DETENTION - BLAKE

[Lola Rowann]

The hoops were filthy, the recent spattering of rain and the constant team practices ensured this. They weren't normally cleaned but the punishment was seen to be fitting, clean up his act in other words. The professors knew he had not thrown the first punch but he had caused another student to defend the girl who he had been yelling at. No smoke without fire and in this case Blake Zepline was indeed seen as the flame. The shed was open and there stood the bucket and cloth that the professor had indicated. As the rain began to fall a little more, it was guaranteed to be a very messy job.

 

[Blake Zepline]

An emerald streak, goggles, and a thick cloak to keep off some of the rain streaked onto the pitch. To a third party individual who had no idea of the current nor previous night's events, Blake looked like he was out for a good flying session. Even the expression he wore was somewhat healthier than the vacant one his face had almost permanently molded into by his usually foul moods.
His sneakers were already soaked by the rain, his hair dripping wet as he blinked water from his lashes. Grabbing hold of the bucket of wash water and the cloth, Blake mounted his broom, snapped on his goggles and pushed up into the air for flight.
Lily was a skank. Sumner was a bastard. Blake was a victim of his own blinding love. Yet, the world was a beautiful place. Hooping the bucket handle through the end of his broom to free his hands, Blake dunked the cloth into the water and began scrubbing down the side of one rust covered, moss infested goal hoop at the Southern end of the pitch.
Sweat and rainwater washed down his face and clothes constantly, drenching his body as he scrubbed his anger out on the goal hoops. Blake's body was on autopilot as his thoughts were consumed by his emotion. Obviously, he had a serious problem; his love for Lily Potter. It blinded him and drove his sanity from him. It beat down on him every second of every minute of every day that they had spent apart. And it was slowly becoming the end of him.
Because of it he had driven himself into fighting a fight he could not win. To welcoming the pain of blow after blow. Had he not been beaten unconscious, Blake would have kept on fighting till he had given in his last breath. There was nothing left for him to do, nothing left to help him ease the pain except endure some form of physical suffering because it momentarily kept his heartache at bay.
He had no more tears left to cry, he had no more words left to give. He had lost the one person that had given his wasted life a purpose. He had lost everything.
A loud wham resounded around the Northern end of the pitch as Blake, in his frustration and hopelessness, banged his head hard against the last goal post he had left to clean. sh1t.
In a swirl of wind, rain and a ruffling cloak, Blake plummeted to the ground as he was knocked off balance by his irrational self-punishing action. Even wizards could not defy gravity, unfortunately enough for Blake. But nonetheless the ground was speeding up to meet him and knock his body into more physical pain than both he and Sumner put together had achieved.
Snap went his arm as it broke his fall. His goggles slid off and the bucket of water and his broom were not far behind him as barely a second later they crashed into him too. Blake's mouth opened to release a series of swear words and groans. Rolling onto his back side, Blake could no longer feel the throbbing of his head. It was drowned down by the painful sensation of a broken arm instead. He was a genius, Blake was. And to make his life even more of a living hell, he was not only brokenhearted and in so much physical pain. He was wandless and alone on the pitch with no one around to come to his aid.

 

[Joceline Richarde]

Despite the weather that was sure to come, a dark haired girl needed to be outside today. Something deep down told her she had to go outside and when she contemplated catching up with some reading, she was receive a great blow from inside her stomach. Shortly after the second contemplation and pang, she slipped on a trench coat that hugged her growing curves but still held modesty and left the confides of her dorm room.

The moment the young girl left the busy Entrance Hall did it begin to rain. First, a soft pitter patter on her skin and the top of her head, then it grew to a strong weeping that made it difficult to hear even her converse clad feet dragging noisily along the sweet smelling grass.

Over the sapphire-eyed girl's head were ominous clouds brewing, in all shades of grey, ranging from light grey to dim grey to dark slate grey. One would assume no one to be on a broom with such sights, let alone outside, but that, apparently, would be incorrect. So with the thought of a promise of peace, Joceline Aimee Richarde made her way towards the Quidditch Pitch.

As the Slytherin pulled back her sable brown locks, that were now drenched from the rain, a muffled sigh escaped her lips. How she missed normal society and being normal, but she was stuck with four more years of this hell whole, four more years of being a witch. After those four years she would return to being blissfully ignorant (or pretend to be) and not a freak like everyone else on her father's side of the family and apparently her aunts and uncles on her mother's.

It was very soon that thoughts of her freakish life were pushed far back into her mind when she looked down and saw a young man's side touching her foot and writhe in pain, clearly not from the contact she made with him. I should pay more attention, she scolded as she fell down to her knees by his side and hovered over the boy's body, catching his gaze and holding it for what she was certain could be only half a minute. Joceline looked down at his arm that was being nursed by his other, and touched the nursing hand soothingly. She didn't know what to do, she could cast any spell and she was far too petite to carry him there, so either she would have to leave or he would have to walk with her to the Hospital Wing. But she didn't know if he could walk or how bad he was injured, so she leaned closely to him and asked into his ear, "Your arm... is it broken?"