4 May 2024, 02:52
Mending Bones, Mending Fences
β February 10th, 2024; Evening | Hospital Wing β
β Interactions: @Astra Norrick | Mentions: @Pericles Dralt β
π£here were very few parts of the magical world that she preferred to the muggle one, but it was undeniable that their medical care was vastly superior, at least in terms of speed. She'd sprained her wrist once when she'd taken a tumble during a football match, and that had taken weeks to heal well enough before her mum was willing to let her play again. Meanwhile, today she'd fallen out of the sky and broken a rib, and within a few hours she was right as rain again, and mostly just stalling for time at this point by faking some residual soreness.
She felt... unspooled, the thread of her left in a muddy, knotted clump somewhere back on the pitch. What a joke it was that it hadn't even been the fall that had rattled her around so bad, but rather the mere implication from Pericles that soon she'd be able to do even the smallest fraction of his, to Bex's eyes, vast and impressive repertoire of spells. One day, she was going to disappoint him. One day, he was going to figure out what she'd known for months now: she was never going to get any better at this. She would never be more than a witch in name alone.
She'd taken her cloak off when she'd arrived in the hospital and left it to lie haphazardly atop the bedside table; the hospital wing was far warmer than the February weather outside the castle's walls, and she sat comfortably on what were nice, clean bed linens, now soiled from her muddy jeans. Whatever, they could just Scourgify it. She couldn't, but someone could, surely. She kept her eyes firmly away from the table and the cloak it held, the Ravenclaw crest staring out at her from the offending fabric accusingly. Why the hat had thought her to be a good fit for the house of academics and scholars was a nauseating mystery to her.
Instead, she kept her eyes firmly on the door; her hospital bed had a largely unobstructed view of the doorway and the corridor past it, allowing her an intermittent reprieve from the coursework she was forcing herself to work on in the form of people-watching the numerous students, as well as the occasional professor, that made their way past the door. She looked down from the door for a moment, having finally narrowed in on the wording she wants for the conclusion to her DADA essay, and when she looks up again, she freezes, every cell of her body suddenly on high alert. By some cruel twist of fate, she had looked up at the exact same time as another student had chosen to peek into the hospital wing, and now she found herself staring down none other than the Accomplice herself.
Lesson learned: no matter how bad your day had been already, it could always still manage to get worse. So you should probably just give up early, find yourself a nice first-year sized hole and bury yourself within it. She wondered if the Nurse would mind too dearly if she took a trowel to her floors.
She was too tired for anger and certainly too tired for any of Accomplice's schemes, so she continued to sit there, staring and waiting to see who would break and make the first move.
5 May 2024, 01:12
Mending Bones, Mending Fences
banner tba
It had only taken a few screams, punches, and tears; a few more rounds of pacing and furious reparation of her emotional barricades during the walk from the grounds to the castle proper. She would take the failure loss with grace and poise.
Grace and poise. Astra spared a glance at her tremulous hands. Perhaps more pacing was in order.
But, instead of simply circling the ground floor like a madwoman, she traversed the stairs, pausing at areas of interest. However, with each stop she felt as if she must continue. As if a few more feet would truly erase the residual disappointment and inadequacy she felt pressing against her consciousness.
The hospital wing was last upon her list of places to stop, not even on the list so far as she knew, until her wandering gaze caught the eyes of Anti-Sabotager.
Wonderful.
An impassive and mildly exasperated staring match crossing several feet then ensued for who knew how long. Astra was reminded of Team One's victory and Anti's remarkable pre-dopplebeat playing.
Perhaps-
Oh heaven forbid, perhaps congratulations were on order.
Glancing both ways as if about to cross the street, Astra inched into the hospital wing with trepidation. Last time she'd been here, it had been with fear in her heart and dire circumstances. She'd tried to get out as soon as possible, despite the others with her who required more extensive care.
Extreme feelings of unease tickled the edge of her senses as she approached Anti's bed. "Congratulations," the redhead drawled lightly, focusing her gaze out the window before begrudgingly turning it upon Anti. "Great playing out there, really. Natural beater aren't you? Must be nice."
Another near-nervous glance out the window, though only a fraction of Astra's apprehension would be detectible to Anti.
"How did it compare to a real game?" Astra's sidelong glance would scrutinize Anti's manner of response. Despite her dread of a mocking, condescending response, Astra's curiosity was strong. She wanted to be prepared when she finally entered that Pitch as a real Seeker. Though after this dreadful showing, in front of the co-captain no less, how long will it be till then?
@Rebecca Lark
6 May 2024, 00:27
Mending Bones, Mending Fences
β February 10th, 2024; Evening | Hospital Wing β
β Interactions: @Astra Norrick | Mentions: None β
π’omewhere back in her bedroom at her dad's house in Leeds, buried in the back of her closet under old schoolwork, her football kit, abandoned art projects, and three separate pairs of roller skates, was a handmade trophy awarded t0 her by one of her cousins. In the careful, intentional font of a pre-teen who had just learned how to make bubble letters, it read: Bex Lark, 'The Silent Treatment' World Record, 16 days. She'd received it after a particularly heated spat with her mum that she couldn't even remember the context of now, and, to her mother's annoyance, it had sat proudly on her nightstand for a few months before it got replaced by a cool starry ceiling projector that her aunt and uncle had gotten her for her birthday.
The point of this anecdote, of course, was that she was perfectly content to sit in uncomfortable silence when it suited her. She was as stubborn as she was single-minded, and there was no reality in which she'd be the first one to break this little staring contest she and Accomplice had going on. What she hadn't expected was that Accomplice apparently did not share the same character flaws as she herself did, and was willing to extend an olive branch to someone who could very well throw it back in her face.
She blinked owlishly at the Slytherin girl, her congratulations so unexpected that it caused Rebecca.exe to crash. Mind you, the redhead didn't look happy to be congratulating her, but the fact she was at all could only mean that she was being held hostage and trying to communicate with Bex in code. Or maybe she was possessed, and liable to start writhing around on the floor if Bex made any sudden movements.
"I- thank you? I don't know if I'm a, uh, natural beater, whatever that means, but I haven't ever played anything else, I guess." There were some days she wondered what it would have been like if she'd been selected for Keeper like she'd tried out for. At the time, she'd been devastated to be offered second-string beater instead, assuming that she wasn't at all suited for the paroxysmal position. It was funny how wrong you could be about the things you want in life; she couldn't imagine being happy playing any position but beater, now.
"It wasn't much different from a real match, honestly. It was played a bit more dirty than I'm used to, which was kind of surprising. Usually the cheating is a bit more hidden." Not that Bex was one to judge, with some of the older members of her house's Quidditch team not being shy about incorporating cheating into their strategy. Etiquette dictated you were at least supposed to be sneaky about it, though.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a minute as Bex struggled to think of something else to say. She'd pulled one of the hospital pillows into her lap and was fidgeting with it restlessly, pulling at it's threads while she looked anywhere other than at the redhead standing at the foot of her bed.
"Was this your first Quidditch game? You did a pretty good job, if it was. New seekers are usually easy targets, but you stayed on your broom and everything."
In her own first match, she'd been knocked into the underworld by Slytherin's Erin Ryan, which was a bit like a rite of passage, in a way. Despite her suspicion and low-grade dislike of Accomplice, though, she was glad something similar hadn't happened to her. It had a tendency to scare off newer players if they weren't of especially sturdy stock, and Bex would very much like for the redheaded girl to join Slytherin's Quidditch team, if she hadn't already, so Bex could have an opportunity to pelt bludgers at her for a couple of hours. It would build character, surely.
She wasn't sure what this little chat was exactly, seeing as she and Accomplice had never once managed to hold a civil conversation since they'd met back in November. She was willing to hear the other girl out, though, whether it turned out that this was some sort of surprise heel turn or if, more likely, this ended up being some sort of plot to get Bex's guard down before cursing her bones into soup, or something.
25 May 2024, 05:40
Mending Bones, Mending Fences
banner tba
@Rebecca Lark
Astra's bones seemed to itch as she stayed here, stayed still. She chuckled lightly at Anti's nervousness. "You know, a natural. Like Jonah Lomu or Jonny Wilkinson. Just... born for rugby. Or, well, being a Beater."
Astra could practically see the tension between the two. What was it even there for? Anti was always in the wrong place, at the wrong time, often accusing her of something, like during that wacky biscuits event in January. Just because of @Elsian Cox's little wager back in that November race?
No... No, there was likely more to the tale. Astra didn't exactly do so hot cultivating a picture of innocence and perfection in front of the Ravenclaw. Nothing but animosity between them, and for what?
"Yeah, it was my first real game." Astra rubbed the pad of her thumb over her thumbnail. "I'd hoped to do better but... there should be a next time." A few glances around the room for no reason other than her eyes were restless, or perhaps still searching for the Snitch, then she blurted, "I would've liked to have a little more to dodge if I was going to perform so badly. At least get some type of practice in, you know? Better than just going round in circles and squinting." A slight chuckle. "Did you at least have fun, despite the cheating and getting knocked out?"
One might wonder, why was Astra being so open about her failure to someone she was sure scoured her existence for even a whisper of negative trait or action? Because Anti had been there for it, and there was no use pretending anything but the truth had happened.