8 Feb 2024, 21:03
Vestiges of Daylight
· · ─▪───────────── ·· ─────────────▪─ · ·
• VESTIGES OF DAYLIGHT •“Where the air is thinnest, it takes greatness to spark a fire.”─▪────────────────────────▪─Fri 24th November, 4pm | The Quidditch Training Pitch
Avery's Hex #136b5c
─▪──────────────▪─
┏ ----- A solitary comet was streaking across the air at the quidditch training pitch, though in reality it wasn’t such a lowly broom Avery was riding.
The matriarch of his family had purchased him a Silver Arrow. Grandmother Ordelia had pushed all of the Leveret children to broomsports, and she had hoped that the fine grain of this remarkable broom would carry within it the secret of unfettered liberation; waiting to be discovered. It didn’t take much prompting, nor any encouragement at all for Avery to take to the sky. He was raised with brothers engrossed with the sport, both of which had somehow landed themselves jobs surrounding it. That didn’t suit him, but the feeling of his quickening heartbeat that tried to play catch up with the kind of speed he preferred soaring at, did.
The rush of air as it grazed his cheeks, cutting either side of him as he carved a warpath through the kaleidoscopic tapestry of fading daylight. This was golden hour, and finally a day had come where the weather was permitting him a cheeky flight between the end of the school day and curfew, though he often found himself breaking the latter most days; the plague of his mind, the nightmares that came with sleep since that fateful night on this very same pitch.
His dark eyes flitted to the spot on the bleachers where he had stood, where he had thought back to over many a sleepless night. That didn’t stop him though. That was down there, and he; well he was up here amidst the boundless blush and dawning embers that were beginning to battle in the clouds; threatening a fiery takeover. In a fit of intoxicated thrill-chasing, Avery grasped his broom tightly and flashed a grin of challenge. Any spectators would see that he had rapidly begun a steep ascent, climbing higher and higher into the sky; never quite reaching far enough into the twilight of the troposphere and beyond, as he’d like. The angle of his climb was growing, soon to be impossible. Soon enough he would practically be vertical and his broom, as impressive as it was, would begin struggling to carry his weight. His robes rippled around him with the fury of the winds; illuminated by the burn of the sun’s final bow.
The crescendo of his climb came, and he and his broom came to the equilibrium between the arcane enchantment and the laws of physics. To onlookers, he would surely lose the grip of his broom and plummet hundreds of feet.
Ecstasy enraptured him and he felt weightless, if only for a second or two. He felt like a cloud, among his brothers and sisters. He closed his eyes in delight, and his head began to fall backwards…
The next few moments were harrowing. The bundle of robes that clung to the plummeting shadow obscured if he had separated from his broom as one would expect. The gold streaks of the sun, still blinding; still yet unconcealed by the earth.
As he rapidly raced to the ground, his form became visible, seen in full, driven and commanding form. The challenge and hunger that usually hid in the corner of his eyes was deep set in his expression as he commanded his broom straight down; chasing the thrill of risk and reward should his daredevil-ish stunt pay off.
At the last possible second, he pulled on his broom to begin a recovery arch, allowing for the time it would take for his velocity and the arcane ability of his broom to balance out and make for a close call, and a close call it was. His feet were a goblin-height from the ground come the end of it, and he was zooming off; laughing and cheering in sheer enjoyment as he went. Avery would return to the sky again, taking in a deep breath of the brisk northern air as he hovered some distance up; looking to the hills where the sun dared to rest.
wc: 669┗ ┛
Interacting with: @Rebecca Lark
Last edited by Avery Leveret on 14 Feb 2024, 20:06, edited 1 time in total.
12 Feb 2024, 02:24
Vestiges of Daylight
⋄ November 24th, 2023 | Quidditch Training Pitch ⋄
⋄ Interactions: @Avery Leveret | Mentions: @Alyssea Brown ⋄
𝓢he'd always loved brooms. She'd loved the clunky little toy broom she'd had as a toddler, which had been charmed to only hover a meter or so off the ground. She'd loved her dad's old, love-worn Bluebottle, soft and patient broom as it was, never growing irritable with her even when she'd nicked it one night and crashed it into the side of the shed. She'd even liked the ancient, curmudgeonly school brooms they used in Flying class, even though they notoriously couldn't hold a candle to even the cheapest brooms currently on the market.
Casper, though, was something else entirely. Her Comet 180 was the first real broom that had ever just been hers, and despite having only received it a few days ago she was already hopelessly enamored with it, and was eager to get in as much practice flying on it as she could before Alyssea Brown's unofficial broom race in the morning. For its part, the broom was more than eager to accommodate and together the two of them had spent the better part of the past week romping about in the sky.
The broom tended to comply quickly and easily with requests to go faster, but lacked a certain level of finesse and control that she'd need not only for the broom race tomorrow, but more importantly for the two remaining Quidditch matches of the season. Despite her broom's excited energy, her plan for this evening really was just to focus on broom handling and maneuvering, and maybe some beater drills if she had the time. They'd get their chance to really test their limits out tomorrow, but they'd be no good to their team if they kept crashing into every obstacle.
It was rare that the training pitch was ever entirely devoid of other flyers but still, she'd been hoping for it. As such, it was vaguely disappointing to see a dark-haired boy making use of the space, but she shrugged it off and mounted her broom all the same. She was neither shy nor particularly deferential when it came to sharing the pitch, as presumably both parties wanted the same thing - to fly as high above the Earth and the problems that grew upon it as they physically and magically could - and as such she was unashamed to take up space in a domain she considered to be her own. This was less of an active, confident choice on her part, however, and more of an innate lack of awareness in her physical self and in how she affected the world around her. In her mind it was very simple: there was one pitch and two people, and thus they would have to share it.
She'd hardly left the ground though, and was only halfway into a lazy warm-up circle when the other boy appeared to completely lose his mind.
She brought Casper to a halt, floating in place as she watched the boy point his broom up into the sky, the steep angle of his ascent and rapidly increasing speed greatly reminiscent of a rocket ship taking off. She hadn't even the slightest clue what on Earth he was doing. Poor GPS directions, maybe? Trying to gloves-off fight the sun? Perhaps just seeing how high he could reach before either his broom or his body gave out and flung him bodily into the afterlife?
She thought of spaceships that never made it past the atmosphere, burning up before they could ever even reach the place they were created for, the one and only purpose of their birth. She wondered if maybe she should do something - what, exactly, she wasn't sure - but found herself with neither the wisdom nor the will to intervene. Once he'd reached the apogee of the climb, for a few dreadful moments it appeared that he'd lost grip of his broom and was falling and- oh, there was the fear, like a bludger down her throat and into her stomach below, before it slowly became apparent that, no, he was rocketing down, down, down to the Earth below, a dizzying nosedive that was as alarming as it was electrifying.
Bex could feel the drumbeat growing louder in the armature of her body; it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, a tragedy in three acts. And that inevitable curtain call was fast approaching, as every moment brought the boy closer and closer to the ground. All are from the dust, and to dust all shall return.
When he pulls his broom handle up at the last possible moment, free-fall giving way to competence and control as if it had been inevitable from the very first moment, Bex felt absolutely feral from the spectacle of it all. It was a catastrophic, manic sort of joy that only an unexpected escape from certain doom could produce, and she felt like her chest could cave in with it at any moment. If your friends jumped off a bridge, would you follow down after them?
Yes. Yes, she would, undoubtedly so. She wanted to know what it felt like to feel the wind stinging your skin as you hurtled full speed to the dirt below. She wanted to feel the laws of physics and magic bend and break for her, with her instead of against her, for once, in the holiest of unions.
She didn't even think about it when she approached the boy. She never did. Her words may have been harsh otherwise, but the hungry grin she wore was unmistakable. "You could have died."
15 Feb 2024, 23:12
Vestiges of Daylight
· · ─▪───────────── ·• VESTIGES OF DAYLIGHT •“Where the air is thinnest, it takes greatness to spark a fire.”─▪────────────────────────▪─Fri 24th November, 4pm | The Quidditch Training Pitch
Avery's Hex #136b5c
─▪──────────────▪─
┏ ----- Unique was it, to have ones’ life at such peril by choice. To leave it up to chance, well that wasn’t so accurate. Avery always had a hand on the scale, altering odds whatever way suited him best and this was no different. Whatever kick he got out of skirting the line between his mundane influence, and the arcane ability of his wand against the lethal forces of plummeting flight, was enough to send him into a euphoric frenzy. A drop of what was probably developing into a taste that had the potential to be dangerous not only to himself.
Whether he knew that he had been watched or not, finding out that he had a voyeur filled him with a small thrill. To the world, he had appeared a vulnerable psychopath. Rebecca watched on as he held a private commune, a small tussle and dance with the thought of death; the display of perfect control and instinctive reflex, all a deeply personal ritual. This was the one time he didn’t mind sharing in it, for its infectious consequence had seemingly struck the frizzy-haired girl for six, just as he was getting over the hump of it and already thinking of the next thrill to chase.
She joined him in the sky, silently cutting up at an unseen approach vector; as he marvelled at the molten sky. To her lambasting of him, he could only share in a grin that grew upon hearing the words, before he had even turned his head; before he had realised just who was accosting him.
“That was partly the point.” His grin grew winsome, regarding her and her broom, which was distinctive in that it was not one of those school-issue stock brooms that surely would have spelled his end had he tried a similar stunt on one. “If you’re at least as good at flying as you are duelling, then I reckon you’d be able to pull off similar.” Avery was trying to both play down his feat to lose any heat should he be misunderstanding her, whilst also complimenting and subtly reminding her that sharp memory was a tool of his. Her face and feat had set her apart from the faceless crowd he encountered on the daily, and this was the perfect time to test if she was all his estimations had made up.
“There is something about it that just-...” He couldn’t quite find the words, letting his expression mellow as the tailwind of his high hit, taking a big breath through his sharp nose.
“Anyway.” He shook himself free. “Leveret, Avery Leveret. - Second year duellist but that, and curfew, doesn’t stop me from nights like these.”
“Are you here to hinder or heed the call? L’appel du vide!” The quiz came with an out of character, but perfectly executed, French accent that hinted at exposure. He of course, didn’t hint to its meaning at all, the first test of many he’d set out in front of her.
wc: 528┗ ┛
Interacting with: @Rebecca Lark
Translation: The Call Of The Void
17 Feb 2024, 06:58
Vestiges of Daylight
⋄ November 24th, 2023 | Quidditch Training Pitch ⋄
⋄ Interactions: @Avery Leveret | Mentions: @Raizel Voltrouz and @Helena Rose ⋄
𝓗ad she walked by him in the corridors or passed him on the way to breakfast in the Great Hall, she probably wouldn't have recognized him. Most of what she remembers of her duel with Raizel and it's aftermath were the intangible, emotional components of it, rather than the physical, visible reality of it. She remembered the fear, mostly; how it felt like it should have paralyzed her and left her neck and underbelly vulnerable to Raizel's superior duelling ability. Yet the panic had somehow energized her instead, the high-pitched shrieking pressure of it coalescing into something almost like competence, or at least a believable facsimile of it. She remembered the hesitant, fragile joy of watching her magic manifest with her will, even though her aim had certainly left much to be desired. She remembered the awe she'd felt watching how confidently Raizel could cast, and the effortless beauty and ferocity exuded from spells that she'd later learned were above the Gryffindor's year level.
She remembered what it felt like to force herself to stand up again each time she was knocked down, certain that this next time would be the last one before, like the last cow in a harsh winter, she finally succumbed to the axe swinging down at her. There was an eerie sort of certainty that came with it; not quite acceptance, and not quite dread. Finality. Inevitability. You had not only made your bed; you had crafted it yourself, painstakingly chosen the wood and felled the tree yourself before counting every stitch as you brought the linens to life. This was your bed, and you would lie in it. The uncertainty was in whether or not you'd stand up from it again, or if your creation would also be your tomb.
It hadn't been her tomb, though. She remembered the pride, too; it hadn't come until much, much later, after she'd left the hospital wing and returned to her dorm, trying futilely to sleep but having instead spent the night staring up at the ceiling, turning the duel this way and that in her head like she was picking out a cantaloupe at the grocery store.
This wasn't the whole truth though, was it? She had indeed had one brief moment of pride, blooming sweet and heady on her tongue before the fear had managed to get it's hold on her again. A damn good duel.
No, she did not recognize Avery by his face, but had absolutely no trouble remembering his voice.
"I've only ever duelled the once, but I've been flying for years. I haven't stopped since I learned I could. I'd hope that I'm much better at flying than I am at duelling." His smile was infectious, and she found that she couldn't help mirroring it back at him. Could she pull off something similar? She wasn't sure. Casper was a good broom, but it was a starter broom, certainly not a match for the well cared for Silver Arrow that the other boy was boasting. It would be dumb to try and recreate his feat from basically all perspectives; even if she did manage to avoid injuring herself, with her luck she'd run a real risk of permanently damaging Casper, the being that currently stored all of her mental health in it's brush. Every part of her was screaming that trying this was an exceptionally poor idea, even by her standards.
She really wanted to, though. And she'd never been very good at denying her own curiosity.
She found herself softening at his inability to put the feeling into words. Strangely, she understood that better than if he had been able to give it a name. The feeling she got when flying was unlike anything else she'd experienced in life; it was a kind of euphoria that she'd gladly spend her life chasing, her own personal panacea. If that's what it felt like just flying in silly little loops around the stands, she could only imagine what it had felt like for him to grip his own limits in his hands and tear.
Avery Leveret. It was a nice name. He introduced himself in the same way that Lena did, and her friends. She wondered if it was a wixen thing, but no one had ever commented on it. It seemed rather silly to her, to announce your last name twice, as if you were worried that the other person hadn't heard it the first time, and besides, Lark simply wasn't the most important part of her name. Neither was Rebecca.
"Bex." She told him. "Bex Lark. Short for Rebecca. First year, and a beater for Ravenclaw."
"I'm actually kind of just here to break in my new broom, but- Well, I'm not opposed to heeding, in general. Maybe." Maybe indeed. She wasn't like this before. Before Hogwarts, she meant. She hadn't chased fear like this back in muggle school, and after ingloriously facing the repercussions of instigating a few physical altercations in primary school she'd mostly shied away from actions that could get her into trouble, or that were clearly brightly colored by nature to indicate danger. She had begun to shift in ways that she didn't understand yet; she was seeking out fear that she could have complete, unopposed control over and grabbing it by the handful. If she could not solve the problems that fate - or perhaps just her own inadequacy - had dealt her, then she'd create fun new problems to afflict upon herself. Stability and counterpoise.
She wrinkled her nose as she tried to repeat the unfamiliar words that Avery had said back to him. "Uh, lapel do veed?" Perfect. Flawless. No notes.
She could feel her hands shaking, and she gripped the broom shaft tighter, bringing her gaze up towards the sky, rebuilding in her mind the shape of Avery as he'd made his ascension into the sky, before swooping down again in an amalgamation of magic and gravity. He'd seemed to have just known instinctively when it was time to pull the metaphorical pin and release his parachute. She was unsure if she had the same native instincts.
"Any advice?" She asked him, undoing her ponytail and tying it up tighter in preparation. "I'm trying not to die until at least my second year, but currently it's going the way it's going."
OOC: I stayed up way too late to write this, so if it doesn't make any sense, sorry, I'm manic. Also I noticed that you only have three semicolons in your previous reply, so I added some to mine so that you won't starve. Ily, xoxo, Bex.
7 Jul 2024, 21:15
Vestiges of Daylight
· · ─▪───────────── ·• VESTIGES OF DAYLIGHT •“Where the air is thinnest, it takes greatness to spark a fire.”─▪────────────────────────▪─Fri 24th November, 4pm | The Quidditch Training Pitch
Avery's Hex #136b5c─▪──────────────▪─
┏ ----- Something in the cascading orange of the skies told him that the two weren’t going to be done anytime soon. She received him well, smiling wide and betraying her intent to do as he did without a word being spoken. Though he had played the free bird, his guard had been slightly raised, though that melted away when she teased the thoughts from herself. She recalled her duel, her face practically a picture of all her emotions and thoughts; seemingly readable as she collected herself; not yet having arrived at the end point.
He didn’t wait for her verdict; he did not have concrete feet. The pale boy with dark hair would circle around her with his broom, a gifted Silver Arrow. It was whippy, and subservient, not like the wand he was given. Every movement he willed was made, and he had perfected weaving around her in tight circles, coaxing the ideas from her.
“Bex.” He repeated, tongue struggling to come to the short name; apparent in his assessment of it. A wide smile returned, as he cast aside judgement for just a few moments. “Well, Miss Lark. - The pleasure is undoubtedly, yours.” He gave, flashing her a winsome grin as he swept past her again. He was playing at some fun, and trying his best to charm her into the idea of his playfulness. With her own admission, she was balancing on the edge.
“L’appel du vide.” He said again, though his tone did not sound like a correction but more, a re-statement. “The call of the void. - Some hear it in everything they do. An instinctive voice telling you to do something, often against all reason. Jump from this height. Drop this expensive thing. Run your hand through flames, ignite that fight,” He detailed, slowing so that he could be heard. “Pull off a deadly stunt, because you can.”His words were chilling, but his dark eyes were alight, reflecting the setting sun. It was clear that he heard the call, and that he answered it often.
When she asked for advice, he could only grin. Something within him loved when he led people to do the things they should do, what they truly wanted to do. It burned like hell when two souls met this way, but it was the ignition of promise and it caused a paroxysm of excitement in him, for her.
“Feel the broom, feel the wind. Fill the sky and the space, make it yours. When you are one, climb. When you are one, you will know.” He said, in a tonal shift that emphasised the feelings he felt when he performed the stunt. It was a genuine window into his thoughts, and he for one thought the world a better place from this frame.
He had led her to water, she need only to reach out to the abyss, answer its call; let it in.
wc: 516┗ ┛
Interacting with: @Rebecca Lark
Translation: The Call Of The Void