Into the Cracks PV Aislin Darragh Finished

@Bridget Collins

Duelling was her nan's sport. This was a statement rooted into her worldview, essential to this major part of the identity Aislin was growing for herself, and not in any sort of negative way. The roots were not an obstacle but a foundation. Because her nan had once been a great duellist, Aislin wanted to be one, too; maybe not a career duellist, but she thought her captaincy and joining the team were good steps to honor her nan's legacy, even if she'd only lost so far. Give it time. She'd win her nan's old wand over, learn some more spells, and then she'd be a duellist just like her.

And already as she followed in her footsteps, her nan was really, really proud of her. She told her so. She sent congratulatory letters, asked after her performance in the first stage, and provided tips and encouragement. Now that Aislin was home for Christmas holiday, she had offered to take her to a professional match, and though this didn't seem to be such an easy thing to schedule around family plans, the seasonal wood farm rush, and limited late December matches, she'd kept her word. They had two tickets to a Midlands game versus Cork's Magic Marinas. Aislin had never been a picky kid, raised on hand-me-downs and by a single parent juggling child care with her closest friend and her parents, so who cared it was only League Two? It was even a double-showing!

They made it to Mullingar that morning with enough time to stop for local tea and biscuits. Compared to her mam and her grandad, her nan was really organized. To no surprise, Aislin had assembled dozens of duelling-related questions by then and asked just as many, each made of unfiltered, raw curiosity. Not many people were so lucky as to know a (former) pro duellist firsthand and there were so many things she'd never thought to ask. Did they ever try to blind the moderator so they could get away with something against the rules? Did the lockers stink? Were any of their performances affected by the time of day or moon phase?

Her heels tapped idly against the wooden bleachers they settled on and her fingers spun the beads of her bracelet, attention split between the duellists warming up and her nan. She focused mostly for the first duel, intent to track the rapid movements and outlandish spells, but by the time it was done (Cork 1, Midlands 0), her nan wisely decided they should get up and walk around. The December day was chilly but not so frigid as the Scottish highlands; it was a good thing they were bundled in their Midlands yellow.

In the intermission, they took a lap around the building and ordered fish and chips from concessions. Her nan patiently walked her through what she'd noticed in each team's strategy and what she might have done differently. She reminded Aislin once to wait to talk until her mouth wasn't full. Most importantly, she kept an eye on the hands of her decades-old watch to ensure they made it back to the stands in time to secure good seats for the second duel.

@Aislin Darragh

Fianna was quiet enough through warm-ups that Bridget was reminded of what the time pre-duel felt like with Astrea and Ruby, all focus as she tried to bury the tiny, twisty knots in her gut. Between the location and the time of year, today's crowd almost resembled the crowd of a Hogwarts duel in the morning of stage two; sparser and sleepier, but still present. She wasn't sure if it was good for her mental state to draw so many parallels, so she refocused.

Much like every duel she'd ever been in, their names were read off and both teams were called to the stage. They didn't remind them of the rules at this level, though, and there was a dedicated commentator up in a raised box so the referee could focus solely on calls. Everything about professional athletics but the actual game was all about repetition: her respectful nod to each opponent, wished good luck to her teammates, the muscle memory of her stance, the way her hair was pinned back. She was ready.

Within minutes, it was clear Arthur had either not taken her advice very seriously or simply couldn't manage it. He contributed one good Tempest Jinx before he was burdened by spell after spell, their effects bogging him down. While Fianna maintained their offensive, Bridget switched to support. An Expelliarmus to buy him breathing room, a Reparifors to keep him steady. Then she could return her focus to wearing down their primary target via a good old-fashioned, ear-ringing Confringo.

It was rare for her to be a primary target -- this worried her, at times, but she rationalized that she also left certain capable opponents alone due to speed or stamina. She expected a few spells per duel and usually she was ready for them, but the Midlands team stuck her with Rinoceros Lingua. She winced at the feeling, intensely unusual and unpleasant. "Alright?" Fianna checked. She was met with a nod. Bridget would not be trying to talk with a horn for a tongue, and she narrowed her eyes as she switched to the comparative strain of nonverbal casting. Obscuro was a safe choice when limited like this. It was also a very productive choice, creating an easy target so Fianna and Arthur could knock out their first opponent. The pause gave time for the spell to wear off, too.

After that, the duel reached much more of a standstill than she would have liked. Arthur looked proper miserable after being subjected to the drain of Surpo Energia -- who didn't? -- and that put them on their heels when they could have been pressing a numbers advantage. He opted for Protego this time, Bridget's cue to let him handle his own defense. Together, she and Fianna worked toward putting a second Midlands player on their last legs. Chips of the stage ripped up by a Confringo dug into her shins, but it was small pain in exchange for what they were dealing out. Still, she had a few more misses than she would have liked and Fianna slowed down after taking the brunt of a tangle of crackers.

They took down one more Midlands player toward the end, then Fianna spent the rest of the match time splitting healing between herself and Arthur. It was a decisive victory, even if Arthur slumped into a chair as soon as he was off the stage. He'd want to sleep this one off once they were back in Cork. She followed Fianna to their own chairs beside the piste and waved at the couple of teal shirts she picked out in the bleachers.

Word Count: 1261/2000

@Bridget Collins

"Collins was a Hogwarts duellist," her nan noted. The commentator boomed names Aislin would soon forget with the assist of an Amplifying Charm. "She graduated from Slytherin last year." Of course she knew these things, all of the duellists' names and facts about them, because she had a good memory and plenty of connections still in the duelling world. And she'd actually read the program they offered at the doors.

But the detail gave Aislin something to latch onto, someone to watch specifically. What was Hogwarts' best like a couple months down the line? The answer was good, of course. Really good. She seemed to know what to do in every situation, never phased like Aislin had found herself so many times in her debut duel. How did you take a Knockback Jinx and hardly even flinch?

"Does it hurt less, at some point?" she whispered (or tried to whisper, as well as she knew how), too caught on the question to let it go.

Her nan hummed, eyes fixed on the match. "It does and it doesn't. You are more prepared for it. You know the feeling of worse things. But it always hurts."

It was a satisfactory answer. Aislin looked back at the match just in time to watch Bridget's tall teammate get rocked by an explosion. The disarm and heal combo was clever, she'd have to save it for once she learned those spells.

Her favorite part to watch was probably the duellists forming their spells into twin zipping snake-like lights. Bridget didn't do that at all, but her teammate did and so did Quinn from the Midlands team. It was a shame Quinn went down first. The sequence leading up to that involved casting where she was pretty sure Bridget wasn't even moving her lips, though, and that made up for it. She turned to her nan to ask. Ready for the question, the woman confirmed, "Nonverbal casting."

The balance of many duels tipped rapidly after the first person went down. She knew this and she'd experienced this. Today, that wasn't really the case, probably because one of Cork's players was so close to going down, too. The back half of the duel wasn't quite as exciting, but it was plenty loud (apparently many of the most effective spells were explosive), and the war of attrition ended with a second Midlands player biting it and all three Cork players remaining, an easy final call for the referee when time ran out.

Despite her proudly displayed yellow scarf (not official merch, rather something her aunt knit her for Christmas a few years ago), she wasn't too disappointed. They hadn't been projected to beat Cork. It was simply special to be here, a part of the environment, a witness to some really solid magic. Though much quieter than the spattering of Marinas fans that had made it up this way, she joined the polite applause for the duellists descending from the piste.

Her nan nudged her in the side, a little smile playing in the corners of her eyes. "Would you like to talk to them? They'll wait there for a few minutes."

Aislin didn't know it, but this was one benefit of seeing a League Two duel. At higher levels it was so much more ordered, security and designated meets-and-greets, but these duellists didn't have much of a following. They played for an audience of local communities and their families, primarily. So when Aislin nodded, enthusiastic and bouncing right up despite the hour of sitting, they could walk right down to the main floor and approach the players. The one conscious Midlands player had disappeared into a small circle of supporters already and was on his way out to visit his teammates, so her nan steered her toward the black and teal jerseys of the Magic Marinas. The man was being tended to by mediwizards but the other two, Collins and the curly-haired one, were chatting in low tones.

"Hi," her nan greeted, a picture of politeness and confidence. You could tell she had once been a duellist just by looking at her, or so Aislin believed. The speed for that sort of spell-slinging might have left her, but the sharpness in her dark eyes remained. "Wasn't it a good match today? If we could have a minute of your time, I'm sure my grandaugther has questions for you."

@Aislin Darragh

"Well played," Fianna said as soon as they sat down, sticking out her shoe to bump into Bridget's. She had also winced, but substituted it quickly for a grin.

"You, too. We'd've been in trouble if you didn't get Quinn out when you did." Likely not unsalvageable trouble, but one Arthur Harris would have had a much better chance of going down hard. As it was, he'd contributed a few more key hits in the back half of the duel and was now swarmed by mediwizards.

With their attention on him, Bridget investigated the damage she'd taken on her own. Her shins were bleeding, just a slow, mostly dried trickle, but she decided to leave bandaging to the experts. Best not to trap little chunks of the Midlands piste underneath. Her hip would be sore tomorrow from the Flipendo, but it felt fine enough right now. She simply muttered, "Tergeo," to siphon away the dried blood.

Fianna had tucked her own wand away and settled back in her chair to wait for her turn to be checked out. She didn't seem to be thinking about it, anyway. "We've a whole week off, now. Have any plans?"

Bridget was halfway to formulating a no that still sounded semi-exciting (really she planned to sleep, play with her rats, and attempt a new recipe) when they were approached. The woman had greying dark hair and the kid with her couldn't be much older than twelve, maybe? They were Midlands fans, it seemed, clad in yellow rather than teal, but that was no reason to turn down a polite request.

"Of course, you can!" Fianna answered for them. They both stood and followed the woman's lead to shake hands. The little girl's was surprisingly firm, and she didn't shy away from the eye contact. "Fianna Duffy, but I think you knew that."

They probably did, but introductions were a nice place to start. "Bridget Collins. What's your name?" She directed the question at the girl primarily, since the woman with her -- her grandmother? -- seemed to have come over here for her sake. To be back on her feet so soon felt a bit worse than before she'd sat down, but she could bear it and be all ears and answers for the next few minutes.

Word Count: 1644/2000

@Bridget Collins

When the duellists stood up, Aislin looked quite small. This was more or less inevitable, since she was eleven and they were grown adults, but it hadn't been so noticeable before that Fianna was tall and Bridget, though about average, still had an easy ten centimeters on her. Her nan had all of them beat, though, so there was hope for her one day. For now, she was stuck looking up.

She remembered her manners, the sum of all her mam's concentrated efforts, and shook hands just like her nan had. "I'm Aislin Darragh," she told Bridget. Her nan introduced herself similarly as Marjana Darragh, though more seamlessly mid-handshake. Then Aislin had the undivided attention of two professional duellists and it was strange, so her own attention flitted between details. The teal stripes that went down the sides of their jerseys. Their teammate who was debatably conscious behind them. That Bridget had a lot of little rips at the bottom of her trousers, some of them ringed in red. "You're bleeding," she observed.

Her nan had introduced them by saying she would have questions, a safe assumption on her part even if they hadn't discussed it. Aislin always had questions, which seemed to her a very good way to approach the world, though there existed a pesky limit before people found it annoying. How many could she get away with here? Three, like a genie's wishes? "How do you make your spells go everywhere?" she asked first, because she'd seen it before but Fianna probably knew better than kids in school, or was at least another good data point.

@Aislin Darragh

Aislin Darragh, as the girl was called, wasted no time with blunt observation. You're bleeding. "Only a little." Bridget looked down to check again and realized she'd forgotten to mend her trousers; she'd rolled them up to investigate the wounds and they'd fallen back when she stood. Still, it was only a little. "It happens, sometimes," she elaborated, in case the blood was alarming, but Aislin didn't seem particularly phased.

In fact, she plowed right on with a question clearly directed at Fianna. Bridget let herself sink back a bit, tempering the wave of envy. She had endeavored over the years to keep it from the people around her, once it became obvious that the spell splitting wasn't clicking for her like it did for them, but it was no secret to herself that she wanted, desperately, to be able to do that, too. It was fantastic and it was useful, and what sort of talented witch couldn't figure it out? Thirteen-year-olds could do it, yet here she was, eighteen and still stealing private moments of practice to fruitlessly attempt a double strike on training dummies. The topic was a sore spot.

Luckily, Aislin was focused on Fianna and Fianna was focused on Aislin. "They go everywhere because I want them to!" she said brightly. She made it sound so easy, just like she made it look easy every time she was on the piste. "Really, magic is all around us. It's eager to flow in new directions, so all it needs from me is a little nudge. Permission to go where it wants, in a way. You just have to be sure to reign it in, or it truly, truly goes everywhere, you know?" She mimed explosions.

Maybe Bridget just wasn't cut out for such magic because she had only half a clue of what Fianna was saying. Magic according to Fianna was something mystical, a force with its own will, and of course it was magic, but it followed rules. It was a skill, it was a semi-understood science. With her arms crossed, she forced herself to nod along while she very subtly poked at the bruise forming at her hip bone as a distraction.

Word Count: 2009/2000

@Bridget Collins

Magic is eager to flow in new directions. She could see how this would be true. Concentration and imagination were at the core of every successful cast, and if she could imagine a little wider, the magic would follow. You probably just had to be careful it didn't blow up in your face, which happened to her even with basic spells sometimes. Going everywhere could be painful.

She nodded along to show she was listening, only slightly distracted herself in her efforts to look focused, and smiled a bit at the hand signals for ka-boom. It was sillier than she would have expected from a professional duellist, more fun. "Magic is all around," she repeated under her breath. This was a good data point, or at least she thought so. She'd have to check with her nan later.

Bridget had gone really quiet, with a sort of weird, trying-to-be-blank expression. Probably because she had nothing to say, since she hadn't split any spells, but Aislin figured it would be kind to ask her a question next. "Why can't you do it?" Oops, maybe that sounded a little mean. She hadn't meant it to be mean, it was as genuine as any of her other questions, and wasn't that another useful data point? A negative result taught you things, too; this was an important principle for a scientist-in-training. Still, she looked apologetic, lips pressed together to stop herself from blurting anything else for now, and at her shoulder her nan made a little noise in her throat -- possibly disappointment, possibly a stifled laugh.

Aislin thought for a moment, then added, "Or, I guess... how do you do the nonverbal casting thing?" There, an alternative that was nicer. She did want an answer to her first question, but she could settle for this.

@Aislin Darragh

She supposed it was kind of cute, the way Aislin reacted to Fianna's words, excited by her words and amused by her hand signals. Fianna seemed to be good with kids; Bridget wondered if the Marinas ever held summer camps. She caught her teammate's eyes and hoped the look in her own was encouraging.

It was less cute when the kid asked, far more blunt than many adults dared to be, why can't you do it? Bridget sighed as lightly as she could and reminded herself that she did not glare at children. Aislin did seem to realize it was a pointed question, cheeks flushing a very faint shade of pink, and she offered a different question. She'd get an answer to both. "I suppose I've just never really tried," Bridget lied, easily enough because it wasn't the first time for this particular topic. She'd never tried the right thing, anyway.

The second question was much more solidly within her comfort zone, familiar and simple. The arms crossed over her chest loosened. "Nonverbal magic comes down to loads of concentration and visualization. You have to channel the spell without calling its name, so it's much harder, but I'm sure you'll be able to do it one day if you practice enough." Was she actually sure of this? No, she'd never seen Aislin's casting, but it seemed like the sort of positive thing a professional should say to a curious kid. Besides, she was sure most things were possible with practice, but how much practice was another thing entirely. Bridget had yet to find her limit with the spell splits; others might give up sooner.

Fianna nudged her with her elbow. "It's bloody cool, isn't it? She switches back and forth like it's nothing." Though she made sure to smile, Bridget was less appreciative and more worried Fianna had just seen everything spelled out over her face -- she wasn't that expressive, was she?

"It's just practice," she reiterated. She didn't consider herself to be in a position to brag.

Word Count: 2348/2000

@Bridget Collins

When Bridget said she'd never tried to split her spells, Aislin frowned. Pouted, really. Nothing could be learned from that, from an utter lack of successes or failures. It was a little strange, because if she was a pro duellist she definitely would have tried by now, but she wasn't Bridget. "You should." There was something rarer and softer in her tone; it was about the same as the voice she used to talk to bugs as she tried not to scare them.

Fianna and Bridget talked about magic very differently, but Aislin tried to listen just as closely. Concentration and visualization. She'd definitely heard her professors repeat those casting principles over and over. It sounded difficult the way Bridget said it, but it probably was, time-hungry and requiring a strong force of motivation. Absolutely cool, though! Imagine walking around and waving her wand at things, barely any indication of what she was doing until it happened.

It made sense that Bridget was more focused on the value of practice, on by-the-book casting, than her teammate. She looked some sort of way out on the piste, evident even from a distance, and Aislin searched around for the right words. It was this focus about her, not quite as poised and sharp as her nan. Broader and maybe slightly pained. A thought clicked and it might not be the perfect way of putting it, but she was inclined to share her mental Lumos. "You cast like you're solving a maths problem, you know?" She shared this as a budding duelling captain, still learning what it meant to notice patterns and recommend improvements, only Aislin didn't share a recommendation here. Bridget was a professional, not one of her Murder of Merlin teammates. She also wasn't sure what the recommendation would be -- relax a bit? -- or if there even needed to be one.

And she'd hit three questions, maybe four if you count her choice to phrase the last as a rhetorical one, so she didn't want to push her luck. A glance up at her nan was met with an understanding nod (and a slight crinkle around her eyes Aislin turned back around too fast to see). The woman set her hand on Aislin's shoulder and addressed the athletes. "Thank you for your time, and your patience. We wish you safe travels back to Cork."

"Thank you," Aislin echoed, on a slight delay because she was watching the third Magic Marina start to sit up. She did a head bob of acknowledgement and spun on her heel as the duellists said their own goodbyes.

When they had made it a ways away, nearing the door, her nan commented, "Aren't you a charmer?" Her voice was light and she was smiling; she had known, at least in part, what she was getting into when she unleashed her grandaugther on those duellists, and there was no real harm in an eleven-year-old asking tactless questions. "Did you have fun?"

"I did." Aislin skipped over the threshold out of the main duelling room. "They're really good!"

"What you were saying to Collins, I think you had a point." Her nan pulled woolen gloves out of her bag and tugged them on. "The more technical term would be... stiff. Her casting is very stiff, like she's bracing herself against backfires and such. She's a good duellist, light on her feet and consistent, but I suspect that's holding her back."

Aislin looped her scarf around her neck another time just before they stepped out into the cold. She had never been a kid to smile with her teeth much, but she was as close to beaming as she got, proud to have noticed something her nan found worthwhile and very ready with more questions and observations for the train ride home.