| Details for Quidditch Pickup Game |
| Summary: | A friendly chat on the pitch leads to a little pickup match |
| Date: | June 6th, 1941 |
| Location: | Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch |
| Related: | — |
| Characters |
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With the afternoon giving way to a slow dusk, the sky above the Hogwarts grounds is shot through and set ablaze with brilliant orange and pink. The grounds are relatively quiet, quite a few students having taken the opportunity to get out of the castle and take a reprieve from exams in Hogsmeade. Many are on their way back to the castle as dinner is getting close to starting, and yet Brody Iolar is still out on the grounds. He is standing in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, his broomstick in his hands as he gazes up at the goal posts with a bit more than a forlorn expression on his face.
Oscar has been redoubling his time out on the Pitch lately, and out in the Greenhouses. He's coming back in from the Greenhouses — though he's carrying his guitar — when he sees Brody. He diverts course, making his way to the older boy's side, gazing up at the goal posts himself. The too-large Hufflepuff doesn't speak for a few moments. And then, he ventures to say, "It's not the last time you'll play. Just the last time you'll play here."
Hearing the approach of the other set of feet, Brody doesn't turn to look at whoever has spotted him and decided to join, likely assuming it is one of his team mates, given that they were comfortable enough to walk up beside him. He continues to stare up at the goal posts, in particular, the ones that he guarded in their last match against Gryffindor. He starts as Oscar speaks, looking quickly to the large beater with an assessing gaze. Finally, he offers Oscar a faint smile and a shake of his head as he lifts the broom before him. "I believe my playing days are behind me. My future is in the broomsticks, not in the game anymore." It is likely well known that Brody has been working for some time at broommaking, in fact, it was one of his broomsticks that Elspeth, the Ravenclaw Captain and Seeker, had been flying for the second half of the Quidditch season.
"Then I want to be one of your first customers." The big Hufflepuff grins, cradling his guitar against his chest. He's always been affable in defeat to the Ravenclaw, and genial in victory. He plucks at his strings of his guitar, absently playing up and down the blues scale as he talks. The white letters, Half-Breed, can clearly be seen across its soundboard.
"Are you going to open your own company, or are you going to work for one of the big boys?" Oscar seems genuinely curious, and it's as though he plays the guitar without even realizing he's doing it — a nervous tic, perhaps.
Shrugging his shoulders, Brody says, "I am going to start my own company. Either on Diagon Alley or in Hogsmeade, I have not decided where yet. But, then again, there are a lot of variables in the air. My parents would like for me to take a more respectable job, of course. My mother is an Unspeakable, so she would like for me to go to work for the Ministry." As the notes of the guitar flow onto the pitch, Brody casts another glance back toward Oscar, his eyes marking those white letters closely as he says, "Seems an odd addition… but what do I know?"
He lifts a hand and gestures toward the goalposts. "I will tell you, I am jealous of you. You've been on the Quidditch team for a while now. I only went out this year, my last year, just to try and get some research down for my broommaking. And now… my last game we lost in two rounds. It was over before I could even make a difference." He shakes his head slowly before he says, "Enjoy it. It will be over far too quickly."
"A gift from Antonin Dolohov," says Oscar, his features clouding briefy with sudden anger. But it passes as he listens to the Ravenclaw, nodding his head respectfully. "I will. I'll enjoy all of it. I've only got one more year to get Hufflepuff the Cup." He grins again. "And now that you're gone, it's going to be easier. Everyone knew you were going to be a great Keeper."
Brody shrugs his shoulders and says, "I did what I could in the time that I had. And now, at our best chance of taking the Cup, we lost in our last match." He shakes his head again and says, "Maybe if I had been at it for longer, I would have been better. But when the snitch is caught almost as soon as it is released, there isn't much that can be done." It is clear that the Ravenclaw is not trying to huff or complain, but the disappointment is there plain as day. With a sigh, Brody turns his eyes back onto Oscar's guitar and he says, "Antonin Dolohov… that little runt of a beater? Slytherin, right?" He snorts and shakes his head, "I guess they are all the same. I wouldn't think much about it. It is a shame about the guitar though. I could probably strip it down and refinish it for you, if you wanted."
"It's a very kind offer," replies Oscar, sincerely. "But I've decided to leave it." There's a strange glint of determination in the Hufflepuff Beater's eyes. "It's a reminder of what sort of squirt he is. And I want to remember that, when I see him here next year." He gestures around at the Quidditch pitch. But it's really the Ravenclaw's last moment out here in the glory spot. A bright idea visibly lights up Oscar's face. "Hey, here's a thought. What if I get a quaffle and we go a few points? I'm no Chaser, but wouldn't it be swell to end your time here on a high note?"
Brody nods in thought, considering that for a moment before he says, "I can see the reason in that. Dumbledore is taking the school in a good direction, alright. The racism has already fallen back from where it was in previous years. The Magijugend were a nightmare for anyone with Muggle blood. But it isn't gone. It's best to remember that, rather than let your guard down and be caught unaware." The Ravenclaw Keeper falls silent at this latest question and he turns his head back to look at the Beater. He is silent for a while, the muscles in his jaw working, before he finally nods his head and says, "I think I would like that. Do you need time to go and get your broom from the Castle?"
"No, it's not gone," replies the Hufflepuff quietly. "It'll never be gone, Brody, not entirely. I'm afraid that's simply the world we exist within." But then Brody accepts his 'challenge', and the good humor returns. He grins even more widely. "I'll be fast," promises Oscar.
Turning, the huge boy begins jogging in the direction of the Castle with strides that eat up the turf. He would likely have made a reasonably good footballer, had he been born a Squib. Over his shoulder, the Hufflepuff shouts "Try to get some others!"
Brody glances around the pitch as Oscar charges off toward the castle, his expression revealing that he has no idea how Oscar expects him to get some others when he is now alone on the Pitch. Instead, the Ravenclaw Keeper moves over to the supply closed and pulls out the crate that contains the practice Quidditch balls. Opening the chest, he pulls out the quaffle and lays it in the center of the Pitch before climbing onto his broom and kicking off. His robes whip in the wind as he accelerates on his broomstick and flies to the goalposts. He goes into a quick circuit, flying in and out of the posts in a quick drill that reveals that Brody is quite skilled at flying.
Oscar comes back at a trot, lugging his broom and without his guitar. He's breathing hard as he throws the broom into the air and launches himself onto it, landing and immediately kicking toward the sky. He repeats Brody's drills, practicing some hard power-turns and slides. "Okay!" he calls over to Brody as he goes soaring by. "Why don't you get in position, and I'll come run a few passes at you?" He dives down toward the center of the Pitch, leaning low to grab up the Quaffle and tuck it under his arm. "I'm really not very good at this, though!"
Brody nods his head as he drifts over to take position in the middle of the three goal posts. He holds his broomstick with one hand, his fingers squeezing the shaft of the broomstick with a casual and familiar grip. He laughs aloud as he watches Oscar, marking his position as he takes up the Quaffle and calls out, "Don't worry about it. I'm not very good at this either!" Despite his words, it woulds seem that Brody is a good deal happier than he was a short while before.
Oscar told the truth. He's really bad at this. Oh, he's greased lightning on a broom, but he has no idea how to feint or mislead Brody. He soars straight at the goals, giving a few half-hearted dodges to the left or right that any First Year should be able to read. And when he chucks the Quaffle, it's straight at Brody's chest. Perhaps he's just too used to sending Bludgers toward people's heads to think outside of the box.
Brody sits easily on his broomstick, his feet resting on the gold footrests in a ready position. He smiles as Oscar drifts toward him, juking left and right. His eyes never leave the large Hufflepuff beater and as the Quaffle sails forward, Brody darts toward it. He meets it before it gets close to the goal, catching it in both hands while he clenches to his broomstick with his knees. Drawing back a strong arm, he throws the quaffle as far as he can as if sending a long bomb pass out for Oscar.
Chasing things down? That's right in Oscar's line. He turns and shoots toward the thrown Quaffle, low over his broom, his hand extended as though it were a bat. But instead of smashing the Quaffle as he would a bludger, he snags it out of the air and does an impressive barrel-roll maneuver. And now he's charging right at Brody, as fast as his broom can hurtle. There are no feints, no maneuvers. Not until the last instant when, still flying straight at Brody, he leans sideways — like a horse-archer leaning over the saddle to fire an arrow — and hurls the Quaffle toward the hoops.
Brody nods his head in surprise at the Beater's skill in pursuing the flying Quaffle and managing to catch and roll back toward Brody and the goalposts. He grits his teeth as the large Beater hurtles toward him. He drifts out toward that charge, certain that the large boy will change his course long before he gets as close as he ends up getting. With a yell, Brody dives sideways his hand outstretched toward the Quaffle as it flies toward the hoop, and he is just not quick enough. He feels the dark red ball graze his fingertips as it hurtles past and soars straight through the hoops. He looks around in surprise, from the ball to Oscar and a wide grin spreads across his face. "Good shot!" he yells out.
"Thanks! I won't be able to get that past you again!" Soaring after the Quaffle and grabbing it up, Oscar wheels around mid-air and comes charging back. He tosses the quaffle up into the air, chases after it, and hurls again — he's relying on the change of angle to surprise Brody again. It's adequately done, but it has nothing on the flash of genius he displayed just moments ago.
Brody zips upward as he marks that thrown Quaffle, keeping a tab on Oscar's progress from the corner of his eye. As Oscar changes direction and hammers the Quaffle back toward the goalposts, Brody is ready and he flips completely upside down, gripping his broom in both hands as he lets go with his knees and swings into a hanging position beneath his broom. He watches the Quaffle fly toward him and once close enough, he swings his body and kicks the scarlet ball out into the evening air, well away from the goalposts.
It takes Oscar a moment to get to the Quaffle this time — Brody put a really good spin on it when he chucked it free. But he gets there in the end, and he bounces it a few times on his hand as he comes charging back across the Pitch. "Hey, watch this," he shouts over to Brody. And he bounces the Quaffle a bit ahead of himself, balling a fist and -spiking- it toward the goals. It's a novel approach, but it's not particularly accurate. Nor particularly skillful.
As Oscar tears out after the Quaffle, Brody takes the time to walk his hands forward to the nose of his broom where he grasps and pulls the broomstick into a dive. Kicking upward, he flips over in mid air and grasps his knees onto the broomstick. When he pulls out of his dive he is far below the goalposts, and is looking upward as Oscar flies forward and calls out for him to, "Watch this." With a growl, Brody spurs his broom up in a straight vertical angle. Placing his feet on the footrests, he holds the broomstick in both hands and when he is at the point of impact, he presses with his feet and lunges upward, head butting the ball up and away from the goalposts. "That was nice!" he calls out, "But not quite nice enough!"
"Show-off!" But Oscar is laughing as he, once again, chases the quaffle. This time it's him who tries showing off. He goes high - and higher still - pointing his broom right up to the stalling point. And when it does stall, he falls. For a moment, it looks like the broom's enchantments have just failed, but Oscar is in perfect control. Sort of. He's plunging down, spinning like a cork, faster and faster. "Whooooooooiiiieeeeeeeeee!" But the stunt is not effective tactics for a Chaser. He has to level out hard, and that kills any element of surprise when he chucks the Quaffle.
Brody catches the Quaffle this time as it comes toward him, laughing at Oscar's antics as he holds onto the scarlet ball and shakes his head. He pauses, drifting in midair as he catches his breath. "I don't know Oscar. I think you may have missed your calling. You probably should have been a Chaser!" The sarcasm in the Ravenclaw's voice is evident, but it is obviously in good nature given the grin on his face as he tosses the Quaffle back out to Oscar.
"Yes, I am quite brilliant at this, aren't I?" Oscar straightens up on his broom and has it do a few hops, as though he were strutting around on the Pitch below. But he's grinning too. He's managed to make one very surprising shot; the Hufflepuff Beater clearly needs to return to his usual position. But now he's just goofing off. He tries a loop, flipping through the air and releasing the Quaffle over his shoulder and sending it soaring toward Brody and the goals.
Abraxas walks onto the pitch, his broom in hand, and then stands it up on the bristles, his hands resting over the handle. He rests his chin on the backs of his hands and looks up at the acrobatics going on above him.
Brody laughs and shakes his head as he watches Oscar bouncing his broom about down on the pitch. As the Hufflepuff performs his loop and casts the Quaffle his direction, the Ravenclaw Keeper is there and ready to catch the Quaffle easily enough once more. He holds onto it this time and looks out toward Oscar. He hasn't yet seen the arrival of the Slytherin Keeper and as such, he is not shy about calling out to Oscar, "So what was it that happened with you and Dolohov? I heard that you two got into a fight, but I don't normally put much stock in rumors."
You give Oscar a cookie.
Oscar has to be careful here. Even the friendly Ravenclaw might tell the story to the wrong person. It wouldn't do to reopen that particular can of worms. Not yet. He just sticks the Quaffle under his arm as he zooms closer, answering in an easily-audible roar. "He doesn't like the Blues. Or he doesn't like me. Or both."
He's obviously — blatantly — not telling the whole story. Not even really answering the question at all. And before he can say something further, drawing up alongside Brody, he looks down to see Abraxas. His mouth clamps shut. "It was nothing," he finally says. And, reluctantly, the Hufflepuff raises his hand to wave a greeting in Abraxas's direction.
You give Abraxas a cookie.
Abraxas lets tosses his broom up at about waist level, then hops on it sidesaddle as it starts to rise. Spinning around he mounts it properly in mid-air until he draws near to the other two, pulling up sideways. He looks suspciously at the other two, "Have I missed something interesting?"
Turning his attention toward Abraxas as Oscar lifts a hand in greeting, the Ravenclaw Keeper grudgingly lifts a hand as well. "Evening, Malfoy. You haven't missed much, we have just been messing around and having a bit of fun, since this is looking to be my last time on the Pitch with graduation in a few weeks." If Abraxas is asking about the mention of Dolohov, Brody isn't going to be the one to bring up any kind of rumors.
[OPEN-RP] Your scene 'Quidditch Pickup Match' has expired. You may resubmit it if the scene is still ongoing.
"Please don't be fooled, Malfoy. I am proving that I am the world's worst Chaser, and Brody has been kind enough to oblige me." Oscar bounces the Quaffle a few times on his fingertips. "I'd offer to demonstrate for you as well, but frankly.. I'm doing badly enough against one Keeper. Would you like to take over as Chaser?" The Hufflepuff is trying his best to be friendly, but his voice has a hieratic, formal, edge to it.
"My aim is terrible, but I'll give it a shot. I suppose it's the fact that I'm more used to quaffles coming at me than otherwise." The Malfoy shrugs, and then looks at both of them again. He's a perceptive young man, and it's clear to him that he's missing something her, and it's not just the plastering that the Slytherins gave the Hufflepuffs in their last match.
"You are welcome to sub out with me, if you would rather guard the goalposts," Brody says, gesturing toward the goalposts behind him. "You two will be the ones playing each other next season, after all." Brody drifts left to right in front of the goalposts and awaits whether Abraxas will sub out with him or take the Quaffle and heads to shoot against him. "I suppose congratulations are in order on the Cup this year," Brody says even more grudgingly.
Oscar flips the Quaffle over to Abraxas, shaking his head. "You give it a go, Malfoy. I'm bloody awful at it — but it's fun to pretend." His smile, when it comes, is a little more relaxed. Malfoy isn't pressing him about Dolohov. He seems almost friendly in his relief about that. And then he begins twirling around on his broom, tipping its nose up toward the sky. He just can't seem to keep his spirits down, even when he tries.
"Thank you. It was a hard-fought season, and our first cup in a few seasons." Being Abraxas, he can't help but add, "Maybe it was the Captain." He looks at Oscar, as well, but Abraxas, most likely, isn't interested in violating the plausible deniability that keeps him from reporting a housemate. Like Corporal Shultz, he sees nothink, hears nothink, knows nothink. He pulls his broom around, and tosses the quaffle up a few times, getting a feel for it. "Right, then." he says, then lowers over his broom, and with his robe flapping in the chill air, takes a lap to build up speed.
As Abraxas takes off for his speed lap, Brody casts a glance toward Oscar and nods as he moves his broom back into better position to block the goals. His eyes mark the Slytherin's progress closely as he moves around his lap, and is resting in a ready position by the time that the other Keeper is angled back to return toward the goals for his shot. Brody keeps a close watch on him, expecting the Slytherin to have some kind of trick up his sleeve, despite Malfoy being a Keeper like himself.
As for Oscar? He's out of the game for right now, but that doesn't seem to bother him. He zooms around, keeping a close eye on the pair, diving and rolling on his broomstick. Apparently, he's just having a bit of fun - reckless fun, sure, but who behaves reasonably on crotch-rocket like this? As Abraxas finishes his lap, however, Oscar pulls in to watch, floating up above the goals.
Abraxas really is better in front of the hoops than rushing towards them, but this is a useful training exercise, and every wizard probably grew up playing pick-up Quidditch with friends. He doesn't try anything fancy, other than a turn at the last minute, but it seems to throw his aim off a bit, and his throw towards the hoop isn't as strong as it might have been, "Blast it." he mutters to himself.
Brody is watching the other Keeper as he hurtles toward him and the hoops at the other end of the Pitch. He is leaned forward, watching closely and nodding to himself as Abraxas doesn't try anything overly fancy either, about like Brody himself would do were it him attempting to throw the Quaffle through the hoops. He is ready for the Slytherin's sudden turn and the Ravenclaw Keeper mirrors him, reaching out with his hands and snagging the ball out of the air. "Nice throw," he says to Abraxas.
Ouch. That was a bit of a soft lob, wasn't it? But the huge Hufflepuff Beater sees no reason to laugh. It's not as though he's done any better himself. He smiles a goofy grin and hums a few bars of some Blues song, watching the pair below him closely. "Let's see some fancy tricks, boys! Something really swell!"