Slow and easy does not do it

[Erik Drage]

Eenie, meanie, miney, moe. Since the three school brooms Erik could find looked like they'd been run through a wood-chipper and chewed on by a three-headed dog, the Hufflepuff let fate pick his ride. Snatching up the last moe and a dirty quaffle, he took to the pitch.

As much as Erik loved Quidditch, he hadn't done so hot in flying class. He had to practice if he ever had any hope of joining his house team. Erik kicked off the ground with the quaffle under his arm. As expected, his ascent was slow, shaky, and overall disappointing. He called the broom some names that a twelve-year-old shouldn't know.

 

[Dymetris Kozlov]

Dymetris decision to go outside on this warm summer day gave him a chance to exhale freely and not feel like he was being cooped up inside if he didn't go out at his own liberty. He was tired of lessons already, and it was the first week of school resuming from the summer break. He spent the vacation with his girlfriend, now he was back and ready to curse the living hell out of his lessons, though he was outside and he felt content the moment the sun hit his pale skin.

He had no broom, no intention to take for the skies, but the stands did have a remarkable view. He went over to find others students had shared the same idea. Some were studying, others chatting. Dymetris sat alone at the far right, there was one other who had a broom in possession and made good use for the field. Dymetris watched him, the boy seemed to have struck some difficulties with the broom. The puff refrain from saying anything,as he sat overseeing the young puffs attempt at flying.

 

[Erik Drage]

Erik tossed the red sphere just above his head, punching it. The quaffle sailed across the pitch. Leaning in, the Hufflepuff chased after his prize- well, watched it get away, that was. His broom snailed through the air and shook him silly. The quaffle smacked the ground before he could ever catch up with it. What a bunch of unicorn dung.

Taking to the grass himself, Erik skidded across the field, kicking up clods of dirt in his landing. When he finally came to a stop, he rolled off the broom, hollering, "You stupid hunk of GARBAGE!" He would've set it on fire, but being the second year that he was, Incendio was beyond him just yet.

 

[Dymetris Kozlov]

Dymetris stalked the boy with his eyes from were he sat. The boy had a good head for punching the ball high. He could see the fierce blood in him, Dymetris smiled observing him. Although he had a good head for quaffle butting, he lacked the capabilities of reacting. Or maybe the broom sucked all on it's own. He could understand. Dymetris had a knack for picking out the worst broom before he got his prized broom.

Dymetris kept watching, the moment to put his two cents in came now. He leaned over the stands, "Hey friend! Maybe if you relaxed a little when flying you'll be able to a lot better!" he shouted, he waved like a maniac so the boy knew he was addressing him. Dymetris was back to his optimistic personally, or was it quidditch that got the best of him! He could say a little of both. "You will do better as keeper, what's you're name?" he assumed that he was listening to him, Dymetris the only one shouting would think so.

 

[Erik Drage]

Erik didn't want to get up. If he could lay here on the pitch for the rest of the year, he'd be set. No classes, no homework, and certainly no flying on craptastic broomsticks. Then someone started shouting at him. Groaning, he rose to his feet, craning his neck to look up into the stands. Erik couldn't tell who the kid was or which house he was in, but he was certainly older than second year.

"My name's Erik, who're you?" he hollered back. How the heck was he supposed to relax on a broom that shook his brain backwards? Maybe the suggestion of being a keeper flattered him just a little, even if keeper wasn't the most exciting position on a Quidditch team, but who was he kidding? Erik had no hope of playing the game when he couldn't even fly straight.