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Post by lancelot conall callaghan on Jun 22, 2010 13:42:56 GMT
 _________________________________________________ It was in all likelihood a foolish thing to have done, but he couldn’t help himself – he never could when it came to such things. But what was the point in possessing the means to do something that would give you such happiness and denying yourself for the simple fact that some people may disapprove of your actions? It was done regardless, after all, who here at the school knew him, knew his situation, knew what the consequences of such an act would be. And really it was no one’s business what he did, but that didn’t prevent the niggling doubts that poked cruelly at his resolve – it had been the right thing for him to do at that time, but then again, he wasn’t best known for his foresight when it came to certain matters.
“Oh fuck it, it’s done now...” he silenced his inner monologue, shifting his hand from where it had been twirling the label on the parcel over in his fingers and proceeding to tear apart the wrapping on the package; in his enthusiasm, and need to beat the doubts before they stopped him, throwing the wrapping to the floor like a small child on Christmas morning. His eyes widened as they drank in the details of his present (“present” being used as justification for its purchase, a self-congratulation for getting the job at the school), his gaze running from the tip of the handle down to the point of the tail several times in awed silence. Justified, justified... he prompted himself with a nod, remembering his initial reasoning for the near-crazy amount that he had spent on the broom - he had to be one of the first in the country with it, and of course the main reason for this was his new job, a good broom was essential; nothing to do with vanity. Of course.
Lance placed the newest of Nimbus’ models down on the bench with care as if it were made from glass, before quickly switching out his shirt and jeans for his old Kenmare Kestrels Quidditch shirt and trousers, pulling his goggles down around his neck and tucking his wand safely into the pocket along his thigh. Snatching up the broom, seemingly almost the second next to the one that it had been put down, and the borrowed quaffle, he almost skipped from the changing room before breaking into a run as he emerged into the sunshine of the early afternoon.
Without breaking step, he jumped upon the broom and soared up into the heights of the stadium, looping around the pitch once. A stupid grin plastered itself across his face, already wholly impressed with the performance of the broom, as he took stock of the grounds again: they were almost exactly as he remembered from when he played on his House team, perhaps a refreshing of the paint here and there and some newly installed banners made by current members of each house but essentially the same. Quieter than he remembered, but he supposed that students weren’t technically allowed down here without a practice session scheduled – though that had never stopped him spending next to all of his free time about the stadium.
On a whim, he dodged around an invisible opponent and zipped towards to goal at the far end of the pitch, darting across in front of the goals and throwing it back through the hoop he had passed first. The ball sailed through the goal, Lance turning with a roll and chasing after it, collecting it up before it hit the floor and continuing down in a lazy spiral. Toes skimming along the grass, he accelerated quickly along the length of the pitch, twisting this way and that around invisible opponents and testing the Nimbus’ capabilities. _________________________________________________ STATUS:: done !
WORDS:: six-three-zero !
OUTFIT:: [click] !
NOTES:: no idea really... just felt like writing some nonsense !
MUSIC:: his name is lancelot - spamalot ! (coincidence much?!)
TAGGS:: open ! |
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Post by tinsley on Jun 24, 2010 13:58:58 GMT
THIS IS A LESSON IN PROCRASTINATION ( I kill myself because I'm so frustrated [/b][/size] )e v e r y • s i n g l e • s e c o n d • t h a t • I • p u t • i t • o f f • m e a n sanother lonely night I've got to race the clock[/i][/center][/font] • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Quidditch, overall, has always been an awkward thing for her to discuss. When she was younger, Tinsley had thought it was the best thing ever. How could it not be? She had loved everything about it- the games, the practice, the teams. But hence the past terms. Had. Loved. It wasn't that Tinsley hated the game, but rather- she got bored of it. It became the same thing over and over again. Slowly but surely, she became the Quidditch Girl. A mascot. And that sickens her like you wouldn't believe. If anything, she was near a point where she wished the game didn't exist.
Why did she find herself in the same place over and over again ? It was familiar, and it was comforting. For a large majority of her life, Tinsley had been the good child. She didn't feel the need to rebel against her parents and mainly just did what she thought she should. It wasn't questioned- no one else expect anything of her. And there was something good about going back to the place where you've been before. You're surrounded by that old security, that old box.
In fact, it reminded her of Christmas mornings. For some yet unknown reason, Tinsley had always been the first one to wake up, along with her mother. Oliver and the other children would sleep in until Katie wakes them up, using whatever she could. Tinsley could vaguely recall baking cookies in the early morning, just for the sole purpose of it. Of course, this Christmas will ironically different. In fact, she wasn't looking foward to going home at all.
Tinsley had always been an early waker, again- for some unknown, unexplained reason. The rules state that no student shouldn't be there unless it's for a game or practice. Everybody, with no surprise, ignored that rule. Tinsley had never been a hardcore rebel, no shock there, but even she waved that silly little statement away. Besides, who else would be there ?
Walking up the hill, Tinsley felt far from contentment. She wasn't a soul searcher, she wasn't constantly going over what she's missing in life. Perhaps it's the aftershock. Thinking about, she could hardly even remember the past. How on Earth did she get through then? And why the hell didn't she spend more time with her brother ? But no, she wasn't going to think about that again. After reliving the same nightmare for weeks, it might be time to move on. She was going to forget all about this bloody mess. Or, at least, she'll attempt to.
Tinsley blinked in surprise as a figure speed in the field. A moment later, she let out a sigh of relief. It was just Lance. There might be a small chance that he'll give her a detention- but Tinsley couldn't bring herself to care. It wasn't like she had anything else to do, after avoiding the majority of Hogwarts, excluding Jonathan, for weeks. So why not?
She took a seat on one of the cold, metal bleachers- content with just watching him fly. Whenever she did find herself on a broom, she's always felt...odd. And of course, there's always the fear of heights- something she wouldn't admit for the life of her.
" Nice broom. Nimbus, right? " Tinsley called out, as curiosity for the best of her.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
WORDS! 557
STATUS! complete
NOTES! kinda short.
TAGS! vince / lance
INSPIRATION! eat you up - boa
TEMPLATE CREDIT! Arro @ Caution 2.0
PICTURE CREDIT!
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Post by lancelot conall callaghan on Jun 25, 2010 10:15:23 GMT
_________________________________________________ A sad thought came to Lance’s mind as he shot another goal – the game was much less invigorating without even one opponent. He supposed he was doomed to such a fate, unless students took pity upon him and decided to invite him to their casual matches (though he doubted this very much due to notions of a one-sided fight and, he supposed, he was viewed as an authority figure, not exactly in keeping with “casual”) or when he returned home during the holidays, his brothers and sister usually obliging. He wasn’t having fun being a pariah, his time made worse due to the true nature of his dismissal – unable to clear his name for fear of the repercussions of admitting that he was now infected with a disease for which there was no cure and having to live with his name and life tarnished.
He corkscrewed slowly down to collect the ball, the controlled movement all that much easier due to the broom (which he had forgotten about justifying, the performance alone more than making up for the money, which he currently had to spare due to duties to team and country). Sighing deeply he snatched at the crimson ball, idly throwing it back and forth between his hands as he hovered a foot or so in the air, with legs swinging idly and eyes following the movement of the sphere as his mind churned. He spun the ball on a finger several times, short of duration and in quick succession – trying to fathom exactly how far he had fallen from grace, wondering that if in time he would be allowed back into his world or if he would have to pick up some Muggle sport instead, pondering over the intricacies of the rugby matches that he watched when at home with Eoghan or those of archery that Morrigan so frequently tried to goad him into. He laughed shortly under his breath, he might have been good on a broomstick but he was no runner (and didn’t really revel in the idea of being tackled by men who would probably be double his height and girth), nor did he have the necessary patience of an archer despite his ability for such an accurate shot in Quidditch.
“Nice broom. Nimbus, right?”
The voice brought him back to his conscious mind, swinging around to look over his shoulder – wallowing mood eradicated by the mere presence of another human being, the fact that it was Tinsley dawning seconds later and driving such self-pitying thoughts to the very back of his mind where they could blissfully be ignored for a time. He climbed upwards to draw level with where she was sitting, jumping from the broom and coming to a perfect stop a little ways from her. “Ah see, Daddy did manage t’ get something Quidditchy into that head of yours. Here he said you were a lost cause and that; told him y’d prove him wrong in the end.” He grinned at her, highlighting the obvious and recurring joke – Lance fully aware that he would receive a roll of the eyes and a snappy comment in response. He took a seat, laying the broom across his hands, “Beauty though, ain’t she?” he afforded the Nimbus a look that one more often reserved for gazing upon one’s new born child, the reverence and astonishment very evident across his face, his expression telling that any insult against such a fine example of craftsmanship he would regard as treasonous and have the perpetrator strung up by their ankles until adequate apology given.
Opening his mouth again to speak, he closed it before words were offered and nodded to himself with a smile still twitching the corners of his mouth upwards, “Don’t suppose the details would be all that exciting though. I’m sure you don’t care about manoeuvring, accelerating, resistance an’ all...” He shrugged it off, resting the handle against his leg; a though occurring, “So how come y’r down here,” he paused a little, more noticeably than he had intended,”by y’rself?” _________________________________________________ STATUS:: done !
WORDS:: six-seven-five !
OUTFIT:: [click] !
NOTES:: don't worry about it, i totally bombed on this one here !
MUSIC:: hot mess - cobra starship !
TAGGS:: open ! |
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