what comes before the fall
by leo noxley
date: jan 17 2026
time: late morning
Not many students cared to wander the crystalized training grounds on a Saturday morning, but Geneva Bishop was resolute. Bundled in as many layers as she could manage, the young Slytherin lugged a school broom through the snow to the training pitch. She would much rather have been curled up before the common room hearth, or stretching at the barre, but this needed to be done. Although Geneva wasn't terrible on a broom, but she certainly didn't have the skill of some of her classmates, nor was she really good enough for the team. So even if she had to surrender her weekend to the cold, she was determined to improve.
She wished she could blame her Quidditch mediocrity on her parentage, but the sad fact was that many of the school’s most talented players were Muggle-born as well. No, this was a personal shortcoming, and a very frustrating one. Geneva was used to things coming easily. As a dancer, she was no stranger to hard work, but she’d never had trouble staying on top. It was unbearable, and her resolve was fiery enough to spur her into the frozen grounds.
Finally, she reached the pitch. A few other students were scattered across it, practicing, but not many. Now was as good a time as any to begin. Placing her broom on the ground, as her flying professor had instructed them, Geneva reached out her hand. In as commanding a tone as she could muster, she cried “up!”
The broom remained defiantly on the ground.
Suppressing a groan, Geneva tried again. No luck. After three unsuccessful attempts, her voice was laced with desperation. Finally, the broom flew into her hand. She had a sudden urge to snap the stick in half, but resisted as she mounted. Summoning the broomstick had always been a bit difficult, but no matter. It was hardly the most important part of the job- that would be the actual flying.
With a deep breath, Geneva kicked off from the ground. To her relief, the broom shot upwards without any complaints, and soon she was high above the pitch. While the first year had never suffered from a fear of heights, it was somewhat daunting to be several stories above the ground supported only by a magical stick of wood. Without anyone below to catch her, it was best to stay near the ground.
Geneva ran through a mental checklist based on Professor Weems' instructions. Stay centered- don't lean side to side. Keep a firm grip on the shaft. Wear thinner clothing to avoid air resistance- well, she wasn't quite following that one, but it couldn't be helped. That was all Geneva could remember, and since everything seemed to be in order, she began her flight around the pitch.
Her mittened hands were already shaking in the cold, and the addition of an icy wind did nothing to help. Geneva felt her grip slacking and leaned forward against her broom, desperate to become less of a target for the wind. Perhaps it was the lack of control with her hands, or her off-balance weight on the broom, but in a moment Geneva felt the world somersault around her before stopping painfully in the hard-packed snow.
Geneva's lungs had been flattened to the size of a snitch, and for several moments she stared at the sky, ears ringing, as she drowned. Then, slowly, her lungs released, and she gulped desperately for air. A few yards away, her traitorous broom was setting down on the snow like nothing had happened. Thankfully she hadn't been too far up when she fell- only a few feet- but she could still feel bruises blooming along her back and side. Forcing herself up, she went to recover the broom. If anyone had seen that episode, digging a grave in the snow would not save her from her mortification.
@Livia Machavariani
The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination.
- Albert Einstein
what comes before the fall
date: 17th january 2026
time: late morning
location: quidditch training pitch
roleplaying as livia machavariani
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
Although Livia's tenure as Quidditch captain for Slytherin had ended, curiosity and intrigue still led her, like an obedient spaniel on a leash, to the training pitch. With the weight of strategic responsibility lifted from her shoulders, she had discovered a new ability: that it was possible to view the space as a map, not a battleground, and that one could envision new possibilities not entirely reliant on Quidditch formations.
That, and the fact that, early in the morning, the pitch sat deserted like a grassy wasteland. If she did not arrive with the intention of intrigued observance, and if the unpredictable weather would permit, she would instead carry a few books within her leather bag, alongside her finely polished Silver Arrow in her hand.
Today, Livia had left the dormitories with a book on the flora of northern Scotland. A far smaller manuscript with delicate embroidery on its cover accompanied it in a small pocket in Livia's bag. She layered – fine brown trousers, a pressed white button-up, an emerald-green jumper, a long overcoat, a brown scarf – and finished off the outfit with her favourite boots. Inside the castle, the small heel made her feel far too noticeable; outside, though, she could almost imagine she was an explorer of olden times, traversing the wilderness.
As her steps slowed, the pitch coming into view, a not quite welcoming sight greeted her. Someone had arrived before her. Livia's free hand rested atop her bag, almost a protective gesture, while her other tightened against the shaft of her broom. She then turned her attention to the student in the air. She struggled to discern who it might be; however, such an endeavour was unnecessary, as the student quickly toppled off of their broom. Livia maintained a neutral expression despite her base instinct being to curl her lips upwards in amusement. Despite her wish for neutrality, though, she was unable to staunch her desire to move closer.
Clipped steps brought her closer to the girl, who, with this closer glance, appeared smaller than her. Her identity, however, was difficult to distinguish with how she was bundled up against the cold. Livia stopped about two metres away from the girl, her grip on her broom still as rigid as her posture. She did not lower her chin as she glanced downwards at the girl. 'It would help if you shifted your weight backwards when you lean forward,' she mused. Casting a glance at the girl's discarded broom lying in the snow, Livia exhaled, twin puffs of air escaping her nose. It was only then, from that angle, that she was better able to recognise the girl on the ground. Even the thick lasso with which she corralled her impulses could not wrench this one from fruition: 'Well, at the very least, Miss Bishop... did you have a nice little adventure?'
@geneva bishop
[staff] jessamine lancaster | marina alacrán [inpc]
what comes before the fall
by leo noxley
date: jan 17 2026
time: late morning
Of course, OF COURSE, her one moment of supreme humiliation had been witnessed by none other than Miss Queen-of-the-world Machavariani. Could she have expected anything less? With a glower in the general direction of The Fates, Geneva took a moment to compose herself. Brushing as much snow as she could from her coat, she contemplated how one might take revenge against such abstract personas as Fates, and more importantly, what she was going to say in the next few seconds.
Finally, after she had been brushing her coat for a nearly unreasonable amount of time, Geneva was forced to turn around. The face that greeted her was just as supercilious as the voice. Everything about this girl screamed conceit, from her curated outfit to her sparkling polished broom. It was as if she walked around the grounds waiting for someone to spot her. “There goes Livia, flawless as always.” It was absolutely sickening.
Still, Geneva managed to mask her disgust behind a slightly manic smile. “You know, I really did! Thank you for your kind concern. I suppose you felt called this morning to find some poor uneducated soul in need of your unsolicited advice?”
This remark did not really call for an answer, and Geneva was not at all interested in getting one. Instead, she turned her back to the unwelcome girl and went to fetch her broom from the snow. She preferred to get away from this conversation as fast as possible.
Reducio
@Livia Machavariani
Geneva is trying to get out of this situation, but she hasn’t walked far. Out of pride, she would stay and reply to any further statements directed at her.
Geneva is trying to get out of this situation, but she hasn’t walked far. Out of pride, she would stay and reply to any further statements directed at her.
The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination.
- Albert Einstein
what comes before the fall
date: 17th january 2026
time: late morning
location: quidditch training pitch
roleplaying as livia machavariani
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
More interested in Geneva's reaction, Livia suppressed the urge to blow on her fingers to warm them. It had been a sore oversight not to wear gloves, knowing she was going to fly. Her fingers would tighten on the shaft of her broom as she gazed upon Geneva, whose expression she could not read. That, alongside the fact that the other girl seemed to have a gift for showing off, vexed Livia greatly. The words hit her as if they were the Hogwarts Express chugging along a viaduct. It was quite rare that someone called her kind, and if it hadn't come from Geneva, she would not have given it a second thought. Because she thought she understood that Geneva did not like her, though, she hesitated, and, therefore, she did not smile.
One might best describe her expression as slack. It took her longer than was necessary to process Geneva's words, even longer to fully comprehend them. Just as quickly as she had fallen off of her broom, Geneva had stood and made to leave, something that confused Livia further. Despite her own dislike of Geneva, she had offered advice. Yes, it had been unsolicited, but surely, if one was on the ground, there was no other way to go but up, and such unsolicited advice could certainly assist with that endeavour.
She did not deign to make her confusion evident, though. Livia lay down her broom, held out her hand and murmured a confident, 'Up.' She did not have to look to ascertain that it had solidly flown into her hand. Certain that it would support her, she hopped atop it and reached for the book she had brought with her, content to discover interesting facts about flowers and plants and where she might find them. However, just as she opened the book, she hesitated. She could not pinpoint what it was that made her muscles tense, her motion pause, but she would stare towards Geneva in sudden intrigue.
Holding the page she was on between her index finger and thumb, Livia would nod (as if Geneva could see her) in the other girl's direction. 'Why don't you try again? It might go better this time.'
Even Livia could not tell whether her words were inflammatory or genuinely helpful. She enjoyed helping others – even if that meant sticking her hands in a pot where they were wholly unwelcome. But the words rolled off her tongue a bit more sharply than she would have thought. An unfamiliar layer of condescension in her voice laced itself into her words despite those possible good intentions. She would receive satisfaction either way, she decided. Either Geneva would flourish and she could take some of the credit, or she would eat dirt, and Livia's ego would be soothed. The idea that Geneva might not opt to try again did not even cross the girl's mind as she idly swung her legs from where she was seated on her broom.
@geneva bishop
[staff] jessamine lancaster | marina alacrán [inpc]