scream it out loud >> [ BRYCE ]

[Vivienne Vaisey]

Vivienne watched the pitch with a keen eye from her vantage point at the top of the stands. Her father had the Quaffle for the moment, his blue Puddlemere United robes flapping in the wind as he sped towards the goal -- and he's passed it to his team mate while he followed the other's tail, swerving and dodging -- and he had the Quaffle again -- and it was stolen from his arm as he miscalculated the distance of the opposing team's Chaser. Viv let out what sounded like a 'tchah!' in annoyance. They'd been so close to the hoop, and the goalie really wasn't too fast on her broom. He should have just thrown it in!

The dark haired girl sat back, her back slamming angrily on the seat as her face scrunched in irritation. She continued to watch the practice game, eyes narrowed and scrutinising every player, ignoring the other spectators below her. It was the first practice game of the season, and the Puddlemere United stadium had acquired quite a crowd. Not too many, but everyone knew about the practice game and it was a nice, sunny, clear day - where else would Quidditch enthusiasts go? At the moment, she was sitting by herself at the very top of the stands; both her sisters hadn't been inclined to come. She was the sports girl in the family.

This would be the last Quidditch practice session she'd get to see. She was actually lucky to be able to see it this year, usually she'd gone to her grandparents' house by now. But her father had invited her upon finding out that she was finally plucking up the courage to sign up for her house team. And so here she was, her long hair tied up in a ponytail at the back of her head and her newest broomstick by her feet. Maybe she could ask her father to let her have a zoom around the pitch after practice...

She groaned again as the opposing team, also Puddlemere United players (the teams were a mix of the current team players and the Reserve Team players), scored a goal against her father's team. Darn it all, what were their Beaters doing? Couldn't they see that if they attacked the Chaser behind the one aiming for the goal, the defending Chaser could side-swipe at the offending first Chaser, who'd obviously pass it back, and because a Bludger would be heading towards her, then she'd drop it and the Quaffle would be theirs? Merlin!

[Bryce Towler]

Kenneth Towler was a professional Quidditch player who had just recently been traded to Puddlemere United. He was very good, but he was getting up there in age. People were getting faster and his movements were getting slower. True, he was a very fine beater but he wasn't as fresh and he was very grateful to Puddlemere for taking him on. He had told his son Bryce that this season might be his last playing, as much as he hated to hear that. But at least he got to finish off on a very fine team he had said. So he had invited Bryce to come to one of his practice matches as Fritz, well, refused. He was still learning the in and outs of this team and their style that Bryce could tell he wasn't playing his best in this scrimmage match. He was traded a month ago, but he still need to work on getting into his rhythm. But Bryce had always loved watching his dad play. When they were kids, he and his older brother and sister would come to as many matches as the could. As they got older, Bryce and his sister came to more and Fritz and their dad's relationship strained. Now that his sister has a proper job, Bryce came to as many as he could. He loved the detail and strategy that his dad put behind every hit of that Bludger, how he could control a game with a single hit of his bat.

Bryce stood at the top of the stands, eyes locked on his father as he launched a Bludger at the keeper who swerved out of the way, and let the Quaffle zoom right through the goal post. "Yes!" Bryce felt himself saying to himself, a launching a fist in the air in front of him, grinning madly at his dad who repeated the gesture to him. Well, he was getting into his old rhythm alright. Though a noise drifted down wind and hit his ears that did not exactly match his excitement. He turned his head, eyes landing on a girl with dark hair a few rows over from him. He quirked a brow. Usually Bryce paid attention to his surrounding, took in the few people placed here and there watching their loved ones or critiquing them for an article. But he must have been too distracted by the scrimmage match to notice her, or she came in late. But whatever the reason, she didn't look as pleased as he did. As smooth as he could, he made his was over to her, stopping at the end of his row so that only a staircase separated them. At least now, she was within ear shot. "Good play, wasn't it?" he grinned, head nodding toward the field. "Or judging by the look on you face, I'd say you disagree?"

[Vivienne Vaisey]

Vi's full attention was back on the match, eyes following every drop and pass of the Quaffle while keeping the Beaters in the periphery (the Seekers were too high to see from here). The blue blurs that were her father's team were pulling up the feet slowly, dodging and swerving against the gold blurs of the defending team. Vi leaned forwars again as the blue blurs managed to conquer half of the opposing team's territory, which meant they could shoot soon...

Her concentration was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a boy she recognised faintly from Hogwarts. He wasn't in her house, that much she knew, because she'd not seen him in her common room. She thought vaguely that his name might have been Prowler or Fowler or something of that ilk, but she daren't call him something that she wasn't quite sure about. He knew Quidditch, though, so she had a nagging feeling she should know him from somewhere. Vi set that feeling aside for now; maybe something'll come up in their conversation that remind her where she's seen this boy before.

"No," she ground out at his first question. She sought to explain an excuse first. "I'm not sure if my dad should still be playing - he's getting old and his eyesight's not as sharp, nor his reflexes. It doesn't help that the Reserve Team has younger and faster players, nor that the coach seems to have divided these teams young versus old." She pointed at her father, who, true to her word, managed to fumble with the Quaffle and dropped it. "Merlin," she hissed to herself. "He should have taken the coaching position."

She rolled her eyes at the irate coach who looked to be shaking his head at Richard Vaisey. "Blasted..." Vi then remembered that she had company. She turned to the boy, still feeling somewhat pissed off, but tamping it down in favour of conversing with a fellow Quidditch enthusiast who was from her school. "What about you? I'm guessing you've got someone on the gold team?"