30 Sep 2021, 14:06
Head in the Clouds
[font=century gothic]WHEN: Tuesday, September 21st — after class
WHAT: Evelynn solicits @Marshal Mozor's presence for a private quidditch practice[/font]
"How much do you actually know about Quidditch?"
Two figures closed the final stretch towards the Quidditch pitch, a trunk suspended between the pair, each grasping one handle. The question, accompanied by the shift of her broom to settle more comfortably on her shoulder, had come during a natural lull in their idle chatter. Rarely one to embellish her speech, Evelynn's companion would be quite accustomed to this blunt approach. To others, the directness with which it was asked might have sounded pointed. It was. To a degree, anyway. Something about his presence on the team had been nagging at her ever since Saturday. As though there was a web of motives that no amount of subtly scrutinizing side-eyeing could ever quite make out.
In actuality, it had come as a bit of a surprise when Marshal had turned up to the Gryffindor Team Quidditch Try-outs. Perhaps it shouldn't have. He'd never failed to show interest in the sport whenever it cropped up in conversation. Nor had missed an opportunity to show his support for his House during a game. Still, there was quite a difference between playing the part of a loyal spectator, and that of the player. She'd never really considered the possibility that he might try to join the team. Even less so that he'd actually demonstrate an aptitude for the sport and make the cut. She wasn't quite sure how to feel about it.
"What prompted you to try out?" She added, grass squelching softly underfoot with the aftermath of that day's light rainfall. Luckily for them, the clouds had transitioned from their somber grays to more amiable whites by the time classes had concluded, but the ground likely would dry for some time.
On the one hand, there had been a certain level of pride seeing her friend outmaneuver his competition while vying for a position on the bench. Perhaps even a touch of admiration in witnessing the determination etched upon his features as he not only reached for, but grasped tightly, at that goal. On the other hand, she was well aware of just how significant an effect Quidditch could have on the emotional states and relationships of its players. Moreover, it placed her in a bit of an uncomfortable dynamic where she held a position of authority over him. Although... she supposed it really wasn't all that different from her position as Prefect; and that, at least, hadn't yet been an issue.
One thing she did know for certain, however, was that there was no way on God's green earth that she would allow D'Spacito to dig his noxious claws into Marshal and attempt to turn him into a blatching dog. No. The moment the try-outs had concluded and the decisions had been made, Evelynn had been swift to insist that Marshal join her for one of her private practices. This would allow her to gauge his understanding, fill in the gaps as she saw fit, and instill a sense of decency and pride in a fair game.
31 Oct 2021, 11:09
Head in the Clouds
Spectacular Banner by Leonard Oaksworth@Evelynn Decipio"How much do I know about Quidditch?" The response mimicked the question, tinged with indignation, as if those words had insulted his very family name. Voice lifting to the dull atmosphere, Marshal deigned to educate his companion on her tragic folly. "What kind of a question is that? I know everything there is to know! When Quidditch was created, which records have been set by whom, how many people have died or disappeared over the years." Frankly, the numbers in those latter categories should have drawn a red flag, but the boy plowed forward, unfazed. "I know every stat of every player here at Hogwarts." With a pause, he cast a knowing glance in Eve's direction and added in a lower tone, "That includes you."
The sudden drop in fury clearly hinted at the fraudulence behind his outburst, and yet his tone elevated once more, equally as fast. "You asking me how much I know about Quidditch is like me asking you how many random facts you know to ruin my jokes. The answer is simply 'yes.' The knowledge is endless... you never run out of ways to devastate my sense of comedy, and I know Quidditch like the back of my hand."
Now the displeasure on his face grew more genuine, blonde hair bouncing with every animated movement of his head. "What's up with that, anyway? Do you hate jokes?" Before the inquiry was rewarded with a response, his gaze would return heavily to the towering hoops of the Quidditch pitch, the broom he held in one hand swinging in an arc of violent protest. "Never mind."
While, yes, the detailed subject tickled his ire at all given moments, this was not the time to air grievances to the world like dirty laundry. Soiled socks and injured pride would simply have to wait, for today would be ruled by brooms, bludgers, and all things Quidditch. Not to mention spending some alone time with his favorite killjoy.
Why had he joined the team, Evelynn 'Killjoy' Decipio wanted to know. The answer was simple.
"I have an obsession, Eve, and not just with you." The comment navigated past his lips without hesitation. "You know that I hate reading because my mum has forced me to do it since I knew what words were. It physically hurts. But I'm willing to endure the pain for Quidditch. I read about it, think about it, and dream about it. So there's no way I wasn't going to try out."
The overly straightforward barrage of words would leave most disoriented, lost, and perhaps a bit concerned. Yet Eve had demonstrated a consistent ability to keep up with his incessant dialogue throughout the course of their interactions. In all likelihood, that was purely due to an uncanny ability to ignore ninety percent of it. The red-head was special that way.
Finally, the two of them set foot on the spongy surface of the pitch, placing the trunk on the damp ground, with a grunt on Marshal's part. That done, the young Gryffindor angled his body toward his new captain... er, co-captain.
Certain this next course of action would result in his murder, but entirely too curious to hold back, he spoke again. "Now it's my turn to ask a question. What's up with you and Rafael?"
It had been nagging at him ever since the Blossom Ball, when the Gryffindor Quidditch captain had intentionally rammed into Evelynn, then proceeded to 'apologize' with poorly concealed mirth. Having refused to speak of that night's events, an occasion hadn't presented itself to question the girl about it. That is, until the team try-outs.
There, the tense climate between her and the captain had been on display once more, giving him an excuse to bring it up.
Why would anyone in their right mind treat someone like Eve badly? He needed to know. Perhaps if he did, he could put an end to it.
~Sometimes you have to laugh at yourself. It helps if you give yourself plenty of reasons~
STA ✩ 10 | EVA ✩ 10 | STR ✩ 14 | WIS ✩ 7 | ARC ✩ 6 | ACC ✩ 15
STA ✩ 10 | EVA ✩ 10 | STR ✩ 14 | WIS ✩ 7 | ARC ✩ 6 | ACC ✩ 15
5 Dec 2021, 12:11
Head in the Clouds
Ah yes, there it was. The sore indignation. How dare Evelynn, co-captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, dare inquire as to the general knowledge of that same sport to an aspiring new member of the team. By the way in which Marshal's expression had pained, the register of his voice rising in contempt, any outsiders looking in might have had the impression that she had insulted the model of his broom; or worse, that she had deigned to defile such a prized possession. What broom, she would have clapped back. Eyes that reflected the grey clouds above lifted to the heavens as he spoke, chest rising with a breath to steady her gait and renew her reserves of patience that she might survive what promised to be a dramatic session. Of course it would be. How could she have expected anything less.
Granted... she supposed he had expressed interest in the sport in the past. It was what had prompted her to invite him to the try-outs, after all. But it wasn't as though she had ever even seen him sit astride a broom. Nor had he ever asked to join her at a practice previously. When she had been interested in joining the Gryffindor team during her first year, she had done everything and anything she could think of to improve her skill and maximize the opportunity to clinch a spot should one have opened. Was it really so out of the question that she might question his motivation and knowledge in the absence of that same fervour?
Apparently.
"Do you now?" she wondered, brow lofting as high as the ambitious statement he had made about knowing every stat there was to know about every players at Hogwarts. Evelynn, herself, had made an effort to attend every game since her attendance at the school, noting down stats and strategies, outcomes and patterns as she saw them. But even she couldn't boast to being able to recollect anything at all without referencing those elaborate archives. "What is my number?" she inquired, posing what should be an easy test. "Who are the current captains of each of the teams? What are the win-loss ratios for the last two years? How many times have I caught the snitch? Who is Hogwarts' most successful chaser?"
Perhaps she ought not to have countered quite so quickly, however. The expression of his countenance shifted swiftly from fury to something more dulcet, evidence that his theatrical outburst held as much merit as a novel by Colleen Hoover. Humbled by his collected reservation, Evelynn was almost even prompted to apology. Until he started up again.
"Yes..." she muttered, echoing the answer he had equated to his knowledge of quidditch; although, given its timing, he very well may have taken it as her own answer to his question on her preference for jokes. "If you know quidditch like the back of your hand—" Her scathing retort was cut short, eyes narrowed in his direction blinking as she was forced to do a mental double take on what he'd said after. "An obsession with—"
Had she heard him right? For a moment, she'd thought she had heard something about an obsession with her. But he had continued right one past it, his expression completely devoid of any humility or shame. Surely she must have misheard, then, for how could anybody say something so preposterous so casually. Not that she could even really question him about it anyway. Honestly, she was beginning to regret asking him anything at all. The boy's mouth was like a broken faucet. As soon as it was turned, it was very nearly impossible to stem the flow.
"Alright, alright!" Evelynn huffed, figurately ruffling as he bemoaned ceaselessly about his alleged expanse of knowledge on the skill. All she had wanted was to lightly broach the subject, tease out what he knew and what knowledge he didn't yet fully understand, and fill in the holes; but if he was going to be so obnoxiously disgruntled by her questioning, they could focus on the application of skill and physical ability. Fixing her attention forward and hastening her steps to bring the chest of supplies to centre field, she offered an apology, voice dripping with sarcasm, "My grandest apologies, O Learn'd One. Clearly I was speaking out of turn when daring to question your motives.."
Now what, she couldn't help grump, suppressing an internal sigh as the boy audaciously hoisted a right to his own question. "What in the heavens are you talking about?" Evelynn practically balked, not expecting—and certainly not appreciating—the mention of a particularly vulgar name. "There is nothing up with myself and D'Spacito," she returned, her voice devoid of any of the trill or elegance it generally carried. "He is a troglodyte with half a brain cell. How he managed to earn himself a position as Captain is beyond me. Unfortunately, I am forced to suffer the reign of his arrogance until such time as he regrettably steps down."
Already pressure was hammering on the back of her eyes. How easily his name seemed to evoke annoyance within her. Like a spell. Or a poison. She didn't even quite realize until that moment just how easily she had slipped in expressing her not-so-favourable thoughts about him. Still, it could be worse, she supposed, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. At least Marshal wasn't likely to go gossiping about what she'd just said and cause her to earn the Captain's renewed ire and whatever passive-aggressive punishments came with it. Still...
"You'd best keep that to yourself," she stated, not so much requesting or even pleading as she was providing a calmly stated demand of expectation. Then, lowering her hand away from her face and prompting the crate to be settled on the ground, looked up with an almost fatigued gaze, "Why?"
@Marshal Mozor @Rafael D'Spacito