The Prodigal Chaser Returns! on Quidditch Pitch

Captain Sam Bauer

September 12, 2012 3:49 PM

Crotalus Quidditch Try-Outs. by Captain Sam Bauer

“Don’t even think about it,” Sam warned the morning sky as he looked up and took in its distinctly grayish appearance. If it started raining during the first training session of the year, then they would deal with that, they had to play in the rain sometimes so it would do no one any harm to practice in it, too, but he was pretty sure it would be a bad omen, and that was the last thing he wanted today.

It was, he thought, a right mess he had gotten himself into here, captain of the second-best team in the school. He had always thought Rachel was just being neurotic, but after a few years of this, he was really starting to get why, when she was younger, his cousin had seemed convinced that second place was first loser. Pummeling Pecari and Teppenpaw into pulp every year did nothing for the team but make them feel contempt for Pecari and Teppenpaw when they just lost, year after year, to Aladren in the finals. Being perpetually second-best was making them all tired, draining their enthusiasm for the game, and it was up to him to try to stir some of it up again.

No small job, he thought grimly, no small job at all, but he had to try. He wasn’t worn out; he had started to feel that way a few times, but after last year’s defeat, something had just snapped, and now he was angry when he thought about the Aladren team, with their fancy brooms and their pretty rich boys and their token Muggleborn girl and their captain who didn’t have to be competent or even wholly sane because he was in a do-nothing position and they played the whole game for him. He was sick of them, and this year, they were going down.

He looked around at his comrades-in-arms as they gathered together, evaluating them each for their part of that noble task. In truth, he knew he didn’t have a lot of wriggle room, and thinking he’d do as well to cut his own throat as to make a Carey the Crotalus Seeker and then put him up against another Carey severely cut down on what he might have had, but training, more than they had ever done before, could help with that. Not so much that it broke them down and exhausted them, as he suspected had happened to the Pecari players after the brutal regimens he’d spied on them using a time or two, but enough that they were in peak shape. He wondered if he could invoke Head Boy powers to try to bully them into eating better.

“All right,” he said. “It looks like everyone’s here. That’s great. Pretty much everyone is keeping their positions – new guy, you play Chaser today, let me see what you’ve got.” He tried to tell himself that New Guy was a teammate here, not a Carey. The tactic was of dubious effectiveness. Sam didn’t like purebloods in general, Careys had a reputation, and the kid’s relative was the one who kept showing them up. “Paul, see if you can find an extra bat, you’re going to try to kill Cepheus while Gareth gets in your way and Topher tries to beat up everybody else.” It was harder for a Beater to really cover all the Chasers, so they needed to be good at dodging on their own, even when they had other things to be concerned about, and he needed to see where everyone’s weak points were today, as opposed to where they had been last year, to plan how to train them away. "Fly three laps around the Pitch - " he mounted his own broom as he finished talking - "to warm up, then we'll do that, okay?"

OOC: Welcome to Quidditch try-outs! Walk-ons are welcome; we'll work you in. Let's see some nice, long, detailed posts from everybody, like you'd write for a game, and good luck.

Subthreads:

The Prodigal Chaser Returns! by Renée Errant with Nic Sawyer, Linus Macaulay, Henry Carey

Seeking the Real Gold. by Cepheus Princetom with Paul Bennett

16 Captain Sam Bauer Crotalus Quidditch Try-Outs. 163 Captain Sam Bauer 1 5

Renée Errant

September 13, 2012 1:15 AM

The Prodigal Chaser Returns! by Renée Errant

A soft hiss escaped her lips, dabbing alcohol on her wound, a parting gift from a cousin’s pet thestral. She’d been afraid it wouldn’t heal in time, and still it hadn’t, shades of blue, black, red and purple. The reason for her not signing up for the team. She flexed her leg, foot drifting along the bed, enjoying the silk but it couldn’t distract her from the pain, and she’d been limping all morning, trying to force herself forward, out the dorms, down to the pitch. No one was expecting her to show, and she knew it would matter to none if she didn’t, if she stayed away. There was no one to disappoint, she could lay down and sit this year out, and the next one too if she wanted. But, really, what else is there for me here? A soft grunt in her throat, her chest tightened, struggling briefly with breath as Renée swung her legs over the bed, landing gently on the floor, her spine arched as pain flared upstream, nerve endings set aflame. Stand up. She bit her lip, and tried to push, her palms spread on the mattress, grip tightening on the sheets, but it wasn’t going to work. Already sweat dabbed the sides of her temple, moistening the dark skin above her lip. She couldn’t make it out of bed, she couldn’t get to tryouts, certainly she couldn’t play. She thought of the names listed on the sign out sheet. Eight names, one of them sure to take her place.

If she had to be honest with herself, and she usually was, confronted with a brain filled with non-stop thought and memory, she’d been expecting, or hoping, for Sam to have come to her. Ask her why her name was absent. Surely she meant more to the team than just an annoyance, an irritant, something they were embarrassed by for whatever reason they had. It was for certain that she’d kept her distance from him, and from them, because beyond Crotalus and beyond Quidditch, she felt no bond and no need to approach or be approached outside the pitch. She didn’t shove away, but she never sought out or felt as if someone was seeking her out. But still, for the team as an entity she’d felt an affection. She’d won with them, lost with them, helped them along in the way that she could, and had felt valuable. Now she felt... as extinct animals must feel, the very last one. Worried about their legacies, knowing no one could carry on the legend, hoping at least for future excavation. That someone would learn of them, and remember.

Have to get there. Have to make it. She looked frustratingly down at the wound, the bruises decorating it. If only the tryout had been scheduled in one week or two, she’d been healed. The antidote she’d been given over the summer break was slow acting, and only increased the pain. The painkiller vials she had at her disposal were to be taken only once every thirty six hours and she’d already taken one during the night before last. Its effect was wearing off, but she’d be fine if she stayed in bed, didn’t exert herself. It was too early to take another vial. Only by a few hours though. A few can’t hurt that badly. It hardly matters. She thought of the wind, cooling down the heat of her skin, drying off the sweat, gleaming beneath the direct glare of the sun. She thought of the rain, dodging ice bullets, passing and stealing, quick reactions as they inched forward, closer to enemy lines, squinting for red flashes in the dark sky to throw to, her throat burning as she cheered for the goal. Renée turned, and reached for the vial.

The potion slid like thick mucus down the back of her throat. Renée gagged in the privacy of the bathroom she managed to stumble into, drowning the potion with warm water, clearing her passage, the muscles in her face, throat and chest spasming. She set the glass vial down, now half empty, dark eyes closing, a wave of dizziness spiraling around her head, spinning in her mind. She gagged again, nearly retching, liquid pooling in her mouth, on her tongue, dripping down into the basin. She avoided the mirror. Feel better. Hurry up. Feel better. Something violent lurched in her stomach, and she very nearly fell sick, but then something snapped in her chest, and ice water flooded her body, trickling inside her, dripping down and gathering within her leg. Renée sighed, turning around, her hips pressed against the edge of the sink, head tilting back, the pain fast receding.

Her hands were shaking, but that was okay, she prayed they’d be steady by the time the broom was clenched between her thighs, and when she laid her touch on the Quaffle, palming her goal. In the meantime, she made do with the trembling, clumsily wrapping a bandage around her thigh, watching it begin to dye red. Her bra, underwear, tank top, shorts, wiping away the trail of blood that had emerged, nothing of her wound showing save for the outline of a bruise and old scars patterning the dark cream skin, mementos of forbidden adventures through various woods. She threw on her gear, the crimson leather gloves and standard brown padding, curves slowly disappearing beneath the Quidditch armor. Red socks and cleats, dark curls piled up, wrapped in a braided coil, stray curls cast off her face, her vision clear, the dizziness fading away. She bent down with little difficulty, her leg only a little sore, unused to the stretch, and reached for the prize beneath her bed.

She breathed in mint, walking onto the pitch, Nightingale slung over her shoulder, gloved fingers gripping tight to the dark wood, tongue running over freshly brushed gums and teeth, tentatively satisfied that no hint of her retching remained, a quick shot of peppermint tea cooling down the burn in her throat. Now there was only smoke. Renée kept quiet as she neared the small gathering of familiar faces and matching names that remained distant in her mind. Sam was finishing whatever speech he’d made, now mounting his broom. Renée arrived at the edge of the group, and caught his last words. Okay, so we’re doing a warm up. She waited a moment, and then saw them all mount their brooms as well, and quickly she followed suit, hovering a few feet from the ground. She watched them lean forward, and then shoot off, curving around the stadium, and nodded to herself. Laps. She wasn’t sure how many were required, and decided to just push forward and go, wait until the rest had stopped.

She didn’t realize how good she felt, how much she’d missed this, until she was gone, leaving her mind behind, lost in pure sensation. The burn, the sting, the humiliated disappointment of not being sought out, of fearing her own devalue, it left her, suspended and caught by the ground. She was a creature of the air. She lived for the eternity, the mindless persistence of existence, just for existence’s sake, and for sensation. She clutched the dark sleek handle, arched over the wood, slowly sinking into it as she tensed her knees and pulled into a curve, a smile spread and spilling across her face, a laugh loosened and lost in the wind. She was back, she was back, how could she have thought she’d be able to leave it? Pain was nothing but mortality, mortality was locked in the earth, and she was in the air. Subtle mist grazed the corners of her eyes, she nearly flew into someone else, but dipped down, out of their way, still needing a few minutes before the consequences of taking the vial too soon would fade off. She had two hours of complete absence of pain before a dull throb would emerge in her leg. She could hold out till then. Prove she still deserved this team.

When she realized fliers were landing, Renée dipped lower through the air, reluctant to leave, but able to endure the chains of earth a little longer, knowing she’d soon be released again. She swung off, still in flight, riding side saddle for a moment before slowing to a complete stop on the ground. She turned to see what groups people were breaking up into, searching for the direction she should take, wondering over her instructions, her eyes lingering on the goal posts, hoops of metal calling out to her, eager for her challenge.

0 Renée Errant The Prodigal Chaser Returns! 0 Renée Errant 0 5

Cepheus Princetom

September 17, 2012 1:46 PM

Seeking the Real Gold. by Cepheus Princetom

Though Cepheus’s life had recently taken a turn for the worse, one thing he could still count on to stay relatively the same was Quidditch. He adored the sport and enjoyed playing with his teammates. Every year, of course, there was bound to be a new teammate and this year was going to be Sam’s last year. Cepheus had enjoyed working with Sam Bauer, and he was going to be sad to see him go. Since Cepheus hoped someday to be the Captain himself, he was taking avid mental notes from his superior. Sam Bauer was the ideal student that Cepheus hoped to model himself after in the academic sense. Sam was Head Boy and the Quidditch Captain, and Cepheus wanted to be both in the future.

However, one thing that dampened Cepheus’s spirits was the fact that there was a Carey trying out for their team. The name had left a bad taste in Cepheus’s mouth after losing to Aladren so many times. It was pathetic and he wanted to change that. True, it was somewhat his fault for not being fast enough, but how could he compare to an older student with more experience? Still, Cepheus knew that he couldn’t dare say that aloud.

Cepheus hoped that Sam knew better than to put Carey on their team. What if the younger boy was being used as some kind of tactic to ensure the loss of Crotalus every year? If that was the case, the moment Cepheus heard any snippet of it he’d kill the bloke. Not out right, of course. Tactfully. Quidditch was serious business.

The weather was cooperating for the time being. It reminded him of the gloomy spring mornings in England. Cepheus didn’t linger on the thought, still angry at his grandfather for springing upon him yet another betrothal. Instead, he focused that anger on killing Aladren this year.

Sam began giving his little try-out speech and Cepheus nodded his head in response. He and Gareth had formed a pretty strong relationship over the past few years. Now that he was betrothed to Gareth’s relative, he was certain that would be an excuse to see his roommate in their home country more often. He might as well be betrothed to Gareth. In Cepheus’s opinion, they had grown closer through Quidditch especially since Gareth had to protect him from essentially getting killed by a bludger. It was a great working relationship. He just hoped that this whole betrothal thing didn’t get in the way of their friendship, with Cepheus hating Gareth’s relative on principle and all.

With the speech out of the way, Cepheus hopped onto his broom and began the three laps. Once that was out of the way, his blonde hair windswept and sticking up, he retrieved the Snitch from the shed and beckoned Gareth and Paul over. “Hey mates,” he greeted them, “once I let the Snitch go, it’ll be a free for all. You can, as Sam so poetically put it, attempt to ‘kill me’ and Gareth, stay close. I don’t actually want to die.” He grinned, and then mounted his broom again, one hand holding the wood and the other holding the struggling golden ball. “Ready?” And then he let go of the ball and it went soaring off.

Giving himself a few seconds to let the ball disappear, he soared up and began to scour the pitch for it. He didn’t feel the need to see if Gareth really did have his back. They’d been doing this for two years now. He could trust him from getting pummelled. Instead, Cepheus focused on retrieving the Snitch for himself. His eyes narrowed at the grey sky for a moment, and then he rose a little higher, giving himself more room to look around. As soon as he spotted a glint of gold, he zoomed forward. His reflexes had gotten faster with the little practise he’d done over the summer, catching balls and throwing a makeshift Snitch around. His eye was getting sharper as well as he saw the Golden Snitch come into view. Carey would have a real competitor on his hands this year, Cepheus was sure of it.

0 Cepheus Princetom Seeking the Real Gold. 0 Cepheus Princetom 0 5

Nic Sawyer

September 22, 2012 3:23 PM

Here to Guard the Goals ... and provide food and drink by Nic Sawyer

As the Captain's roommate, and the only other Crotalus seventh year left on the team, Nic Sawyer felt that he was somehow, unofficially, expected to help support his captain and younger teammates. Other people might have fulfilled this responsibility by mentoring an alternate to replace them next year when they were gone, but Nic had decided it meant he was in charge of the water jug and snacks during practices. That required much less interaction with people and provided them all with much needed hydration and electrolytes to replace what they sweated out.

Sam's instructions seemed straight-forward enough so after finishing his three laps, he headed right for his traditional set of practice goals. He might end up playing either end in a real game, but aside from when they intentionally mixed things up so habits didn't get too deeply ingrained, he spent most practices in front of this set.

He wasn't quite sure what the teams were, or even if there were teams, but he figured as long as he watched the Quaffle and stopped it from going through his hoops, he didn't really need to know. It would be an extra challenge, he supposed, not knowing which Chasers were supporting him, if any, and which were against him.

While they sorted that out on the ground with Renee and Sam, he started looping his defensive (and slightly deformed) figure eight cycles around his goals, crossing in front of the central hoop and dipping down to the lower side ones, ready to defend as soon as the Quaffle started moving near enough to threaten him.

1 Nic Sawyer Here to Guard the Goals ... and provide food and drink 165 Nic Sawyer 0 5

Linus Macaulay

September 25, 2012 3:59 PM

Noble tasks indeed by Linus Macaulay

He was feeling like an old hand as he arrived on the Quidditch pitch for the try-outs. Linus realized with some satisfaction that he was now at a mid-point, not just in his school career, but also on the team, with equal proportions of players being older and younger than him. The fourth year was content with this, as was he satisfied with his own broomstick (having decided to stick with Quidditch, considering his moderate improvement since his first year playing with the team, he had encouraged his mother that his own broomstick was tantamount to his success, and therefore the success of his team), and the knowledge that once again he, Sam and Renée would make the ultimate chasing team.

He had been concerned originally that Renée had deserted them, but lo, she ambled onto the pitch not long after the try-outs had begun, and Linus exhaledin relief. Nic was now a decent Keeper, Linus himself had demonstrated suitable increase in skill level so as not to be a completely useless member of the team, and everyone else pulled their weight to a correspondingly decent degree. As always, they looked strong to begin the year's matches, though, as always, it would inevitably be Aladren presenting the real competition. Linus hoped that this year they would have a Crotalus victory, despite recent history being against them.

As instructed by the captain, Linus took off for his warm-up laps, enjoying the smooth ride his new (middle of the range, but better than the school models; man those Aladren players must be loaded) broomstick afforded him, and the light breeze created as he cut expertly through the air, even though it messed up the dark blond hair he'd taken care to perfectly style not half an hour earlier.

It seemed that barring unexpected events, the starting line up for the rattlesnakes would be more or less the same as the previous year. Having no qualms with this eventuality, Linus set about regaining his moves that had, as every year, become more sloppy due to a couple of months' neglect over the summer. Factor in a new broomstick and he had endeavoured to work that extra bit harder at the start of term to whip himself back into shape. Consequently, he wasted no time in taking the Quaffle up to playing height and, while Sam and Renée seemed to be otherwise engaged for the interim, he began a flight towards Nic, hoping to take the looming seventh year off guard and thus have half a chance and knowing what it felt like to have scored a goal.

0 Linus Macaulay Noble tasks indeed 205 Linus Macaulay 0 5

Paul Bennett

September 25, 2012 7:44 PM

Getting in your way by Paul Bennett

Being in the background of the Quidditch team was a position that suited Paul very well. There was a lot more room and a lot less danger in the background; he could, more than ninety percent of the time, observe more than he participated, and he found that to be the superior way to enjoy the team practices. He wasn’t like his sister, someone who wanted to be involved; he watched people go about their lives because it was entertaining, not because he was thinking in terms of using them or, indeed, of doing anything at all.

This year, he thought he might have a better than average chance of doing that, because he very much suspected that the rest of the team was going to take the newest addition to their ranks and put him through sheer hell. He was still trying to figure out what universe the first year was from if he honestly thought a Carey could join a Quidditch team other than Aladren’s and not be cut up for bait by the rest of the membership. Maybe, just maybe, Teppenpaw could have accepted him without too much fuss, but this wasn’t Teppenpaw. This was Crotalus, and he thought the more…invested…members of the team might hate the ever-victorious Aladren Carey machine even more than the Pecaris surely did. Aladren and Pecari, after all, were just rivals; Aladren and Crotalus were like two sides of the same coin as well.

Still, it wasn’t his business, and he had no love for the Careys even outside of Quidditch. If the new guy – Henry, he thought the list had said – thought he was tough enough to handle it, or at least that his family’s reputation would protect him, then he could just keep on doing that, and Paul would be glad of any time when Carey was assigned to do something potentially painful that would have otherwise been his task, as he would have with anyone.

Finishing the required three laps at a respectable pace, neither first nor last, Paul smiled thinly when Cepheus quoted the remark about attempting homicide and nodded once. “I’ll do my best,” he said dryly. Merlin knew Stratford and Pierce would, and while neither of them was exactly Edmond Carey, Stratford was close, and Pierce was not an exemplar of mental health himself. Giving Cepheus a good workout now could save Crotalus’ chances at the Cup later, at least in theory; really, Paul thought of it as a more gradual thing, but the principle was there.

So, when he saw an opening in Cepheus’ zoom forward toward the Snitch, Paul swung his bat at a Bludger and hit it toward the Seeker. It always felt a little unusual to attack his own team’s Seeker, rather than someone in the wrong color, but he did it far more often than he’d ever gone after blue or yellow or brown, so Paul was accustomed to ignoring that problem. Now it was all up to Gareth’s post-summer reflexes.

0 Paul Bennett Getting in your way 201 Paul Bennett 0 5

Henry Carey

September 25, 2012 7:48 PM

All greatly appreciated by Henry Carey

Honey from Potions was more energetic than Henry would have liked, but she did have good ideas, or had on that particular day. After he had started flipping through his book and syllabus, it had only taken him about two hours to find out how to make a simple calming draught. Making it had been more of a challenge, and he had spent a few hours being very sick after he slightly poisoned himself and decided against explaining it to a person he didn’t know, but his dorm was blissfully empty except for himself and it didn’t seem to be customary for Crotalus boys in different years to drop in on each other, so he’d had the time and space he needed to figure it out, and now, he was feeling almost as all right as he ever had in his life.

Almost. He was still, as he set foot on the dreaded Pitch again, aware of how large and empty it was, and he kept feeling as though he were being looked at strangely, but it was all…distant, somehow. He was bothered by it, which he knew from experience with Aunt Lorraine’s and even Mother’s calming draughts meant the potion still wasn’t exactly right, but he could ignore it and concentrate on what he wanted to, instead of his mind running away with him at the slightest provocation. He thought he might have felt like this on his own, sometimes, before the accident, but he wasn’t sure and wasn’t too worried about it. It felt good now.

He waited, then, quietly and without fidgeting while everyone else gathered – as little as he’d wanted to, he’d thought it was important to arrive early – and then listened politely to the captain’s opening remarks. There weren’t many of them, he was disappointed to see, and they were not very eloquent; he had been expecting something boring and inspirational, and even feeling comparatively good, Henry didn’t like to not get what he expected. It was being called ‘new guy,’ though, that made him frown. He had a name; maybe it was an unlucky name, considering how Uncle Henry hadn’t lived to see his thirtieth birthday due to some badly-timed heroics, but it was his anyway, and he thought he had as much a right as the rest of the team to be called by it. He wasn’t going to make them call him ‘Mr. Carey,’ that wasn’t sportsmanlike, they were supposed to be a team and there were ideas and practices that went along with that, but they could call him by his full first name.

When they started to break up, then, Henry took it upon himself to point this out to the captain, not really thinking, after seeing all his older cousins and siblings have to go along with Anthony all his life, of the incongruity of a first year correcting a seventh year.

“My name,” he said stiffly, “is Henry. I’d appreciate it if you called me that.” He flew off, following the pale-haired boy with the Quaffle, trying to decide whether he should be on the Chaser's side or if he should try to steal the ball from him.

0 Henry Carey All greatly appreciated 239 Henry Carey 0 5