Oh, To Reminisce Closed

It was another day, another miserable attempt to actually get homework done well. Marietta had discovered last year that the lake was too distracting. Too many climbable trees and things to watch rather than do her mostly boring homework. One would think the common room would work well but it was worse than the lake. So many other people trying to do homework, going in and out until curfew, Marietta wasn't sure how anyone would focus with all the noise. She had even tried just studying during meal hours and surviving off snacks, but that had been too quiet so she ended up falling asleep. Though, Marietta had to admit she was happy that one hadn't worked out because rolls, jerky, and cookies were not as sustainable as they originally seemed. So now she had come here. The quidditch stadium, when there weren't games or practice, was quiet. Yet not comfortable enough for Marietta to just fall asleep. True, it was quite large and intimidating, but Marietta didn't mind. There was rarely a time she didn't feel smaller than everything else. In spite of her size.

So, after classes she had marched down to the stadium in the thick green pants she wore for Care of Magical Creatures and the black and yellow striped poncho her granddad had knitted her. Found a decent spot on the bleachers, and settled in for the long haul. It took some twisting and turning to actually begin to focus, but eventually, once her fidgets realized they weren't going to win, she actually began to get work done.
The downside to focusing was Marietta lost track of everything else. All that existed were her written assignments. That is, until she looked up and saw the setting sun. Marietta winced, she had only meant to be out here an hour or two. Fengel got upset if he left her alone for too long and technically she wasn't supposed to be separated from him this long either. I mean, whats the point of a therapy cat if you don't keep it around to therapize you?
Marietta would start collecting her things to head back to her common room, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She froze, head whipping to the side. She knew she was safe here, nothing would hurt her out of nowhere. That did not stop her from being jumpy though. Two months in what felt like a haunted stone tower would do that to you.

Marietta breathed a sigh or relief when she saw it was just someone riding around on their broom. She couldn't help to pause and watch as he did so. Marietta avoided attending the sporting events and stopped taking flying lessons after her first year to avoid lowering her grades even further. So this was the only time she really got to see someone flying around. She had to admit, it was dazzling to watch. The fast paced dive and the graceful flyers pull out of it. She wished she could properly fly on a broom. Maybe then she could just fly away from her troubles. Just hop on, take off, and never truly stop. Marietta blinked and shook her head like a horse trying to shoo a fly. She would tuck away that thought were the rest of her negative thinking went. Besides, it was rude to stare.
Marietta would finish gathering her things and rake a hand through her stick and leaf filled hair. She would flinch as she did this, her long and thick red hair was the only thing between her and the nipping air. In reality Marietta didn't particularly mind the cold. It was just startling to feel it after so long. Things gathered, she would head over to where she though she saw the flyer land. Her father had always encouraged her to never hold back a compliment and Marietta did not see why she should start now. Once within speaking distance of him, she would beam and say "Thanks for the show. I'm not well versed in flying but everything looked great from down here." She would say half-jokingly.

@Marshal Mozor

One thought flitted to the forefront of his mind, only to be replaced by the next. Images passed before his eyes, then vanished, as the aimless trajectory of his mind settled into a reel of everything kept at bay throughout the day. Nothing dictated their directive, save for a permeating feeling of melancholy. He couldn’t quite place the source, though it was likely that it stemmed from several areas at once. Thus, it was easier just to let the thoughts wander. And wander they did, as did a voice to his ears that roused him from his mental pit.

A sentiment of appreciation, he’d registered, followed by a compliment. Intended for him?
The question demanded a visual assessment of the voice, and he obliged, head tilting downward from the sky, gaze searching for the one who had spoken.
Standing before him was a girl of red hair. Just how many of those went to this school? He often found himself marveling at the sheer number, though perhaps the castle’s locale being positioned in the highlands of Scotland was partially to blame. He wouldn’t normally be one to complain, yet these days he found that this particular shade of hair awakened an ache he couldn’t quite snuff. But this instance of ginger was unique, particularly given the foliage that seemed to have made a home atop the girl’s head.
The tint of her pants also mimicked that of leaves in the summer, while the poncho adorning her torso conversely invoked the image of a bumblebee.
It was all very unexpected, and his reaction would reflect as much.

“Oh,” came his initial response, carrying the characteristics of one having to gather his thoughts for an impromptu conversation. Despite the movement of his head, his position did not otherwise change. A beat passed before he added a genuine, “Thank you.”
Every instinct built over the past couple of years encouraged him to leave it at that. To let the sprout of interaction wither and die. She would simply give a parting statement - or perhaps nothing at all - and continue on her way, never to play a significant part in his life again. He would watch her go and retract back inside his scattered mind, not to be bothered. It would be so simple, and in keeping with the way he seemed to live anymore. Such temptation, yet something deeper urged him to say more. But what? Hadn’t he been good at this once?

Finally emerging from the warmth of his pocket, one hand grasped again for the handle of his broom, where he had left it leaning beside him.
Fiddling absently with a knot in the wood, he spoke slowly. “It’s mostly the broom, really. It’s getting a bit old now, but you won’t find one much better in the sky.” Despite the years he’d had it and the excessive use it had undergone, the Silver Arrow hardly showed signs of age or wear, speaking to the excellent care he took to maintain its condition. Many hours had been spent polishing its surface or smoothing any notches. He took care of it, and in turn it took care of him.
“I didn’t know anyone else was here,” he continued. “Have you been here the whole time?”
He wasn’t embarrassed. He’d flown under the scrutiny of a great deal more in the past, and had grown numb to the judgment of others, concerning his flying abilities and simply in general. Although a genuine compliment like the one she’d given would always be appreciated. It wasn’t as if he got many of those.

Introductions were generally shoe-horned into first-time interactions such as this, but he consciously neglected to initiate. If this girl deigned it worth asking for his name, then he would oblige. But he chose not to offer the information umprompted; it had rarely led to good things in the past.

@Marietta Griffis

Marietta would wince when the boy said 'Oh'. Trying and failing to hide her embarrassment. Looking more closely now, she could practically feel the melancholy coming off him. Shoot, did I interrupt something private? She thought, on edge now. Typically when someone seemed so sad she would start the conversation with 'are you okay'. If they said no she would offer to talk about it over the cookies she kept in her bag. If they said yes she would wish them a good day and be on her way sense people who said 'yes' usually didn't want to talk about it. Now asking would be weird. Guess I'll have to play it be ear. Marietta would think as the boy thanked her. She would smile in response to his thank you.

Marietta would rummage in her mind for the best way to start a conversation with him. Usually she was quicker to respond but she'd been thrown off her groove. Thankfully, he seemed willing to talk. "Honestly I'm not sure." She'd say thoughtfully. "I didn't come here too long after classes, so probably. Though, if the idea that I was here the whole time bothers you, I can tell you that I was focused on my homework almost the entire time." Marietta said stumbling a little on the last bit. She was trying to avoid saying 'I wouldn't worry about it'. Just in case he was and that invalidated his worry. She realized its awkward phrasing as she said it though.

Marietta would pause thinking for a moment, then nod to herself. "I'm going to join you down there if that's alright." She'd say. Marietta would wait till she was given a response of some sort. Once that was done [if the answer wasn't no], she'd hop onto the ledge of the wall that separated the stands from the grass. Then, she would slide off, using her feet to push her body forward so her hands were free for balance.
Marietta landed on the ground, knees bent. It wasn't a perfect finish though, once she hit the dirt she wobbled, arms windmilling for a moment. Thankfully, she managed to regain balance before her face hit the dirt. Once balanced, she would do a fist pump of victory and turn to the melancholy flier with a bright smile. "You sound like you've been through a lot with that broom." She'd say and leave it at that. She didn't want to ask anymore clarifying questions just in case his sadness was related to the broom in some way.

@Marshal Mozor

One corner of his lip curled into a slight grin as the girl staggered through her reply. Her concern for his mental state was amusing, and not unappreciated.
"It doesn't bother me," he said with a light shake of his head. "Wouldn't be much for quidditch if one pair of eyes gave me the willies." His English accent shone through the last sentence, tracing a path of frivolity. The jovial sentiment wouldn't last, however. A frown accompanied the lift of his eyebrows, a shrug dismissing his previous statement. "Not like I am these days anyway." Hazel eyes clouding with memories unseen, he turned back to his broom, fingers still exploring the surface he could navigate in his sleep. Every knot, every grain, each one leading to another scene from the archive of his past. For him, it wasn't merely a broom. It was a portal to better days.

A moment passed in silence as he receded once more into his mind, though this time it didn't last long, her voice severing the connection again.
He offered a nod at her proposition to join him, gesturing to the empty space at his side. "I won't stop you."
In the next instant she was there, feet hitting the grass with a soft thud, though their purchase was far from immediately stable. Leaning awkwardly to one side, the girl threw her arms outward, swinging them in a circular motion to regain her lost center.
Recognizing her predicament, Marshal instinctively shot a hand in her direction and grasped one arm near the shoulder, where the windmilling movement was less drastic and thus more accessible. His assistance, however, didn't seem necessary, as she found her balance just when his fingers enwrapped her arm.

"Careful," he advised with a chuckle, relinquishing his grip once he ensured she was stable. A crooked grin lit up his face at her fist pump of triumph, though he turned away with another amused shake of his head. It felt like so long since he had genuinely smiled, to the point that it seemed wrong somehow. It didn't sit naturally on his lips like it had years before. And so he let it fade, settling back into the solemn expression that took so much less effort to uphold.

His gaze found the handle of his Silver Arrow again, perhaps prompting the girl's next words.
The implied question was a loaded one. Saying he had been through a lot with the broom was like saying the same of his right leg. It had become a part of him as much as any limb, and frankly, losing it would likely hurt just the same.
"You could say that," he agreed simply. "I've had it since my second year." Perhaps it didn't seem like a long stretch of time, but to him it was an eternity. "The year I joined the quidditch team. One of the best years of my life." The nostalgia threatened to drag him inward yet again, but he fought it off for the sake of maintaining the conversation. When had talking to another person become so tedious? One would think he'd been stranded on an island for years with no social contact. In reality, he'd been stranded, but only on an island of his own mental creation.

Taking a breath, he continued, "I don't play anymore, but sometimes I like to come here and imagine I'm in a match, keep my flying skills sharp; stuff like that." He glanced at her, a smile once again gracing his countenance, though this time it was forced, and failed to reach his eyes. "Always nice to remember bashing someone's skull in with a bludger." The joke was stiff and poorly timed, intended to prevent his own dour mood from dragging hers down, but only adding an awkward note to the interaction. He winced inwardly.
Not my strong suit anymore, he noted to himself. With social capability went comedic ability, as it turned out.

@Marietta Griffis

Marietta inwardly flinched at Marshal's comment about no longer being able to play quidditch. Thank goodness she hadn't asked any clarifying questions. It was very tempting though, to ask why he didn't play quidditch anymore. She couldn't though, it had been awhile sense she had just, talked to someone. It was really nice and talking to this guy felt so tentative, like he was an injured animal she had to coax back to their home. Marietta immediatly banished the thought. Don't make comparisons like that! Its rude! She'd think to herself sternly.

When the beanie clad boy helped steady her, she'd shoot him a beaming smile. Just barely catching his own smile. He had a nice smile, it just seemed, unpracticed. As if he didn't quite remember how to do it. Marietta would laugh. "Who needs careful, we're way more likely to die at a ball then the quidditch stadium. Well when there isn't a game going." Marietta would tag that part on. Just in case the whole reason he didn't play quidditch was because something had happened here. Then the stupidity of what she had just said hit her. Marietta would outwardly wince. That was horrendously insensitive you slug! Marietta would think. Her steady confidence in her words quickly wearing thin. At least it existed now though.

Marietta would give him a sympathetic look. Hogwarts had been... well it had been wonderful at some points, but it'd mostly been 'H' 'E' double hockey sticks for her. However, she'd seen the glow in other people's eyes. That light of pure, unfiltered joy at merely being here. So, it wasn't hard to imagine what that was like for him. How important that broom and this stadium was to him.

She would nod once he continued. His pause had started to worry her. When he forced a smile though, she had to bite back a startled laugh. She knew that smile, was more well acquainted with it then anyone should be. It was just so strange, seeing it one someone else instead of the mirror or feeling it on her face. Well, mask if she was being honest with herself. She gently nudged these thoughts aside, that was not what was happening right now. However even after she pushed them away, the smile still helped Marietta feel a strange kinship with the boy.

This time she couldn't hold back her startled snort when he made a comment about beating people's heads in with a bludger. That was kind of the reason why she never attended Quidditch, but could appreciate the sentiment behind it nonetheless. "Well looks like we all enjoy our own perils, me jumping from stadium stands and you the repercussions of bashing people's skulls in." She said attempting, and failing to add on to his joke. She had noticed the he had noticed it wasn't great, but honestly the best thing she could do now was plow ahead.