Closed I Challenge you to a...Race pv George

George was hesitant to make changes to his study schedule in order to accommodate flying practice. There were regular lessons devoted to flying, but there was still the expectation that he go above and beyond even the other players on his team in terms of practice, being the captain. His grades had already begun to suffer as a result. At least he could safely slack off in muggle studies. He was a muggle-born. What were they going to teach him that he did not already know?

With his Nimbus 1700 laid over his lap, George was carefully pruning errant twigs with a pair of clippers, sending little chunks of kindling to the floor with each snip. It was important to keep your broom manicured like this to make sure it would fly straight. And, of course, to avoid having your broom look like you just spent the afternoon sweeping the dungeons with it. The rest of the broom was obviously well-maintained, the wood polished to perfection, save for some small edges around the various stickers he'd chosen to decorate it with. Near the front of the broom, where you'd put your hands, were a few rainbow pride stickers as well as some assorted stars and hearts. Who said you couldn't fly in style?

George lifted his head and furrowed his brow as he looked up to Monica, trying to place her face. She looked familiar, and when she spoke, he could guess how he knew her. That detention. Unfortunately, his memory of the day wasn't the clearest. The only ones in the audience who stood out were Bubba, Adelaide, and June herself. The rest had sort of morphed into a general, vague idea of first-years that George resented.

"No. You can jump in yourself, if you want to go for a swim," he suggested, standing up from his seat on the bench. It would only add more of a time crunch if he needed to give up study time for detention time, as fun as it was. This was fourth year, and it seemed like every class had cranked up the heat in terms of its demands, in addition to the stress of taking an extra elective and captaining a sports team. It was all a bit much. "I'm just about to head up, thank you. I'd suggest that you try and steer clear, unless you're interested in playing the part of 'obstacle' in my speed trials."

Maybe he'd been a little harsh. June had been the most evil of the first-years at that detention, and even she had earned some favor with Professor Henry after her choice to eat a horrible, mashed-up amalgam of every flavor in existence on the Hogwarts Express. This girl couldn't have been worse. (Maybe that unhinged Slytherin girl could be, but George had mercifully not encountered her since.) To try and engage her in conversation, rather than dismiss her entirely, he turned the question back on her. "...You?"

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Monica stood back as the upperclass man stood up, his voice sounding dismissive, or at least the same sort of tone her older brothers had when she was getting on their nerves, but who was she to know anything about George? The only 'interaction' she had had was watching him command the room of fellow first-years.

No, it was far too early to judge any character only after witnessing a person. But Monica couldn't help but smile a bit at his comment; though she tried to submit her lips to remaining straight and serious, her right corner could not help but raise ever so slightly, and the thought of, "Don't smile! Don't smile!" just made the condition worse.

She waiting for George to finish speaking, ending with throwing her own question back on her. This was far too much fun now! IF by some miracle her smile wasn't noticed before, there was no way she could hide her grin stretching from ear to ear.
Why on earth was she acting this way? She could feel a slight twinge in the pit of her stomach. Her hands were growing clammy as she griped onto her broom. The last time she felt like this was....

Monica's smile began fading, replaced slowly by a crisp shade of red growing on her cheeks. Memories of summer camp. Twirl flagon. All flooding into her subconscious, even her nerves. The way she felt when she met Hiro.

No! This situation was anything like that... and yet she couldn't find any reason why she was feeling this way. Perhaps it was something she ate, or just the sight of George Henry made her sick.... Yes that must be the reason!

Taking a deep breath, and leaning against her broom in a desperate attempt to mask any abnormal behaviour she might have let slip, she reconnected back in the conversation, "I was planning on going up myself, been taking my new broom for a spin nearly every chance I get." She held out her own broom, the Swiftstick, her pride of many weeks and months of saving. "I know it isn't much, but seems to suit me just fine."

She started sizing up George, she was clearly shorter than him, and much lighter no doubt, "How bold to assume he could fly so fast that I would be nothing but an obstacle?" Monica shifted in place, trying to look more like a force to be reckoned with, though her general structure was much smaller. Meeting George's eyes, Monica's smile turned into a smirk, "I'll only be in your way... If you can keep up with me."

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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @George Henry |
| Mentions: Hiro (@Kim Sato's iNPC) |

The girl was smiling a lot. George knew he was charming, but he'd hardly had the chance to say anything at all. He furrowed his brow slightly, cocking a single eyebrow as he noticed that there was a bit of blush creeping across her face. Then, just like that, his expression returned to neutral as he tried to hide what he was feeling and present the stoic, stony mask of a true Broom Racing Captain. Unquestionable authority was his by right, especially on the training pitch! There would be no giggling and blushing. Only racing.

'New broom' seemed to be the ticket to catching George's interest, as he leaned down a bit to inspect the Swiftstick that she was leaning on. "Don't put your weight on it so much, you'll bend it," he said, parroting a fact he'd learned from a broom care brochure over the summer. It was a shame it took George so long to discover books - with how quickly he could burn through them now, he could have been an expert at everything if he'd started earlier.

At the comment that it wasn't much, George shrugged. His own broom was something of a budget option, compared to the others at the shop, but he was still proud of it. You didn't need a Firebolt to win a race. It was Hogwarts, not the Broom Sport Olympics, or whatever the equivalent would be. "It's a good broom, pretty sturdy. I just went for something with a bit better handling. Might be a bit of a better broom for quidditch, but I'm the broom racing captain. Not as much into quidditch."

He gave Monica a stern look when she started acting like she stood a chance in a race against him. He pursed his lips at that cocky comment about keeping up with her. On a Swiftstick? She might as well have been riding a school broom against him at that rate! She'd hardly be able to match him for speed, and it wasn't like someone who wasn't even on the broom racing team could control the broom well enough to even maintain their maximum speed without falling off - she didn't know the right stance, the proper grip... I mean, unless she'd also read basics of broom sports, or paid good attention in first-year flying. Then it'd be a tossup.

"You're on," George said, walking out and past her to head off the benches and onto the pitch proper. Broom in hand, he marched down like a man on a mission - a mission to prove himself and ideally make a second-year wipe out on the quidditch pitch. He turned his other hand over, checking his nails. "Do you want some time to warm up? I'll be alright, myself..."

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Monica watched as a glimpse of a quizzical look washed over George's face, what on earth was he thinking? Monica couldn't tell if he was a social person, a class clown, or just did as he pleased in the moment, but as quickly as his look came, it left, leaving behind nothing but a neutral stare back at her. Even more confusion.

Monica straightened at the mention of not leaning so much on her broom, glimpsing down, it didn't seem like any damage was done, and as hard as it was to admit it, George was right, what it the point of a new broom if you just bend it. She did feel much better about her choice when mentioned it was a good quidditch broom. Not that Monica was on the team, but the unofficial quidditch game she participated in did shine a light to how badly she needed a good broom for the sport, if she was to ever play again.

"Oh captain. Of broom racing. So you should know what you're doing then? Well then it seems we would have no trouble keeping out of each others ways." It seemed like George was deep in thought, and without a further word he blurt out, "You're on."

Taken a back, and unsure how she got herself into such a predicament, Monica could feel her hands grow clammy. Sure she was alright handling her broom, but she never really pushed for top speed for long. Why did she always do this? Get herself into horrible competitions that could very much be dangerous?!

"Oh how hard could it be.... just keep up as close as you can, and... DON'T FALL OFF." Monica repeated in her head, if she was able to keep pace and not fall on her face, perhaps it would be enough to impress the fourth year.

"I'm game if you are, and this would be my warm up." She said, following him into the pitch. She ready her stance on her broom, trying to sneakily take note of how he mounted his broom and prepared for take off, trying to mimic what she saw as best she could.

"Alright you can call it then. Where are we racing to?"

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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @George Henry |

George smiled with smug satisfaction when Monica straightened up at his command. He had never doubted his charisma, but there was something about being the broom racing captain that definitely exacerbated the feeling of natural command that he supposed he commanded. People had always listened to him... or at least Jake always did, which supplied him with enough validation to keep him content. A whole team under his wing, and a growing gaggle of first-years? He couldn't be happier.

"So you should know what you're doing then?" she said. George scoffed and rolled his eyes. One eyebrow cocked, he looked down at her, not saying a word as he wondered if she had a clue what she was getting into. Humbling the second-years would be his form of community service this semester, it seemed.

He set himself onto his broom, lifting his feet up off the ground as he got into a balanced, seated position at their impromptu starting line. Despite being certain he would win, it was no excuse not to take this seriously. After all, getting shown up by the cocky second-year wouldn't really do wonders for his reputation nor his self esteem.

"You'll want your hands a bit further apart," he offered, trying not to show too much of his smirk. He demonstrated again, shifting his hands to different places on the broomstick and leaning forward to demonstrate the proper posture for maximum aerodynamics.

An empty course would be no fun. A full course would get them in trouble. He chewed his lip as he considered how to best get a thrill without ending up in detention. Flying too near the castle was bound to earn them the ire of some professor or prefect... but no great fun was without risk. "We'll buzz around the stands of the pitch, weave between them, head back. I'd challenge you to a lap around the castle, but I can't really afford another detention... last one back is a rotten egg. Sound good to you?"

With little time to consider, George scuffed his shoe in the dirt of the training pitch and cleared his throat, seemingly ready to take off. "On one, alright? Three, two... one!" And away he would soar, rocketing off from the ground toward his intended destination on a route which mostly avoided leaving the bounds of the area in which flying was acceptable, even if flying through the stands was certainly more hazardous than just looping through the air.

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Monica saw his eye roll, the raise to his brow as she fired back at him. She wasn't scared, she was maybe too confident for her own good, but nothing could ruin a good competition. Thus far Monica had the chance to dip her toes into Quidditch and Duelling in unofficial games, broom racing was the one thing she hadn't been able to try out. And she was excited to see how her skills on the broom would serve her against the broom racing captain.

Some may call her foolish for taking on such a ridiculous race, but the real fools are the ones that never pushed themselves into challenges like this. How does one know if they are a good racer unless they race? Or able to sing unless they try? Nothing discovered ever came from doing nothing. And that is all this was, a discovery. Though, Monica couldn't help but dream about the possibility if she did win. Would George be impressed? Would this become a rematch situation?

"You'll want your hands a bit further apart," Monica looked over at the fourth year, then down to her hands. Shifting them further apart, and she could feel more stability on her broom. "Huh, so he is willing to help me out." Monica hid her smirk, feeling like she was seeing a side to George that he didn't often show.

She listened intently as he explained the 'map' of their race. At the mention of detention, Monica started to wonder if this race would get them in trouble? She had only been a prefect for a short amount of time, and didn't want to jeopardize it now... Though if he was avoiding the castle to avoid trouble that should mean that flying through the stands should be fine....right?

It was too late to change her mind now, as she rose from the ground, finding her balance, her mind set on one thing, showing up this fourth year. Closing her eyes, hearing the distant sound of birds as they flew by, honing in as much as she could to the sound of the wings. Taking a breath as she heard George count down.

"One"

Opening her eyes, she took off, faster than she had ever gone on a broom, nearly swerving off course but managed to re-find her balance soon enough. Looking up, she could see the stands rushing towards her, she adjusted her grip, planning out her flight path in order to not fly straight into them.

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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @George Henry |

If there was one thing George was always up for, it was diving head first into an adventure. Without even considering the fact that this girl might not have wanted to be caught breaking the rules, he was already soaring off, heading onward through the stands. The advantages of a designated racing broom were becoming apparent as George took an early lead, outpacing Monica's repurposed quidditch equipment.

Pushing himself to his limit like this, George realized that he had forgotten to put his racing goggles on before he had started flying. He had to squint, now, and he could feel the moisture in his eyes condensing at the corners before flying off of his face entirely. While it wasn't a problem for everyone, he always had trouble maintaining his speed without his goggles there to protect his eyes from the harsh winds.

Did that mean he would stop and put them on? No. He was racing, now, and the show had to go on whether it meant he would turn into a splat on the side of the practice pitch or not. "Keeping up?" he said, turning to look back over his shoulder and smirk at her - turning back just in time to swerve out of the way of their obstacle.

"Right - ooh! Hold on tight, now, turbulence! If you fall off, I'm not going to be catching yooou!" George assured her, though he patted his leg where he knew his wand was - just in case she did actually fall. He rose up as he lead Monica on the improvised racing route, feeling the winds grow more intense as they soared high above the ground. At least there'd be plenty of time to react if she did fall. People would be able to see it from the castle!

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Beginning to pick up speed. Raising higher and higher in the air. This was far from what quidditch was, Monica could feel the wind billowing in her eyes as she picked up speed, something she didn't have to worry about as much when playing quidditch. She raised her hand to block some of the wind, quickly shifting in the air and re-claiming her grip. That clearly was not a good idea.

She looked up and could see George looking back at her, was he talking to her? What did he say? Before she could try to process what was going on, the forth year re-focused on his broom and started to weave expertly through stands. Monica could see her time was coming, and began to do her best to avoid the obstacles, while staying on her broom. This was all clearly way easier said than done. Perhaps the young Slytherin bit off more than she could chew?

No! This wasn't the time to regret, this was time to show this fourth year she could keep up. Tightening her grip, she surged ahead, trying to catch up to George, who was flying ahead of her. "Hey George!" Monica called out as loud as she could muster, "Still here... gonna take more than that to loose me!" Though she still trailed behind, she didn't loose hope... there was a chance, though it was small, but still a chance she might beat him... or at least finish the race close enough to impress him.

Getting through the stands, Monica saw as George began to fly towards the rings at the far end of the pitch. She held firm to her grip, she could feel beads of sweat pooling before being brushed away by the wind. The rings got closer and closer... she lost George, but couldn't think about where he had gone, all that mattered is she had to make it through these rings. She could feel herself legging behind, but as the rings came up she was able to navigate through them, but re-finding her bearing she could see she lost so much ground from George, who seemed to have no slow down getting through those rings.

He clearly wasn't the broom race captain for no reason.

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Improvised Moderation says:
George Rolls 11 + 10 Accuracy = 21
Monica Rolls 7 + 6 Accuracy = 13
Best of 3. Round 2 goes to George.

| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @George Henry |

A one-on-one race might not have been as intense as the ten person crash course that took place in a standard broom race, but it certainly had a more personal element to it that he would miss in his next race. The rush of cold wind all around him sent his hair into disarray, but he didn't seem to care, shaking his head around to let his hair go where it likes. Broom racing was really the greatest sport for that reason; once you started flying, all your other concerns left your head. Something about having to maintain a white-knuckle grip and total concentration just to stay alive was really therapeutic.

Carefree and careening onward, George pulled his chest down close to his broomstick, trying to minimize his profile and maintain an aerodynamic shape that wouldn't catch the crosswinds. Through the hoops he flew, hearing the faint calls of Monica behind him. He thoughts about calling back - but he didn't want to open his mouth and start catching bugs or something, and odds are, she couldn't hear him either.

They were on the return to their starting now, the completed circuit lying in wait for the fastest and greatest racer. Which was George, obviously. He never doubted himself for a second, even if there were a few moments at the beginning when he questioned the wisdom of risking loss to a second-year who wasn't even a broom racer.

Moderation says:

George Rolls 15 + 3 Strength = 18
Monica Rolls 20 + 8 Strength = 28

Overconfidence did not agree with him. As he dove toward the finish line, a strong gust blew him slightly off balance. He leaned hard into the wind to correct himself, overcorrecting to the right, then to the left, wobbling like a metronome until finally landing with a swerve and a stumble before crashing down on his chest on the finish line. Well, he came in first, but it certainly wasn't the most graceful performance.

And yet he was unbothered as he stood up, wiping the grass off of his chest and turning to face Monica as she landed (much more easily, apparently unbothered by the breeze). "Well... speed like that can be hard to control," he said with an airy sigh, as though his crash landing was a sign of his skill rather than recklessness. "But you did pretty good, for a minute there..."