Coach Amelia Pierce
December 15, 2010 5:04 PM
Quidditch Final: Aladren vs Crotalus by Coach Amelia Pierce
The day of the final Quidditch match was another beautiful spring day after a string of them. Coach Amelia Pierce had worried the good weather wouldn't hold until the weekend, but the sky remained blue, the clouds white and fluffy, and the temperature comfortably warm.She went out onto the pitch in good spirits with her whistle hanging around her neck, her broom in hand, and the box of Quidditch balls floating behind her. She dumped the box in the middle of the Pitch and flipped open its lid to reveal the Quaffle, the two restrained bludgers, and the fluttering golden snitch that tried to escape its own enclosure.
She looked over the two groups of players already gathered to hear their captains give their pre-game speeches, and then glanced up into the full stands. There were always more spectators on nice days like this than on game days cursed with miserable weather.
She straighted her own referee robes, carefully chosen to have none of the red or silver of the House she was the Head of, or any blue or black of Aladren, which, between them, disqualified the vast majority of her wardrobe. She'd eventually found a dark green set of robes that she really hoped would not get confused with a student's uniform. Lacking anything better (the ancient bronze robes that had once been her own school uniform at Salem certainly did not qualify), the dark green was what she wore now over a purple blouse and a pair of khaki pants.
She looked again at the teams, and the captains seemed to be wrapping up. "Welcome to the Quidditch Finals," she said in a magically amplified voice that carried up to the stands. "Could the captains, Thomas Fitzgerald of Aladren and Charlotte Abbott of Crotalus please shake hands." It was a request, not a question.
Once they had done so, Amelia continued, "We have a beautiful day for some Quidditch, so let's get started shall we?" She set first the snitch, then the bludgers free from the box, and then picked up the quaffle. "On my whistle the game begins. It ends with the capture of the snitch. Everyone play nice in between." She hefted the quaffle in her hand, readied her whistle, and then tossed the red ball as high into the air as she could.
Her whistle blew at the same time and the game was on.
Subthreads: I'm not sure how nice this is, but I digress by <font color="blue">Edmond Carey, Beater</font> with <font color="red">Marissa Stephenson,Seeker</font>
Nothing like a Championship by <font color="red">Charlotte Abbott, Chaser</font> with <font color="red">Nic Sawyer, Keeper</font>, <font color="red">Sam Bauer, Chaser</font>
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Coach Amelia Pierce
Quidditch Final: Aladren vs Crotalus
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Coach Amelia Pierce
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<font color="blue">Thomas Fitzgerald,Chaser</font>
December 20, 2010 12:45 AM
Don't count your chickens too soon by <font color="blue">Thomas Fitzgerald,Chaser</font>
To his own horror and disgust, Thomas had begun feeling more and more nostalgic as the year drew closer and closer to its end. He had never felt a great deal of attachment to his school, but now that he was faced with the prospect of never coming back to it – of performing a mundane, day-to-day activity for the last time – he was finding himself terribly sentimental.It was funny, the way things worked out. He had always planned to be Prefect and Head Boy, but had never considered the Quidditch captain position as one to pursue. It was better for establishing military leadership qualities than political ones, and while he had the scores to do it if he wanted to, he had no intentions of joining the Aurors. Here he was, though, captain, while his strange roommate – and dear Merlin, had he never thought he’d actually expect to miss Gray Wright when he met the guy – relative of a Quidditch fanatic, got the other badge. And he didn’t really mind that.
Of course, it helped that Thomas had managed to become Head Boy over him. He wasn’t sure he’d be such a good sport about it if Gray had gotten that. He might well have been the closest thing to a brother Thomas had ever known - if usually that annoying kid brother who grew up to be the black sheep of the family - but he doubted he was the only one who knew Gray and still had trouble untangling his syntax enough to figure out what the hell he was talking about half the time, and he was pretty sure the dude was going to end up going more in the F. Scott Fitzgerald direction than in the Thomas J. Fitzgerald one once they were out in the world. Him as Head Boy would have been a disaster, and not just for Thomas’ future applications.
He’d arrived early before the game, beating even the die-hard fans down to the Pitch, and smiled wryly at his fellow seventh years when they joined him. “Here goes nothing, huh?” he said in an undertone to them, ignoring the rest of the team for a moment. “Good luck today. And remember, you two have caught more stuff than Marissa and their sub have ever seen. We’ve got this.”
Just because there was no doubt that even Gray was better than a last-minute substitution didn’t mean it could hurt to point out the obvious on that front, at least for someone who had an unusual view of what was obvious. Jera, he wasn’t even worried about. Marissa Stephenson had won one game, but considering that it was against a first year Seeker, Jera’s record still made hers look like a really good joke.
“All right, everyone,” he said, pitching his voice louder once everyone was present and ready and he could tell it was nearly time. “This isn’t going to be as easy as Pecari, but I still think we’ve got a better shot than Crotalus does. Their Keeper got sick, and I don’t think the stand-in was even training with them before. All around, we’ve got better players on every position than they do today.” Beaters were always arguable, but personally, Thomas would take Edmond’s calm, objective personality over Dmitry Talsky’s appearance of excessive aggression any day. Theo Manzana had a slight age advantage over Devlin, but he seriously doubted, with Jera’s experience, that it would be enough for him to take her out and change the game. “We’ve all worked hard, and I’m proud of this team.” He had practiced his speeches often enough to not mind or seem awkward while using emotional language. “The only way we’re going to lose this one is if we get too confident or destiny says so, and I'm pretty sure the Fates have got better things to do than mess with us, don't you think?" Good to end on something of a joke; he wanted them in good spirits. “Let’s go get ‘em.”
When prompted, he shook Charlie Abbott’s hand firmly, and was surprised – and a little amused – when she winked at him like that. And glad he was enough taller than her that it was most likely that the guys on his team hadn’t noticed. While she did have a reputation, he was pretty sure that was just an attempt to mess with his head before a game.
She pushed more of his buttons by taking the Quaffle first, endangering his goals. That annoyed him. He wasn’t too pleased about it when her pass to Sam Bauer worked, either, or with how very threatened his goals were getting by the time Sam passed. This time, though, he was in a better position and though it was close – he was sure, for a split second, that his elbow was going to slam into someone else’s, which would be less than a happy experience for either of them at the speeds they were moving – he managed to swipe the ball from the air between Crotali, drop lower in the air to get clear of them, and get turned around.
He didn’t, however, hold onto it for long. The captain taking a Bludger to the head would be bad for morale, so it was best to not make himself any more of a target than he already was just by virtue of being the captain. Hoping for the best, and helping it along by checking behind him a second before throwing to another Aladren at reasonably close range, he passed the ball.
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<font color="blue">Thomas Fitzgerald,Chaser</font>
Don't count your chickens too soon
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<font color="blue">Thomas Fitzgerald,Chaser</font>
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<font color="red">Renée Errant {Chaser}</font>
December 20, 2010 12:47 AM
That's a definite then? by <font color="red">Renée Errant {Chaser}</font>
Renée's mouth stretched into a wide yawn as she made her way to the quidditch pitch, rubbing sleep from her eyes with her free hand while the other one clutched her broom. Her mother had had to do business in Portugal (apparently a huffy mother of a bride-to-be demanded new robes and dresses at once) but had had enough time to buy her daughter the Febre broom. She had gotten Gabriel a racing broom after he'd won his first game, and had apparently decided to continue the tradition. Renée was so in awe of her gift, that she had yet to actually ride it, surprising herself with her ability to resist the temptation. It was just too new for her, and shiny. She wanted to keep it that way as long as she could.She hurried towards her team once she noticed everyone was already there. She tried not to feel embarrassed and looked down at her feet while she listened to Charlie talk; everyone was just so much older and taller than her. She couldn't help but feel out of place. 'Thank Merlin I didn't fall off my broom the last game.' It suddenly occurred to her how much smarter it would have been to actually familiarize herself with her current broom. 'Oh boy.' She clutched it tighter in her hand.
Charlie's pep talk made her feel just a little more nervous, but there was excitement in there too. She introduced Nic as their substitute keeper, and Renée smiled a little at him, but doubted he remembered her. She certainly wasn't able to forget almost meeting a giant. Charlie finished, the captains shook hands, and Coach Pierce blew the whistle. Renée swung her legs over her broom, bent her knees, and then kicked off.
"Ungh!" She gripped her broom tight as she rose through the air, much faster than she expected. It was almost uncomfortable how well the broom, smaller than all the other's, moved at her instructions. She was used to urging, but this went with her slightest touch. There was also a cushioning charm, so there wasn't the usual soreness that she felt on the wood. 'Probably should have broken this in before I played.' She returned her attention to the game and blinked in confusion, and then blushed. Charlie had already gained possession and had passed to Sam. Renée, already lagging behind, pointed herself in the direction of Aladren goals. She was going faster than intended, and despite the perfect weather she was shivering from the whiplash of wind against her.
She pulled up not too far away from Sam, and barely had time to raise her hands before the Quaffle was heading her way. She instinctively dipped her broom lower to catch the pass, and let out a breath of relief when she felt the hard leather slap onto her palms. She cradled it to her side and continued on. 'That's it, I completed a successful pass the first chance I got. This is good. It's all gonna be good.' She continued towards Aladren goals, chanting to herself, and trying to stifle the bundle of nerves growing like a knot in her chest. She could see the Aladren keeper clearly.
'Do I shoot? Do I pass? What do I do? I should make the shot - no. Charlie and Sam are much better... but I can do it. I know I can! I can make it. I can score. I can - ' She lost her nerve. Renée raised her arm as if to shoot at the left goal hoop, but at the last second turned and sent an accurate drop pass to her fellow chaser below. 'Next time.' She promised herself. 'I'll try for the shot next time.'
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<font color="red">Renée Errant {Chaser}</font>
That's a definite then?
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<font color="red">Renée Errant {Chaser}</font>
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