As Above PV Alexx Séverin Closed

It wasn't uncommon for Alexx to be out practicing on her day off. It was hard to find one of those, with as many things that she did. But alas, she managed to find the time.

At this time of day, the training pitch was usually empty. No one around to watch. So with a Quaffle in one hand and her broom in the other, she had set out earlier that day, content with herself. There was no way that any house would beat Slytherin! She needed to make sure of it.

The catch here was that Alexx didn't exactly like for people to watch her practice. Games were different, somehow. She'd drown in the cheers and screams and her eyes would lock onto a target or a Quaffle... She would lose herself in the adrenaline. The practice didn't come with that same effect. You were there to get good at it; to make mistakes. There were no room for mistakes in the actual game, so it was time to get them out now.

But Alexx didn't make mistakes. The sister of Texas Séverin didn't make mistakes. She might not have been a Quidditch captain or a Seeker like her older brother, but she was going to be. One day, anyway. Those honors came with practice. Skill. Determination. Whether or not she thought that her Seeker and Captain, along with the Co-Captain, had those things wasn't the point. (But in all seriousness, did she? No.) What mattered was, one day, those titles would be hers rightfully. She'd make damn sure.

As the Quaffle hit the goal post, not making it past that, she felt defeated, and slinked down against her Nimbus 1500. That was when a boy- a stranger- caught her eye. Had he been... Watching? And for how long? She hoped he didn't see that.

Her accuracy was good. Probably above average. She was proud of that- but it never seemed to work out for her. She was fine- until she was up against someone else. And then it always managed to work out for them and not her. How? Why?

She sighed, blushing a little bit, and flew her way towards the ground. Her eyes locked on the stranger, tilting her head. She was going to try to play it off. "Are you a Quidditch player too? Certainly, you're not a Slytherin if you are- I'd know." Alexx knew of most players, but that didn't mean that she knew them by name or face. And she knew that sometimes teams would need rearranging, so maybe he was a new kid? Or, perhaps he was just a fan.

"I'm Alexx, but you know that if you keep up with Slytherin Quidditch. Et toi?" She had made her way towards him, hand extended for him to shake. Alexx was a lot more than a Quidditch player, but for today, she was just "Chaser 2" (curse Elena for taking Chaser 1). At least she had the bragging rights of being a first-string, which was an honorable title. Not many people could say the same.

She wondered what position he played- if he played. Secretly, Alexx hoped that he did, because then she could invite him to practice with her. It would be good to catch a whiff of the opponent's strategy. Alexx was many things, and a cheater was one. Knowing their weak spot and blatching them right as she had the opportunity- that was her specialty. She was proud of it, even if others thought her "dirty" for it. There was no shame in honestly cheating. She would never deny her fouls; not ever.

Bast rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, head cocked so that he could track the player's progress across the Pitch. They were good. It made something in him itch to find a broom and take off after the other student; it'd been so long since he'd gotten some Quidditch practice in, let alone engaged in something even remotely close to a match, and the competition would be great. Refreshing. Definitely relaxing enough to put off the tension in his shoulders and the vague irritation and unease that crept through him every time he ventured into his own Common Room. Maybe he'd write a letter for Vi and use it as an excuse to run up to the Owlery — that would certainly burn off some energy. 

For now, though, he was content to live vicariously through this player, noting the missed shot almost absently. Their form seemed vaguely familiar, and he ran through the matches and practices he'd seen snippets of recently. One of the official players, likely. A Chaser, then? He supposed it was good for any of the other positions to practice their shots, too, but a quick scan of the Pitch didn't betray glinting gold. Not that he was likely to spot a Snitch outright, but still, he didn't think there was one out there. He would have expected a Seeker to be multitasking. 

With a slight straightening of his spine, he noted that they were descending now, and the closer they— she, rather, got, the more the familiarity sparked until he realized he was looking at one of the Slytherin Chasers. A hint of a smirk tipped the corner of his mouth up in amusement as he marked the irony of the situation. Of course it would be a Slytherin. Merlin help him, but this blasted castle seemed to be dedicated to rubbing his nose in it. 

"Not yet," he supplied idly, pale stare flickering over her with intrigue as she hovered close. He eyed her broom, tipping his head slightly as he identified it, before letting his attention drag back up. She seemed confident, composed. As he suspected, her miss must have been a fluke — she definitely carried herself like she knew what she was bloody well doing, and she certainly seemed proud of her House. Amused, albeit a bit bitter, Bast huffed a short laugh. "Not Slytherin, no — though I was definitely expecting the snake pit. Gryffindor."

He schooled the distaste out of his expression, because his mother had taught him better than to wear his emotions too plainly, and because he might not be too thrilled with his House yet but it was still his House. Evidently. He would just have to adjust and pray to enjoy it, and eventually he wouldn't have to fake it. Probably. Unless they drove him absolutely barmy in the interim. 

He arched a brow at her greeting and inventoried a few things of interest. First, the French — classy, sophisticated, distinctly pureblooded, in a sense. Oh, he knew plenty of mixed families still dabbled in French, a custom rooted in connections to relatives at Beauxbatons or else just their close proximity to Wizarding Paris, but he found that those who spoke French most naturally and fluently tended to come from the pureblooded families. He wondered at that, idly, but he was also curious to note that for all her technical elegance she had chosen to eschew formalities and opt for her given name, potentially even a nickname, surname not included. It was different. It was also exactly the same attitude Bast tended to take, pureblood upbringing and all. 

"Enchanté," he supplied with a quirk of an amused half-smile, the French quick and easy. Maman would be utterly delighted. "I'm Bast. You're a Chaser, yeah?" He nodded slightly, as if confirming what he'd been expecting, and added, "Best position, in my opinion. More involved. You looked good." He spoke bluntly and without much concern, evidently not bothered by offering compliments to one who was supposed to be his enemy — and technically would be if he did end up on the Gryffindor team. But no matter. Her form was good, after all, and Bast was fond enough of Chasing to recognize that. He'd always been better suited as a Seeker, getting lucky quick a few times with Snitches, but Chasing was his favorite. The action was far more present in the thick of it, as opposed to hovering high above. 

"Who needs all the fame and glory of Seeking, any way, right?" he added in a sarcastic drawl, mouth hitching into another amused smirk as he watched her. Somehow he anticipated Alexx was the type to defend Chasing to the grave, and he didn't exactly disagree — far from it — but it was still amusing to jest.