31st July, 1890 — Destiny Hotel, IQL Dance
Dinner had been a little dull, but the night had started looking up after that. At present, Yassine was milling about close to the card tables, though as that was not something done in their country, he was not partaking. Not yet, anyway.
“Seen Zavala yet?” Yassine said in careless Arabic, not bothering with an undertone when it was unlikely anyone else would understand more than the surname in that; he was too busy scanning the room to glance sidelong and check that it was still one of the team standing next to him, but there had been at least one or two of their players in easy orbit of him all night.
But anyone might get the gist of what he was saying by the broad smirk on his face, the self-satisfied amusement in his eyes as he tried to pick out the British quidditch players amongst the crowd. “By the sounds of it he’s the only one standing between us and total victory.”
“Seen Zavala yet?” Yassine said in careless Arabic, not bothering with an undertone when it was unlikely anyone else would understand more than the surname in that; he was too busy scanning the room to glance sidelong and check that it was still one of the team standing next to him, but there had been at least one or two of their players in easy orbit of him all night.
But anyone might get the gist of what he was saying by the broad smirk on his face, the self-satisfied amusement in his eyes as he tried to pick out the British quidditch players amongst the crowd. “By the sounds of it he’s the only one standing between us and total victory.”
