Knockin' About the Pitch

[Saul Forrester]

"Dibra is fast, but can he outrun Bosko on a rampage? Dibra turns - and it's a bludger backbeat! Astounding handle on the bat from Bosko. Dodge, Dibra! Noooo, he's done and out, well done Bosko on a flawlessly executed piece of flying. A slothgrip might have saved yeh there, Dibra, but not much else. Jaskolski now in possession of the quaffle, speeding up the inside, low on the pitch with Shehu and Kelmendi hot on his tail-"

Saul was walloping uncharmed bludgers at the far end of the practice field, a scrap of turf with six sets of quaffle rings for children's league games in Tākarokaro. His running commentary was mostly imagination, since the only bit of flying going on was his arm, which wasn't good at the best of times. He missed occasionally and swung at the air, which made him chuckle at himself, but he wasn't embarrassed.
Saul had never been a sportsman, although he was tall and not scrawny. 'Two left feet and yer elbows point backwards,' his Mam'd say. His elbows were fine , thank you very much, but he couldn't comment and bat at the same time, which meant he had to pick. His first passion of quidditch commentary came first, so there he was, jobless after graduating and trying to break into the industry with nothing but his word to go on for how good he was. He'd picked up some part time work refreshing household charms, but it barely paid the bills. Saul wanted his own quidditch panel by the time he was thirty. God willing, he wouldn't be hitting bludgers at the rings in a kid's playground for the rest of his life.

Speaking of which, the Irishman had gone and gotten himself distracted, which meant that his latest bludger went south and came dangerously close to knocking out a young lady who had suddenly appeared at the edge of the pitch.
"Your three o'clock!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. He really didn't need to add caving someone's head in with a bludger to his list of achievements.​

 

[Paige Hardy]

Paige was still adjusting to life in America but so far she wasn't a fan. A chance to get out of her new home and return to New Zealand even if it was for a brief time was a relief. The former Ravenclaw hadn't settled in much at her new school, she didn't really see much point in making friends there as she would only be there for a couple of years before graduating. At least one thing hadn't changed at her new school, she was still able to play Quidditch, something she had only just started doing in her final year at Hogwarts.

After spending the morning shopping only to come away with nothing Paige decided to head to the practice field at Takarokaro Park to see if there was anything going on, if she would lucky perhaps she would be able to see some kids playing Quidditch and she could lose herself in that for a little while before she needed to head home. She had no such luck, all she saw was a boy around her age running around the pitch and then suddenly a bludger hurtling towards her. Paige ducked just in time for the bludger to fly over and keep going in that direction. "What you don't like people interrupting your play time?" She yelled making her way over to the boy who had almost hit her.

 

[Saul Forrester]

Shite, the girl he'd almost brained was charging over to him and she was wearing an expression that reminded him of his Mam. Saul's first instinct was to cower, but then he remembered that he was in a public park, it was an accident, and he wasn't afraid of no girl.
"Hang on, love, I wasn't tryin' ta knock your block off, it was just a stray," said Saul sheepishly, holding his hands up placatingly. "I'm no Quidditch player, I'm just a fan. Sorry for the backswing."

Trust him to accidentally pick on a girl he'd conceivably buy a drink if they were in a pub. Come to that, the girl he was apologising to sure was pretty. If he was any sort of man, he'd have to offer to take her out by way of atonement. Saul swung the bat onto his shoulder (wincing inwardly as it struck his collarbone) and leaned casually on one foot as he gave her a winning smile.
"Say ... you're not a fan yourself, are you? Pitch's pretty empty today, and I could go for a bit of one on one." There was an awkward pause. "Quidditch," spluttered Saul, flushing a proper Irishman red, "One on one Quidditch."​

 

[Paige Hardy]

Paige scoffed at the boys response, "First, don't call me love," The guy was a stranger and had no right to talk to her like that. "Whatever, why are you letting bludgers fly around here anyway when you're alone? They could hit someone, like they almost just did!" Paige wasn't sure why she was so annoyed, accidents happened but Paige was constantly in a bad mood lately and the smallest thing would set her off. "Okay fine, accidents happen I guess," Paige shrugged her shoulders. When she stopped seeing him as the jerk who almost hit her and just saw him, he was kind of cute. "I am, I play for my house team at school," Of course she had much preferred it when that house had been Ravenclaw. "I guess we could play, how exactly do you play one on one?" She asked.

 

[Saul Forrester]

Saul felt like he should've kept his hands up the entire time just to ward off the girl's ire. "I didn't mean anything by it," he said placatingly, "It's just the way I talk. Really, I'm actually shite at Quidditch. S'why I was commentating instead of, y'know, actually flying around. I'd only be able to hit you if I wasn't trying." Sometimes telling the truth garnered more sympathy than bragging about skills you didn't possess- he found that it endeared himself to people (women, mostly) when he was humble. It wasn't working for him yet, but a hypothesis had to be tested thoroughly before being outright rejected.

Saul gave the girl a winning smile and stuck out his hand. "First thing's first, I'm Saul. And to whom do I offer the battle of the century? One on one quidditch ain't that hard- someone just plays keeper while the other tries to score. Either that, or a bit of hide and 'seeker' if you throw an uncharmed snitch into the woods. Or, if you prefer beater, we could wallop each other with softballs? Get some 'o that frustration out?" he offered, doing a little punching motion with two fists.​