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Author Topic: Quidditch Game Three - Acromantula Vs. Thestral  (Read 986 times)

Briar Märchen

    (12/23/2016 at 17:13)
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Mid-Summer 1949
00:00AM - sun has set


A yawn left Briar's lips as he sat, perched on his broom, he was glad that he had not been able to play this match. He was just sat refereeing the match and he was ready to go to sleep. The teams were either just as good as each other, or just as bad... the answer had been tossed back and forth as he managed the game. Fifteen hours awake, he was sure he'd have his face in his breakfast the next morning.

He glanced over his shoulder, he was surprised people were still watching... or maybe they were just shadows of the people that had been stood their previously. If he could have been in bed, he would have been by now. Why couldn't Tobias have taken his game? Hand tugged through his hair as the cool breeze kissed the exposed skin, it was supposed to be summer, the nights were supposed to be boiling. However, clearly it was not.

A sigh escaped his lips, reaching back for the spine of his broom as he followed the action of the game, the same action that had lasted six hours. He was surprised that some of the younger players had managed to stay awake for so long, or that the captains had taken notice and subbed them out. The only light came from the moon that hung high above the sky, along with those creatures that had the light up tails.

He cleared his throat. "Come on guys!" He called out into the night, it was mainly the shadow of players he could see, but he could spy the blonde of Sylvia's hair at one point, or the fiery red of Aiden Duncan, the little brother of Jamie. "Someone get the snitch! I need my bed!"

The game has been going for six hours & is currently MIDNIGHT.
The score stands at 100 - 100 to both teams.
The Quaffle is in possession of TEAM ACROMANTULA.
Bludgers Ivanova and Leighton are both free.
« Last Edit: 12/23/2016 at 17:15 by Briar Märchen »

GRYFFINDOR
blaze my own trails

* Zak Weiland

    (12/23/2016 at 17:49)
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ACROMANTULA - CAPTAIN / BEATER


It was one of the craziest things he'd ever participated in. One of the most powerful experiences he'd ever had so far and it was only increasing by the minute. There had been adrenaline to the point where he was shaking. The mere explosion of feelings erupting from his chest, from his hands, from his bloody mouth - because Fish Weiland had been loud, had been declaring this victory that it was for him to get chosen captain, if only for a summer game, to the entire world.

It was that adrenaline that kept him going now, even as players found themselves struggling to keep themselves afloat in the air, even as their eyes grew heavier and heavier and their courses more and more loopy.

Of course there had been a pep talk, the just do your thing, you know you're great at it to Caitlin, the grin and thumbs up to Euphemia and Marina, two Chasers he had absolute faith in, two players he'd seen fly before. Xerxes was also among these absolute rock solid people, confident in his position. A couple of keeping tips had been thrown in the direction of Louis, someone Fish - who usually was the one playing Keeper - didn't know all that well, but still believed could handle the position with little problem. And Agnes Ogden, someone who, at least by the looks of it, was likely to be able to fill the position of Seeker without a problem.

Kadence was new to him, so he still did not know precisely where to put her, although she most definitely looked nice. Helen Kane though - the girl had captained him in the last game and did not need explaining to, only that grin and a wink. It broke his heart to bench them, if Fish could have decided, he would have kept all his players on the field, but it had become clear to him why substitutes were necessary, considering their current situation.

Let's beat them! had been the final message, before they entered the field.

Six hours later they were still out there, although positions had been switched some, and people were sent to the bench every now and then for snacking and whatever else was needed. Meaning everyone had already got their time on the field, at least once.

It was really starting to show that people were getting tired. Fish should have been tired, considering he'd hardly slept the night before, not because he was anxious, but because he'd been excited about playing Captain for the first time.

Now he was floating there, in the darkness that cradled them all in a strange sort of silence, and the adrenaline was still having him going, for the first time on a 'pitch' with a beater's bat resting securely in his right hand. It had been tricky at first, but he was getting the hang of it, although he could feel the ache of tiredness in his muscles, trying to fight its way into him.

Not tonight though. Not with Fish Weiland aka Zak - the Gryffindor was more stubborn that than. He could handle this madness. He'd show them.

Problem was that the team they were playing was as flawless as themselves, both in their game and in their players. There were so many admirable people out here.

"Let me know if anyone needs a break!" he hollered into the night, throwing a glance to the shadowy figures at the bench. Were they ready, or were they already sleeping? He felt he couldn't really blame them if they were, and still he was so ready, so on the edge.

Something whined to the left of him, something dark coming at him at great speed, and Fish swung his bat at bludger Ivanova, sending it speeding into the darkness. Toward whom he didn't even know - the hit had been mostly in self defence, the thing had been heading toward him
THUNDER,  FEEL  THE  THUNDER
LIGHTNING AND THE THUNDER
_…-    _…_……--<"  __……_…--…-
  \___/      \_…----<_  - `-…  _…<_…-
  _-… \___…-           \_…-<__…--<__…-<

* Sylvia Renn

    (12/23/2016 at 18:18)
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Thestral - Captain & Seeker


When Sylvia had signed up for Quidditch just in time for the second game, she had thought it would be the same fast paced games they played during the school year. When games lasted a few hours max, but the talent on either side swung the win firmly to one team. She had faith in the starting roster Tobias handed her, even if her name wasn’t on it. As Captain, she was given compliment enough. Sylvia had strode onto the Pitch with her small team at its finest, ranging from those who had played a while, and newcomers to the game. Her eyes went to Marzanna, the proud girl who had taken her position, and smiled.

“Good luck,” Sylvia said as she shook Fish’s hand with a wide grin. She hoped they would meet like this again at the Castle sometime. She winked for good measure.

Taking her place on the bench at the side, Sylvia stretched out comfortably. She would never admit her apprehension, as this game was to be the game she finally got over it, but it tainted her smile as she looked at the players taking off. For all the charged memories of shifting bones, hazed by potions and spells, Sylvia refused to give into the instinct that flicked her blue gaze away from the flying balls of iron.

The game slid by. Scores by both, and Sylvia rose once to change Icarus’ position but realized no one else would have a chance against the Chaser team they opposed. Not that they were revolutionary, but they had all played before and proven their talent on a broom. She bit her lip, and glanced at the other at her side.

Two hours turned to three, and Sylvia shifted a few of the positions to give them a break. Her eyes went to Marzanna, determined and brilliant in the dying sun, and Sylvia left her.

(Regret burned like the last rays now, wrapped in Icarus’ buzzing voice she had made in her head.)

“Let me know if you get tired!” she had called around 8:30 pm.

Three went to four, teetered on five, and the light had long since fled this impatient game. Sylvia grimaced and climbed onto the bench, holding her broom aloft to grab some attention. “Substitution! Kasimir for Renn as Seeker!” she called, louder than she thought herself capable of. The young Hufflepuff leapt onto her broom as Marzanna landed, kicking off the ground easily to twirl into the sky.

Air flooded her lungs as Sylvia took off, finally finally, and she felt a swell of hope she might be better matched for the young Miss Ognes. “Alright, we can wrap this up!” she called to her team, though the frustration that heated all of them was almost tangible (though, perhaps that was just how strongly hers was). Wonders twisted in her mind, if she had placed Icarus as Seeker, and Adrian as Keeper, and Marzanna as Beater — could she have rearranged the roster so explicitly? More suited to the older players skills, and used the novices to fill in the spaces?

However, this was made for practice, and Sylvia was supposed to give the new players as much of a chance as she would spare for the experienced. Allow players to try new positions. Support their curiosity in the game and try their weakest points in a way never allowed during the competition of the Castle. It was reaching a breaking point, though, and Sylvia was filled with regret.

"Someone get the snitch! I need my bed!"

“Just call off the game, Mister Märchen, our players are exhausted,” Sylvia muttered as she turned to his voice across the pitch. It was a wonder the boy hadn’t decided to end it when one of the teams had pulled ahead in score, even if it would be an unsatisfactory finish. She blinked her blue eyes tiredly, and spurned herself higher to use the moonlight to catch the glint of gold she sought. Her gaze wandered to Icarus — he would be better suited for this task, as it had only taken Sylvia an hour after Marzanna to realize the futility of chasing a Snitch in pitch black.

Something in her stilled her voice and Sylvia shook her head. One more time. She’d try for one more hour, and if even then Sylvia could not outfly Miss Agnes Ogden, sweet but completely new to the game (... unless Sylvia was mistaken in her memories on that too),  Sylvia would abandon hope as a Seeker. More so, she would concede to Icarus’ innate superiority in talent, for how much it hurt her pride to do so.

There was no room for pride in a team, though, was there?

Twisting away from her spot, Sylvia blinked her soft gaze in the direction of a flicker of gold midst the grass. Her heart hoped. Broom trailed magic in her wake, trademark of Irma’s legacy, and Sylvia chased their win.
« Last Edit: 12/23/2016 at 18:39 by Sylvia Renn »
you  /yōō, yə/ pronoun.
  a microscope through which I can see
  all the broken parts of me.

* Agnes Ogden

    (12/23/2016 at 19:28)
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ACROMANTULA | SEEKER



Of course it was this game of all games that Agnes had decided--on a whim, no less--to play.

Beneath her, the loaned broom rumbled--yes, rumbled, for there was no other words for what the beast of a broom was doing.  It was almost audible, so violent was its shaking; her cheeks itched from the motion of it, and if her mind drifted for a moment--and, she would be the first to tell you, over the last six hours, it had--the vibration of the thing threatened to unseat her.  On at least a few occasions, the young Ogden had almost lost her grip on the thing, and it was only by the grace of God that she had found it in her to cling tight enough to the broom’s handle to stay upright.

Through her hair (which was too short to tie back), the midnight air whipped, sending it to snap against the sides of her face.  It didn’t do much to help with the itching of her cheeks; she was sure by tomorrow (today, she reminded herself, for it was tomorrow) they’d be an angry sort of red if they weren’t already.  From her chest, she heaved a sigh, one hand finding the bravery to reach up and rub her right cheek.

She paid for it, of course--no sooner had her hand left the broom did it veer sharply to the left, dropping in an instant several feet downward.

“Oh, damn your eyes,” she huffed at the old monster, hand gripping its hold hard.

It was the fasted of the loaner brooms, which was why she had chosen it, but why she had chosen to play...well, that was another issue entirely.  Even then, during hour six of the blasted game, she couldn’t give a straight answer for why.  Sports of any flavor had never been her thing, least of all Quidditch which was far too fast to be sensible.  It was more Tennessee’s business, and perhaps that was why she had signed herself up--to prove to her brother that she could play--or perhaps it was for the sake of writing for, while the game never featured prominently in her prose, when it did she felt it was woefully lacking in realism.  Most likely, she could only blame it on the follies of youth for, though she had never played a lick in her life, she found herself made Seeker of the…..some magical beast which she couldn’t remember at the moment.

“I could use a sweater, I reckon,” she shouted at Zak as she rumbled past him, sparing him a quick, brown-eyed look before bringing her focus front and center again.  With a turn of her wrists, she tried the loop the beast around the outside of the...Quidditch….yard (she was sure there was a name for it, but she was not at all as sure as to what it was).

By this time, it was not even the small gold ball--the Snitch, that she knew--she looked for; the game had gone so long and the night grown so dark that she had given up.  She was sharp of eye (a blessing, for writers should be, lest they forever be squinting off after something), but in the unseasonably cool gloom of the night, with something so small...well, there was a reason the game had run so long, and she was fairly certain it wasn’t the other team’s Seeker.

“All right, Sylvia,” she sighed to the girl in question, rumbling up as close as she felt comfortable getting on a broom such as the one beneath her. “I got an idea.”

She had--it had come to her slowly over six hours, and she wished she had thought of it so much sooner (or that she had a less violent broom, or that she hadn’t signed up to play Quidditch in the first place, but hind sight, as they say, was twenty-twenty)--and it was this:

“I’ll help you look for the little old thing, so as at least one of us can catch the damned thing finally and it’ll be over.”

Just how treasonous an offer that was, Agnes Ogden did not realize.
the past is never dead.
it's not even past.

Mia Green

    (12/23/2016 at 21:10)
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Team Thestral
Bench



 
Mia Green blinked sleepily. The last Quidditch game had most definitely not lasted this long. Or maybe it had. Who knew. Well, some did, but certainly not her. And she didn't want to know either!

Why had she even decided to return for another match? It wasn't as bad as her first, nothing could've been... but, for Godric's sake, it was midnight. And there were still people playing out there. Mia had been in and out of the game for the entire six hours and it was getting old. Somewhat surprisingly (or perhaps not?) she was grateful to be on the bench. At least she had the opportunity to try and sleep.

Yet she couldn't. The bench was cold, hard, and uncomfortable, and the night air nipped at her cheeks. She flapped her hand irritably. Why didn't they just call the game off and declare a tie? Mia would most certainly not be getting up until noon tomorrow. She had been going all day, running around and adventuring, but right now that fun seemed a world away despite it only happening a matter of hours ago. She sort of regretted it now. It only made her more tired.

"Someone get the snitch! I need my bed!"

It was the Quidditch referee- Briar? Some ref. This game should've been over eons ago. Mia didn't care about the outcome of the game anymore, if she ever had.

"And so do we all!" She called back irritably. "C'mon, you're the ref, do something!" This was ridiculously boring. "Can we please use magic, just this once? You can't see anything without light. Merlin, you wouldn't even be able to see one of those bloody bludgers if it was headed right for your face!" Mia concluded her mini-speech with a loud, not-entirely-exaggerated yawn. She stretched out on the bench. Screw not being able to fall asleep. She closed her eyes and was soon dead to the world.
I jumped so high

I touched the clouds

don't hold back -- oh, I won't hold back

* Icarus Argabright

    (12/23/2016 at 21:24)
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Team Thestral : Keeper

Chapter Five

She would not pretend to understand what hid behind his glass green eyes, but she could not deny his confession. There are truths that are true and need no acceptance; the plain fact of Cadmus as age-old enemy weighed against her wistful wanting of strong arms and stronger will. He had been loyal to his promise to her, fulfilling the duty for which he had been hired. He had been kind in the aftermath of peril, when Laurel felt she might lose her wits. And yet he was wicked as wicked could be. Her ruby lips parted to protest, but she was stilled by a hand on her shoulder - his hand, firm and warm...

Icarus yawned widely, rubbing away the tears that came to his eyes with the reflex of his exhaustion. It was as much a display of his physical condition as it was his mental and emotional states, and he was sure that everyone else was feeling the same way. Why were they still out here? Sure, it was good practice, but its usefulness had reached its limit. Games were supposed to be fun, and if no one was having fun, there was no sense in continuing it. In addition, it was frightfully difficult to read in such low light.

It was clear after the second hour that this was a mistake on all fronts. The counselor’s choice in Seekers was thoroughly abhorrent. The referee had the worst judgment of anyone he’d ever known. The captain of his team had taken total leave of her senses when, after the fifth hour, Sylvia subbed Marzanna out for herself, Icarus settled into full protest by seating himself on the middle hoop. Though the temptation was great, he had not gone entirely rogue; Icarus kept both feet planted on the rests of the hovering broom, which waited with the same impatience to be of its best use.

(He still didn’t know who to blame for starting the game at six in the evening. When were they expected to eat?)

The worst part of all was having to play Keeper. Icarus had learned myriad things from Ronnie, but playing this position was not among them. This being his first venture was not particularly inspiring. The exhaustion of the game's duration met frustration of hopelessness, and Icarus was still unable to keep from flinching every time the Quaffle sailed near him. Though it was almost somewhat sort of encouraging to know that the opposing team's Keeper apparently wasn't much better, the Ravenclaw sulked at the Thestral hoops.

True to form (and lucky for it, for once), Icarus had come equipped to deal with a slow game--a strategy adopted from Marlena Flair when she played this position on the Ravenclaw team-- but not a long one. Packed with four apple pastries and a trash novel, his small satchel now hung empty around his neck. He hated the small satchel because it only held four apple pastries and a trash novel, and he was still hungry. Annoyed and hungry. Bored and tired. Icarus had half a mind to scavenge the crumbs out of the canvas.

Six hours of this was positively obscene. Cissy Sonorus had nothing on this game. Dispassionate, he cast his fading stare over the pitch with a mountainous sigh, and turned the page.

A hum trailed with shades of the sky, the song of a fingertip around crystal goblets sinking into his arms -- and there was Sylvia, racing after something he didn’t bother to confirm as the snitch, because Icarus knew there would only be trouble if he did. In the heat of summer evenings, the recklessness of his words turned shamelessly kinetic. Would she forgive him if, in his bitterness, he did not cheer her on?

He really should have brought another book. At least Chapter Five had an interesting couple of scenes. Icarus turned a few more pages. Perhaps they would be more exciting in the dark, and even more with the squinting.

Laurel met him in the courtyard that evening, draped with silks upon silks to erase her identity in the lonely stone circle. Only the fountain at the center knew her, reflected in ripples, as Cadmus crossed the space. His steps were heavy striding toward the inn, and she followed much the same…
this is probably the best  not to mention the worst idea
that I have ever had

Caitlin McLeod

    (12/24/2016 at 15:02)
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Team Acromantula – Chaser


Come on, Agnes... it wasn't the first time Caitlin made that particular wish, cutting herself short before she could add a traitorous 'or Sylvia' to it. It wasn't even remotely close to being the first time.
She had played long games before, but this one took the cake. Six hours, and counting.

The only illumination of the pitch came from the moon, stars and … well, something else. She wasn't entirely sure, nor did she particularly care. It wasn't nearly enough light to see well, and even though she was about as used to moving around in the dark as anyone on the team, and probably better off than most in that regard, thanks to countless hours of moving around the castle at night, she was hard pressed to see. The Gryffindor was truly grateful that it wasn't her playing Seeker tonight, that she only had to aim a reasonably large ball at a trio of hoops... and stay out of the path of any bludgers that may or may not come for her. If Quaffle and Snitch were hard to see in the colorless, dim light the moon provided, the Bludgers were downright impossible to make out.

Once more Caitlin secured her grip on the leather, just to be sure. She had tucked the ball close to her body, to hide its shape against her own as well as she could. Might as well use the darkness to her advantage. As long as nobody realized she had the Quaffle, nobody would come after her.
Facing Finny and Nina like this was harder than she had anticipated. The Duo had become really good, probably better than they themselves realized. If she could keep her possession of the Quaffle secret for just a little longer, that would give her a much needed respite.
Her muscles were weary already, aching, worn down by hours and hours directing and controlling her broom at high speed, fighting over possession, dodging, weaving, scoring, attempting. But so far, the teams were evenly matched, tied at ten goals each.

They were still fighting to gain even the slightest advantage over their opponents. It was tiring, not so much in body but in mind. Each of them put up a fight, and yet, the game was ever unmoving.
A voice sounded nearby, quickly followed by the crack of a bat.

"Let me know if anyone needs a break!"

Cait smiled. Zak. Maybe it wasn't her place, but she was proud of her teammate. He was doing really well both playing a position he wasn't particularly used to (and in utter darkness no less) and captaining. He, as well, would be an excellent choice for Gryffindor to take the lead next term.
“I'm fine, thanks,” she called back, carefully hiding even the slightest trace of weariness. She was far too determined to see the game through to give up now... and, even though he might not know, she had the Quaffle. She couldn't just quit now.
She waved at him, no more than a shadowy figure with a bat in the darkness, and sped off again, focused on her own task.

It was nice to be able to just play this time, without having to worry about coordinating a team. Today, that was Zak's job and she had her own to worry about.







GRYFFINDOR
Glory Roars


#033 McLeod

* Marina Lamont

    (12/25/2016 at 20:00)
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Team Acromantula - Chaser


Why. Hadn’t. She. Scratched. Her. Name. Off. The. Stupid. Roster?

This was a nightmare. Another nightmare she didn’t want to be a part of. Really, she had meant to ask to have her name taken off of the Quidditch rosters (and apparently, many others already had as the amount of players had halved since the beginning of summer) but in her worry about her parent’s silence, it had completely slipped her mind to do so herself. So here she was, on the pitch again, unable to back down once her name turned up on that list. Unwilling to be the let-down who couldn’t even bother to turn up.

If only she had known the game would last this long though, Marina wouldn’t have hesitated for a second before turning the heel and walking decisively away. For good. Even now, as she wandered around the pitch, red-faced, out of breath, her muscles aching, her toes hurting where they had been hit by a bludger earlier on, and half asleep, completely unable to spot the quaffle among the equally exhausted players that wandered about the pitch, desperate for this game to come to an overdue end.

She couldn’t just ask for another bench break though. Everyone else, at this point, was stuck in the same nightmare as she. It would be selfish of her to sit it out while everyone else suffered. Even if she was wandering aimlessly around the pitch, searching for the quaffle as she would the snitch and being generally useless as usual (she had scored some goals but nowhere near as much as any of the other chasers had) she felt like at least her presence on the pitch allowed Helen and Kadence to take a well-deserved break. ”I’m good.” Marina replied as Zak offered up the respite she so desperately desired, yet so stubbornly refused.

On she flew, feeling more useless with every second that passed. Her eyes and ears were peeled for any sign of incoming bludgers, careful also to steer clear of any silhouette that held a bat. One of them in particular she felt the need to avoid both on and off the pitch. Instead, she tried to identify her fellow chasers. Whether they were from her team or not she needed to figure out which one of them had the quaffle. The problem was, none of them did. Or so it seemed.

Heaving a heavy sigh as her discouragement soared to new heights, Marina sidled up to Caitlin’s side, oblivious to the fact that her teammate possessed what she sought. “D'you think it fell on the ground?” It was her prime hypothesis at the moment, but she wasn’t about to go scouting across the ground without a second opinion. Besides, she was starting to think they might as well just give up on trying to find the red ball and should instead all begin to partake in the more important and infinitely more pressing search for the golden snitch.
I set my sail

Fly
the wind it will take me
Back to my home, sweet home

* Zak Weiland

    (12/25/2016 at 22:20)
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ACROMANTULA - CAPTAIN / BEATER


You'd think with the moon up, things would be getting easier. But Fish was no cat - he couldn't see in the darkness, and the sky hardly ever remained the same. There were moments when they appeared to him almost as clear as day, and then some cloud would sail through the heavens and cloud his vision in darkness once again. He knew this was hardly something of a touble only to him though, of which he was painfully aware. His wasn't the only aim that was off, and those Chasers out there was in serious trouble when trying to pass the Quaffle between them.

Not that it made him have less confidence in his Chasers, and perhaps one in particular - he was very much aware that Caitlin McLeod was currently hugging onto the ball. He was finding that he not just liked her as a Quidditch player, but that his liking for her as a person increased more and more with every glance and every conversation.

He threw a glance at the dark blob in the distance that was surely the cluster of Acromantula Chasers.

There was another thing that had come completely clear to him.

He was never playing Beater again.

It had nothing to do with him not being able to - six hours of practice throughout the unravelling of this game had helped him get somewhat of a grasp on it even though the tiredness stung in the muscles of his arms, and his aim wasn't by far the best he'd experienced. Playing Beater had its similarities to a small range of muggle sports, and that was, he supposed, from where he had his advantage to this position (just like playing Keeper came more naturally to those who'd spent a few years playing football already).

The purpose of those games were, however, slamming the ball as far away as possible.

This did not apply to Quidditch.

And Fish just couldn't get over the idea of hitting one of these dangerous, raging, things at any of the people at the other team. Surely, he saw the purpose of it, and he was grateful to the beaters on the Gryffindor team (or Acromantula, for that matter), as long at it wasn't him that needed to do it. Still, he sort of saw the purpose of making himself suffer through it.

Six hours of it, though, was really starting to get enough.

And his team had to start noticing it, too, although he'd certainly tried, that his hits were off in one way or another - either not hard enough, or just slightly off aim. As though he was trying to miss. Which wasn't actually the case, rather he just wasn't able to put his heart into it.

A longing glance was thrown in the direction of Louis Fossoway, currently located in front of the Acromantula hoops, to the general overview you got from that position, to the feel of Keeper's gloves on his hands.

Surely, Adrian's idea had sounded good when mentioned, but now that he was acting it out, he was having second thoughts.

And third and fourth and fifth.

Team Thestral appeared a bit less determined than Acromantula, judging from the comments that were tossed out every now and then. Although Marina's I'm good was a bit stunted and a bit too straight forward to appear to him as truly convincing. Caitlin though - he smiled thankfully in her direction, although he was pretty sure she couldn't make it out in the weird moonlight.

"I could use a sweater, I reckon."

It took him a moment to think about that, before answering with a simple "Okay."

Locating Agnes' voice, Fish stopped his broom close to her and pulled off his own sweater, all while holding the Beater's bat between his thighs without losing it - and reached the piece of clothing out to her. It was not the strangest request he'd ever heard, and he didn't have a trouble trying to make his players more comfortable in this uncomfortable game. Besides, it was giving him an excuse not to smack any bludgers at his friends.
« Last Edit: 12/28/2016 at 12:34 by Fish Weiland »
THUNDER,  FEEL  THE  THUNDER
LIGHTNING AND THE THUNDER
_…-    _…_……--<"  __……_…--…-
  \___/      \_…----<_  - `-…  _…<_…-
  _-… \___…-           \_…-<__…--<__…-<

Finny Morgenstern

    (12/25/2016 at 23:34)
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Team Thestral Beater


The birds in the trees had stopped singing as the sun went down, and with them the sounds made by the spectators had slowly faded away. There wasn't much left to hear now except for the occasional shouts, and the noise of the wind playing with the edge of his ears. If he closed his eyes, it was almost like he were dreaming, everything felt so distant, so vague.

Occasionally he did, to grant his eyes some rest from fighting the dark, but he could not keep them closed for long. The broom drifted a little whenever her did, and he couldn't let anyone notice his struggles. He was loving this game, if Sylvia caught on that he was getting sleepy... Well, he wasn't sure what would happen then. She had already substituted him from chaser to beater, he would guess her to sub him off the pitch if she felt he was no longer fit to play.

It had been a little weird at first, having a captain that he did not know at all, and he had honestly not been sure he wanted to be on her team. After six whole hours of playing under her lead, that feeling had changed, he trusted her commands, her abilities, her advice. Still, he was looking forward to playing a real match with his real team again.

It was a good thing that others were having the same problem, he hadn't heard a bat hit a bludger in quite some time. Obviously hits were getting sloppier, weaker, and slower. It didn't help that they had to find them again after every time they whacked them away - right now he was playing a weird combination of the positions seeker and beater, and he honestly had no idea what the best way to do that was. They absolutely had to play it right though, because if beaters themselves couldn't see their bludgers, then the other players would not see them coming either.

Flying low to the ground he could use the moonlit sky to his advantage, attempt to create some contrast between the bludgers he was looking for and the world around them. He'd find one soon enough, and shot up after it. It didn't seem to be going anywhere in particular, though he could be mistaken.

He turned his broom around as he sped past the dark sphere, stretched out his bat, and looked for a target; something he really should have done before he reached this point. Fatigue was definitely setting in, but he could still correct this mistake by thinking quickly - which meant nothing more than hitting the bludger (Leighton) at the first moving opponent he spotted, which happened to be Caitlin.

Finny could feel how sore his muscles were as the bat approached the target, and let out a grunt in anticipation of the shock that came at the collision. He could tell that his arms would be killing him for this when he woke up in the morning (or afternoon, at this rate). He wouldn't let it ruin his mood.

Six hours was a record for him, he couldn't stop now. Not while he could improve it simply by carrying on. Besides, this was an excellent way to practise.

He watched the bludger for a second, almost tempted to wave it goodbye as it fled away from him. He knew that aiming it at random chasers was not the standard way of playing, but annoying the seekers would only make this game last even longer. And at least Caitlin should be capable of sensing the approaching danger.

He turned around and smiled, looking for the other bludger (which should be around if it hadn't lost the field in the dark). What a game. The silence though, that was one thing about it that had to go.

"Hey Zak! How about trying to get these targeting the stars so we can help looking for the snitch instead?"
THUNDER,  FEEL  THE  THUNDER
LIGHTNING AND THE  
THUNDER

Aiden Duncan

    (12/26/2016 at 00:48)
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Team Thestral Chaser


Aiden glanced up at the bright, shining moon with a huge smile on his face as he floated in the air. He couldn't believe he was actually out after curfew! Sure, there were still counselors around keeping an annoyingly close watch, but Aiden would take what he could get. He was just glad he was getting in a lot of practice on the broom and becoming very familiar with the controls.

Aiden lazily circled the pitch, having become completely disinterested in the game after about the third hour of it. He had been aggressively unhelpful in this game. He wasn't a beater, so Aiden didn't have the pressing responsibility of keeping other players safe and he felt he could slack off a bit and just enjoy the ride this time around. He had barely gone after the Acromantula players or attempted to swipe the ball from them. He figured the ball would come to him eventually, so why give chase? Especially now that the sun had gone down, he could barely see the other Chasers anyway, so pursuing them was futile. He thought he had seen Caitlin fly past him in a blur with the Quaffle in hand, but he just shrugged and continued flying about at his own pace. He was having too much fun to really try and take down Caitlin.

Besides, with Sylvia as his captain, Aiden was doing all he could to subtly annoy her. The more frustrated the uptight aristocrat was with his performance, the more fun he would have.  Sylvia didn't exactly like Aiden and he even assumed the only reason she hadn't swapped him out yet was because he had yet to show any signs of fatigue. The ever-energetic Aiden was still as fresh and vibrant as he had been when the game started, unlike some of the other players who had to be substituted out to rest. The novelty of flying in the air on a broomstick still hadn't faded for the young boy and kept him awake and ready to play for yet another six hours.

However, instead of actually playing and chasing after the Quaffle, Aiden decided to just entertain himself and hopefully get a laugh out of his teammates in the process. The Acromantulas had the ball and he had other teammates that could go after them if they wanted to do that. He tipped over to the side and flipped his broom upsidedown, his legs and arms securely latched onto the broom as if it were a branch.

"Oi! Look!" Aiden shouted with a laugh, a silly grin on his face. "I'm a monkey!"
« Last Edit: 12/26/2016 at 01:02 by Aiden Duncan »

* Adrian Alric

    (12/26/2016 at 22:47)
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Team Thestral: Beater


"Nice shot, Fin!" He exclaimed, hearing the crack of bat on bludger reverberate in the air. Adrian dipped his broom to dive towards the whistling sound of the other bludger [Ivanova] approaching his position near Sylvia. With a hard back-swing, he propelled the bludger [Ivanova] off-coarse and free. It would come back surely but, this late into the night, he would to play the conservation game. There was no way to track the passing of time except by the amount of hits he had put on the bludger, and after fifty or so he had already lost count.

Beater was not a position to take lightly. He had dreaded requesting this position for this very reason. The game had dragged on and on, past the late summer sun and into the unbridled darkness, where passing clouds could block out the pale moonlight and had them depending far more on sound than they could on sight. Bludgers, however, did not face the same problem. They were still active, still hungry. A restless motor that forced him to press-on even when the very soul of competition fell into slumber.

Adrian was better prepared than any at a long game. His legs were still underneath him, breathing normal. The Ravenclaw captain would put himself through his own six-hour training regiments, flying and throwing and striking until he would collapse into the prefect's bathroom in utter exhaustion, arms and torso dangling outside of the hot bath to make sure he did not drown if he happened to fall asleep. Still, the constant collision of bat and heavy iron slowed his swings and took aiming at of the question. All he could do was keep them clear of his friends and teammates, and risk even his body if it meant keeping his now-subbed in girlfriend on her broom.

In his mind, of course, he could not stymy the mounting frustration he could throw around at everyone. Himself, for not keeping himself on the bench with Sylvia. His ego, for further blaming himself for not putting himself at chaser and hoarding all the goals. His keeper and friend, for proving himself purely disastrous at anything but flying for his life and the snitch. Though truly, Adrian mounted some of that frustration on himself. The only time he had ever put Icarus at keeper was for a few practices after the win against Gryffindor last term, where Adrian would line up all the chasers at once and pummel the poor boy with quaffles as a subtle form of punishment for continuing his blood feud with Wolf Marchen on the pitch. The "Ultimate Penalty Challenge", as he had dubbed it, had hardly any instructional value.

Finally there were the roster constructors for putting rookie seekers into the starting position and thinking that would keep the game short and the referees, most of all, for scheduling a game so late in the afternoon that this could actually come to fruition. Professor Leighton always kept the games starting before noon for fear of amateur students flying around in the darkness, hoping the snitch finds itself in someone's mouth to end the bloody game. 'Really, that is the only way this thing is going to end at this point...'

"Let's go Thestral! Someone get that ruddy quaffle! It would be a waste if this ends in a tie if the referees call this off... eventually!" He tried to exude a spirited moral. His pause betrayed him.
Funny, how I'm nervous still
I've always been the easy kill
I guess I always will

* Agnes Ogden

    (12/27/2016 at 17:26)
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ACROMANTULA | SEEKER



One moment she was bargaining away the Snitch, and the next she was being approached by her captain, Zak, a....batter?  she was fairly sure it was batter...for the team.  Agnes gulped--this was it, the end--for her, at least, for as the boy streaked toward her in the darkness, only noticeable by the way the soft night's light reflected off the apples of his cheeks, she was sure he was coming to take her out of the game.  While she knew little about the sport on her own, she knew plenty about the seriousness of it from Tennessee, whom she could swear she remembered swearing at the score-box in the papers on more than one occasion.

"Look," she said, drawling and drawing herself around to face the boy.  "I didn't mean nothing--"

But before she could bleat out the rest of her excuse--not her apology, for she had no intention of apologizing for what she firmly believed was sound and fair logic--he was raising his hands to her not in anger but in....offering?

Zak Weiland was giving Agnes Ogden his damned sweater.

She could feel it--that furious sort of red, hot and angry, on her cheeks at first but then extending to flush across her freckled forehead and on to the tips of her ears.  A feeling something like nervousness swelled at the place between her stomach and her heart, somehow both pleasantly and unpleasantly hollow.

"I--well--you--" the girl stammered, hands floating for a moment away from the broom to gesture uselessly between her chest and the boy's.  "Aw, hell," she said next, for the broom vibrated violently and jerked her to the left, threatening to unseat her; she corrected it the best she could, drawing a little closer to Zak in the process.  More tentatively now and clinging tight to the blasted broom as she could with her inner thighs, Agnes reached out with one hand, taking the sweater from her captain.

In her hands, it was still warm, and--with much awkward shimmying and with at least one near unseating--she tugged it over her head; with it, she pulled the scent of the woods over her, too, pine-heavy, a little like dirt and sweat, wholly something natural and yet foreign on her own frame.  Her outdoors was the garden or else the river, but this decidedly deep like a forest, wild and new, untameable, masculine.

The red of her cheeks darkened two shades to a violent sort of crimson, and she was flooded with a sort of warmth that had little to do with knitted garments.

"Thanks," she said smally, smiling, and then she took off too search for the Snitch again.
i shall probably write a book some day.
they all do.

* Sylvia Renn

    (12/28/2016 at 05:44)
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Thestral - Seeker & Captan

Sylvia could count the times she had been this frustrated on one hand. It had gotten to the point that Sylvia was certain that if she caught the Snitch she was either going to throw it into the Lagoon, or throw it at Briar’s face. Why this game was continuing was beyond her wildest thoughts — was it not punishment enough that Sylvia knew her team would blame her for the length and bad roster?

Irma’s broom (correction: her broom, her custom broom that trailed magic and challenged the limits of how tight a turn could be) didn’t hum the same way hers did. Perhaps it was a fault in the make of her previous broom or the lengths she pushed it, but this broom pulled its top speed without shaking. Sylvia took it as a challenge. If this broom could handle her leaning as close as she could to the sleek wood, worn where Irma held it time and time again, trails of dust faintly tracing her path (not much of a stealth advantage in the night now, was it?), without breaking a sweat, well there was only one conclusion: Sylvia wasn’t going fast enough.

For how much Sylvia was bloody terrified of flying straight into a bludger, especially because she could no longer see them in the dark, she felt no fear from the speed (bludgers had no preference for whether you raced the shadows or a snail). The speed exhilarated her, chancing a player cutting in front of her, or the Snitch to change directions and Sylvia lose judgement of where the ground was. It stifled the rising fear that the whistle in her ears was a bludger whizzing towards her. Wind, wind, she reassured herself, because no bat connected near enough. If she stayed quick, she might even outpace them.

Crack.

Somewhere. Sylvia pulled up short before the sound echoed into the Meadow, fumbling for control with her broom shuddering in protest as she practically flipped the thing over her shoulder to stop its momentum. Shifting her weight so it didn’t turn, even as logic loudly screamed it was smarter to keep flying. Diving in the other direction, imagining iron bound to collide with bones and body and heart — "Nice shot, Fin!" as Adrian knocked another off-course.

(It felt like betrayal how the ripple of him at her side made her flinch further away, away from his legs and arms, and whatever he was hitting now —)

She’d lost the Snitch, obviously, and Sylvia shook her head with a noise of disappointment.

Deciding not look at the beater, for the sight of Adrian with bat in hand would not calm her skittering heartbeat, Sylvia instead swung her attention to the Seeker who had pulled up beside her.

“I got an idea.”

Sylvia arched an eyebrow at the honeyed girl, hesitating at what this idea could be in the middle of a game. At the offer, the Hufflepuff didn’t disguise the shocked expression. “I beg your pard —” she spluttered at the thought of joining forces. Before she could think much more, though, the opposing Captain swept up to fill her previous request. Sylvia watched in amusement as he pulled off his own sweater for the girl. Agnes swung away, and Sylvia shook her head quietly. “Lucky Miss Ogden,” she teased because she couldn’t help it, and turned her broom as the girl seemed to forget her previous offer.

As tempting as it was to act with the opposing team, Sylvia was certain Icarus would kick her off her broom if Adrian didn’t do it first. The hesitation in the set of her eyes were likely enough to earn a lecture. No, she would have to do this alone, then.

The glitter of gold teased her from the left, and Sylvia tilted to chase after it. Robes billowed out behind her, and her cheeks red from the chill now that the sun was gone, (she would sleep well tonight) Sylvia dipped lower to the ground, flicking her gaze away from the Snitch for mere snapshots of the world in front of her. A shadow that tilted her weight back and nudged her broom higher. Briar’s hair as she whizzed past him. Gold — gold — chased through the silver.
you  /yōō, yə/ pronoun.
  a microscope through which I can see
  all the broken parts of me.

* Zak Weiland

    (12/28/2016 at 13:10)
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ACROMANTULA - CAPTAIN / BEATER


There was quite the amount of formidable players on the field, but it was strange to be playing against Finny and Nina, and not with them. It did not take him much time to decide that Finny most definitely had more of a gut for the Beater position than himself, and he made a mental note of the observation. It was no secret to anyone there that the biggest wish of Zak Weiland was captaining the Gryffindor Quidditch team, although he hardly expected to get the position, taking into consideration the more seasoned and quite amazing players of Cait and Mavis.

The fact that Nina and Finny were both there didn't by far inspire him to want to smack any bludgers in the direction of the Thestrals.

It was easier, perhaps, with Adrian and Icarus, for they were both Ravenclaw captains, and known for previously having raised a bit of personal hell on the pitch. Still, he'd rather not.

And Agnes - he met her eyes over his outreached arm, half registering the words, the somewhat confused expression, although never doubting he was doing the right thing. Turned out she hadn't expected that he'd actually do it. She had a couple of things to learn about Zak Weiland, then.

"Aw, hell."

The response drew out his grin, a lot more awake than many of these other players out here - still with that unwavering adrenaline of finally playing captain, feeling the responsibility upon his shoulders and relishing it.

"Thanks."

"No problem," he told her, releasing a short laugh and a wink, before focusing on the voice of Finny, who had turned up as another dark blob from nowhere, and had hit a bludger in -- in the direction of Caitlin.

"Nice shot, Fin!"

Sylvia's voice rang somewhere in the distance, but Fish's focus remained mainly on the raging bludger.

"Oh, you traitor Finny," he muttered, although by no means grudgingly, recognising, again, the fact that Finny was, by far a better Beater than himself. This was just making him feel really, really silly. He was taking Finny's suggestion to heart though, as he sped after the bludger Leighton, smacking it in the slight upward direction of Sylvia Renn, muttering a "Sorry, Sylvi," and actually feeling it.

A bit too much, to be honest.

Perhaps his own team would hold a grudge against him for targeting a Seeker, when they were all growing so tired, but he was stubbornly chasing the victory. He was possibly the only player out here that would happily accept another six hours of this.

"Oh, to hell with this. Brannen for Weiland as Beater!"

A decision made in the split of a second. He'd had enough of this Beater business. And Brannen - she was fresh, new, which meant that she needed the experience, although he was aware she'd signed up for the game as first position Keeper, second position Seeker. Thinking along the lines of it being better to participate in the game than not participating at all, he hoped she'd be fine with the change.

"If that's okay with you?" he told Kadence, friendly, meeting her halfway on the way to hand her his own bat and make sure he was really doing the right thing. To make sure she was truly up for it and not all too tired.

Ready to bench himself, he then turned, making another glance in the direction of the Acromantula hoops, looking at more or less unmoving shadow that was Louis.

He was pretty sure Louis had fallen asleep.

That was when he made his second decision - although it was not part of his plan (what plan?), it was all it took in order for him to make up his mind, again.

"And Weiland for Fossoway as Keeper!"

Turning once again, he sped off in the direction of the Acromantula hoops, taking out the Keeper's gloves he'd pocketed for good luck.
« Last Edit: 12/28/2016 at 13:20 by Fish Weiland »
THUNDER,  FEEL  THE  THUNDER
LIGHTNING AND THE THUNDER
_…-    _…_……--<"  __……_…--…-
  \___/      \_…----<_  - `-…  _…<_…-
  _-… \___…-           \_…-<__…--<__…-<

Kadence Brannen

    (12/29/2016 at 00:38)
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ACROMANTULA BEATER

At the beginning of the game, Kadence had been more exited than she probably had ever been in her life. She was going to play quidditch!!! This was what she had waited for her entire life!!!

An hour later, still sitting on the bench, her enthusiasm was slowly sliding away. Would she even get to play in this match? The quidditch game could end anytime, as far as she knew. Just because she was only eleven didn't mean she couldn't play. She was probably better than some of the older players that were playing right now.

By ten thirty, Kadence was stifling yawns. She didn't want her captain to think she was unable to play, but silently, she wished she was a better seeker than she was. Then she could truly prove herself worthy of playing more if there where a fourth game.

Was this how long most quidditch games where? In the books she'd read and on the few occasions her father had taken her to a game that hadn't been the case. But maybe it was different at Hogwarts and Camp Loki.

The minutes continued to tick by. By midnight, Kadence was struggling to awake. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, sit up straight pay attention... Who had the quaffle again? She couldn't even tell anymore. She struggled to look and feel alert...

"Brannen for Weiland as Beater!"

Kadence wanted to scream across the pitch, yes!!! She was FINALLY going to play!!! As... beater? Well, whatever. She was going to play! She knew the basics of beater. Mostly, she assumed, you just swung the bat at a little metal ball and hoped it hit someone. She gladly hopped onto her broom, muttering a quick thanks to her captain, and then zoomed toward the field with the bat he had given her.

Once up in the air, she scanned the pitch for bludgers. A moment later, she had spotted both in the air, one headed toward the other team's seeker, and another heading toward one of her team's chasers.

"You chaser!!! Look out!!!"

Fear shooting through her, she shot toward the girl.

* Adrian Alric

    (12/29/2016 at 07:26)
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Team Thestral: Beater



No one appreciated the plight of the beater.

It was a position of abject horror. The ones who had the strength for it left their sympathies for their fellow wizard aside under the guise of competition. Context and tradition being the only things that made sending a dense hundred pounds of flying mayhem at a teenager trying to balance on a broom not a torturous crime. If you had been on a pitch as often as Adrian had, the sound of metal crunching bone and meat hardly left you wincing anymore. You either stomached it... or removed the stomach.

Still, his motivations for continuing had to question his sanity. He had already acquiesced his necessity for being there. The bludgers would not be recalled until the snitch was caught. Without him and Finny beating them back, then his teammates would be left defenseless against their unending hunger. Loyalty kept him flying blind at times in this dreadful darkness. The sooner this game ended, the sooner he could leave the position behind and the summer as a whole by looking forward to a term of defending Ravenclaw's hard-earned Quidditch Cup.

As Sylvia moved, he did. His captain sped off from her normal trajectory, leaving the trail that had been so familiar to Hufflepuff supporters who knew what that meant. It was the runway of bludger-dom. The highway that the metal met their mistress, who wore the yellow and black as proud as any in the team's history and sent bludgers screaming hard-swing after hard-swing. Now, it would hopefully mean the end of this marathon match.

Tilting his broom after his girlfriend, Adrian jerked his head at the sound of another bat meeting a bludger. This one was closer. The whistle of zooming iron took a moment to triangulate, and lucky he was that he moved as Sylvia's shadow to be in a direct line to send the bludger [Leighton] running in fear of his bite.

Loyalty was one thing. It kept him flying and spirited, playing more cheerleader than beater. It conserved his strength and stunned the harmful balls away from those they could injure. Love, however, fueled his fire out of those parameters. He cut the line between the predator and its hopeful prey. Narrowed eyes found its flight in the pale moonlight, balancing his broom with his knees in order to put both hands on his bat. Although the bats were shorter than their American muggle counterparts, Adrian struck the bludger [Leighton] with all the force he could muster. The projectile was pounded from a high-arching strike, sending it plummeting to meet the ground for a meteoric kiss.

A loud grunt escaped his lips as he did so, air flushed out in a bitter exhale as his arms rung from the contact. 'Too hard...' he knew, sucking his teeth while trying to pass through the numbness. 'Would that be a home run?'
Funny, how I'm nervous still
I've always been the easy kill
I guess I always will

* Marina Lamont

    (12/29/2016 at 16:25)
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Team Acromantula - chaser

Ears peeled to the sound of bats and bludgers, Marina tensed every time a crack rang through the night sky. She might not be so exhausted if she didn’t spend so much time worrying about the terrorizing balls hurtling her way.Thankfully, the last few were never followed up with the sickening whirr the bludgers made as they careened through the air, getting closer and closer to their target.

Marina had given up on finding the quaffle by now. Clearly, it was lost, and everyone save for the beaters seemed to be wandering around the pitch aimlessly or hovering around waiting for the game to end. She, however, flew toward a fixed destination - toward the referee. She meant to ask him whether he should go find a new quaffle, or if, perhaps, they should call it quits and end the game altogether. It was just summer fun after all, there was no trophy to be won, no glory to shower the winning team with.

Yet as she neared Briar, a familiar figure, followed by an easily recognisable trail of magic, whizzed by him at the frantic speed of a seeker. For a moment, Marina slowed and found herself wondering why Irma Scrivner was on the pitch chasing the snitch. Then it occurred to her that this must be Sylvia. She wasn’t the only one perched atop her captain’s legacy. At least one of them was worthy of the broom upon which they flew.

Her brief hesitation was followed by decisive action. Forget the quaffle. It didn’t matter. In this darkness, even if Marina wasn’t allowed to catch it herself, an extra set of eyes upon the elusive snitch would never be unwelcome. Gripping her broom, relishing the thought of giving chase, of doing something that mattered, rather than dawdle around the pitch waiting for the game to end, Marina shot off after Sylvia. “Ogden!” She called in case their own seeker hadn’t noticed her rival shooting off after the snitch. “Over here!”
I put my armour on, show you how strong I am
I put my armour on, I'll show you that I am
— I'm unstoppable

Finny Morgenstern

    (12/29/2016 at 21:03)
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Team Thestral Beater


As soon as Zak switched himself to keeper, he knew that the game got a little more difficult for his own team. It made him wish to play chaser again. They had practiced together, entire afternoons, so if anyone knew how to get a quaffle past Zak then it should be him. Of course their star keeper normally blocked a large portion of his attempts anyway, but the experience could be helpful here. Besides, if finding the snitch was going this poorly, then this game could be entirely up to the chasers. Nina and he could make something happen together, but not while he was in his current position.

"You chaser! Look out!"

With loud shouting, the Brannen girl made her way up into the air, drawing his attention. She was trying to warn someone that didn't need a warning - there were only two bludgers on the field, one had just been sent down at the ground, the other was currently not targeting anyone after being hit by Zak. He couldn't find the threat she was seeing, and concluded that she had been mistaken. Maybe she had believed the quaffle to be a bludger? Did she even know what a bludger looked like? He doubted it. And he'd show her.

After pulling up to the bludger (Ivanova) he slammed his bat into it, aiming it at the new beater. There might have been better targets, like the enemy chasers seeker, but he didn't know where they were with any certainty. Maybe if he could take this one out, that should weaken the other team a bit. And he certainly did his best to achieve that.

He poured all his anger into the hit, the frustration of not playing as a chaser right now, directing it away with all his might. He almost felt bad about aiming it at her but at least she had a bat in her hands, so if she could stop chasing ghosts for a moment to hit it back, she should be fine. It didn't matter who the girl thought she was protecting, now was a good chance to measure her capabilities - he liked knowing what he was up against.

With that taken care of, he looked expectantly at the player he believed to be Sylvia, waiting for her to shout the words that would adapt their team to their changing opposition. She'd do that, right?
.--,   
\ '`\
 `\  '---,
  |        \
 / /---,  \  
 "'     /_/
THIS POST BEARS THE ORIGINAL FINNIAN SEAL OF QUALITY.
Please note that the original finnian seal of quality does not
equal guaranteed quality, because it is in fact a sea lion.

* Icarus Argabright

    (12/30/2016 at 01:04)
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Team Thestral : Keeper

It was with  a   mo-- motley?    motile?   no.  mo-something    no-something?     ges  ture     (that definitely can’t be it)  that the blond   (um)         defended?      defied?  defenestrated?       (I absolutely do not remember her smashing a window)        the --
(OH, HONESTLY, FORGET IT.)

Icarus sighed aggressively at the book and at the night and at the illuminated creatures overhead that seemed to be getting dimmer and dimmer by the moment. What’s the point of any of this? Letting his arms fall into his lap, he stared out over the field with a dour expression to watch what little he could of the game.

Decidedly, that was hardly anything at all.

The crack of a bat against a bludger in the dark made him wince. Another strike, and his skin crawled. He didn’t know how the beaters were accomplishing anything in the fading, faded light-- and he didn’t trust them to think of the keepers as potential victims of their iron thirst. Worry took hold of his throat.

When he attempted to return to his novel, as though it had become habit, Icarus found that he could not see the pages. His fragile fist creased the binding, warped the paperback cover in the shape of his thumb. In the dark, Icarus had very little useful sense of the things happening around him unless everything was very still. Invisible figures moved at speeds he could no longer calculate, and the keeper himself swayed uneasily in his seat upon the hoop with no sense at all for the chasers that were likely headed in his direction.

Icarus had never trained to play Quidditch in the dark. He could navigate the labyrinth at home half-asleep and leave every stack and pile unmoved by the displacement of his moving; he could run through the castle’s midnight hallways that all echoed the same without ever becoming lost, even in his first year; he had even learned to scale the mountain trail with his eyes closed, following the sound of the slope. But on a broom, in the air, with speed all in front of him in every direction, the waves were untempered, untraceable-- overwhelming. He could “see” his best friends by their colors on his cheeks; it was not enough. If he tightened his jaw and took a breath, he could hear the cool summer air shattering in contact with a bludger to his left as well as to his right, in front of and behind him.

And he was afraid if he didn’t move. He breathed for equilibrium.

Icarus needed to be in control of every sense he possessed, or they would creep in on him and eat his mind alive. He tossed the book out in front of him just to keep his balance and his wits. The flutter of pages produced a pale purple sound. Its landing in the flattened wheat was a crisp neon mint on the prongs of a tin fork.

“Can we just--” A frustrated growl, the ill-ease creeping up from his throat and onto his tongue. At the moment of preparation to complain to Adrian, Icarus caught a shimmer of    mari--g o l  d   and pressed short crescent nails into his palms. “Sylvia! You’re faster than this, come on! Please catch that sssstupid thing, or I don’t c-care what the rules say, I will come down there and catch it myssself--”
« Last Edit: 12/30/2016 at 01:17 by Icarus Argabright »
one more time with feeling.

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