[Hartfield Quid Pitch] Pitch Perfect

There was a charge in the air, some crackling buzz of energy that fed an extra pep in people’s steps, a shot of mirth in their voices, and boost of cheer in an otherwise tense-filled year. Months of unrest coming from the Rompo controversy created a yearning for peace, and the holiday season heightened that desire. For many, those wishes came true with the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.
While the championship wouldn’t take place until the summer, wizards and witches were already aligning themselves to the teams that made it to the playoffs, while others were still nursing their pride after their national team failed to qualify. Behind the scenes, many preparations were underway to ensure the success of the games, from logistical concerns in housing the games and surrounding campgrounds, to creating the necessary hype to increase sales and attendance.

One such endeavour came in the form of friendly exhibition matches leading up to the games. Meant to be lighthearted displays of showmanship, the proceeds from the games were also to be given to various magical charity groups. The first of such matches timed itself well with December’s holiday festivities, and there seemed to be quite some interest in this first game. A number of professional Quidditch players had agreed to participate, mostly players who did not make their national team or had not made it to the World Cup playoffs. A post-season friendly was a good diversion from their losses.
While various Ministries were involved in overseeing these matches, the British Ministry counted itself lucky that its participation was mostly nominal. Much of the actual work was done by the Hartridge family, who had gone so far as offering one of their Quidditch pitches for the game and doing nearly all the promotional work needed to ensure its success.

And so here they were, the fruits of their labours finally ready for the picking. It was a chilly, but clear day, with only a slight wind. It was as favourable a condition as one could hope for in winter. The main match was still a few hours away, but people had already filled the stands, eagerly looking at the pitch. Just a half hour before, a raffle had been done for those who paid a little extra to see the game, and various attendees were called down to play a game with several fantastic pros. The chance to relive their school glory days as Quidditch players, or the chance to go toe to toe with these great players made for the strong draw of attendants. 

Better yet, those called to play were handed the most recent update of the Firebolts, an opportunity very few witches and wizards could hope to experience. Hopefully being able to play on some of the best brooms available would offset the great disparity in skillsets. Aside from the professional players, those who won the draw ranged from former school captains to simple fans of the game who hadn't touched a broom in years. Each team was given a brief time to introduce themselves, change into team robes, and rush some type of strategy before being called onto the pitch.

As the teams entered, a great roaring filled the air like a wave. A brief reminder of the rules, and the game commenced between the rag-tag team of The Spiny Lumpsuckers against the Pink Fairy Armadillos.


OOC: Team 2:  The Pink Fairy Armadillos will post first! For the sake of convenience, your 72 hours will begin at either Saturday, at midnight EST or whenever your first player posts, whichever occurs first <333333

Just tagging the drivers: @Kita @Jenny @Freya Trickett @Tori @Gage @Ariana Laurier @Tye @Emily @Sophie @Toya @Olivia @Lena

“I am going to kill you”

An irate Tristan Ross hissed heatedly at a grinning Ether Vandross. The handsome Wardmaster’s smug expression only served to exacerbate the annoyance felt by the bartender. “We will be having words after this” he warned, as the announcer called out the name of the next person ‘lucky enough’ to win an opportunity to play in the warm up match. The reason for the Scotsman’s behaviour was simple. He hadn’t entered his name into the draw. Tristan hadn’t played Quidditch in years, and he had no desire to publicly humiliate himself. Therefore, he assumed Ether had done so during his earlier ‘toilet’ break. “Jerk” he murmured in a somewhat calmer and more teasing tone before making his way to the field to meet the other players. Tristan tugged at the collar of his shirt nervously while ignoring the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. What if he was terrible?

…

Twenty minutes later the two teams emerged on to the field. Third to the right stood Tristan who made for quite the sight in his bright pink robes, which had an Armadilo emblazoned across the chest. The former Auror had managed to regain his composure, albeit after pacing the changing room for several minutes and exhaling deep breathes. You can do this man he mentally encouraged as the referee went through the standard pre match preliminaries. You’ve survived years as an Auror and then Azkaban. You can survive this! With that thought he managed to somewhat sooth his nerves. He’d been through worse.

At the referee’s whistle Tristan began his ascent into the air. His movements were slow, hesitant, reflecting the Scotsman’s need to reacquaint himself with the somewhat awkward feeling of a broom between his legs. However, after several minutes the thirty five year old managed to regain some of the former skill he possessed. While his movements lacked the elegance of the professionals on the field, he no longer looked like he was about to fall off any moment. Pale blue eyes scanned the field before locking on a target.

With a surprising burst of speed the bartender succeeded in intercepting a pass between members of the opposing team and laid his hands on the Quaffle for the first time. The sudden roar of the crowd below filled him with a warm feeling and a certain pleasure. Tristan could definitely see why some people chose to do this for a living. There was something intoxicating about knowing that something he did had warranted such a response from many. Now he just had to make sure he didn’t mess up. The brunette turned his broom and began in the direction of The Spiny Lumpsuckers’ goal post.

It was then he caught sight of a large black ball headed in his direction from the corner of his eye. Tristan had just enough time to throw the Quaffle in the general direction of a fellow Chaser before veering course in order to avoid the bludger. He wished he had the skill to aim more precisely, but alas he'd just have to rely on his team mate making up for his lack of skill. The brunette had done his part. He just hoped his team mates could take it from there and earn them the first goal of the match! How amazing would that be? He thought excitedly, his nerves washed away by the thrill of the game. 
   
@Alicia Spinnet @Zacharias Smith

This had been a truly godawful idea. Really terrible. Zach had known that from the start, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself, obviously, because when had he ever? It was @Ariana Laurier’s idea. He hadn’t ignored her offer to attend a quidditch match the way he had @Elias Dörfler’s from months ago, because he was more… He couldn’t say comfortable with her, but definitely more attached to her in some stupid kind of way. It was her idea that they enter the drawing for the warmup match too. Just for a laugh, just because they’d both played in school. Zach had snorted, of course, because he hadn’t flown since he lived at home. But he’d put his name down with hers anyway. What were the chances, really?

It hadn’t occurred to him somehow that he might get in while she wouldn’t. But of course, of course, he had, and now he was on a regulation Quidditch Pitch for the first time since school, dressed in shocking pink along with an assortment of people that made him nervous. He’d been expecting a bunch of out-of-practice schlubs like him but this was an unsettling assortment of professionals, Ministry higher-ups, and people who’d disliked him in school. Zach wasn’t keen on being the weak link. It was evident from the mascots alone that no one was meant to take this seriously, but Zacharias took public humiliation very, very seriously whatever the context. The Firebolt was a bit of a consolation, at least. He’d never flown one, and as he rose into the air with the rest of the players he could feel the difference and it made him want to do a few loops just for fun. But he wasn’t here for that. He was here to not be as big a screwup as at least one other player and hope that @Chantal Garnier, the pink team’s pretty French seeker, could manage to feint @Jonathan Emerson into a goalpost.

The blue team grabbed the quaffle at the outset. Zach’s plan to not be rubbish was not starting well. He flew toward the action, unused to the hyperawareness that quidditch required. There were too many brooms and balls and bodies to keep track of and he could feel his anxiety start to rise. Not to mention there was a feeling in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t put it past his own team to screw with him. (He’d successfully managed to avoid @George Weasley for several years now and wasn’t pleased that this was how they had to reunite.)

His team’s older chaser got between a pass before he could. As @Tristan Ross hurtled up the field, Zach followed beside him a little lower on the right, making sure to stay open. This he could do. Shortly before they reached the hoops, Ross flung the quaffle to his side. Zach swooped to get under it. He fumbled the catch, but was able to drop a few feet to get a solid hand on the ball without trouble. Everything was going to converge on him now. Hoping his aim was still on point and the blue keeper’s coordination wasn’t, Zach hurled the quaffle across toward the left goal hoop.

@Kendrick Silverman

"OY!" Kendrick mouthed in big, exaggerated motions, spreading his arms wide to grab the attention of his quasi-doppelganger as first his, then @Jonathan Emerson's name was called for the Spiny Lumpsuckers. "Did you rig this thing?" The thirty-year-old hadn't expected to be called down to the pitch, given the sheer number of people who had put their name in the raffle. After all, Kendrick hadn't played much serious Quidditch in years. While he'd played Keeper for Gryffindor, after graduation his play had mostly been limited to a few pickup games with work friends or old school mates, other than the two years, still eight or so years ago, where he'd decided to play on a local league. In between the war, the plague, the wedding, the house decoration, and @Jocasta Silverman's promotion, Quidditch, being a demanding sport requiring a considerable number of players, had fallen down the list of his preferred forms of exercise in favor of more flexible activities. He'd tossed his name in the raffle for fun, though. Somewhere inside Kendrick was still a sixteen-year-old boy trying to relive his glory days under Captain @Fflur Blevins.

Consequently, here he was, dressed in some ostentatious (thankfully not hot pink) robes and holding a broom that was probably worth as much as the mortgage on their house. He squinted at his wife, shooting a cheeky grin and a thumbs up in her direction. The former Gryffindor was surprisingly not concerned about making a fool of himself in front of half of Wizarding Britain; confidence was never really something he had lacked, and while his team seemed decently competent (though both teams were oddly staffed with a considerable number of Ministry faces) he felt much less pressure to win than he had playing for Gryffindor. Maybe if Jon had been on the other team he'd have been motivated to rub a win in his friend's face, but as it was, he contented himself with imagining pointing out to their work friends that their team was surely doomed with him as Seeker.

Kendrick took off and hovered around the goalposts, looking down and trying not to feel too dizzy. Merlin, it really had been a long time since he was up this high. His broom was ultrasensitive and ultrapowerful, but there was only so much movement he was allowed to do when the other team had the Quaffle. Ken resisted the urge to zoom around in figure eights and watched as a former Auror he recognized and someone who vaguely registered as an IMC employee hurtled toward him.

His Keeper instincts had been honed by many years on the Gryffindor reserve or main team; Kendrick instinctively remembered how to read body language and anticipate the direction of the coming shot. Watching the young blond-haired man raise his arm with the Quaffle, Kendrick leaned to his right, as his body remembered, to block the shot, palm outstretched. Unfortunately, the former Gryffindor had completely forgotten, in that moment of autopilot, that this broom was not, in fact, the old Cleansweep Five he'd used thirteen years ago. He suddenly found himself zooming at a breakneck speed toward the stands, catching a glimpse of @Percival Ignatius Weasley just as he pulled himself together and carved out a U-turn, the Quaffle long since having flown through the hoop. "Broom technology's really come far, huh," he yelled to no one in particular, laughing to himself at what his face must have looked like to some of the Omnioculars that might have been pointed at him.

Diving down to scoop up the Quaffle before it hit the ground, Kendrick zoomed back up to play level and lobbed it at the nearest blue-robed Chaser, noting that the trajectory seemed a little high, curving unnecessarily. Fflur would have be disappointed at the lackluster quality of the pass, but he just hoped it wouldn't fall short of reaching them.

@Freya Trickett @Finn McKenzie @Frida Trickett