The Coach

June 26, 2020 1:18 PM
The game was today. The first game was today! The team had been practicing for a few weeks and this was a home v home game, so the coach wasn't terribly worried about pitting the students against those from other schools. In a lot of ways, this was a trial run. But the school had pulled out all the stops.

Banners and decorations with jersey numbers of the players, showing which color they were playing for today, were hung around the stadium, and some of the elves had gone as far as setting up booths for students to get such treats as cotton candy, caramel corn, hot dogs, nachos, and more thematic foods, like mozzarella broomsticks, Quaffles (the coach was pretty sure they were pigs in blankets essentially), and a wide variety of candy. The coach appreciated the effort because it was well known that the students would decide today what this was going to look like in the future, and it was up to them to decide how popular or not this would be as well.

The coach addressed the waiting players as a whole, and smiled at all of them. They were mixed today, which was just as well because they were otherwise pretty uneven. It also meant that they all had the same knowledge and experience with any secret moves, which leveled the playing field a bit. A roster hung on the wall to remind players where they were playing today anyway:

Orange team:
Keeper: Tatiana Vorontsova
Chasers: Ness McLeod, Valentine Duell, Heinrich Hexenmeister
Seeker: Jeremy Mordue
Beaters: Felipe De Matteo, Hilda Hexenmeister

Green team:
Keeper: Graham Osbrook
Chasers: Morgan Garrett, Bonny Row, Parker Fitzgerald
Seeker: Anya Delachene
Beaters: Nathaniel Mordue, Evelyn Stones

"Today's game is going to be an experiment," the coach began, lingering on each set of eyes. "And you're going to show me just how well you can do. There's a stadium out there full of your peers. Let's show them what you can do, too."

The game began and the teams were, to the coach's pleasure, well balanced. This would be a good day. The music and fanfare outside was proof enough of that. It grew and surged throughout the game until finally, a very close game ended with the green team winning. It was exhilarating to be part of and to watch and most of the action was probably lost on the crowd, who were both distracted with the atmosphere of attending a sporting event, and undoubtedly out of practice with watching the play-by-play of a back-and-forth game of Quidditch. For some of the audience, the coach knew, this was their first time ever seeing a game. Heck, that was true for some of the players probably. This was, the coach thought, going to be a very exciting season.


Highlights -
- Near the end of the game, when the Seekers were nearing the Snitch, Felipe De Matteo attempted to smack a bludger at the opposing team and found it instead colliding hard with Jeremy Mordue. Jeremy sought medical attention after the game. (Approved by Felipe and Jeremy's authors).

OOC - Hello, all! This is an experiment as much for us as it is for our players and I am excited to see how it goes. You'll notice below that there is room for folks to thread pre-game, during the game, in the stadium during the game, and post-game. The goal is to really encourage anyone and everyone to be able to participate, not just players. You'll also please notice to I have (well, chatzy has) selected a winning team. That is to give us the most variety of threads we can do without the back and forth that can go with an FnF game when that hasn't happened for a long time. That being said, if there's a moment you want to thread during the game, feel free to do so.
Just don't assume that they won or lost for their team if that's not what I/chatzy decided. I think this will be a lot of fun and I am excited to see how it goes!

Happy threading!!
Subthreads:

Pre-Game

During Game (players)

During Game (crowd)

Post-Game
22 The Coach Quidditch Game 1! Winner: Green team! 0 The Coach 1 5

Jean Wolfe

July 04, 2020 12:02 AM
CW - homophobia

Jean-Loup was not entirely sure what word he had just been called. However, he was pretty sure he had been called a word. A word that was designed to be an insult. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a thick enough skin to deal with that. It wasn’t like he hadn’t met people like that plenty of times. People who were sore losers, or impatient with the insult to their macho pride of being injured. Mini Matthieu striding in with what looked like a dislocated shoulder and a fit of temper wouldn’t have been a new experience.

It was the specificity of the insults that bothered him though. ‘Unqualified’ he recognised and… well, that was factual. It wasn’t like people never threw a fuss on the skating lake either, preferring the ‘proper medic’ even when what they had was something he was more than qualified to deal with. It was the other word, something short and sharp. Something… he didn’t know what the word implied. Whether Mini Matthieu had just called him an… idiot, some kind of casual word that you would apply to everyone, or whether the sneer of disgust on his face as he’d he said it meant that he’d called Jean-Loup something to do with what he was. Right in front of Katey.

He left the tent, intending to simply wait outside until Katey was done and then help her tidy up, but his palms were sweating. The match had made him frustrated as it was, forcing him to stay grounded and watch, and now… Now he’d been insulted on top of that, and he wanted to force it all back into its little box so he could just keep smiling politely and be calm but it wouldn’t fit any more. And when he saw the injured party’s brother making his way towards the tent, he beat a hasty retreat in the opposite direction. He had no desire to be insulted twice in one day. Even if it was demonstrable from the fact that he was outside the tent that he had heeded Mini Matthieu’s wish to ‘keep your unqualified *** hands off me.’

He kicked a rock along as he made his way across the grass, but it wasn’t getting better. He was angry and he was hurt, and he wanted to yell or hit something. He stormed off the pitch. As he did so, he found himself face to face with some of the people leaving the stands. They seemed like they were happy, having a good time - had probably enjoyed the match. He tried to force the frown off his face, tuck it back behind the neat smile where it belonged but he was pretty sure, judging by the way they were looking at him, that he’d done that too late.
13 Jean Wolfe I'm fine 1506 0 5

Jezebel Reed-Fischer

July 04, 2020 9:40 PM
Jezebel was not keen on sticking around after the end of the game and she was excited to go to bed. When she got to the bottom of the stands, though, she stopped to get a bag of cotton candy. That was just as well because there was a collective gasp from the audience and she looked up to see Jeremy Mordue spiraling through the air and quickly being taken to the medical tent. He was also in her House, as was Felipe, so she couldn't really help having some basal level of concern for him and she hesitated on the edge of the pitch to see how he was. She supposed that was a leftover habit from her mother: care for others, even when you didn't really care about them.

As a result, she was close enough to see when Jean-Loup stormed out of the tent. Stormed away from the tent. And looked ready to burst. It wasn't hard to imagine that Jeremy was being awful because Jeremy was always awful, but she especially hated to imagine what Jeremy might've said to Jean-Loup. Her generally plain, happy expression was stuck in place until Jean-Loup got closer, because that was what would make her fit in. No one needed to know that it hurt her to think of what Jeremy might have said. But Jean-Loup was hurting too, and she couldn't keep smiling in the face of his expression. This also wasn't about her. She frowned, giving Jean-Loup permission to do the same, and approached him, reaching into her pocket to retrieve what was left of her bag of cotton candy.

"It's not great," she admitted, because cotton candy was never great. "But sugar is good for you when people are being terrible." Before he could argue with her about it or try to decide whether he understood or anything, she opened the bag, took a piece of the pink fluff out, and pushed it into his hand. Then she did the same for herself and took a bite to demonstrate that it was edible in case he'd never seen it before. "Jeremy Mordue is being a wretch?" she asked, not wanting to assume. "Jeremy is very bad human," she added in French, grimacing guiltily. "My mom speaks French. I only know a little. Sorry I didn't say so before."
22 Jezebel Reed-Fischer No, we aren't fine. 1454 Jezebel Reed-Fischer 0 5

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

July 05, 2020 2:36 AM
It was the small human from the ball. He did not remember her name. Normally, names stuck well with him but everyone here had strange names where the sounds didn't gel or glide as they should and that made them harder to hold onto - funny, they were less glidey but also more slippery.

She was initially confusing, but once he processed what she had said and the accompanying actions, he understood; she was trying to care of him. That meant she knew something was wrong, she had also more or less said as much. But she also wanted to make it better. He wasn't sure why. She was not particular friends with Dorian and she was not an adult with any kind of professional responsibility towards him.

He glanced down at the soft fluff of barbe à papa that she had pushed insistently into his hand with the promise it would cure him.

"You are very small healer," he remarked, aiming for some dry humour but mostly just sounding sort of flat. Still, he put the stuff in his mouth. There wasn't really a choice. You couldn't pocket barbe à papa, it just started dissolving the second it hit air or moisture. You had to eat quickly and decisively, an action which his momentary surprise had not accommodated - which his stightly sticky hand now attested to.

"Thank you," he stated. This same problem with the remedy at least made it easy to swallow. It had vanished on hitting his tongue, leaving only an overly sugary taste in his mouth. He was not sure it had the curative properties she had claimed. It mostly made him want a large glass of water. But at least it was well-intentioned.

He was surprised, both by her suddenly speaking French and by knowing why he was in such a bad mood. He had assumed it was mostly his face that had clued her in. But everyone had seen Jeremy stride into the tent, and a good few of them had probably seen him leave shortly after. He supposed it was quite clear.

"De rien," he assured her, when she apologised for not speaking French before. It was complicatedly comforting to hear it. It was easy, and familiar. He could convey his thoughts properly. It was the language he spoke with his boyfriend, whom he loved, but who was the reason he was standing here exposed to venom and ridicule, and it was the language of a home that had rejected him. "Where comes from your mother?" he asked. 'Where do you come from?' was such a standard question that it had been drilled into his head as a whole, rote learnt chunk. When faced with restructuring it around a less familiar party, his mind slipped, losing the unfamiliar word order.

"I cannot say," he shrugged regarding Jeremy Mordue. He could say that Jeremy preferred the qualified healer, which he was perfectly entitled to, but he didn't want anyone to think he himself had a face like a thundercloud over that. The rest however... "Medical confidentiality," he stated. He was not sure he would have wanted to get into the specifics with her anyway, but he could recognise that it was unprofessional of him to stir gossip amongst peers.

"Qu'est-ce que le nom de ca en anglais?," he added, nodding to the bag she was holding. He could see that his non-answer to her question would create a void, and maybe lead to awkward silence, and he didn't want her to feel bad or awkward. He took care to slow down and ennunciate, as he knew from experience how fast words sounded when they were not in your language.
13 Jean-Loup Arceneaux Oh. 1506 Jean-Loup Arceneaux 0 5

Jezebel Reed-Fischer

July 05, 2020 12:19 PM
Jezebel smirked. "Very small healer," she repeated. "Better than most of what my siblings call me," she decided, accepting the new title. Watching him eat the cotton candy was sort of hilarious because he seemed like a proper grown up in a lot of ways and proper grown ups didn't usually eat cotton candy.

"West Africa," she replied about her mother, remembering the stories well. "She speaks Igbo, French, and English. Mostly just English now." Really, she was pretty sure the only reason her mom hung on to French at all was because of church. Jezebel didn't think the Latin was any easier at all with French in her brain getting it all mixed up, but her mom seemed to think it did. She usually spoke Igbo with family from West Africa, so it wasn't like she really needed the French for that.

She nodded. "You don't have to say," she replied with a shrug, both because she understood confidentiality enough to know he wouldn't anyway and because he really didn't have to say anything for her to know that Jeremy was a jerk.

He pointed at the bag in her hand and asked a question in French that was one of those questions people just knew how to say, although she usually would have used it the other way, asking how to say something in French. He did seem to be speaking a bit slowly for her, which she appreciated, and she made an effort to do the same in English. "Cotton candy in America," she said. She remembered watching a TV show set in England once and they called it . . . what did they call it. "I think candy floss in the UK?" she said, not entirely confident in that answer. 'Candy floss' sounded super gross so she sort of hoped that wasn't it. "Or fairy floss maybe? I'm not sure if Canada uses the American one or the British one though." Probably the British one, but she was going off on a tangent now. "Cotton candy," she said, making it clear that that was the point of her rambling. "Qu'est-ce que le nom de ca en francais?" she asked, figuring that a straight up copy-paste was her best bet.
22 Jezebel Reed-Fischer Is that news? 1454 0 5

Jean Wolfe

July 06, 2020 6:08 AM
“Your siblings say bad about you?” he asked, concern furrowing his brow. He knew siblings could tease, and maybe that was all she meant, but he also had more than enough experience of siblings saying hurtful things and meaning them. He did not want the very small healer to be in trouble.

He nodded vaguely at the comment about her mother. He knew there were a lot of French speakers in some parts of Africa. He’d never heard of the other language she mentioned. None of it really seemed anything for him to comment on though.

He was surprised by the length of the response he got to his question about the item in her hand. He supposed that made sense - his own variety of French was probably distinct to what they spoke in France, and probably from West Africa too. Still, it very much made him want to pick English up and shake it. Why so many words for one thing?

“I think I must choose one country,” he grimaced, “Learning English one time is enough.” Dorian thought language was a wonderful adventure and enjoyed playing with words, pulling them apart or scampering through them, admiring their intricacies and wanting more and more of them. Jean-Loup just wished they’d make sense and be easy. “Cotton candy,” he repeated, taking the word she’d said more times, and that was applicable to her. “Candy is… sugar things?” he asked.

“We call barbe à papa,” he informed her, the syllables slurring together in a way that, to an untrained ear, perhaps sounded like an almost onomatopoeic nonsense string, encapsulating the food’s strange bouncy fluffiness. Barbapapa. It was a childish selection of noises. Jean-Loup, naturally, did not hear it this way, the string chunking into distinct words in his mind. Nonetheless, he explained it for her, because he’d asked an explanation of the English name. “Le barbe,” he drew his non-sticky hand down his chin in a mime, “Of father.”
13 Jean Wolfe Sort of yes, sort of no 1506 0 5

Jezebel Reed-Fischer

July 06, 2020 3:22 PM
Jezebel squirmed a little, regretting mentioning her siblings. "They don't say bad so much," she began slowly, trying to think of how to word it. "They don't all understand or support me being magic. It isn't like I can help it," she huffed, before the expression turned into a frown and she noted an accidental parallel she'd drawn. "They should love me for me, even if I'm not what they would have wanted me to be," she added, more softly still. She wondered whether they would.

She chuckled, agreeing wholeheartedly that learning English once was enough, and considered his question. She was pretty sure that that wasn't the definition that she had in her brain of what 'candy' was, but she couldn't quite argue with it either. "Yes," she decided. "Basically." That was a funny thought, too. What something was, what it was called, and what that thing to call it really meant weren't always the same thing. Often, they were very different. The thing she called candy was sure, for sure, and it was called 'candy,' but being called candy didn't necessarily mean it was made of sugar, and there were people who called each other that, too.

Wrinkling her nose, she laughed with surprise at the term for cotton candy in French. "Father's beard?" she confirmed, figuring it wouldn't really be a helpful way to do that anyway since he didn't seem to know the word for beard in English. It wasn't something that had come up a lot for her in French so far. "That doesn't sound like something I want to eat," she said. "Although, I don't really want to eat cotton either."

She considered for a moment, looking at Jean-Loup with curious eyes. She had had so many questions she wanted to ask but Dorian had answered most of those. In retrospect, though, she should've asked a whole different set of ones to Jean-Loup himself. He was one of the only magic people she knew who wasn't a professor or staff at a school, and she thought that that was probably a good place to look for insight into what this big stupid adulthood looming on the horizon would have to look like. "Why did you want to become a healer?" she asked, starting with what she hoped was easy and non-intrusive.
22 Jezebel Reed-Fischer Do you want to talk about that? 1454 0 5

Jean Wolfe

July 08, 2020 6:03 AM
Jean-Loup had years of training in offering a carefully schooled face of neutrality in the face of things he found surprising. It was something that was likely to come in very useful in his chosen profession, and he suspected it might be ever useful as his social circle expanded too. He knew that people came from non-magical families. He knew that Parker was such a person, but in his case he’d had a heads up, and it was never something that had come up in conversation. It wasn’t a thing he expected people to drop in so casually, like it didn’t even matter.

He wasn’t sure if that was the right way of thinking about it, but he would have said the same about his own sexuality. It mattered to an awful lot of people that he was what he was, and that made his life hard. Regardless of his own feelings on the subject, it didn’t seem something to be casual about with strangers. But then, other people were more open than him.

“They should,” he agreed, “It is difficult that this happens,” he sympathised. He had not known that magic was a subject it was possible to feel that way about. He had supposed that almost anyone would be pleased about having magic, as he wasn’t sure quite what an existence without it looked like. “They have jealous?” he suggested, regarding her brothers and sisters, that being the most logical explanation he could think of.

“Yes,” he confirmed regarding the French name for….. candy-cotton(?). She confirmed the other word by saying that she did not want to eat it. He did not have the energy to care what ‘cotton’ was - it sounded similar to coton which was a fabric, but he had been caught out by such words before - so he merely nodded. “I did not meet the real father who has like this,” he gestured to the bag with a hint of a smile.

Her change of subject was a complicated one… He had, he supposed, always been aware of the existence of healers, and known it was a thing he could be. He might have casually thrown out the idea as a small child, in between being a professional broom racer and an ice cream taster and any of the other myriad and changeable childish ideas about grown up life. But he remembered firmly starting to state that it was his goal in his early teens. And by that point, he had known that he had something to compensate for. He was never sure, therefore, whether the desire had arisen purely and organically of its own accord, or from those feelings of inadequacy - of needing to make his parents proud of him.

“I like to help people,” he answered the easiest way first. It was undeniably true. It was just how much more truth to give… “And, I play a lot of sport, see a lot of people be hurt. It is… easy to see this job, happening every day and see the good?” he tried to explain the sheer visibility of healing in daily life. Some adult jobs still seemed mysteriously veiled to him, even as he prepared to step out into that world. ‘Business people’ for example - what exactly did they do all day, and what was satisfying about it? “And I know… my parents will think well of that choice. Other people… it can have much respect, to be a healer,” he said, his brief touch of emphasis doing plenty to make the appeal of that last point crystal clear.

“What will you like to be?” he asked.
13 Jean Wolfe Sort of yes, sort of no 1506 0 5

Jezebel Reed-Fischer

July 08, 2020 11:03 PM
Jezebel nodded. It is what it is was a common enough saying that Jezebel had already thought more than once to apply it to her own situation, although it was still one that made her jealous of her cousin. Dathan's siblings couldn't reject him because he didn't have any. Although . . . perhaps that was worse. Jealousy on the part of her own siblings, however, was complicated. She knew that that was absolutely the case for some of them, and maybe not the case for others. It was a heartbreaking thing to think about, so she didn't. Or at least, she tried not to. "My brother will be here in the fall," she said, hoping not to discuss her other siblings just then. "I think he is jealous that I got to come first." She wrinkled her nose at the logic of a ten-year-old.

She nodded again, this time with mock seriousness, when Jean-Loup said he had not met the father whose beard they had been consuming. "That's good," she decided. "He might want it back."

Jean-Loup's careful response regarding his career choice made Jezebel think harder about it. Truth be told, she didn't think she cared half as much as she should about doing good. She knew that God was probably disappointed in her for that, but she just couldn't find anything in her to think it was the most important thing. How was she supposed to take care of others when she could hardly take care of herself? She was much more motivated to just learn. Plus, if she was honest, she wanted to be important. Healers definitely were important, but what about the people who invented the medicine in the first place? That was the sort of ambition that would make her mother proud. She could tell her friends that her oldest girl was going to medical school, even if none of them really knew what that meant.

"I don't know," she answered honestly when he returned the question. "I don't know what I can be. Magic is so new still. But . . . healer sounds pretty good." Jezebel considered Jean-Loup for a moment, wondering if she could be where he was, five or six years from now. "Do you know much about muggle medicine?" she asked, wondering whether there was a niche contribution she could make to this silly world that had ruined everything for her. "Can you do both?"
22 Jezebel Reed-Fischer /Should/ you talk about it? 1454 0 5

Jean Wolfe

July 09, 2020 11:54 PM
"Ah. Smaller siblings and their very good logic," he said with a sympathetic smile which turned slightly to a sad one. He decided he might be happier if they dropped the subject, and hoped that wasn't selfish of him.

Luckily, she seemed happy to pick up the subject of careers instead. He was surprised that the transition to the magical world made it so confusing for her. His limited understanding suggested there was some overlap - everyone needed teachers and healers and law enforcers, after all, even if they had differing names for them - different languages did too, so that didn’t seem such a big leap. But he supposed there were more jobs in the Muggle world because they had to make up for not having magic. He had heard some crazy things on that front, like there was a paid human job of carrying letters around. However, that seemed so ridiculous that he wasn't sure it could be true. Also, fond as he was of Choux and highly as he regarded her intelligence, he was quite sure that being a human owl could not be a particularly highly paid or well respected job, so it was presumably not relevant to bring up right now, even if he was to do so out of his own curiosity rather than suggesting it might have been the kind of thing Jezebel could have been back in her old life.

"You have Mr. Row, and many years to decide," he offered instead. “Mr. Row is very good.

“Um, no,” he stated, when she asked if he also knew Muggle medicine, again managing to keep his surprise to himself that she should ask such a thing. “I hear Muggle medicine is slow?” he stated cautiously, keen not to offend but not sure what its use to him could be if it was true that magical healing was so much faster. “I think not so many people will do both.”
13 Jean Wolfe ...maybe? 1506 0 5

Jezebel Reed-Fischer

July 10, 2020 8:54 PM
Jezebel grinned. Something about the way that Jean-Loup spoke made his humor much funnier. "Yes," she agreed with heavy sarcasm. "They're geniuses."

Jezebel hadn't really spent much time talking to Mr. Row, although she suspected she should. She had gotten the impression that he was rather knowledgable about both muggle and magical jobs, and that was where she was stuck. She hadn't been sure what she wanted to be as a muggle either, but now she didn't even know what the options were. She wondered whether she should talk to Professor Brooding if she was wondering about science since that was about as close as these people seemed to get.

"Slower than magical medicine," she agreed, not sure exactly how they compared. She'd only studied medicine in potions, she hadn't needed any herself yet. "But it depends on why you need medicine or what kind of injury or sickness you have," she pointed out. "Can wizards get cancer and stuff?" Explaining or asking about the scientific or chemical applications of magical medicine in terms of how they interacted with the body seemed out of both of their comfort levels so she left that behind. Still, she couldn't help wondering whether that was something she could contribute to. If she learned about muggle medicine, would she have much to offer the magical world? "Are there careers for people who like studying more than they like people?" she asked, using her tone to make it a joke. It wasn't precisely true. She did like people. She just refused to like them.
22 Jezebel Reed-Fischer I'm not a great listener, but I'm here. 1454 0 5