice very often and no sooner had he entered the store, had he felt a sharp nudge to his side from what felt like someone's elbow.
Thomas looked toward the person and opened his mouth to apologise though it seemed she was intent on speaking first, "I'm terribly sorry. I'm afraid I was distracted by—" A pause. She was very well spoken. Thomas smiled. "What I meant to say that - um." Another pause. Thomas was still smiling though this time it was more amused than polite. "I meant to say that I'm sorry, yes!"
Peering toward the entrance briefly, Thomas focused his attention on this very well spoken, very good looking individual.
"It's, erm, alright." Tommy smiled sheepishly.
It was strange. He was accustomed to being around people - hundreds, sometimes thousands, of them - though one well-spoken lady and poof! All knowledge of social interaction had vanished.
"You did me no damage." Wait. That wasn't right. Thomas was talking to an upstanding woman and needed to ensure his diction was infallible. "Erm, I mean, you done me no 'arm." Now hang on. By this point, Thomas was visibly flustered. "Uh.. You didn't hurt me."
That would have to do. He looked around - finally taking in the sight of the store; he must have been in some sort of fashion place.
"This is beautiful. You must come 'ere a lot," Thomas turned back to the woman whom, by any accounts, was just as appealing for Thomas to look at as the store itself and suddenly he was reminded that he was very much in the presence of somebody who likely spends their loose change on expensive garments like the ones on display, "Mr. Thomas Tilcott. I'm most pleasured to meet you and, er, make your acquaintance."
Being a gentleman wasn't so hard.