[pd] whiskey tango [manon]

They really were clever, weren’t they, re-mounting the Pegasus Derby as soon as the traumatic humiliation of the previous one had had a few years to wear off? She’d received the news and almost fancied riding a gigantic winged horse again.

Even if she hadn’t, Manon was finally Mousquetaire and felt she had an obligation to participate in school events. This was much more of a burden than it would have been a few years ago. In the tail end of her cohort’s teenagerhood anything Beauxbatons did for their students had become woefully uncool, but now Manon was obliged to help facilitate it all which made her woefully uncool by proxy. Leadership was nothing but making oneself uncool, she was learning. She was glad she was learning it now. All her years of being an opinionated busybody, she might have thought herself suitable for a career in government. Thank god she’d discovered she didn’t have the spine.

She’d submitted her name and steeled herself for the worst. This time she was assigned an Abraxan. That alone felt like a good omen—nothing to get burned on, no talons or haughtiness, visible. He seemed nice enough when she went down to introduce herself. His name was Foxtrot, which she hoped was after a notable dexterity in his footwork and not irony.

Her last horse Cupcake got some apple slices too. No hard feelings.

In between the derbies Manon had become much closer with @Adèle Appel, a real horse girl who owned one and everything. This helped significantly. Adèle’s pony was, of course, at most half the size of Foxtrot, but aside from looking out for the wings, the principles were similar. Aside from technique, Adèle’s advice had a lot to offer in terms of cheerfulness and pressure relief. No disrespect to @Elisabeth Sturm but Manon generally found quidditch people’s competitiveness much more harm than help.

She rode up to the starting line, swaying astride Foxtrot’s giant back, and tried to channel the cheerfulness of her last ride. The first fence rhythmically rose and fell. This was familiar. She squeezed in with her heels as the jump began its downswing and hoped Foxtrot would, unlike good old Cupcake, jump.

Rolled 1d6 : 3, total 3

She’d practiced jumps for days until the sun set over the grounds, but it felt different when Foxtrot leapt over the fence this time. Manon opened her mouth in jubilant surprise as soon as she felt them lift off the ground. “Yes!” The triumphant moment they hung in the air was as magic as any she’d learned here.

Some kind of impact made her jolt awkwardly in the saddle before Foxtrot’s hooves hit the ground, but she didn’t dare turn around to see if any of the fence had been knocked loose. It didn’t matter—she’d gotten over! The thought had Manon almost ready to let the rest of the course be a disaster. But only almost. If she could keep Foxtrot on the right track, it had to be done.

They were approaching the cliff at an even pace. Manon adjusted her seat and squinted into the sunlight. The first ring looked low—hopefully Foxtrot would have enough distance to coast down from his takeoff.

Rolled 1d6 : 5, total 5

Flying was far different that that suspended moment of a jump. Like the top of a wingbeat’s arc, maybe, but the impending jolt of impact made it all feel much more solid and natural. Manon had never taken to flying on brooms, even. Many of her fellow Muggleborns had jumped at the chance to fulfill a childhood dream, but she hadn’t ever dreamed about leaving the ground. That first carriage ride to school she’d had to fight the urge to close her eyes.

She’d practiced this too, but hoped she was still calm enough on Foxtrot’s back that he wouldn’t freak out. And he didn’t! He seemed to understand the goal even without her careful direction, or just didn’t seem bothered about it—Manon didn’t know that she could tell the difference. They soared through each hoop, his outstretched wings brushing the sides. She smoothed a hand down his neck in appreciation.

Was he getting tired? Manon hoped not. This was longer than they’d flown together so far, and there was still the last series of obstacles to go.

Rolled 1d6 : 5, total 5

Foxtrot would have to take on a bit more of this last part himself. Manon couldn’t reasonably tell him where to go as well as hit moving targets. Surely no one was expecting the students of Beauxbatons to be cavalry trained. Had there ever been flying soldiers on Abraxan-back? No, Manon, focus.

Thankfully Foxtrot seemed pretty good at avoiding threats with his own good sense. He even dodged a stray lightning bolt while Manon was busy flame-freezing the little dragon’s breath and her scream faded into triumphant laughter.

Realistically Manon knew that this was a dumb school event and meant nothing about anything, but as Foxtrot dove beneath the last cloud of chattering pixies and alit on the landing green, she was beside herself with glee. The onlookers were applauding—and not even politely!

She jumped up and tried to throw her arms around Foxtrot’s huge neck. Didn’t work, she wasn’t tall enough, hopefully nobody saw that, but she got a good rub in on the way down. “Good job!” she said to him excitedly. “Really well done!” What did you say to horses? “Good boy!”

In another display of the excellent intuition he’d displayed all course, he lowered his soft nose to within her reach.