Quidditch Pitch (Roleplay Area)

[Cinnabun Gryffie]

The Quidditch Pitch

This is the roleplay area for the quidditch pitch. Come here for solo/small group practice, flying about, etc.

DO NOT HOST TEAM PRACTICES HERE. THOSE GO IN THE TEAM THREADS.

 

[Cinnabun Gryffie]

xx✮ Wʜᴇʀᴇ Aᴍ I? Quidditch Pitch
xxx✮ Wʜᴏ Is Wɪᴛʜ Mᴇ? Negative Thoughts
xxxx✮ Wʜᴀᴛ's Gᴏɪɴɢ Oɴ? Forcing Betterment
xxxxx✮ Wʜᴀᴛ's Iɴsɪᴅᴇ Mʏ Hᴇᴀᴅ? I failed my team....

That game. That match had proven to Milan that he wasn't up to standard. He'd walked up to the Ravenclaw tower along with the rest of the students, all happily chattering about their house party that night. Milan, however, knew he wouldn't be attending. Instead, he was determined to fix whatever had proven wrong with him. Those throws... they should have been so simple, but instead he looked like a fool. He got damn lucky on the first throw and everyone knew it. The second throw was just as bad, and he rightfully failed the score. After that, he couldn't even steal, even though he'd done it so effortlessly the beginning of the game. The only reason he wasn't more angry was because ******** Syd had managed to catch the snitch and secure the win.

“That’s odd, I don’t remember hearing that you got hit with any bludgers. Perhaps they hurt from embarrassment.”

"He's right and you know it. Without him, you'd have let your whole team down..."

Milan shook his hair, before pushing himself up the stairs to his dorm. He quickly changed out of his uniform into more comfortable workout clothes, then timed his exit so he could slip through the various cheering Ravenclaws and out. He took a longer route, but with broom in hand, headed right back to the Quidditch Pitch. What better place to push himself? What better place to train his stupid, broken body into working? After making sure the pitch was indeed empty, he started his punishment. With a deep sigh, he started running. Laps. That would make his leg stop screaming in pain. Hell, he didn't even use his legs during quidditch. Why the hell should they hurt? After five, his heart was thrumming, knees weak.

After ten, his muscles were aching with his every footfall.

After fifteen, he could no longer feel their screaming in pain. That was when he was ready to move on. He grabbed his broom and took to the sky. It was painfully bright up here, like being in a horrible spotlight of his own failure. No, he wasn't going to let himself be a failure much longer. He grabbed the very quaffle he'd failed with in that game, unlocked from the broom shed with the key entrusted to him as captain of this team. Tossing it in the air a few times, He started doing toss drills. Fly at the goals. Throw. Catch. Do it again. And he counted. He wasn't going to stop until he could get enough. Not until his arms were quavering in pain with the effort of his accuracy. And he did. Every time he missed, he'd start over in his counts.

“I suppose I should thank you from the one goal you made. Those ten points really saved our arses.”

"Ten points. Ten points, Milan. That's all you're good for. Ten points." he mumbled to himself, using his sleeve to wipe away the sweat from his brow as it trekked toward his eyes, no goggles or other gear. He didn't need it. He didn't deserve it. Not after that performance. During his throws, he hadn't realized his watch had loosened. A single throw flung it from his wrist. But he didn't notice. He needed perfect focus on these godforsaken throws. After zig-zagging the pitch about a half million times, he was finally satisfied. Fifty sinks in a row. That was good enough. After all, that was worth more than ten points.

He flew back to the ground, knees quavering as they tried to support his weight. But he wasn't done yet. His panting, exhausted body longed for reprieve, but he wasn't going to give in. Not until he was perfect enough. His team deserved better. They worked so hard, only to be disappointed in their captain. Their clutch.

Pulling his Captain sweatshirt off, Milan threw it over to the side, his broom still hovering where he'd left it. He used his wand to transfigure one of the benches into a hanging bar. With another deep breath, he hopped up, feet hanging just off the ground. He used his strong arms to pull himself up, then back down. Then he moved to lift back up, each time getting his chin above the bar. "One.... Two... Do better. You're awful at this. No wonder you failed your team. Six... Seven..." His breath was coming in raspy gasps by now, the sun lowering over his self-imposed torture.

"A hundred. Keep going. Keep being a pathetic excuse for a captain." His shaky arms couldn't support him another second, and Milan dropped the several inches to the ground. His body hunched over, broken. Pained. But his brain simply wouldn't allow him to quit. “Perhaps they hurt from embarrassment.” Despite all the effort he'd left here, Milan wasn't done. Sure, his arms weren't cooperating, but he wasn't about to let his stupid self fail. Wiping away another sheen of sweat, Milan pushed himself into running once more. Laps. That's how normal coaches punished their teams, right? Which meant he deserved this pain. His whole body was screaming, the muscles in his damaged leg straining as they tore over the area that was once shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Come on, Wellbelove. Are you just going to give up? To be the little sissy p***k the school expects of you? You aren't worth the place on the team, much less captain. It should've just passed over you."

"Nnngh! Push, Milan. You've gotta... keep going..." He tried to speak to himself, though his breathing felt like he was inhaling pure fire. His lungs were burning. Despite a bit of haze to his vision, he kept running. After another ten laps, he stopped in the center, looking back up at the bar he'd set up there. "Get back to work, you pathetic weakling. Play through the pain."

He pushed himself to his toes, double vision causing him to need to try again for the bar. This time, he kept himself aloft only by his right arm. Using it, he pulled himself up. And down. And up. And down. And up... hold. Don't give up. Keep holding. His ribs were screaming, muscle pushed out from its norm with each movement to pull himself up. He had to keep going. By now, the sun had sunk below the stands, the last flickering of light going down. His eyes could only see by the cloud-covered moonlight. "Don't stop. What would your team say if they saw you giving up? They'd call you pathetic. Take your badge and your job. They barely need you anyway, Milan. They don't want someone as weak as you.:

He pulled himself up again, the muscles in his ribs wrenching under the movement. He genuinely couldn't tell if he was crying, or if sweat had just continued to pour. A chilled breeze ran through him, muscles longing to let go and just float away. No. He pulled himself up again, this time a sharp pop came from his ribs, firing an agonizing pain through his chest. He tried to pull up once more, but the pain overwhelmed him, instead causing him to lose his grip and slam to his hands and knees in the grass. Tears filled his dark eyes, and he couldn't tell if he was having a heart attack, or if his pained body had simply given up.

Milan sank forward, head resting in the grass as his shaky left hand moved to clutch at his ribs. They felt inflamed... damaged. At the sharp spike of pain through his chest and into his back, Milan simply let out a guttural, animalistic sort of sound.




{{Wearing :: Workout Gear, currently minus Sweatshirt and Watch}}

show spoilerhide spoiler
quote="Kiska166"]

addaellis

✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮
Tᴡɪsᴛɪɴ' ᴡᴏʀᴅs, ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴀʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴ
Bʀᴏᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴀss, ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴛᴀʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀɢʀᴇᴇɴ
Iᴛ's ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴘɪʟʟ ᴛᴏ sᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ
Wᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ, ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ
Wɪsʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs
Bᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍɪʟᴇs ᴀʟʟ ғᴀᴅᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴇʀᴀsᴇ ᴛʜɪs
Is ɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀʏ? Is ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴅ?
Wɪsʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs
✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮

 

[addaellis]

☻☺GALEN EZREAL SAYLOR
seventh year || Hufflepuff || halfblood metamorphmagus
Adventurer's Guild chronicler || Art Club cartoonist || Creature Appreciation Club enthusiast
Order of the Stick captain || Cooking Club executive chef || Quidditch chaser
_______________

It was a bit disheartening that Ravenclaw had come away with the win during Game 2, but the season wasn’t over. Galen had barely touched the quaffle that game, instead running interference and defense as best he could. He wasn’t upset with his performance, but there was definitely room for improvement still.

Still, he was a seventh year student with lots of other things that had to take precedence–after a quick shower in the locker and stop at the greenhouses, he’d run back to the castle just as the dinner hour was beginning and gathered a healthy helping of sandwiches before rushing back out onto the pitch– he needed a few angles and colors of the pitch at sunset for an art project.

When he got out there, Galen had glimpsed a lone broom up in the air–someone hard at work practicing no doubt. He had assumed it was someone from Hufflepuff, dissatisfied with the loss, but instead spotted Ravenclaw’s captain there doing Huh! Must have been a short celebration. That, or maybe Milan was just here for his own purposes–goodness knew the Head Boy had enough on his plate. Maybe this was his version of stress relief. Galen called out a friendly ”Getting some extra practice in?”

Milan didn’t respond, but he seemed focused on getting his shots in on the hoops, and Galen had to get his own shots and lighting sketches down. A little over half an hour later, he’d called out a ”Take it easy! See you later! ” when he headed back for the greenhouses, but again didn’t get a response.

With a lumos spell hanging nearby and an interesting if frustrating set of notes to parse through, it wasn’t until Dragon rolled awake from his evening nap and cuddled up next to him with a whine that Galen looked back up. Probably time to pack it up and turn in for the night. That was when he realized he was missing his scarf. Seriously? Had he just…set it down at the stands?

The chill air of late fall night bit through his thin sweater, but Galen was already halfway to the pitch. He burrowed deeper, and focused his skin into warm fur.

He was surprised there was another light on– a lumos hanging over a floating broom. Galen raised his own wandlight up brightening the light and casting it ahead. He was just past the Quidditch Gate when a guttural scream pierced the air. Dragon popped to attention with wide eyes, and all the fur on his body stood on end. Galen shifted his backpack and jogged forward, knowing enough about creatures to know that wasn’t the sound of a creature.

“Milan?” Galen’s light swept back and forth before holding steady over the boy laying on the ground ”You’re still here? You okay?”

Galen reached Milan and knelt down. Old habits from healing kicked in and he made a cursory visual scan before reaching for his bag and offering his water bottle. ”Man, have you been out here the whole time?”

_______________

setting Around 23:00, November 2059 (Same day as Game 2 of 2059) || with Milan
appearance 5'10", covered in fur || wearing thin sweater, black pants
status Has he been working out this whole time??
_______________
//OOC: -----

show spoilerhide spoiler

Cinnabun Gryffie

_______________

If sunlight bothers you in the path then
I'll spread the shade
If darkness scares you then
On the horizon I'll decorate the moon
If you're sad, then I'll crack jokes
And make you laugh
Laughing and singing this way
I'll walk four steps with you.
☺☻
~"Chaar Kadam" from PK..

 

[Cinnabun Gryffie]

xx✮ Wʜᴇʀᴇ Aᴍ I? Quidditch Pitch
xxx✮ Wʜᴏ Is Wɪᴛʜ Mᴇ? Galen?
xxxx✮ Wʜᴀᴛ's Gᴏɪɴɢ Oɴ? Handling Pain
xxxxx✮ Wʜᴀᴛ's Iɴsɪᴅᴇ Mʏ Hᴇᴀᴅ? My body is on fire

The adrenaline gone, Milan felt waves of pain coming in from each individual part of his body all at once. His legs were firing up in exhaustion, the area broken last year in its own kind of agony. His arms were exhausted, heavy, and it felt like they were full of a staticky pins and needles sensation. The worst of all was at his ribs, an acute pain shooting through him with every heart beat. Another pained sound escaped him, his wand the only illumination he had. As much as he knew this was his penance, the other, more prominent part, was imploring for someone to find him. His arms dropped to his elbows, trying to keep him from eating dirt.

Somewhere.... somewhere his name was called. Was it someone coming to his rescue, or someone coming to mock him for being a failure. A heavy breath escaped him, the feeling of fire curling up in his lungs. Milan turned his head in the grass, just enough to see someone there, illuminated by the light. His pupils constricted, trying to protect his frazzled mind from the light. ”You’re still here? You okay?” No... no, he wasn't okay. But could he convey that aloud? "Nnngh..." He groaned out, trying his best to seek the help he so desperately needed.

A water bottle was offered, so Milan struggled to push himself out of the dirt. He managed to push himself into somewhat of a sit, before simply drooping forward. He made a swipe for the bottle, hazy vision betraying him. Finally, he succeeded in grabbing the bottle, then pushed the top off to take a drink. After the fire calmed a bit, he upended the rest of the bottle over his head, trying to cool down the fiery burning over himself. The voice asked if he'd been there the whole time, and finally, blue eyes were able to focus.

"Galen?" he asked, brain trying to make sure he had it right. Of course, if he didn't have it right, he'd have to be worried over just why he was seeing the Hufflepuff. "Yea... I've been.... practicing, right?" He nodded, trying to justify what he'd been doing. It had started for practice, and ended here, with him in the dirt, struggling. He nodded a few times, finally reaching out his left hand to investigate the swollen section of his ribs. He could feel the heat from the muscles in his ribs, trying to discern if it was a true break, or something more akin to a dislocation. Breath hurt as he tried to move the muscles there, but he was pretty sure it was closer to when he'd pulled his shoulder out of place than when he'd broken bones.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to coax the ribs back into their home without having to go to the hospital. He didn't want to spend the night there, much less at least a couple days. He was already in the hospital wing more often this year with his weekly therapy sessions with Healer Kavanagh... but he didn't want to give her any reason to think he was less than mentally stable. And he absolutely didn't want to be forced to stay back another year.




{{Wearing :: Workout Gear, currently minus Sweatshirt and Watch}}

show spoilerhide spoiler
quote="Kiska166"]

addaellis

✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮
Tᴡɪsᴛɪɴ' ᴡᴏʀᴅs, ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴀʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴ
Bʀᴏᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴀss, ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴛᴀʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀɢʀᴇᴇɴ
Iᴛ's ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴘɪʟʟ ᴛᴏ sᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ
Wᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ, ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ
Wɪsʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs
Bᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍɪʟᴇs ᴀʟʟ ғᴀᴅᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴇʀᴀsᴇ ᴛʜɪs
Is ɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀʏ? Is ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴅ?
Wɪsʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs
✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮

 

[addaellis]

☻☺GALEN EZREAL SAYLOR
seventh year || Hufflepuff || halfblood metamorphmagus
Adventurer's Guild chronicler || Art Club cartoonist || Creature Appreciation Club enthusiast
Order of the Stick captain || Cooking Club executive chef || Quidditch chaser
_______________

Milan could barely get a word out, groaning in pain. His breath seemed to come more as wheezing and he…well, even as Galen asked, he thought Milan didn’t look okay. As Galen performed a diagnostic spell, Milan managed to sit up, swiping awkwardly at first for the water bottle. But he managed, and after dousing the rest of the bottle over his head, his voice came out in more than a groan.

Galen hmmed in affirmation that it was indeed him. Milan started to stir a bit more, lightly touching the part of his ribs that had been lighting up on the diagnostic spell. Galen spoke calmly, almost casually: ”I think you dislocated a rib. I’m casting a cooling charm which should help the pain, alright?”

He looked out for a nod or thumbs up before casting the spell, eyes flickering between the spell to make sure he was targeting the right area and Milan’s expressions to make sure he wasn’t making things worse. He flashed a reassuring smile and banished the diagnostic spell. ”Better? You should probably get an actual healer to check it out, but we can chill for a moment.”

Galen sat back and focused for a moment so his face at least wasn’t covered in fur. The night air was chilly against his skin, but it was probably less unnerving to be around a human than a fur-human. He filled the water bottle back up with water-summoning and purifying charms in case Milan needed more water.

And then he just let his friend rest for a bit.

Galen thought about the Quidditch game. He thought about Milan hard at practice at sunset, already looking like he was an hour or more into his workout. Maybe he should have thought something odd about how Milan hadn’t replied or seemed to even notice someone else there. Maybe he should have said something earlier? But given what he knew about the guy, Galen wasn’t sure Milan would have been particularly receptive to it. Milan Wellbelove was like…like a colored pencil that sometimes wanted to be a sharpie. He’d be coloring along and then get really upset he wasn’t an inky permanent marker as he felt like he should be and go super hard against the paper. He really ought to just…switch to a marker. Not like change who and what he was fundamentally—aw no, that metaphor didn’t work. Milan was like a DnD character who rolled bad and blamed it on his not having modifiers and proficiencies in that skill because “if only I was good at everything then I’ll never fail, right?”-- So he went on a whole side quest to get a feat to raise them when his real goal had to do with another stat and really it was just one bad move–wait no, that was Echo’s character in LARP.

Abandoning the metaphors, Galen glanced over at Milan to make sure his fashionable friend was feeling cooler but not cold and breathing easier. If he was better, he had something to ask: ”Hey, I get wanting to win and do well, but why're you practicing so hard you hurt yourself?”

_______________

setting Around 23:00, November 2059 (Same day as Game 2 of 2059) || with Milan
appearance 5'10", covered in fur || wearing thin sweater, black pants
status Has he been working out this whole time??
_______________
//OOC: -----

show spoilerhide spoiler

Cinnabun Gryffie

_______________

If sunlight bothers you in the path then
I'll spread the shade
If darkness scares you then
On the horizon I'll decorate the moon
If you're sad, then I'll crack jokes
And make you laugh
Laughing and singing this way
I'll walk four steps with you.
☺☻
~"Chaar Kadam" from PK..

 

[Cinnabun Gryffie]

xx✮ Wʜᴇʀᴇ Aᴍ I? Quidditch Pitch
xxx✮ Wʜᴏ Is Wɪᴛʜ Mᴇ? Galen?
xxxx✮ Wʜᴀᴛ's Gᴏɪɴɢ Oɴ? Confessing Secrets
xxxxx✮ Wʜᴀᴛ's Iɴsɪᴅᴇ Mʏ Hᴇᴀᴅ? I feel a little better...

Now that he'd doused himself in cold water, Milan felt his brain snapping back to attention a bit. Galen was doing the diagnostic spell that Milan had gotten quite familiar with last year, and he said Milan had probably dislocated a rib. The brunette nodded a bit, thinking that sounded pretty accurate. The Hufflepuff mentioned a cooling charm, and Milan nodded, before a shiver ran through him from the magic. Well, it definitely helped against the burning pain. "That feels better, thanks. But... I'm fine. I don't wanna bother the healers. They're... busy." He nodded, lifting his glasses into messy, stuck-down hair long enough to use the hem of his shirt to wipe at his eyes.

Galen refilled the bottle, and Milan gratefully took a drink. It was most of the bottle, but he figured he probably needed water in his system. Galen seemed alright with just hanging out to make sure Milan was okay (and probably to make sure he didn't continue the workout, be honest). It was then that Galen continued, asking the question Milan had hoped to avoid. "I... didn't think I'd pushed myself this far. But.. um..." he hesitated, not wanting to drag his own mental health through the dirt here. "I just... felt like I could do better. I feel like I let my team down. I didn't do enough, you know? I could have - I should have done better. Especially since everyone else did such a good job." He sighed into the night, finally able to breathe more normally without the firing pain. If anyone would understand.... well, Milan wasn't sure it would be Galen. The colorful teen had proven a pretty friendly person, especially once Milan had made him a cool outfit for his clubs.... but would he be one of the people to think Milan had stepped off the deep end and was trying something stupid?

Dark eyes looked up at Galen, remembering the hours spent talking in the hospital wing after his fall from grace last year. They'd thrown paper-ball notes to one another, having some semblance of fun between their treatments by the nursing staff. No, he was sure Galen would be a good confidant. "I just... after last year, after barely hanging in for my team... I guess I just wanted to prove I'm still okay. I wanted them to know how hard I worked to get better. Because I did, Galen. I-I've been clean since last year. But after the game, I just... I let them down. So I wanted to put in a bit of practice... then the bad thoughts came in and I... I couldn't stop." He sighed, dropping his gaze down to the grass where he still sat. Another sigh escaped him, but he was feeling better getting his sadness off his chest. Maybe this was why Robin told him to make friends and talk to people?





{{Wearing :: Workout Gear, currently minus Sweatshirt and Watch}}

show spoilerhide spoiler
addaellis

✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮
Tᴡɪsᴛɪɴ' ᴡᴏʀᴅs, ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴀʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴ
Bʀᴏᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴀss, ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴛᴀʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀɢʀᴇᴇɴ
Iᴛ's ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴘɪʟʟ ᴛᴏ sᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ
Wᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ, ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ
Wɪsʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs
Bᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍɪʟᴇs ᴀʟʟ ғᴀᴅᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴇʀᴀsᴇ ᴛʜɪs
Is ɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀʏ? Is ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴅ?
Wɪsʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs
✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮

 

[addaellis]

☻☺GALEN EZREAL SAYLOR
seventh year || Hufflepuff || halfblood metamorphmagus
Adventurer's Guild chronicler || Art Club cartoonist || Creature Appreciation Club enthusiast
Order of the Stick captain || Cooking Club executive chef || Quidditch chaser
_______________

Milan admitted he hadn’t thought he’d pushed himself so hard, but then admitted he thought he could do better and thought he’d let his team down. He sighed, a cloud of warmth in the cold November air. Aside from the cold, it was like they were back in the Hospital Wing last spring, talking about nonsense as they recovered. Milan looked up and met his gaze, revealing how he earnestly wanted to just prove he was okay. He sighed again, dropping his gaze. Then another sigh, but this one seemed…different. Lighter. Smaller, by the cloud in the cold.

Galen nodded quietly as his friend spoke, only humming in understanding and encouragement. He let the thoughts turn around in his head, the only indication he was thinking the barely-visible changes reflected on his person: As he thought, the fur–and his hair settled longer and darker–more blue than brown. It was a moot point in the dark though: the only thing that might be visible was the gold that first spread through his irises like a web.

”Milan, before last year, I don’t think I ever thought about how hard you work.” he finally said out loud. ”Actually, I don’t think anyone really thinks about how hard everyone else is working. Maybe the aliens….Or our professors?”

Milan getting head boy had been a cause for celebration for his new friend, but even after getting to know him, Galen hadn’t thought Milan would be Head Boy. Sure, Galen had known of him in classes and Art Club, but Milan had always seemed to be in a different world–in some kind of hoity-toity world of fancily-dressed “elites”. Then people were saying he was suicidal like Yari had been. It was like the Wellbeloves were throwing themselves off their own high horses. But in the Hospital Wing, Milan had been…just a frustrated artist. A kid who wasn’t used to the constant nurse visits. He had kept working hard even there. The first night they had talked, Milan had been working on a design for another student just because that student had helped Milan out. Wanting to do something good in the only way he knew for someone just because they had been at the right place and time and taken that time to be there– Galen could definitely understand that. Thereafter, the fashionable lad had proven a more approachable person.

If that whole series of conversations hadn’t happened, he might have thought the professors were just picking some unknown teacher’s pet to nitpick everyone’s uniforms. But clearly, the professors at Hogwarts had seen something in Milan Wellbelove that they wanted the rest of the student body to not miss– and now that they were talking about it, maybe it was how hard Milan was pushing himself even when the rest of the school thought he would be celebrating a win.

”Look, it’s not that I don’t know you know hard work– we talked about how it took years and years to get better at art, remember? How you used to trace over your mum’s designs to get better, making slight changes to make improvements? And you’ve got a dozen sketches before you even get the fabric–more, I’m guessing, because you’re always crumpling up half your rejects. It’s…it’s like you’re trying to play a campaign without any session notes–no, it’s like you’re trying to memorize all the session notes so the rest of the table doesn’t see that you wrote them..”

The gleam of gold in his eyes was finally shrinking back towards the pupil. Galen crossed his legs under him as he sat up. He didn’t try to mince his words, but he wasn’t trying to be cruel either:

”So maybe no one notices. That doesn’t mean you didn’t make those notes, and you didn’t draw those rejects. You’ve put in that work. And with Quidditch– You’ve already put in the work for Quidditch– been putting it in during practice, right?

The point is, I can get wanting to punish yourself because you felt like you disappointed your team. But you know that a single night of busting your butt isn’t what gets you good. And you know practicing in the dark is inviting injury– You wouldn’t sentence your teammates to practicing for hours like this, would you? So…stop punishing yourself. Stop…pretending like your rejects don’t exist just because you’ve thrown them away?”

_______________

setting Around 23:00, November 2059 (Same day as Game 2 of 2059) || with Milan
appearance 5'10", covered in fur || wearing thin sweater, black pants
status Milan Wellbelove is a complicated dude.
_______________
//OOC: -----

show spoilerhide spoiler

Cinnabun Gryffie

_______________

If sunlight bothers you in the path then
I'll spread the shade
If darkness scares you then
On the horizon I'll decorate the moon
If you're sad, then I'll crack jokes
And make you laugh
Laughing and singing this way
I'll walk four steps with you.
☺☻
~"Chaar Kadam" from PK..

 

[Cinnabun Gryffie]

xx✮ Wʜᴇʀᴇ Aᴍ I? Quidditch Pitch
xxx✮ Wʜᴏ Is Wɪᴛʜ Mᴇ? Galen?
xxxx✮ Wʜᴀᴛ's Gᴏɪɴɢ Oɴ? Confessing Secrets
xxxxx✮ Wʜᴀᴛ's Iɴsɪᴅᴇ Mʏ Hᴇᴀᴅ? I do crumple paper a lot, though

Milan felt a bit of relief as he spoke to Galen. Something about him had always been... soft? Gentle, maybe. Especially after spending near a month together in the hospital wing last month. Milan had truly gotten to know the colorful teen, not only in their little conversations, but when Galen would enthuse about hobbies, family, or whatever else. It made Milan realize he didn't particularly have much to enthuse about. Fashion, sure, but he was more than just his mother's career.

When Galen spoke, dark eyes turned focus to him, brain trying to decipher his colors in the dark. Galen noted that he'd never noticed how hard Milan worked... then noted that no one ever really did, except perhaps professors and aliens. That brought a crooked smile to the Ravenclaw's face, one that was sorely needed. "The aliens for sure. Unless you're saying that the professors are aliens... in which case, I'd argue a few are." An airy laugh left him, a bit of pain firing up as he laughed. He wished a moment that he had Galen's seemingly unending well of optimism.

The Hufflepuff continued, this time mentioning that he knew Milan knew hard work. That much was true, at least. When Galen mentioned the memory of Milan "borrowing" his mom's sketches to trace and develop his own style, a soft smile touched the brunette. The meta continued, noting that Milan did at least a dozen sketches before ever getting his hands on fabric because he always crumpled up his rejects. He even tried to connect to one of his own hobbies, saying it was like going into a session with no notes... no, more like trying to memorize everything to seem at ease.

Blue eyes looked at the ground a moment, before returning to look at Galen when he continued. No one noticed, but it didn't matter. Milan still did the work, even if no one saw the hours of rejected work ahead. He then told Milan he was practicing... during practice. And that a single night was doing absolutely no good. He mentioned that Milan wouldn't make his teammates practice like this, then told him to stop punishing himself. To stop pretending his rejects didn't exist because they'd been crumpled and tossed away. A small sigh escaped Milan, a tear running along his cheek and down his jaw.

"You're right. I just... I've gone through my whole life with the notion that perfection was... the only option. There's a reason I throw out a dozen designs before I finally get one I like... not because it took the most work... but because it's... well, it's perfect. It's because I worked my a** off to make sure it met all the... qualifications, I guess? That it was good enough. Because if my work is not good enough... then I am not good enough. But...

"But I'm starting to learn that even in a strive for perfection, I don't have to do it alone. And I don't... I don't have to be ashamed of my shortcomings. Something about today just..." He paused, shaking his head. "I guess something just didn't sit right. We won, and we did a good job. I... could've done better, sure. But you're right. Just killing myself out here isn't the right move either. Next time... maybe just an extra half-hour of throwing practice." At that, he sent another smile up, accompanied by a small laugh. By now, both knew Milan wasn't about to just... not have the crumpled rejects. He would always have that frustrated (and frustrating) part of his personality. But if someone who'd only really known him for a short while could see how hard he was trying... well, maybe it was the leg up he needed here. Or maybe it was the kick in the a** he needed. Something like that.




{{Wearing :: Workout Gear, currently minus Sweatshirt and Watch}}

show spoilerhide spoiler
addaellis

✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮
Tᴡɪsᴛɪɴ' ᴡᴏʀᴅs, ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴀʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴ
Bʀᴏᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴀss, ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴛᴀʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀɢʀᴇᴇɴ
Iᴛ's ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴘɪʟʟ ᴛᴏ sᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ
Wᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ, ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ
Wɪsʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs
Bᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍɪʟᴇs ᴀʟʟ ғᴀᴅᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴇʀᴀsᴇ ᴛʜɪs
Is ɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀʏ? Is ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴅ?
Wɪsʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs
✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮

 

[addaellis]

☻☺GALEN EZREAL SAYLOR
seventh year || Hufflepuff || halfblood metamorphmagus
Adventurer's Guild chronicler || Art Club cartoonist || Creature Appreciation Club enthusiast
Order of the Stick captain || Cooking Club executive chef || Quidditch chaser
_______________

“Hey… I don’t mean to make you cry, sorry,” Galen murmured, scooting closer when he saw a tear running down Milan’s face. But instead of sadness or even shame, Milan sounded…like contemplative? Milan said Galen was right– he talked about perfection not only being the goal, but the only option…because only perfect was good enough. And if it wasn’t good enough, then he wasn’t good enough.

He continued on, saying he was starting to recognize he didn’t have to strive for perfection alone.Galen grinned when Milan resigned to just an extra half hour of throwing practice. ”And if the bad thoughts come around during that half hour, you gotta let me come help you beat them up, alright? Or at least throw with me. Neither of us is going pro, but it’s still good exercise, innit?”

He laughed, then leaned back, the fur pattern along his arms and hair gleaming gold under the moonlight as he mused. ”About being perfect…is that a fashion thing? My sister was like that when we were kids. Even when she hated school, she’d always be up early, hair straightened, uniform ironed, homework ironed it seemed and all color-coded. Everything had to be ‘perfect’. I…guess I never got what ‘perfect’ meant?”

_______________

setting Around 23:00, November 2059 (Same day as Game 2 of 2059) || with Milan
appearance 5'10", covered in fur || wearing thin sweater, black pants
status Milan Wellbelove is a complicated dude.
_______________
//OOC: -----

show spoilerhide spoiler

Cinnabun Gryffie

_______________

If sunlight bothers you in the path then
I'll spread the shade
If darkness scares you then
On the horizon I'll decorate the moon
If you're sad, then I'll crack jokes
And make you laugh
Laughing and singing this way
I'll walk four steps with you.
☺☻
~"Chaar Kadam" from PK..

 

[Cinnabun Gryffie]

xx✮ Wʜᴇʀᴇ Aᴍ I? Quidditch Pitch
xxx✮ Wʜᴏ Is Wɪᴛʜ Mᴇ? Galen?
xxxx✮ Wʜᴀᴛ's Gᴏɪɴɢ Oɴ? Confessing Secrets
xxxxx✮ Wʜᴀᴛ's Iɴsɪᴅᴇ Mʏ Hᴇᴀᴅ? I do crumple paper a lot, though

Milan sniffled softly when Galen said he hadn't meant to make him cry. "N-no, I think I needed this." Milan tried reassuring, hoping not to cause Galen any undue stress. As the brunette explained his thoughts, the Hufflepuff simply sat and listened. It was therapeutic, in a way. Not like actual therapy, where he was questioned far more... but something softer? When he finished, making light that he'd only practice throwing for a half-hour next time... Galen offered to join him to help fight off any invasive thoughts.

"You're on, Galen. The bad thoughts can't get us both, right? And we don't have to face each other, so it can't hurt to practice together." He sent over a toothy grin, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. Neither was going pro, for sure, but both could use the practice, even if it was only to relieve stresses. Sometimes a good workout was the best way to switch mental tracks.... Or sometimes they'd end with a dislocated rib in the grass... but hey, it was a tossup.

Galen (who was furry, when had that happened? Man, Milan needed to clean his glasses) leaned back, shimmery gold all over himself. He asked if fashion was what drove people to perfectionism, and Milan laughed aloud. "You know, you may be onto something there. All the a**l-retentive, perfectionists I've met have had something to do with fashion. Maybe clothes secretly have mind-control to make us batty. You think? The aliens hate nice clothes." Milan gently bumped Galen with his elbow, a smile on his face.




{{Wearing :: Workout Gear, currently minus Sweatshirt and Watch}}

show spoilerhide spoiler
addaellis

✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮
Tᴡɪsᴛɪɴ' ᴡᴏʀᴅs, ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴀʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴ
Bʀᴏᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴀss, ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ sᴛᴀʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀɢʀᴇᴇɴ
Iᴛ's ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴘɪʟʟ ᴛᴏ sᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ
Wᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ, ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ᴅᴏᴡɴ
Wɪsʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs
Bᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍɪʟᴇs ᴀʟʟ ғᴀᴅᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴇʀᴀsᴇ ᴛʜɪs
Is ɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀʏ? Is ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴅ?
Wɪsʜ I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs
✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮✩✮

 

[addaellis]

☻☺GALEN EZREAL SAYLOR
seventh year || Hufflepuff || halfblood metamorphmagus
Adventurer's Guild chronicler || Art Club cartoonist || Creature Appreciation Club enthusiast
Order of the Stick captain || Cooking Club executive chef || Quidditch chaser
_______________

"N-no, I think I needed this."

Galen knew Milan was being polite and trying–even now– to keep it together. But he was right–sometimes it was downright cathartic to just vent and get all the anger or sadness or emotion out. And then it struck him that maybe…even if it was injurious, maybe that was what all this was about. Not cramming, but just a therapeutic pushing himself to the limits. It wasn’t that Galen didn’t know that–he risked a heart attack every time his heart got excited and it was only by continuously pushing his limits that he could get better and raise the range of safety–but at some point he had subconsciously started holding back just because he wasn’t planning to make a career out of anything.

Milan agreed to call him next time he wanted to practice, sending a grin over which Galen returned with a fistbump and grin in reply. Humans were so tragically cute, hiding their hurt within themselves when everyone was hurting in their own little bodies. It was better to share that. Yeah. Share the pain, push the limits. Even with hobbies he could give his all. They had to push the limits to get better!

To his surprise, Milan agreed that all the perfectionists he knew were fashionistas. He continued cheekily that maybe there was clothes mind-control going on. Galen laughed when he brought up that the aliens hated nice clothes.

They chatted a little longer before Galen brought up a last point as they headed back for the castle: he remembered how Milan had said he didn’t want to bother the healers because they were busy. ”Oh hey, we really should still stop by the healers. If I’m right, that’s a simple bone-relocation spell and will take just a couple minutes. If it’s not…well you’ll be in a lot more pain tomorrow. Besides, I’ve got to refill on my heart medication. You’ll be saving me a trip tomorrow.”

_______________

setting Around 23:00, November 2059 (Same day as Game 2 of 2059) || with Milan
appearance 5'10", covered in fur || wearing thin sweater, black pants
status Milan Wellbelove is a complicated dude.
_______________
//OOC: //fin?

show spoilerhide spoiler

Cinnabun Gryffie

_______________

If sunlight bothers you in the path then
I'll spread the shade
If darkness scares you then
On the horizon I'll decorate the moon
If you're sad, then I'll crack jokes
And make you laugh
Laughing and singing this way
I'll walk four steps with you.
☺☻
~"Chaar Kadam" from PK..

 

[Graydon Ironshield]

Ronald David Quinn-Smith xxxxxxxxxxxxx Brianna Cathaline Quinn-Smith
Hufflepuff Seventh Year xxxxxxxxxxxx Slytherin Fourth Year

‘Never trust a someone who smiles too much,’ was the quote running through Brianna’s mind when she heard Csuri’s assessment of people smiling. There were descriptions she could use for Tam, and ‘ominous’ just wasn’t one of them. She had to agree with Ron, Tam was definitely a good sort, and she found him to be on a level of Grogu-adorable. Brianna chuckled, and said, “Hmmm, I’m just not getting the ominous vibe off him. He just seems like genuinely happy all the time.” Brianna caught sight of the way Csuri was picking out candy from the tub, and smiled inwardly, noting how Csuri had the same weakness for chocolate as she.

Listening to Csuri’s suggestions for how to change the scoring system, Ron nodded along, and said, “It is an interesting thought, and it would make for some interesting strategies, I’ll give you that.” When she started pointing up flaws in the suggestion of letting her try to catch the Snitch, he said evenly, “We can teach you to fly, that’s no problem, Csuri.”

“And if we can get you to come visit over the summer, we can train you up further,” Brianna added, as though on cue. “And before you’d ever get into a match, there would be plenty of chances to practice, and you can take Advanced Flying as a Second Year. Ron and I both have spare broomsticks and gear, although you can always use the school’s gear. Mind you, those Cleansweeps are looking a bit long in the tooth these days, however, if the school carnival works out, the school might be able to replace those.”

Ron then added quietly, “There’s also nobody out there playing who isn’t a student here, and Anna and I have been on our House teams since we were First Years.” Brianna said, “Besides, next year will be a good time to tryout and you’d stand a good chance of possibly playing straight out of the box. We’re graduating a good chunk of our line-up, starting with… our Seeker, and we have no reserves. This year, we played with no margin for misfortune; we would have had to forfeit matches if anyone got hurt badly enough not be able to keep going. You don’t have to take Advanced Flying in Second or Third Years, but why wouldn’t you? You’re playing Quidditch for a grade, I mean, come on.”

Ron smiled, when Csuri objected to a trip to Honeydukes, and said, “Make a list, we can have Honeyduke send a parcel straight to you, no problem. But, if you’d like, we can make that two tubs of Cadburys….”



********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Time Jump

Ron and Brianna walked out to the pitch together, laden with supplies they’d need for their foray. Ron had the box with the Quidditch balls slung over one shoulder, while he had a sack slung across his other shoulder. Brianna had three broomsticks under one of her arms, while her shoulder bag had other items of use contained therein.

Brianna had her long buttery blonde hair done up in a long side braid, and she was dressed in a dark green Slytherin hooded sweatshirt, faded jeans, and a well-worn pair of trainers on her feet. Ron was wearing a sand-coloured wooly-pully, jeans and a pair of trainers for today’s outing. Once they got to where they were going, Ron was grateful for the chance to set the trunk on the ground, as it was rather heavy, while Brianna set the broomsticks down, and set her bag down.

As luck had it, the day was what aeronautical folk called ‘a severe clear’, the sun was shining, the air cool and the winds calm. An ideal day to go up to fly around, and to help someone learn the basics of Quidditch. Looking around, neither could see there was any sign of anyone else being there save them, which was what they wanted. They wanted to give Csuri all the chances they could, and not have an audience. “Couldn’t ask for a nicer day for flying,” he said, as he drew in a deep lungful of Highlands air. Brianna commented, “All is in readiness, and now we wait.”

OOC:

show spoilerhide spoiler

Cinnabun Gryffie

 

[Cinnabun Gryffie]

xx❀ Wʜᴇʀᴇ Aᴍ I? Quidditch Oval... Field... thingy
xxx❀ Wʜᴏ Is Wɪᴛʜ Mᴇ? Brianna & Ron
xxxx❀ Wʜᴀᴛ's Gᴏɪɴɢ Oɴ? Seeker... Stuff
xxxxx❀ Wʜᴀᴛ's Iɴsɪᴅᴇ Mʏ Hᴇᴀᴅ? This is probably going to go poorly for me

Csuri blinked a few times as Brianna said she wasn't feeling ominous about Sunshine Boy. "Look. Everyone has a core of horribleness. So the fact that some people pretend to be always happy means they're hiding an even worse inside than everyone else. Unlike me. Whatcha see is whatcha get." Most likely, that'd ruffle some feathers, but honestly, Csuri didn't care. If Brianna (and probably Ron) hadn't figured this out by now, they were probably deluded on top of everything. Csuri had long since come to the realization that every human was secretly a selfish, horrible person. What more was there to know?

While she spoke about how scoring in this game should go, Csuri was a little surprised that Ron said it'd make the game more interesting. She simply nodded at that, before frowning at his next words. "I know how, I've just never done it outside of class. Because I don't have a broom.... because I'm a first year." At least she had an excuse other than "I'm poor" to utilize... this year, anyway. Brianna mentioned coming for a visit, earning a look of surprise from the first year. No one had ever really offered to share their space with her, especially those that were forced into tight quarters. Apparently the school had brooms, but they were "long in the tooth".... whatever the heck that meant.

Ron and Brianna both spoke on the team, with Brianna noting they were graduating several of their players, including their seeker. "Yea, I heard about that," she mumbled softly, not really sure what else to say about the team having issues. Brianna spoke about advanced Flying, which was the only elective she could take in second year.... Perhaps she could add one extra class... if it'd make Brianna happy, anyway. But it meant another year with Professor Liu, and she was entirely too upbeat to have morning classes. At the mention of two tubs of Cadbury, silver eyes glanced at the basket, then back at Ron.... then back at the chocolatey goodness. "Uch. Fine."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It was a few days later that Csuri was supposed to meet the older kids on the quidditch... field... thing. She donned her only pair of pants, along with her sneakers. Her messy curls were half-brushed, then tied up with a soft green scrunchie. She stomped outside, hands pushed in her pockets for the walk. At least it was nice out, and not too cold. Especially since she hadn't brought along her jumper. Walking onto the field... court? The... Quidditch Oval... silvery eyes spotted both Ron and Brianna already outside. Ugh. She'd hoped they would've forgotten and been inside... studying something, probably. The smaller girl walked over, a frown set firmly in place. "I'm here. Now... what is the plan today. What are we supposed to do?" She glanced upward, wondering if the sparkly gold ball would already be flying about. It wasn't there, and luckily no other students were either. Csuri had been worried for days that somehow the fact of their practice would get out and cause a trillion kids to be standing about to watch her probably fail.




{{Wearing :: Jeans & Sneakers}}

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Graydon Ironshield

Bʟᴀᴄᴋʙɪʀᴅ sɪɴɢɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ɴɪɢʜᴛ
Tᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴡɪɴɢs ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ᴛᴏ ғʟʏ
Aʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪғᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀʀɪsᴇ
Bʟᴀᴄᴋʙɪʀᴅ sɪɴɢɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ɴɪɢʜᴛ
Tᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ sᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ᴇʏᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ
Aʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪғᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ғʀᴇᴇ
Bʟᴀᴄᴋʙɪʀᴅ ғʟʏ, Bʟᴀᴄᴋʙɪʀᴅ ғʟʏ
Iɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ɴɪɢʜᴛ