Certainly, Brendan Fulke looked forward to the Beauxbatons Quidditch Try-outs since the beginning of the year. The boy, while still only a third year, had been flying from the age of three, initially practicing on a low-hovering toy broom, followed by matches of Shuntbumps with the other wizarding children in his town, a simple game of knocking the other kids off of their brooms until the last one left was announced the victor, before graduating to Little League Quidditch from the age of six to eleven, when he was accepted into the French academy. Since then, flying became an easier practice, with a large open pitch and without the worry of non-magical interference getting in the way. Flying fell into a daily routine, he was more than familiar with a broom, and the prospect of playing in another competitive sport was exciting.
Passing by the Flamel Fountain, Brendan hitched his broomstick over his shoulder, one he owned himself rather than use one of the scrappy school-provided sticks with missing bristles. His attire, despite the cold, was sleek and limited wind resistance, allowing him to move smoothly in the air. A simple chain hung from his neck, tucked into his shirt, at the end of which held a small magical orb that released a field of warmth around him, shielding the boy from the bitter Winter air. If he was to do his best, he didn't want to allow anything to risk his performance. After all, there were limited spaces on the team, and he couldn't afford to lose his spot.
Arriving on the pitch, it's previously snow-coated field now cleared to reveal the grass underneath, Brendan lined himself up with the other try-out members, uncomfortable with the amount of upperclassmen present. There were plenty of fifth and sixth year students competing, but then again, he told himself, that didn't necessarily mean that they were experienced players. He'd have no trouble proving himself. Catching sight of another girl in his year settled the nerves he had at being one of the younger students present, and he gave her a small thumbs up after finding out she wasn't aiming for the same position he was.
"Salut! Brendan Fulke, trying out for Chaser." The redhead stated with confidence to the current captain, clutching at the broomstick on his shoulder and dropping it back down to his side. It wasn't long before they took to the air, and before he knew it, the quaffle was tucked tightly under his arm, his other hand steering the tip of his broom toward the hoops at the end. His first shot was a fake out, his focus diverted to the left most hoop while his arms served the leather-bound ball to the far right, hitting the inside of the hoop on its way through, before rolling on through to the other side. He grinned and swooped back, taking the ball back into his possession once the Keeper had returned it to play. His second shot started much like his first, his attention stuck on the left most hoop. The Keeper expected a similar shot to his first, another fake-out that had worked so well the first time, only for Bren to shoot through the leftern-most hoop as the Keeper moved to block the right. He cheered, content with his play so far, and gathered up the quaffle for a third shot, one that was blocked, to his dismay. However, the following few came with a higher rate of success than failure, and eventually it came time to return to the ground, pleased with his performance and hoping that it was enough to earn him a position.
Out of Character: 
