{spintwitches} 20 dollar nosebleed {mason}

Spintwitches wasn't nearly as good as Quality Quidditch Supplies, that much was clear -- especially now that she had to frequent the place. It was really a crying shame she couldn't just apparate to Diagon Alley like some of the older students could on Hogsmeade weekends, but Clem supposed Spintwitches had some cool stuff. They didn't only specialize in Quidditch supplies and so she was able to invest her smallish amounts of money on various strenuous-activity-related things.

Hair ponytailed, baseball cap on her head, a pair of jeans, and a t-shirt were perfect for a Hogsmeade outing. Some of her other friends had decided to head on over to Zonko's joke shop, but Clem was more interested in checking out the new broom stock they'd just gotten in. The Nimbus varieties were flashy enough and she'd have given an arm and a leg just to have one of those -- but she was, naturally, particularly interested in the one broom everyone wanted. It sat in a glass case before her and she ogled, brown eyes skimming over it from the handle to the bristles. The Firebolt. Clementine almost felt entranced -- she found herself zoning out and leaning forward a little to get a closer look, so she made sure to take one step back.

She hadn't been expecting to step on someone's foot in the process. "Oh, um, sorry -- I was ... distracted." The blonde smiled sheepishly, waving at the clearly irritated shop employee who'd been trying to stock some of the shelves, and then reverted to staring at the instrument shortly afterward. It was a pipe dream to even think about it being hers. While she supposed it made more practical sense for a seeker to have a Firebolt, a couple of people on the Gryffindor team had one and if she had a shot at ever being Captain, she didn't want to be stuck with a Cleansweep while her subordinates had better brooms. Besides, a better broom would showcase skill more explicitly.

A heavy sigh escaped her plush lips that jutted out into a pout, and she reached back to tighten her ponytail, noticing someone in the reflection of the glass who looked vaguely familiar. Why did he look familiar? She couldn't place it. The Gryffindor debated turning around and asking about it, but she'd already torked the store employee off once and didn't want to get kicked out.

Had it been any other week, Mason might have just stayed in Diagon Alley and hung out with James. He loved spending time in the bar with his brother, just shooting the shit and enjoying their mutual time off. But it wasn’t just any other week; it was the week leading up to one of the biggest games Portree would be playing this season, which meant his face (as well as the faces of his buddies) would be plastered all over the place. That was fine, for the most part, but it made shopping a living nightmare. Going to lunch with his sister had been  an event in and of itself, one that he didn’t want to repeat. So, Hogsmeade it was. At least here he’d have some peace and quiet… well, relatively speaking.

When it came down to it, Spintwitches wasn’t a horrible store. Sure, it didn’t get as much foot traffic as its competitor in Diagon Alley, but it was… quaint. And when he did visit, the people treated him well. None of the bull that he had to deal with because he was a “celebrity”, which he appreciated. Frankly, he wasn’t sure how his teammates dealt with that aspect of their life every day, but Mason found himself constantly being glad that he wasn’t on one of the super high profile teams. No, Portree was exactly as high profile as he could deal with at the moment, and that was fine with him.

As he pulled his jacket a little tighter around him, Mason wondered if maybe he should stop by Honeydukes before his regular outing to check out the new Quidditch supplies. He opted against it, if only because he knew he’d stop by before heading home anyway. Going to Spintwitches wasn’t exactly necessary, but he liked doing it. Giving the employee a nod as he walked in, Mason spent some time looking around the non-work related stuff. A part of him secretly hoped that Quodpot actually hit it off at some point, if only because it would mean that the gear he’d been hoarding was actually worth something. It’d be really cool even though he knew it’d never happen. At least, it wouldn’t happen soon. Sadly. Ah well.

His thoughts were cut short as one of the few other people in the room spoke up, a stumbled apology drawing his attention. There was a girl eyeing the newest Firebolt on display, and a soft chuckle escaped him as he caught sight of her. It felt like an eternity since he was in that position: staring into the glass longingly at the best and shiniest broom that was on the market. Now he hardly had to pay a dime for his gear, only occasionally having to get replacements or personalization jobs done. Mason gave the broom a once over before letting out a low whistle. “She’s a beauty. Not quite as sleek as the new Nimbus appearance wise, but packs one helluva punch if ya ask me.”

The whistle coming from the guy behind her didn't startle her -- she'd noticed his presence, after all. He was much taller than she was. Broad. Kinda burly. Clem turned on her heel and squinted briefly, trying to sift through all the different names in her head to find his. "You're a Quidditch player, aren't you." It was a statement rather than a question. "P.... ride of Portree." An almost-chubby finger ascended to point at him, then just as quickly as it had come up, retracted to hang at her side again. She didn't want to make a scene. Not that Portree was her favorite team to begin with, but it was always cool to meet people who played it professionally and were much better than she was at the present moment. She was only a third year, after all, and she'd been lucky to have even made the house team.

A gesture to the glass-encased broomstick was made and she shrugged her shoulders, heavy, defeated sigh puffing from her mouth. "I'll have to take your word for it. I've never even been on one. The Nimbus ones are pretty, but... I guess you could say I'm not really the type to care about appearances." She smirked, eyes flicking to the floor for a second in case he was the judgy type -- but she wasn't sensing that from him, not really. "Anyway, it's not like I can afford the thing anyway." Clem's voice rose slightly and she rolled her eyes skeptically, pacing a couple more times to completely face the other person. "I'm only ogling. It's Hogsmeade weekend and I've got nothing better to do," She explained, giving him a once-over one more time.

"I'm Clem, by the way." Her right hand extended in a gesture of greeting, waiting for him to shake it, and when he did, she shoved it into her pocket. "I could buy some new gloves, maybe. Or a bat. I haven't checked how many sickles I've got in my jacket." Good bats that would last a long time were expensive, but a pair of new gloves every few months were nice. It was surprising how fast a pair of those could wear out with strenuous use. "If it wasn't obvious, I'm playing Beater for the Gryffindor team. Everyone's got decent brooms. I've been thinking about asking Mum and Dad for a better one for my birthday, but..." She trailed off, figuring he'd expect as much -- an average middle-class family didn't have money to be throwing around on brooms for their nearly-fourteen year old.

So the kid recognized him. He shoulda figured; she looked like a Quidditch fan, or at least a fan of brooms that were good in matches. Which usually meant a Quidditch fan. “You don’t sound too sure of that. Take it Pride’s not your top team then, huh?” He sized her up, hoping she wouldn’t give him any bull. He knew that his team wasn’t exactly the best, and that there were far more popular teams out there. It would be interesting to see what the girl said, though. Celebrity status made for some fun interactions when he didn’t have to put one on for the camera.

“Never been on a ‘bolt? Blasphemy.” Firebolt was a good brand, a solid one, and last he checked, Hogwarts kept at least a couple of the older models in their closet. Unless… Duh, Mason. Of course they’d swapped them out by now. Hopefully Hooch hadn’t totally restocked and some of the older students were just hogging the good brooms. “I mean, Nimbus has its place. Good seeker broom if you get the right one. Actually a pretty decent Chaser broom too; the handling on it’s smooth. Looks can be quite deceiving.” He grinned at her comment; not caring about appearances was something he knew well. It fell slightly as she mentioned not having the money. That was lame; first the old school seems to get rid of the best part of not having your own broom to use, then she doesn’t even have enough to get a different awesome broom? Lame.

“Mason,” he replied, shaking the extended hand. “Beater, huh? Good position.” If he did say so himself. Which he did. Glove replacements could get pricy, though. As were bats. Really anything that involved the position really; beaters tended to cycle through gear faster than anyone else. If she was using her own money to get gear instead of just using the school stuff, she was serious. And if she was on the Gryffindor team… He motioned for one of the employees to make his way over before turning back to Clem. “Well, Lions gotta stick together, am I right? Tell the man what you want.” He grinned and stood back, giving it a moment to sink in before adding, “anything in the shop.”

"I think right now I'm more interested in actually watching the game and learning from it than buying into specific teams and paraphernalia and -- well, politics -- right now, but I've got no problem with your team. No qualms or anything. I like watching you play." She commented, responding to his question in as diplomatic a way she felt appropriate. Clem wasn't being dishonest; it was true that she didn't have a particularly favorite team at the moment. It bounced back and forth depending on who played the best and which teams had the players she liked most. An aspiring professional player herself, the Gryffindor felt it was important to pay attention to the real factors instead of bias that came from blind loyalty, heritage, or whatever else. Underdog supporters were huge in the Quidditch community -- take all of the fans of the Chudley Cannons, for example. Grim.

"I like to watch anyone better than me play, honestly. Good learning experience. Unless they're on another house team. That's ... difficult to bear with any shred of an ego I might have." That brought a smirk to her lips and her chocolate-brown eyes flitted across his face one more time, pausing in her verbage to gauge his reaction. The little blonde listened for a minute, paying attention to each thing he said. Strangely enough, she didn't feel like her heart was seizing talking to a famous Quidditch player -- it actually felt pretty normal. Kind of like he was someone she'd known for awhile, or a mentor that didn't get too ... teacher-y.

Her hand retreated into her pocket after the shake and she shrugged with one arm, rolling her eyes almost instinctively. "Yeah, well, wouldn't it be great to love playing a position that actually scores? I need a fast broom, one that'll get me from place to place, you know? Handling's not the most important. I can bring it to a halt quick enough if I need to. Beater's the perfect balance of offense and defense, though. Wouldn't trade that for anything." She sighed wistfully, niggling thought in the back of her consciousness choosing to point out that she'd already sighed several times in his presence. Clem didn't want to seem like a whiny brat. She just... had dreams, that was all. "It's nice to meetcha, Mason." She finished quickly, offering a genuine, soft smile to him.

Clementine's eyes had widened into shiny orbs before she'd truly had a chance to register what he'd said. Her jaw dropped a little bit and then immediately closed again, tiny clack inside her mouth sending a dull pain into her molars. Ow. Shock could do that to a person, she supposed. "Um ----" She shook her head, hands gesturing in front of her in aimless motions, and laughed in disbelief, finally making eye contact with Mason. "No way. You've got to be shitting -- I mean, joking me."