CHAPTER TWO
Oliver Wood rolled over on the hammock that was strung around two fake palmtrees and tried to smile for the camera. It was difficult though when he went round and round in circles and landed flat on his stomach on the floor.
"Ouch," someone muttered in the room. "Someone help him up."
That was followed by fits of giggles as the women helpers all tried to decide who was going to help the good looking guy up. In the end they began to argue leaving Oliver to grunt and get up himself.
"Urgh, look now there is a graze on his stomach, make up!" shouted the man.
Oliver sighed and tried not to blush as a short, brunette carefully applied powder to his stomach to get rid of the marks.
This whole photo shoot was beginning to annoy him. How could anyone ever spend their whole lives being prodded and told how to look. All he wanted to do was get back out and play Quidditch. Quidditch was muddy and dirty. Quidditch was anything but glamorous. What was the point of this photo shoot anyway?
This was the question he had posed to the Puddlemere United manager, Tom, a day earlier.
He'd been answered with, "You got to have publicity boy. Women love you. They got to have some sort of merchandise. Coffee mugs, calenders, the whole bit!" When Oliver had told him he didn't want to on coffee mugs and calenders the manager had just laughed and told him to get his good looking face back into the showers.
So now here he was. Sitting in a hammock in front of an illusion of a tropical island. Of course it wasn't really an island but looked like one thanks to the photographer's excellent use of magic. But under all of these lights and covered in some sort of gooey make-up, Oliver wished he WAS on a tropical island.
"Wonderful, fantastic!" the photographer was saying from behind the camera. Oliver tried to look happy but it was getting harder. All of the giggling women standing around wasn't helping. But finally after another fifteen minutes of prodding, he was allowed to leave the studio and go back to the Puddlemere Head Quarters.
Oliver was greeted by his manager, Tom, when he got back. "How'd it go boy?" he asked, trying not to laugh at the make up that was running off Oliver's face in beads of perspiration.
Oliver grunted and headed straight to the showers where he spent an hour, furiously washing the make-up off and scrubbing every inch of his body so hard that he was left with red marks. He didn't care though. He wasn't no model. He was a rough and tough Quidditch player.
As Oliver was getting his bag, ready to head home that afternoon, Tom entered the Locker room, about to deliver more bad news.
"You're going to an interview tomorrow for a women's magazine. It's booked for eleven, someone will pick you up at ten thirty. Got it?"
Without saying a word, Oliver slammed the locker door and left the room behind him.
Author's Note: My Stats bar tells me that I am in a number of people's 'faves' sections and I know this is going to sound really, really, vain but I was wondering who added me. Because I want to thank them! I'm dying of curiosity. So if you did add me, thanks! :o)
Oliver Wood rolled over on the hammock that was strung around two fake palmtrees and tried to smile for the camera. It was difficult though when he went round and round in circles and landed flat on his stomach on the floor.
"Ouch," someone muttered in the room. "Someone help him up."
That was followed by fits of giggles as the women helpers all tried to decide who was going to help the good looking guy up. In the end they began to argue leaving Oliver to grunt and get up himself.
"Urgh, look now there is a graze on his stomach, make up!" shouted the man.
Oliver sighed and tried not to blush as a short, brunette carefully applied powder to his stomach to get rid of the marks.
This whole photo shoot was beginning to annoy him. How could anyone ever spend their whole lives being prodded and told how to look. All he wanted to do was get back out and play Quidditch. Quidditch was muddy and dirty. Quidditch was anything but glamorous. What was the point of this photo shoot anyway?
This was the question he had posed to the Puddlemere United manager, Tom, a day earlier.
He'd been answered with, "You got to have publicity boy. Women love you. They got to have some sort of merchandise. Coffee mugs, calenders, the whole bit!" When Oliver had told him he didn't want to on coffee mugs and calenders the manager had just laughed and told him to get his good looking face back into the showers.
So now here he was. Sitting in a hammock in front of an illusion of a tropical island. Of course it wasn't really an island but looked like one thanks to the photographer's excellent use of magic. But under all of these lights and covered in some sort of gooey make-up, Oliver wished he WAS on a tropical island.
"Wonderful, fantastic!" the photographer was saying from behind the camera. Oliver tried to look happy but it was getting harder. All of the giggling women standing around wasn't helping. But finally after another fifteen minutes of prodding, he was allowed to leave the studio and go back to the Puddlemere Head Quarters.
Oliver was greeted by his manager, Tom, when he got back. "How'd it go boy?" he asked, trying not to laugh at the make up that was running off Oliver's face in beads of perspiration.
Oliver grunted and headed straight to the showers where he spent an hour, furiously washing the make-up off and scrubbing every inch of his body so hard that he was left with red marks. He didn't care though. He wasn't no model. He was a rough and tough Quidditch player.
As Oliver was getting his bag, ready to head home that afternoon, Tom entered the Locker room, about to deliver more bad news.
"You're going to an interview tomorrow for a women's magazine. It's booked for eleven, someone will pick you up at ten thirty. Got it?"
Without saying a word, Oliver slammed the locker door and left the room behind him.
Author's Note: My Stats bar tells me that I am in a number of people's 'faves' sections and I know this is going to sound really, really, vain but I was wondering who added me. Because I want to thank them! I'm dying of curiosity. So if you did add me, thanks! :o)