Coach Grase
June 10, 2016 1:34 AM
Quidditch Game 1: Aladren vs. Crotalus by Coach Grase
The familiarity of the brisk morning air, combined with the nostalgic pang the comfortable atmosphere of the pitch cause, made the ache in Juliet’s right shoulder begin with much more vigor than previous mornings. She massaged it absentmindedly as the spectators for today’s match filed into the stands. Not a bad crowd for such a frigid morning, she mused internally. A smattering of students and faculty huddled in clumps like penguins to combat the chilly autumn breeze.A sudden, particularly cold gust caught Juliet off guard, and the resulting shiver made her offending injury twinge a bit worse for a moment. She had decided today was as good as any to see if it was time to start laying off the pain medicine, and while the ache was definitely more noticeable without it, it was certainly better than she had been expecting. It definitely could be worse she thought, allowing herself to feel hopeful. I’ll be back to my old self , and back in the air, by the end of the term.
The chattering of the Aladren and Crotalus teams coming onto the field snapped her from her reprieve. Putting on her best greeting-the-fans voice, Juliet cast the Sonorus charm on herself and welcomed the athletes and spectators to the game, introducing the teams and their respective captains.
“You guys know how this works; keep it clean, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she said as she turned back to the young athletes. “Now if the captains would please shake hands?” Trusting them to follow instructions, Juliet broke her gaze in favor of her pocket, rifling through it to find the whistle she had ignored until now.
When everyone was in position, she wished them all luck and tossed the Quaffle into the air, blowing the whistle in between her teeth. Next went up the Bludgers, which she released from their bindings with a disappointed sigh, followed by the tiny golden Snitch. Juliet then mounted her broom to join the kids in the air, where she still firmly believed she belonged.
Subthreads: Kicking things off by <font color=blue>Arianna Valenti, Chaser</font> with <font color='red'>Capt. Ali Johnson, Chaser</font>, <font color="blue">Captain Bennett, Beater</font>, <font color='red'>Daniel Fintoc, Chaser</font>, <font color="blue">Jack Spencer, Chaser</font>
Welcome back, Crotalus by <font color=blue>Clark Dill, Seeker</font>
The changing of the guard by <font color='blue'>Theodore, Keeper</font> with <font color=red>Makenzie Newell, Keeper</font>
Back in Black...Well, Red actually by <font color='red'>Shinohara, Seeker</font> with <font color="blue">John Umland, Beater</font>, <font color=blue>Clark Dill, Seeker</font>, <font color="red">Arne Reinhardt, Beater</font>, Coach Grase
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Coach Grase
Quidditch Game 1: Aladren vs. Crotalus
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<font color='blue'>Louis Valois, Chaser</font>
June 23, 2016 6:58 AM
And he shoots, he scores? by <font color='blue'>Louis Valois, Chaser</font>
Finally it was the first Quidditch match of the year, and Louis felt like he’d been waiting a long time for this. It didn’t help that Quidditch had been cancelled last year, a fact that Louis was still a little annoyed about. Admittedly the challenges had been fun, but the Aladren had never understood why the two activities had been considered mutually exclusive. He’d certainly have been happy to do both at once. His father hadn’t been too pleased either, considering the challenges to be a complete waste of time, detracting from important things like schoolwork and Quidditch. Mme Valois had pointed out that the challenges probably taught important life skills such as teamwork, but Laurent Valois wasn’t having any of that. In his opinion, grades were more important than teamwork.Louis had woken up early that morning, as he always did on Quidditch days, showering immediately instead of wandering around in his pyjamas as he sometimes liked to do. He made sure to eat a substantial but not too filling breakfast, ignoring the slight nerves that tried to put him off eating. He had absolutely no reason to feel nervous. Louis was confident in their team, despite the addition of a first year player. Aladren had a good reputation for Quidditch, and he was hoping that they’d pull through and win the Quidditch Cup once more.
Standing on the pitch facing the opposing team, Louis felt a thrill of anticipation run through him. This was why he loved Quidditch so much – it made him feel so alive. Sending a hopefully encouraging smile to Arianna (although he wasn’t sure she noticed), he mounted his broom and rose into the air with the rest of the Aladren team.
Louis watched the action with fierce concentration, weaving around the players to position himself well in case he was needed. Crotalus weren’t playing badly – he had perhaps underestimated them, forgetting that Alistair Johnson was now in control (apparently he liked to push his team hard). Still, Aladren were playing well too, and he felt confident as he followed Jack Spencer towards the Crotalus hoops, remaining ready to receive a pass. Suddenly Jack turned and next thing Louis knew he found himself clutching the Quaffle! With the hoops right in front of him, and hopefully an Aladren beater nearby to help distract the Crotalus keeper, Louis narrowed his eyes and aimed, sending the ball flying towards the right hoop with a strong throw.
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<font color='blue'>Louis Valois, Chaser</font>
And he shoots, he scores?
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<font color='blue'>Louis Valois, Chaser</font>
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<font color="red">Isaac Douglas, Chaser</font>
June 23, 2016 1:37 PM
I certainly hope not. by <font color="red">Isaac Douglas, Chaser</font>
Isaac supposed there was some chance he looked slightly intimidating to the Aladrens, but he doubted it. For one thing, the entire House, to the last man as far as he could tell, was so arrogant that being threatened by him probably never occurred to them, and for another, he suspected they’d suspect his firmly clenched jaw had less to do with his resolve to win and more to do with the temperature. It was cold, and Isaac knew it and everybody else knew it and probably also knew that Isaac knew it, but Isaac was determined to show how much it bothered him as little as possible as he wondered, not for the first time, what had possessed one of his sisters to move to Chicago and another to New Hampshire.Of course, it was his own fault he was cold, too. He had no real reason to be here, but…here he was. One more time. He guessed he was turning sentimental, or else had known it was probably the last one anyway and he had nothing better to do this afternoon.
Alistair, being Alistair, talked far too much before the game, specifically going on about keeping warm when listening to him entailed standing still and getting cold and relating Chasing information that Isaac, at least, already knew, though he supposed that part of the speech could have just been for Daniel’s benefit. There really wasn’t any excusing what he said to their Seeker, though - let’s just hope for sheer dumb luck was their best shot at winning, Alistair was completely right about that, but Isaac had known since he was a very small child that just because something was true was no good reason to say it. He had to disapprove of it all on principle, but sometimes he wondered if there weren’t a few advantages to having grown up with half-blood siblings perpetually underfoot…Maybe just if his mother hadn’t married their father, that really had caused too many problems to excuse, he thought.
The captains shook hands, the whistle blew, and they were off. The Aladren girl apparently knew all eyes were on her, as she went right for it. Didn’t keep it long, but Isaac didn’t have much time to celebrate that, as he realized that Bennett (strange; Umland was usually their headache to have. Isaac hated that guy) was in a decapitating mood. Daniel panicked and Aladren intercepted and was gone with the Quaffle. Cursing, Isaac turned around in the air to follow them back to Makenzie.
Isaac was, after all these years, perfectly competent on a broom, but he was too cautious to ever really be a fancy flier and he had no intention of trying to intercept a shot at the goals. For one thing, that was kind of insulting to Makenzie, and for another, it would be just his luck that a Bludger was aimed at either her or one of the Aladrens at that very moment and that he’d get it straight to the head if he did something stupid. Instead, he started setting himself up to receive the Quaffle when it was thrown back, ready to start over and try again from the top, though he loathed sitting still in the air even for a moment – the Bludgers, after all, never stopped moving, and while Alistair was the prize to knock out of the air and Daniel was the easy target, Isaac was sure Bennett would still settle for breaking a few of Isaac’s bones instead if that was the only victory available to him.
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<font color="red">Isaac Douglas, Chaser</font>
I certainly hope not.
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<font color="red">Isaac Douglas, Chaser</font>
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<font color="red">Makenzie Newell, Keeper</font>
June 23, 2016 5:09 PM
Hope can get you pretty far. by <font color="red">Makenzie Newell, Keeper</font>
They were coming.Makenzie inhaled sharply, willing herself to stay calm. Despite the cold, her body flooded with warmth, adrenaline pulsing. You can do this, she told herself, though she was hardly convinced of it.
She watched as Jack Spencer cut through the air like a bullet, the sounds of the game quieted by her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Makenzie wasn’t one for violence or wishing pain upon others, but in that moment she found herself heartily wishing one of the Beaters could at least send a Bludger to tail him and make him break course. She didn’t really want to see him get hit, but at least then she wouldn’t have to risk messing up the block. His pass to Louis Valois was subtle, a physical handing of the ball as opposed to tossing, and in fact almost difficult to see. But it was a different blue-clad Chaser who now prepared to shoot.
As she calculated and executed her trajectory at the same time, the world seemed to go in slow motion. The ball was coming--that was for sure--but it moved slowly through the air. Makenzie too moved slowly, lunging to protect the right-most hoop. In this limited perception, it was hard to see if she’d make it in time, so, not expecting to catch it, she did what she could to block it, making herself as big as possible. She spread her arms and kicked out her legs, making her balance on the broom rather precarious but manageable. (She was nothing if not balanced, and flight was no exception. For that she was grateful.)
She stretched her neck in case her head could be of some assistance. To her surprise, it helped; the Quaffle made contact with her right cheek, and in the instance of pain, the world returned to full speed. It dropped into her lap, and she rushed to retract her arms and secure it before it rolled off and plummeted. Now in possession, she glanced around for one of her Chasers. “I got it!” she called out in genuine surprise. Her first save was by no means graceful, and there was a strong possibility of waking up to a bruised face in the morning--she could taste blood now, not exactly from the impact but because it had caused her to bite her tongue--but she had done it.
It was best not to hold onto the Quaffle too long because it made a person a great target for a Beater, so she sent it to a nearby red-wearing player. Of course, she didn’t have great strength and couldn’t throw it very far, but practices would have given them expectation for that. “Take it the other way!” she beamed, her now free hand absentmindedly rubbing out her sore cheek and jaw.
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<font color="red">Makenzie Newell, Keeper</font>
Hope can get you pretty far.
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<font color="red">Makenzie Newell, Keeper</font>
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<font color="blue">Jack Spencer, Chaser</font>
June 24, 2016 5:17 AM
If at first you don't succeed... by <font color="blue">Jack Spencer, Chaser</font>
It was the Quaffle against Newell now. The other Chasers, like he, were anxiously watching to see what would happen. If Makenzi wasn't playing against him right at this second, Jack would've appreciated her features. He thought she was nice to look at, particularly in class when they weren't doing anything interesting, but he'd never spoken to her. In fact, he hadn't really spoken to too many pretty witches at this school, and there were loads of them. But whilst he was intimidated by them in class, he saw the same witches a bit differently on the pitch. Everyone was equal here, and he liked that.The wind felt harsher in the sky, it always did, and one of Jack's eyes was getting a bit foggy. He rubbed his eye trying to clear it, hovering as he was in the air, just as Newell stopped the shot with her face. Her way of blocking was quite unorthodox, but clearly they weren't pulling any stops in this match. It wasn't as though Jack was so proper any way that he cared how Newell had stopped the Quaffle from going in. All that mattered was that she'd blocked it.
Disappointment surged through him and Jack grunted angrily. She was quite good, and he wasn't worried yet. It was only the first attempt of the match, after all. Still, that didn't mean he was allowed to be lazy or take it easy. He shot forward, determined to intercept the pass right away. It would be the perfect opportunity to catch her off-guard, and he hoped it would.
Just as she sent it towards another Chaser, Jack was slightly surprised by the lack of power behind her throw, and, instead of snatching it out of the air and tucking it into his side, he had to fumble for it. The Quaffle bounced about on his fingers before he got a grip on it. His fingers hardly had time to adjust to the leathery ball before he threw it on his way past at the left hoop. His shooting had noticeably improved after his years of practise, but the Quaffle still shook a bit in the air. He blamed it on the breeze.
This time he didn't bother pretending he wasn't waiting to see if Newell would stop this one with her broom or her big toe. Momentum forced him to circle round again, holding onto his broom for dear life, but his eyes stayed glued to the hoops, hoping to be the first to make a goal in this match. In all of his years here, he didn't think he'd ever made a goal yet. The Chasers weren't very strong, not since Francesca had left, and Jack wanted to change that. He didn't want to be the reason why Aladren lost the season.
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<font color="blue">Jack Spencer, Chaser</font>
If at first you don't succeed...
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<font color="blue">Jack Spencer, Chaser</font>
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<font color='red'>Sébastien Évreux, Beater</font>
June 24, 2016 12:19 PM
What, fail again? by <font color='red'>Sébastien Évreux, Beater</font>
Sébastien had, at times, regretted signing up for Quidditch. Their captain, Alistair Johnson, was scarily obsessed with the game, demanding that they put in what seemed to Bastien a disturbing amount of time practising. He didn’t think he’d put so much time into anything in his life previously. Other than his hair, of course.Grumbling at having to get up at a reasonable time at the weekend, Sébastien was reminded of how glad he was that he didn’t share a room with anyone. There were no concerns about being quiet, and he didn’t have to share space. Furthermore, no one got to see his less-than-perfect grumpy morning self! Sébastien didn’t particularly like sharing (unless, of course, he was the one who benefitted) and he prided himself on being perfect, so having a room to himself really was the ideal situation.
The slight breeze on the pitch woke him up more than the caffeine he’d consumed during his large breakfast had, and he finally felt vaguely ready for his first Quidditch game. He might not be the keenest of players, but there was no way he would entertain the thought of losing, especially to a team that included Louis Valois. Sébastien Évreux never lost anything. He gripped his bat tightly as he rose into the air, wishing he had a little (ok, a lot) more bulk but hoping he still looked adequately menacing.
Beater was perhaps a role quite well suited for Bastien. He didn’t have the flying dexterity or the catching and throwing skills needed for chaser or keeper and, as much as he’d like to feel special and be the seeker, he wouldn’t ever be the best player. Not that he’d ever admit that. But despite being small he was fairly strong, and had a fair amount of repressed anger that was well put to use in hitting bludgers at other players as hard as he could.
Bastien let out a huff of anger as the Aladren players approached the Crotalus hoops, not liking the look of the situation. Luckily Mackenzie proved her worth as a keeper. Bastien grinned at the disappointment that Louis Valois was surely feeling as his shot failed, mood having changed instantaneously. Let Valois see what it was like to feel inferior for once.
Alarm shot through Sébastien as an Aladren chaser took possession of the Quaffle once more, seemingly with the intention of scoring. He couldn’t let that happen! Flying towards a nearby bludger he hit it as hard as he could towards the would-be scorer. Unfortunately he was a little late, the Quaffle already having left Jack Spencer’s hand, and Bastien cursed (in French, of course) as the bludger flew towards the hoops. Hopefully it wouldn’t put Mackenzie off saving the shot.
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<font color='red'>Sébastien Évreux, Beater</font>
What, fail again?
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<font color='red'>Sébastien Évreux, Beater</font>
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<font color="red">Makenzie Newell, Keeper</font>
June 24, 2016 4:02 PM
I don't think that's how the saying goes... by <font color="red">Makenzie Newell, Keeper</font>
Merlin, she just couldn’t catch a break today. The sting of success--if it could be called that--was yet to leave her cheek, and here came Jack Spencer, hurling the Quaffle her way. Or not quite her way: at the farthest hoop from her current position. Great.She pulled her broom with all her strength, willing it speedier as she shot toward the left hoop. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied another complication. There was a Bludger hurdling their direction, aimed such that she couldn’t even tell which team had sent it flying. If it was meant for her, Makenzie thought that was pretty rude; it was her first game, after all, and she was a delicate young lady. Wasn’t getting hit in the face with the Quaffle enough?
Apparently not, as the Bludger locked onto her. The redhead panicked and made a sharp turn upward to avoid getting hit, but in doing so, there was no time left to stop the Quaffle. It sailed through its intended hoop without her so much as touching it. Makenzie felt hot embarrassment stall out the cold air as she flew down to retrieve the red orb. Okay, so she was one for two.
She sent the Quaffle toward a Crotalus Chaser, accompanied by a mouthed sorry. Her throw was slightly harder this time, spurred on by a touch of anger at herself, but still nothing of particular remarkability. Please go the other way, she silently pleaded. Get that thing away from me.
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<font color="red">Makenzie Newell, Keeper</font>
I don't think that's how the saying goes...
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<font color="red">Makenzie Newell, Keeper</font>
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