Practice and Perfection and All That pv

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	The track was without the attackers one would face in an actual race, yet its natural obstacles made for ideal practice. Beatrice wasn't the only one taking advantage of the space to improve. Halfway round the track, Pericles was rocketing along at full speed. He shot through a waterfall with all the ease of an arrow passing through paper, wove through grasping thorns untouched, and hugged tight to his Starsweeper as he neared a narrow passage. The eagle gave a grunt of frustration when he made the same mistake as in his last race, bumping an elbow hard against the tunnel on his way out the other side. The pain sparking up his funny bone was enough to distract him as he entered a treeline. A branch whipped his upper arm as he sailed by, slicing open a sleeve, its stinging bite reminding him to lock in and finish strong. Peri smudged a bug from his winged goggles and pressed on until the trees cleared. The starting point was circling back into sight, and there on the line, his eye caught a head of radiant red curls. He raised two fingers to his lips and issued a sharp whistle. It became immediately clear that this was not who he'd thought it was at first glance. As Pericles coasted towards the ground, he sported an abashed smile and waved apologetically, calling "Sorry! I thought you were a Gryffindor...." He trailed as he landed near enough to make out her features, which struck him as familiar in an altogether different sense. "...but you're one of ours, aren't you?" A Ravenclaw from a different year. He was sure he'd seen her around the table and commons. With his boots back on the ground, the sixth-year dismounted, drew his wand, and deftly began mending his sliced arm and cut sleeve with a Ferula and Reparo, as though he'd done so a hundred times over.
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| @Beatrice Forsyth |

Reducio

Rolls for fun~
Stamina - 13 | Evasion - 18 | Strength - 8 | Wisdom - 18 | ArcP - 13 | Accuracy - 18
Hard Waterfall DC 20 [1d20: 13] + 8 = 21 pass
Moderate Thorns 23 [d20 : 10] + 17 = 27 pass
Moderate Passage 27 [d20 : 1] + 17 = 18 fail (60dmg)
Hard Trees 28 [3d20 : 6,13,15] + 17 = 23 fail, 30 pass, 32 pass (60dmg)

Date: 2nd June | Time: Afternoon | Mention: @Pericles Dralt

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xo

It was lucky she hadn't started her practice yet, because she soon as she'd mounted her broom, came a sharp whistle from behind her. She whipped her head around instantaneously, the action causing a twinge in her neck. She'd feel that later, for sure. A moment of panic filled her. Was the racer signalling that she should get out of the way? Were they going to collide? Good heavens, she was going to end up in an accident before she'd even begun her first race. What luck! All these thoughts raced through her head before she watched the racer slow down and wave to her. She shook her head and smiled at his apology. She'd recognise that head of hair anywhere, but especially as it belonged to her own House. "It's alright! I shouldn't have been standing on the track." She nodded in response to his next question. They'd been in the dueling team together, but also not. They'd never teamed up together. She'd been in the junior league, whilst he, senior. Gosh dueling. That had been an age ago. She said so to him, reigniting old memories of spell slinging. "Yeah, I'm an Eagle. Beatrice Forsyth." She winced. "Formerly Langstreth. We used to be in dueling together, I think..." she trailed off, stopping a little awkwardly. Hopefully he didn't go into too many questions about the name change. Beatrice didn't really want to go into the whole story about her father. Changing the subject, she smiled teasingly at the older boy. "Who did you think I was?"

xo

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Sta 8 | Eva 10 | Str 4 | Wis 14 | Arc 8 | Acc 10
Sixth Sense | Perfectionist | Spell Spread | Impartial | Nonverbal Magic

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	After mending his armor and injury, Pericles conducted a surface-level broom inspection, turning it in his gloved hands in search of scratches or splitting. His face remained towards her, meeting Bea with a silver eye while its neighboring prosthetic scanned his Starsweeper. Politeness bounced between them like badminton as he waived her self-blame, insisting: "Nonsense. It isn't reserved." It was no wonder he hadn't recognized her off the bat- they all grew and changed so quickly here at Hogwarts. He had struggled to pin her identity until "formerly Langstreth" jogged his memory. Realization struck him, loosing an apologetic "Oh! Hello again." Pericles didn't so much as acknowledge the change, perhaps knowing better than to question the complicated cause for a new name. Instead, he smiled with warmth and sheepishness as he answered, "@Evelynn Decipio. Her red curls stand out in a crowd." Once he was confident that his broom was fit for another go around the track, the bird slung it over a shoulder, adopting a relaxed stance in favor of a break and conversation. Maybe it would be better to let her take a turn while he wasn't barreling through the same course. "Well, @Beatrice Forsyth: are you practicing to follow @Dealla Prince and I from the piste to the track, or are you flying for leisure this afternoon?"
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