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Topics - Alba Foxe

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1954 / houston, we have a problem (open)
« on: 08/04/2018 at 02:03 »
It wasn't Alba hated early mornings, but she didn't particularly like them. She'd grown accustomed to them from her days at Hogwarts and the farm. Most of the time, she was far too antsy to stay in the bed for too long, anyway. It didn't stop her from being tired and groggy, though.

Instead of soaking up the chance for a little extra wink of sleep, she was up at the crack dawn. However, this was a necessary evil. There was nothing more embarrassing than admitting she was bad at something, especially since most wizards were practically born with a broomstick in their chubby little hands and a scream of joy for the sport in their growing lungs. Sure, Alba liked Quidditch (it was pretty hard not to when that was half of the conversations her peers had, anyway) but the first time she really tried to play was a disaster. You'd think that not being able to sit still would give her an edge in a sport, but it didn't work in her favor, just made her flying really shaky and unstable. She liked to think of herself as someone who doesn't get nervous easily, but her sweaty hands told a different story, and made it more difficult to grip her broom, which, no matter how hard she tried to control, she couldn't.

Maybe it was the pressure of being on a team, or maybe it was because she didn't like other people teaching her things. Either way, her Quidditch skills hadn't improved at all the entire year, and she was determined she would come back to school a flying prodigy.

Rubbing her eyes, hard, she summoned her broom, which was always the easiest part of the entire process. Somewhat unsteadily, but still better than normal, she mounted it and grinned in victory. Deep breaths stop shaking hands and swinging legs. Alba considered this progress, but it still wasn't enough.

Too impatient to try to re-mount more smoothly, she jerked on the broom, hard, trying to really get herself into motion. She shot up, far too fast, and couldn't help let out a little squeal at the feeling of the air in her face and the blood rushing through her veins - it was always her favorite part.

She has to hover in the air for a bit, waiting for the tremors in her hands to stop, and then takes off again, still wobbly, but careful not to go too quick even though she wants to. Satisfied with herself, she almost claps before she realizes that if she does she'll probably completely lose control of this thing. Why had she been making this a big deal out of this before?

Like always, her confidence came back to bite her, because she immediately surged forward, her broom moving seemingly with a mind of its own. Frantically, she tried to jerk and pull, but, somehow, everything she does was wrong. A plea for help gets caught in her throat - Alba couldn't tell if it was her pride or nerves, but, either way, she curses herself.

A clumsy yank sends her dive-bombing to the ground - and, more unfortunately, at a person, because of course, it wasn't enough for her to be ashamed of herself, she just had to be humiliated in front of someone else.

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