Uncharted territory Open

Mentioning @Vincent D'Arque

Immediately after this post
References the spectators in the stands

It was freeing, Quidditch. Everything else at Hogwarts required trained thought, careful consideration, hours of deliberation or practice. Everything except this. It was the one thing in this magical world that had come naturally to the red head, the one thing where she could forget her troubles and the pressure of school. The one place where she could shed the weight of fear of failure from her shoulders and cast off the mantle of the pursuit of perfection. Here she could live in the moment, concede to her senses, and give in to her instincts and intuition. Here, upon her borrowed broom with the wind howling in her ears and combing through her tresses, she could race away from the demons that sought to hold her back and outpace her fears.

She wouldn’t be able to completely lose herself, however. Not right now. Today marked the first (and only) unofficial match of the year, and the first time that she would be facing the Quidditch Champions, the members of the Hufflepuff Team, themselves. Every bit of focus would be needed to find that glint of gold before they had a chance to snatch it from the air. The need to prove herself to the team was more than a little prominent in the back of her mind. More than that, however, was the raging desire to rub it into her Captain's face that she deserved to be on the team, and that the claims he had made against her character and ability were empty ones.

Still, despite the fact that the players were slowly spilling out on the field, the game hadn't quite begun. Nor would it likely have quite the same stream-lined start as a typical match. There was no announcer calling out player names to herald their arrival onto the pitch, or cue them to take their lap. Instead, everyone seemed to take to the skies in their own time, and Evelynn had little doubt that it would take a bit of effort to coordinate everyone to settle enough to begin.

At the very least, there was no roar or raucous interference of the crowd to deal with. In fact, there was hardly a crowd to speak of, noted the red head. After her second speedy lap around the perimeter of the pitch, she had slowed to an easy soar as she made her way to her lofty starting position, the height at which she hovered serving as a decent vantage to take stock of the game as it unfolded below her; and, of course, to more easily survey the pitch for the snitch when it was released. Generally, she had difficulty distinguishing any individual student amongst what was usually a sea of black cloaks and coloured scarves. Today, however, she could easily make out the few that had gathered. Not that it was particularly difficult. Even had she not been curious to see who had been drawn to the impromptu skirmish, the calls of "Rafa!" surely would have drawn her attention. Pursing her lips with mild disdain, Evelynn found that her interest in the meager crowd had vanished in the instant of that call.

However, it seemed those gathered in the stand weren't the only ones who had been drawn to the pitch that afternoon. Given the position behind her towards the Gryffindor end of the pitch, she hadn't noticed the student at first. Had they been there the whole time, she wondered? Alone and towards one end of the stadium near the goals, Evelynn spied another individual. At this height, from this distance, it was difficult to know exactly who it was. Yet…for some reason, she felt as though she ought to. Neck craned around, and with brows pinched together, she considered his — by his posture and the cut of his hair, she was fairly certain it was a boy — continued existence. Subtly, she rocked back on her broom, allowing it to drift ever-so-slowly backwards, like coaxing a horse to step back one hoof at a time, that she might get a bit of a better look.

A hint of blue on the crest of his cloak's breast and trim to match suggested Ravenclaw. That was… curious. Not unheard of, of course; she'd found that the students in the school did any but stick to their own House when it came to friendships. Even still, it surprised her at least a little bit to see a solitary Eagle. The only other feature she could really make out was the muted, sandy blonde tone of his hair. The more she peered in his direction, the more a sense of unease seemed to take hold. That sense as though she were missing something. And yet, she couldn't place him. A mystery for another time, perhaps. Pulling her gaze away from the seated figure, she turned her attention to the growing collection players awaiting the first toss of the quaffle.

Game on.

@Evelynn Decipio 

As the individual players of the teams entered the pitch one by one, the crowd’s anticipation gained momentum. “Well, crowd… perhaps a cluster would be the more appropriate word.” Vincent grinned scornfully at the thought as he looked at the disappointingly small number of people that had found their way into the unpleasantly damp arena. Apparently the supposed popularity of this sport among his fellow students was determined by the importance of the game that would be played, the weather at the moment of playing or, more likely, both. There were only a few that had dared to face the harsh weather conditions to attend to this game. His gaze shifted back to the pitch as he noticed an unexpected movement just at the edge of his peripheral vision and he focused on the spot. He saw the auburn-haired girl slowly entering his field of vision on her broom, back straight, chin up, pride and confidence combined. Strangely enough she flew, or rather crept, backwards throwing an inquisitive look in his direction as if she was scrutinizing something. Or someone. Him. Perhaps. “Oh boy, here comes the fire.” he semi-seriously thought, smiling doubtingly as he answered her gaze, even though he wasn't certain she was targeting him in the first place. But there came no fire. In fact, after only a short moment the girl shifted her focus back to the pitch and onto the other players on the pitch, leaving his halfheartedly mouthed ‘good luck’ unnoticed and therefore futile. Vincent swallowed and looked around. Apart from himself there was absolutely nothing to see that, in his opinion, could have piqued the girl’s interest. So what was that all about then?

Vincent made a mental note to ask her if ever given the chance, when a noise entered his subconscious mind, pulling his attention back to reality. A loud cheer, from the sound of it heralding the arrival of a superstar, suddenly rose from a small group of fans seated quite a distance away from him. Judging by the red-and-yellow color scheme of their scarves and the lion in the crests on their robes they were Gryffindor fans. He tried to hear what exactly it was that was being shouted, but the wind largely drowned out the screams, making it hard to decipher them. It sounded something like ‘Rafa’, probably the name of one of the players. A boy in Gryffindor attire who flew past the shouting fans right at that moment, reacted eagerly to the exclamations. Apparently he was Rafa. Vincent shrugged. He knew one or two others on the pitch must have felt a sting witnessing this. He had always been strongly averse to glorification, but at the moment he couldn’t really be bothered. Besides, he had no background information about this at all. “My judgement will come when my judgement is due.” he thought as he once again tried to fix his focus on the upcoming match, which, considering the nervous movements on the pitch, would start shortly.

With the pregame antics finally over and the match started, Vincent tried to fathom the various tactics and strategies deployed by both teams, all the while trying to keep an eye on everything that happened mostly above, but sometimes also on the pitch. That turned out to be quite the challenge. The unusual set-up of the game and it’s rules, unequalled by any sport in the muggle world, could easily confuse those that – like Vincent – lacked extensive knowledge about it. There was so much action at any given time his head started to spin trying to keep up. Vincent leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Despite the fact the game wasn’t over yet, the snitch still up for grabs, he decided to call it a day. He wasn’t going to absorb any more new knowledge at this point and it had been a long day anyway. He did learn a little about the game, but the thought that primarily kept popping up was what on earth all the fuzz was about. Rather than entertaining he so far found Quidditch predominantly confusing and chaotic, not to mention rather painful for some, both physically and mentally. He had no doubt there would be a whole host of ideas and strategies behind it all, but he didn’t seem to be able them to grasp them just yet. Perhaps if he watched more games? Perhaps when his mind wasn’t as distracted? With an intense sigh he got up from his seat and slowly progressed towards the exit of the arena, ignoring the ongoing battle cries coming from the pitch, until he was outside again. And then doubt got the better of him. Yes, he was tired, very much so even, but somewhere in the back of his mind the thought he needed to stay kept repeating itself. Now what?

Mentioning @Vincent d'Arque
Modified from the reply posted to the game

Official match or otherwise, there was no holding back, that much was clear. Right from the get-go, the chaos of the pitch was soemthing else. Although there seemed to be significantly less murderous intent (or perhaps that was a simple state of belief given the recent massacre Gryffindor had felt at the hands of Slytherin), the flying was intense. Evelynn tried not to pay too much attention given her own important task, but that didn't mean she didn't notice the outcome of the first skirmish for the red leather ball. Unfortunately, she was disappointed to see that it was D'Spacito who had obtained the quaffle. A brilliant display of flying, she had -- as much as she wished otherwise -- to admit; but he really didn't need the inflation to his ego that would come of scoring the first goal of the game.

Only moment's later, Evelynn snorted her amusement. Miss. It hadn't even been a particularly impressive save. His shot had just been that lackluster. At least that was one for the cartridge if ever he chose to make a snide comment towards her own flying. Granted, this also meant that Gryffindor had failed to gain that initial upper-hand and lost possession of the quaffle to Hufflepuff, which obviously the little lioness could not be happy about. What an unfortunate predicament...She hated to root for her Captain given his egoism, but to do otherwise painted her a traitor. Lips crimped at the annoyance of the matter, and she pulled her attention away from it in search of something else.

The snitch had been released. For a split second, she saw it, her own gaze zig-zagging and flitting with the precise movement of the little ball. But then...she lost it. Even still... she had see where it was going. Flatening herself out, she sped to where she had last seen it, careful to angle herself so that her hunt would place any glint of gold against a contrasting background to make its re-finding no more difficult than it already was. A half lap around the pitch. And a second. Then across to the other side. Down through the midst of the chasers' skirmish, twisting to avoid a barreling player in yellow aiming to swipe at what she could only assume was a toss of the quaffle, then...

Movement from one end of the pitch caught her attention, and surprisingly, not the end of the pitch where the quaffle was currently racing in the steady hands of MacAllister. No, there, just off to the side of the Gryffindor goal posts, was a flutter of movement. Not of wings, however. Not literally, anyway. The Ravenclaw boy who had seated himself there at the start of the match, had taken leave of his perch.

Odd, was the first thing to come to Evelynn's mind. After all, why bother seating yourself in the stands if you were just going to leave them before the match had even really gotten started? Perhaps he hadn't really been here for the game, then? Or maybe who he thought was playing had started benched and this was a protest of sorts? Perhaps he had ventured here on a whim and found it didn't suit his fancy? Or maybe, he'd recalled a prior engagement and was required elsewhere?

Even as the black of his robes disappeared from view to descend the stands, Evelynn couldn't quite help ponder the reasoning for his withdrawal. Or even that of his presence to begin with. Still, even now, she felt the pang in the back of her mind as though she ought to know who he was. But again, she was quite certain she'd never had any encounter with him of any significance. Of course she hadn't... she'd have remembered. So then why....

A sudden whistling drew her from the distraction of her ill-timed thoughts. Panic set in with the realization of her mistake. Not only had she wasted precious seconds focusing on something other than finding the snitch, she had slowed to a hover and allowed herself to be an easy target. That wasn't just any sound; it was a bludger. Eyes widened as she whipped her head around, instincts already taking hold to kick herself forward on the broom in what could have been a lucky evasive maneuver. Unfortunately, luck would not be with her. Despite her quick reflexes, the dense ball of destruction careened towards her with a velocity that the school broom simply couldn't outpace. One last glance back under her arm found her vision almost entirely eclipsed by the demon ball and a second later, pain exploded through her body.

Nothing. For several seconds, she felt nothing. Nothing but an all-encompassing panic as she tried to remember how to breathe. The force of the blow had been substantial enough that the air had been knocked out of her. Her vision blurred as the pitch took on a monochromatic tone of gray. She had difficulty focusing. She couldn't see the players. Or the hoops. Or even the broom underneath her. In fact, as her chest heaved, a sharp intake of air bringing with it the icy grip of life, it occurred to her that she couldn't feel her broom underneath her, either.

She couldn't feel her broom.

Eyes widened with her second realization. That wasn't the pitch; that was the sky. She was looking up, her hair whipping up past her face, her stomach in her throat as the the air rushed past her making it hard to gulp down breaths. She was falling. She was falling Oh God, oh God. She was going to die. Why did she ever think flying was a good idea, she was going to die. A second wave of panic overtook her then, heart racing hard, tears streaming in the wake of her momentum as a shriek of fear split unbidden from her lips and her rationale thought gave way to the singular desire to live.

A shriek that would easily carry beyond the borders of the pitch.

@Evelynn Decipio

The question of what to do next didn’t actually need to be answered by Vincent himself, as it was answered for him. The very moment it had formed in his mind, a horrifyingly piercing shriek, sending bone-chilling shivers down his spine, resounded from the stadium, easily penetrating his absent state of mind, bluntly forcing him back into reality. It even scared the odd pigeon into fearfully flying off from its branch in a nearby tree and Vincent was certain had there been any single glass panes around they most certainly would have shattered. This was no ordinary expression of frustration or anger, nor was it a cheer from an enthusiastic crowd. No, this sounded like someone in mortal danger or at least in fear of getting in mortal danger. Apparently something terrifying was taking place on the Quidditch pitch this very moment. He had heard the stories of people dying after getting wiped clean off of their broom by a well-aimed bludger during a game of Quidditch, who hadn’t, but he had never believed those stories to be completely true. But perhaps they were.

For a moment he was in doubt about going back or not. He was in no way a disaster tourist, going to the scene of an accident just to gloat over other people’s predicaments. In fact he actually despised them. If he couldn’t help out in any way he preferred to steer clear from any disaster, rather than marveling at the suffering of others. Normally his reason had no problem defeating his curiosity in a direct battle, but this time, for some mysterious reason, rather than standing at opposite sides, they both tended towards the same outcome. Rendering pondering about that strange coalition pointless at the moment and thus a later concern, it took Vincent only a split second to make the decision to go back into the stadium. This could hardly be a coincidence.

Vincent hurriedly re-entered the stands, half and half expecting to see a limp, mangled body lying somewhere on the pitch, but to his relief there was no such scene. In fact, the play was still on and at first glance, be it a cursory one, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Perhaps the scream hadn’t originated from the stadium at all, it might just as well have come from somewhere else. He hadn’t actually seriously considered that option, he had simply assumed it came from the Quidditch pitch. He shrugged his shoulders at his thoughtlessness. Oh well, no turning back now. Without being aware of it he walked towards a seat to sit down and see if he could figure out what, if anything, could have been the reason for someone here to blurt out such a terror-stricken scream. He looked at where he was about to sit down and couldn’t help thinking that he too, like anyone else in the world, was a creature of habit to a certain extent. A few hundred seats to choose from and yet he chose the exact same one he had chosen earlier. The thought conjured a half smile on his face, while he scanned the playing field and the action on it a bit more careful and methodical as he failed to see a possible cause for the ghastly scream that had so effectively lured him back in, much like he failed to see why his reason suddenly collaborated with his curiosity instead of opposing it, which was normally the case. Strange.

Focusing back on the game he looked around and the sight of what was going on at and around the pitch wiped the smile off his face right away. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It seemed that in his absence a proverbial massacre had taken place. He looked around in amazement as his brain inventoried the events that he had missed since he had left, for as far as he could see and interpret with his limited knowledge of the game and its rules. Surely there couldn’t have happened too much in that short time span, that was downright inconceivable. Yet, he saw what he saw. First off there had been scored. Furthermore he noticed two new faces actively flying around the pitch which meant two players that had started the match were already out. From the looks of it one from each team. A Hufflepuff beater and, he immediately recognized the boy as the glorified Gryffindor he saw interacting with his fans before the start of the game, a Gryffindor chaser. “It seems pride indeed does come for the fall.” Vincent thought as he continued his survey of the entire pitch. He noticed a broom with two Gryffindors on it, a boy up front and a girl at the back, hugging the boy tightly. Apparently the girl had been swiped off of her broom and was caught by the boy who, judging by the fact they were still flying, managed to stay up in the air doing so. Vincent had not seen the actual catch, but regardless how it had gone down, there was only one word for such an action. Impressive.

Vincent looked a little closer at the duo. He didn’t know nor had he any recollection of ever seeing the boy, apart from him flying around at the start of this game. He shifted his gaze to the girl that still tightly held on to the boy and he caught a glimpse of the girl’s by now familiar auburn locks. Her he knew. Well, knew… not exactly. It was the girl he had seen in the train and who he had observed warming up before the other players entered the pitch. She must have been knocked off her broom as well and found herself lucky enough to be saved from an unfriendly and undoubtedly unwanted collision with the grass and the unforgiving ground it grew from. Even though the pitch was rather moist, which would definitely soften the impact, the feeling would probably still equal that of being in a car plowing into a wall. Bruises galore. A fate she had evaded. For now. Maybe his unnoticed mouthed lucky charm did what it was supposed to do after all. No. If it actually had, she wouldn’t have been swiped off of her broom in the first place. Either way, if she had plummeted to the ground it was certainly conceivable it was her who had uttered that terrified scream. Vincent wasn’t at all convinced he would have kept his cool if he were in her position either.

The girl, probably oblivious to Vincent’s considerations, suddenly jerked herself loose from the boy she shared a broom with, only to lean back in and wrap an arm around the boys waist once more, stretching the other arm past him aimed at… yeah, aimed at what exactly? Vincent tried to follow the path her arm indicated to see what she was pointing at, but he in fact already knew. She had seen the snitch. And sure enough, Vincent saw a golden flicker roughly in the direction the girl’s arm was aimed, while at the same moment her yelled ‘Gooooo’ rang out through the stadium. There it was. The infamous golden snitch.

By now Vincent was so engaged in and intrigued by the game play he had already made up his mind about where and how he would spend the rest of the afternoon and, who knows, day or even night. Watching this game unfold itself. Considering Gryffindor having scored twice more, Hufflepuff having scored their first goal of the match and the Hufflepuff seeker finding herself in the same mess as the Gryffindor seeker after she too had been rescued by one of her teammates following a hit by a bludger that bashed her clean off of her broom, he knew he could be in for a treat. Deciding to abandon the attempts to fathom the strategies and gameplay for now and, hopefully, having halted his train of thoughts concerning Angelica for now, Vincent made himself comfortable, gladly accepting the feeling of relaxation taking over his body and mind. Let the fire light up and set the stadium further ablaze!

And that it did. As the game developed into a true ding-dong battle, the tension grew to epic proportions. Who was to take the prize, to catch the snitch was anyone’s guess. Based on his limited knowledge Vincent determined that even though Gryffindor edged Hufflepuff where it came to field superiority, it was in no way decided who’d win this close call, especially considering the peculiar, complicated situation both seekers had managed to maneuver themselves into. The sight of the two duos condemned to each other on a single broom was comical to some extent, the Gryffindor seeker using her broommate’s hair as reins in order to steer him where she wanted to go, but mostly extremely interesting. They transformed the chase into an epic, captivating showdown that, in Vincent’s opinion, overshadowed all other noteworthy moments of the game. He became so completely absorbed in the conflict between the two duos, he only subconsciously observed Gryffindor scoring twice more before the game culminated into a spectacular end as Gryffindor grabbed victory with their seeker scooping up the snitch right from under the noses of the Hufflepuffs, after a jaw-dropping rush between both doubles. Perhaps his mouthed encouragement had served its purpose after all.

Gryffindor had won by a whopping margin of 190 to 10, which could in no way be considered an accurate reflection of the reality. Still, the numbers were impressive. The winning seeker went completely crazy shrieking ecstatically, hugging and kissing her pilot. And rightfully so, after all she had snatched the snitch. Meanwhile all other Gryffindors, players and spectators alike, burst out in joy as well. Vincent, a little disappointed the compelling match had ended, quickly got up and swiftly left the arena. As an eagle he had been impartial in this contest, he had no favorite, so he had no part in either celebrating the win or mourning the loss, nor was he looking for one. As he walked back to the castle he admitted this match had certainly exceeded his expectations. He certainly hadn’t expected to enjoy himself this much when he woke up this morning. Now if only he could figure why exactly he ended up at the match in the first place… Perhaps there really wasn’t anything to it, perhaps it was just a coincidence…