[May MP] Challenge gravity - Artistic flying competition for beginners (open)

Sunday, 30th May 2004

The artistic flying showcase on the previous day had been very fascinating to watch. Sevastyan was really proud to have such great athletes at his school. Today was the day for the beginners to show what they had been able to learn within just a few months time. The club had only been started in September and with the usually busy schedule at Durmstrang the students who had shown interest in the sport had had only a limited amount of time to work on their skills. Nobody expected them to have reached a level of skill that could compare to the professional athletes, nonetheless Sevastyan was excited to see how much the beginners could already do.

While the weather the previous day had been picture perfect, today it was remarkably cooler and there were dark clouds over Durmstrang. So far it was still dry and Sevastyan hoped for the performers’ sake that it would remain like that. However, it was windy and he wondered if that would affect the competition.

To judge the competition Sevastyan had invited no one less than the reigning senior World and European champion @Aglaya Tikhomirova. He made a mental note to have a chat with her about whether or not these weather conditions were problematic or not. Now wasn’t the time for that, though as students and staff members took their seats already.

“Good afternoon and welcome to the first artistic flying competition at Durmstrang. I’m delighted to introduce you to our lovely judge, Aglaya Antonovna Tikhomirova, a multiple time champion in this sport.” The red haired woman next to him got to her feet and bowed to the crowd then Sevastyan went on talking. “She will watch all the performances and judge the technical merit and execution of the elements. I hope our beginners are well prepared and able to show all that they’ve learned in the past months. I wish you all good luck!”

He sat down and watched as a first student walked onto the pitch, carrying one of the brooms that the artistic flying school in Rybinsk had donated to Durmstrang for the club.

'Be approachable and don't forget to smile.'
'Remember that this is an important advertisement for our school.'
'Be careful when you judge these students. They are absolute beginners. Don't discourage them.'
’You are there as a representative of the artistic flying school. You have to be professional. Pull yourself together.’

Aglaya had listened to these and many more comments of this kind. She already knew all of this of course and yet, hearing it all over again just added pressure. She already felt awkward enough without her relatives voicing their expectations and concerns. The once so confident athlete didn’t feel so strong anymore. She was insecure, stressed, and dreaded the attention she might get. Her mother told her that it would probably not be so bad as the students were likely more focused on themselves but that didn’t really reassure her.

The professional athletes, most of them her cousins, had been performing in a showcase the previous day. The absolute beginners were competing against each other today and that was where she came in -  she was supposed to judge their performances. Surely they’d be curious about her and the scores she’d give them. While Aglaya had worked with younger athletes over the years, had given them advice and supervised their training occasionally, she had never before acted as a judge. She tried to tell herself that judging the students was better than having to perform in front of them.

Somehow the artistic flying champion was relieved that Durmstrang had moved to a different location since her own student days. While Aglaya had been a good student, she had no good memories of her school time. Artistic flying hadn't been a popular sport, barely anyone had known it then and she had been an outsider. She remembered quite well that she had slept in the common room sometimes because she didn't want to disturb her dormmates who always reacted badly to her sneaking back into the dormitory late at night.

Aglaya apparated to Döttrar Vik, dressed in black trousers, an olive green sweater, a black leather jacket and high heels. Her wavy red hair was falling down her shoulders. She had taken some time to apply makeup in case photos would be taken. She was in the company of both her bodyguards who she hoped wouldn't attract unwanted attention. With Branimir she felt sure that he'd stay in the background. Ivo, however, was often overly eager and made her feel uncomfortable when he made a scene out of checking people. It was bad enough to be running around with bodyguards as it was and she clearly wished that there'd come a time when there wouldn't be the need for it.

As she reached the Quidditch pitch she immediately spotted the sign that read ‘Judge’. On her way to her seat, a few underclassmen approached her, asking her for autographs and Aglaya obliged, smiling down at them. She was still wearing the mask of a smile as she took her seat and looked around. The stadium filled with students and the headmaster introduced her and announced that the competition would begin now. As her name had been mentioned, Aglaya stood up and bowed to the crowd. Then, fortunately, the attention shifted to the student who was opening the competition.

To say that Stasya was nervous did not cover at all the extent of how fearful the girl felt. The artistic flying broom felt heavy on her shoulder as she carried it into the arena. She was sure that all eyes were on her and, truth be told, she felt that she’d rather be sitting in the audience now than be out here alone, being the only person people would look at.

She couldn’t swallow because her mouth was too dry. Her heart was racing, her legs and hands shaking and she could tell that she was looking about as scared as she felt. The girl took a deep breath. She wasn’t ready. She had been told that she had a minute to start her routine but she felt certain that she would never be really ready to start.

Recalling the headmaster’s words, Stasya felt even more under pressure now. Apparently he expected them to have learned a lot in this brief time. Stasya had tried her best to train some moves but compared to what they all had seen during the showcase the previous day she could do literally nothing on a broom at all. Besides, with her black leggins and pink t-shirt she did not even look like an artistic flyer. They all had fancy catsuits to wear, she only had simple muggle training clothes.

It did not help her confidence to know that the multiple time World and European champion Aglaya Antonovna was in the audience and was not only watching but actually judging her performance. Stasya didn’t dare to look at the crowd now, knowing that she’d be even more fearful then. She closed her eyes briefly, took another deep breath and decided that she was as ready now as she’d ever be.

Stasya mounted the broom - which was a school broom, one that had been donated to Durmstrang by the Tikhomirov family - and glanced upwards at the sky. She hoped that it wouldn’t start raining. The wind was already challenging enough for her as an inexperienced athlete.

The girl sped up, both feet safely on the platforms of the artistic flying broom. Zinaida had helped her to set up a routine that wasn’t too challenging - she’d either fly patterns or make easy moves on the broom while flying a straight line. The first element was a pattern with some - at least for Stasya - sharp turns. She almost fell off at the very beginning but as she went on, she felt a little more confident and did better.

Then she started her straight line sequence with a series of little jumps (she barely gained any height at those but was very relieved that her feet safely found the platforms again after every jump) and then she leaned forward, lifting her left foot off the broom and stretching her leg out so it was parallel to the broom. She hated this part most of all. Having just one foot on the broom for a few seconds felt really dangerous to her, more dangerous than the tiny little jumps she had done before. Especially now that the wind was affecting her performance. She found it hard to control her broom so that it didn’t drift off too much to the side. After holding her position with her leg outstretched for a while, she had counted to ten in the meantime, Stasya was relieved when her second foot found the platform again and she was close to the end of her performance. Just two more elements were left, a little spin - surely Zina had recommended doing this one towards the end of her performance in case that she’d slip off the footrest again whilst trying to pull the broom into a vertical position. Although there was little elegance to her attempt of a spin she at least managed two and a half turns before she pushed the broom handle down again and climbed (a little awkwardly) back onto the platforms to end her performance with her fastest element - soft serpentines. Now all that was left for her was to land and bow to the audience.

She felt sweaty, shaky, but also relieved and exhilarated when she had firm ground below her feet again. Sure, this was nothing compared to what the professional athletes did but she hadn’t fallen off the broom, she had done all the elements she had planned although not as fast and elegant as she would have liked. She hoped that it had looked alright but as she heard no laughter from the stands but applause she figured it must have been alright.

For once, it was an artistic flying competition and Nikon was sitting in the stands. He kicked his feet up on the railing between the seats and the compartment walkway, and leaned back. He peeked at his former roommate and current flame sitting beside him, Rodion Shishkin, and back at the pitch. “You think these amateurs are going to be any good, or will this be a snoozefest?” He wondered aloud, stretching his arms out behind his head and peeking down at the nervous-looking girls on the pitch. Weren’t there any boys? Boys think this wasn’t good enough for them, or something? Or maybe they just knew they couldn’t compete with someone like Nikon in skill or talent, so they didn’t try. 
 
He cleared his throat as the competition started, watching a few minor mistakes and cringing internally. Was he ever this bad? They were clearly trying, at least, which was the best they could do. He had to have a little compassion—this was their first year doing this. They were hobbyists. They were interested, but not serious. He had to give them a little slack, but it was hard for him to watch people butcher his sport as a “hobby.” It was more than a hobby for Nikon. He had given up so much for his sport. 
 
In between sets, he reached over to Rodion and gently let their hands touch. Nothing overt. Nothing lewd. Just a soft, casual touch to the hand to show the other he was thinking of him. At least there was this—no classes, and a chance to be near the man who owned his heart—no matter how stubborn Rodion was trying to be about it.

Iroda looked skeptically down at the girls as they came onto the pitch. She was irritated a bit by their very existence. What was the point of this at all, none of them would really ever “make it” in the sport, so why bother. The idea of her sport as a hobby rubbed her the wrong way. She felt the spotlight was wasted on them, plus they weren’t very good now were they. She was impressed by some of them, their artistic vision, like hers, better than their technical prowess. Some had some potential—had they been recruited younger, perhaps, they might have been halfway decent. 
 
She peeked over at Zhenya, jealously watching her for longer than she meant to. She hated that girl, truly, at least she thought that was what her obsession was. Hatred. She couldn’t stop thinking about her. Thinking of besting her, beating her, winning, embarrassing her and impressing her alike. Every thought revolved around the Drakonya Krov to the point where it was, doubtlessly, an obsession of Iroda’s. She didn’t see it like that, though. She really didn’t think too much on the nature of her feelings, too consumed by them to care. 
 
She looked around the stands, noticing Nikon’s hand brush casually against Rodion’s, and it struck her as odd for some reason. Didn’t those boys hate each other, too? Or was there more to it….