Post by Ezra J. Winchester on Jan 7, 2017 12:13:22 GMT -5
The Quidditch Pitch. Ezra Winchesters little patch of bliss. She'd been a Beater since Hogwarts and she was a Beater here too. The game was simply in her blood. There was nothing that compared to the thrill of feeling the wind biting at her cheeks, and the crack of her bat against a bludger. The way the wind whistled as she would dive and flip through the air on her broom.
In the air, her clumsiness was on existent. Her placement in the 'smart houses' always made a little more sense to her on the field, because while she bumbled with some points of Academia (namely potions), when it came to Quidditch, she could calculate and analyze the situation at the stop of a dime. She was always three moves ahead in her mind, and each move, each turn and hit, all as graceful and fluid as a long choreographed dance.
As she popped in her headphones and turned the music up on full blast she took to the air like a shot. The wind whipped past her as the tip of her broom cut through it like a sharpened blade. Up there, nothing could touch her, not worry, not care, not a damned thing. As the world outside the Pitch faded to the background, drowned away in the adrenaline and the music in her ears, she soared, shooting skyward before flipping backward and spiraling back down toward the earth like a corkscrew. With each heartbeat, the ground grew closer, a cheshire cat smile spreading across her face as she pulled upward at the last minute to parallel herself with the ground, the tips of her boots grazing the blades of grass.
And off she went again, skimming the grass as she pulled her bat from the loop on her hip, slowing just enough to hit the latch on the chest for the balls, and release a bludger.
The angry little ball burst from its spot in the chest with a vengeance, taking off like a thing possessed. But it could only go so far, as the Pitch at Beauregard was charmed to keep the balls within the confines of the Pitch when there wasn't a match to prevent bystander injury and losing the equipment. However, there was no limit sky ward, only to the lefts and rights. The closed quarters keeping anyone walking by safe from being taken out by the vicious ball, but making solo practices a lot more challenging. Especially for Beaters. Confined to a close quarters with a ball that aimed to wail on you was like locking yourself in a room with a pissed off boxer, and nothing thrilled her more.
As the bludger came screeching toward her she grinned, taking it head on before she brought her arm in and whipping her bat out at the ball, sending it careening in the sky on a Bludger Backbeat. The hit vibrated through her arm even after the ball had taken off, and she spun the bat in hand with a smirk, not waiting for it to return or to even spot the ball before she took off through the air once more.
In the air, her clumsiness was on existent. Her placement in the 'smart houses' always made a little more sense to her on the field, because while she bumbled with some points of Academia (namely potions), when it came to Quidditch, she could calculate and analyze the situation at the stop of a dime. She was always three moves ahead in her mind, and each move, each turn and hit, all as graceful and fluid as a long choreographed dance.
As she popped in her headphones and turned the music up on full blast she took to the air like a shot. The wind whipped past her as the tip of her broom cut through it like a sharpened blade. Up there, nothing could touch her, not worry, not care, not a damned thing. As the world outside the Pitch faded to the background, drowned away in the adrenaline and the music in her ears, she soared, shooting skyward before flipping backward and spiraling back down toward the earth like a corkscrew. With each heartbeat, the ground grew closer, a cheshire cat smile spreading across her face as she pulled upward at the last minute to parallel herself with the ground, the tips of her boots grazing the blades of grass.
And off she went again, skimming the grass as she pulled her bat from the loop on her hip, slowing just enough to hit the latch on the chest for the balls, and release a bludger.
The angry little ball burst from its spot in the chest with a vengeance, taking off like a thing possessed. But it could only go so far, as the Pitch at Beauregard was charmed to keep the balls within the confines of the Pitch when there wasn't a match to prevent bystander injury and losing the equipment. However, there was no limit sky ward, only to the lefts and rights. The closed quarters keeping anyone walking by safe from being taken out by the vicious ball, but making solo practices a lot more challenging. Especially for Beaters. Confined to a close quarters with a ball that aimed to wail on you was like locking yourself in a room with a pissed off boxer, and nothing thrilled her more.
As the bludger came screeching toward her she grinned, taking it head on before she brought her arm in and whipping her bat out at the ball, sending it careening in the sky on a Bludger Backbeat. The hit vibrated through her arm even after the ball had taken off, and she spun the bat in hand with a smirk, not waiting for it to return or to even spot the ball before she took off through the air once more.
