- Messages
- 14
- OOC First Name
- Steven
- Sexual Orientation
- Heterosexual
- Wand
- Straight 10 Inch Unyielding Chestnut Wand with Phoenix Tail Feather Core
- Age
- 1/2027
The day had gone rather ordinarily. Classes, lunch, then more classes following, the never ending cycle of learning that had become his life was almost routine now to Heddwyn Ceallaigh, though the boy still loved every minute of it. An almost full term at Ilvermorny had not dampened the boy's spirit and for that he was very grateful, he would have hated to be turned off of learning once he'd gotten to the school he'd been so desperately eager to go to in the first place. As he'd finished up his last class for that day, Potions, he'd tried to come up with something to do afterwards; he wasn't very hungry, having eaten a rather big lunch earlier that day, and thus didn't want to go to dinner just yet. Heddwyn eventually came with the idea to do some flying and practice his skills as a Chaser in the Quidditch team of his house. Heddwyn trudged down the path that led to the Quidditch pitch. He was eager to get a chance to fly around for a bit, but he was also anxious to see if the pitch was empty. He would prefer to just do a few laps on a broom and toss the quaffle through the hoops for a bit.
The sun was low on the horizon as he made his way down the path, he moved faster as he got closer, excited to see the house flags fluttering ever so slightly in the evening breeze. It really couldn't be a better day for Quidditch practice! At the same time, that sense of longing for a friend to play Quidditch with washed over him. Heddwyn still hadn't made much friends except for a teammate that, just like him, was benched for half of the Quidditch season. But today would not be ruined by pessimistic thought! The kid had decided that he would borrow one of the school's brooms instead of bringing his own, and hoped that he would perhaps could find one where the twigs in the tail weren't bent at odd angles. He could always hope. Heddwyn approached the entrance to the pitch, and sighed with relief and smiled when he realized he was the only one there. All feelings of apprehension washed away as he stared at the hoops marking both ends of the pitch. He stretched his arms over his head and made his way to the broom closet, picking out a Cleansweep that seemed to be in decent condition for a school broom. It must have been donated by a generous Quidditch player after he or she got a better broom because his sister had the same model. He also retrieved a quaffle, the ball he preferred most in the sport. He fancied himself a decent Chaser, but it was hard to tell. The young student had very few opportunities to test his skills against the other houses since his team captain had decided that he needed more flying skills before putting him in the field for a whole season. His shy disposition usually overtook his Quidditch fanaticism. It was a shame, too, because he really did love the sport. He saw it as the best sport there was, and his dad agreed with him. His mother, on the other hand, was not as fond of his obsession, she didn't like that Heddwyn had covered his walls with moving posters of the American national team or the Fitchburg Finches. She rolled her eyes slightly at every team statistic he knew and every time he came down from his room wearing a Quidditch jersey. He ignored her for the most part, and even tried to get her involved in the sport - though it was no use.
Heddwyn reflected on this as he mounted his broom, swinging his left leg over the handle as he gripped it tightly with his right hand, pinning the quaffle to his side with the other. He stared out at the pitch, the last sunbeams slowly leaving the stadium. He squinted as he glanced at to his right towards the hoops at the end of the pitch. "And... he's off!" Heddwyn commentated with a grin as he kicked off form the ground. His smile widened as the wind whistled through his ears and and hair. He ascended into the air, leaning closer to the broom to reduce the amount of drag from air resistance. He paused in midair, and turned into a dive. He whooped slightly, hoping he was still alone and nobody heard the cheer, as he leveled the broom and bolted towards the other end of the pitch. He faked like other chasers were trying to perform a tackle, spiraling to avoid opponents and bludgers alike. Doing all of this felt good to him. The thrill of flying left his apprehensions about friendships and schoolwork far behind him. The boy approached the hoop, commentating his actions in a loud voice, imagining a crowd cheering his every maneuver. "Look there! Heddwyn Ceallaigh has possession of the quaffle! He goes right. No! He feinted and has just taken a powerful shot at the left hoop," he boomed, launching the quaffle towards the hoop opposite of him. It sailed through, bouncing slightly off of the inner ring. He mimed cheering from his adoring fans as he flew to retrieve the bright red ball, doing a few victory loops to congratulate his success as a chaser for the Fitchburg Finches. He ignored the fact that the game dynamics were much different when there were 13 other players on the pitch; he preferred to revel in the moment as it was now, with him playing the part of the sports hero.
The sun was low on the horizon as he made his way down the path, he moved faster as he got closer, excited to see the house flags fluttering ever so slightly in the evening breeze. It really couldn't be a better day for Quidditch practice! At the same time, that sense of longing for a friend to play Quidditch with washed over him. Heddwyn still hadn't made much friends except for a teammate that, just like him, was benched for half of the Quidditch season. But today would not be ruined by pessimistic thought! The kid had decided that he would borrow one of the school's brooms instead of bringing his own, and hoped that he would perhaps could find one where the twigs in the tail weren't bent at odd angles. He could always hope. Heddwyn approached the entrance to the pitch, and sighed with relief and smiled when he realized he was the only one there. All feelings of apprehension washed away as he stared at the hoops marking both ends of the pitch. He stretched his arms over his head and made his way to the broom closet, picking out a Cleansweep that seemed to be in decent condition for a school broom. It must have been donated by a generous Quidditch player after he or she got a better broom because his sister had the same model. He also retrieved a quaffle, the ball he preferred most in the sport. He fancied himself a decent Chaser, but it was hard to tell. The young student had very few opportunities to test his skills against the other houses since his team captain had decided that he needed more flying skills before putting him in the field for a whole season. His shy disposition usually overtook his Quidditch fanaticism. It was a shame, too, because he really did love the sport. He saw it as the best sport there was, and his dad agreed with him. His mother, on the other hand, was not as fond of his obsession, she didn't like that Heddwyn had covered his walls with moving posters of the American national team or the Fitchburg Finches. She rolled her eyes slightly at every team statistic he knew and every time he came down from his room wearing a Quidditch jersey. He ignored her for the most part, and even tried to get her involved in the sport - though it was no use.
Heddwyn reflected on this as he mounted his broom, swinging his left leg over the handle as he gripped it tightly with his right hand, pinning the quaffle to his side with the other. He stared out at the pitch, the last sunbeams slowly leaving the stadium. He squinted as he glanced at to his right towards the hoops at the end of the pitch. "And... he's off!" Heddwyn commentated with a grin as he kicked off form the ground. His smile widened as the wind whistled through his ears and and hair. He ascended into the air, leaning closer to the broom to reduce the amount of drag from air resistance. He paused in midair, and turned into a dive. He whooped slightly, hoping he was still alone and nobody heard the cheer, as he leveled the broom and bolted towards the other end of the pitch. He faked like other chasers were trying to perform a tackle, spiraling to avoid opponents and bludgers alike. Doing all of this felt good to him. The thrill of flying left his apprehensions about friendships and schoolwork far behind him. The boy approached the hoop, commentating his actions in a loud voice, imagining a crowd cheering his every maneuver. "Look there! Heddwyn Ceallaigh has possession of the quaffle! He goes right. No! He feinted and has just taken a powerful shot at the left hoop," he boomed, launching the quaffle towards the hoop opposite of him. It sailed through, bouncing slightly off of the inner ring. He mimed cheering from his adoring fans as he flew to retrieve the bright red ball, doing a few victory loops to congratulate his success as a chaser for the Fitchburg Finches. He ignored the fact that the game dynamics were much different when there were 13 other players on the pitch; he preferred to revel in the moment as it was now, with him playing the part of the sports hero.