26 Mar 2020, 02:59
Unspoken Rivalries
It had been months since her last visit to the Pitch, at least the one where official competitions weren't played. Her last trip had presented her with an immediate journey to the Hospital Wing. There were a few differences from the last time, however. She was thirteen, and not an amateur flyer anymore. Another year of experience had been affixed to her arsenal, and her book smarts had approved... even if she was on the brink of a class. It was with pride she carried the blue Silver Arrow; she had saved for months to purchase it. Obtaining the broom was the least she could do to thank her grandfather for pushing her to fly, even if it was inside a Muggle neighborhood.Private with @Rafael D'Spacito
As the wintertime climate began to disappear, Emma pledged to contribute more time to her broom and sulked silently; she could not withstand the tropical weather. It was a distinct goal for her, but it would quickly be lost and confused for genuine enjoyment. She couldn't think of anything better than the rush of air whipping against your face as she pushed against the heavy springtime winds. There was an unlimited number of tricks. An original skill was always waiting to be discovered. What was better?
The Ravenclaw cherished practice with her team and companions. She could joke around and propose new tactics without the fear of being judged or messing up. Each Quidditch meet was something new and bound to be injuries. Nevertheless, the players continued to come back. Training with other students was fun and all, but sometimes it was time apart that kept her enthusiasm for Quidditch thriving. There was nothing but blue skies and even the occasional duo flying along with each other. She could concentrate and not have to bear the burden of an injury other than herself. She was entirely fine with transporting herself to the Wing. It was difficult to hurt herself in such beautiful weather and expansive skies. Despite trying despairingly to get rid of her clumsiness, there were no indications of it going away.
Marching down to the Pitch, she shielded her eyes from the sun for a minute before mugging the star as if it would naturally disappear. There were no clouds to cover up the star and instead a vibrant cerulean sky that contrasted but in a tranquil way. Wondering to herself if today would be a good flying day, her hand pushed open the door and a smile formed on her face. Like a normal stadium, it was large and spacious, providing her with lots of space to breathe or even run around if she felt. The sun, however, was not her friend.
Vivid fresh grass ruffled against her sneakers as she approached the last equipment crate. As she leaned her broom against the wall supporting the box, the third year looked up at the sky. If there was anyone here she knew, it would be beneficial to get a concept now. While she did prefer to fly alone today, she couldn't say no to a student's company no matter how badly she wanted to.
~ Emmaline Louise Milanes ~
Stamina » 9 || Evasion » 9 || Strength » 10 || Wisdom » 7 || Arc Power » 2 || Accuracy » 14
Poison Resistance || Binding Mark || Prodigal Transfig. Learner || The Muggle Condition
Stamina » 9 || Evasion » 9 || Strength » 10 || Wisdom » 7 || Arc Power » 2 || Accuracy » 14
Poison Resistance || Binding Mark || Prodigal Transfig. Learner || The Muggle Condition
6 Apr 2020, 16:48
Unspoken Rivalries
@Emma Hill
[font=Segoe Print]It was an absolutely lovely day, Rafael had long since decided, and perfect for flying, at that – the air was fresh, a light southward breeze blowing through the air, the gentle rays of the sun falling gently upon the children of Hogwarts in a warm, comforting blanket, painting the countryside in a mural of green and gold. April’s warfare, it seemed, had taken a short hiatus from its manifold monstrosities, leaving behind a beautiful sort of wreckage, the birds singing in the air, torrents of insects buzzing through the newly-sprouted flowers, a multitude of colors painting the grass in every spectrum of the rainbow. There was not a cloud in the sky, nor a shade of ominous gray looming in the heavens – it seemed as if the universe could stretch on forever before his eyes, leaving the young boy to ponder his very existence on the earth.
It would have been selfish – vain, even – to allow such a day to pass the thunderbird by, without participating in some sort of Quidditch activity. After all, he was the bloody Quidditch Captain of Gryffindor, with manifold responsibilities towards his team and house. What kind of Captain was he, if he didn’t practice regularly? The day had been calling to him even before he’d opened his eyes that morning – the soft musings of the local birds had wafted gently into his ears, the absence of the incessant pattering of the rain ever-apparent to his tired ears as he had risen, weary eyes searching for his glasses. It was the universe, a sign surely – he knew there was something up there, there had to be. Who else screwed up his life with bad luck? He could hear the greater forces, somewhere deep inside of him, telling him that, if he wanted to succeed in the Interhouse Game, he would need his practice. Otherwise, what good was he to the team?
[He was a good player, yes, but even the best of players got rusty. He would never curse his team with such a thing.]
There would be no other reason for him to find himself in the Gryffindor Locker Rooms, slapping on his Quidditch Gear with an excited glint in his eye and a grin on his face. Yes, the day was beckoning, and he was loathe to ignore its calls. Fastening on his boots and elbow pads [Note: For blatching?] – he turned, quickly tucking his hair in a sports hairband. It was growing out, and needed to be cut again, desperately – but who were to complete such a task? He made quick work to pin the Captain’s badge to his shirt, then quickly checked himself in the mirror, straightening out his robes for aesthetic effect. All looked in order – damn, he was good-looking. Grinning in spite of himself, he turned, grabbing his school broom from off one of the benches, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he turned towards the Pitch Entrance. It was time to play.
His feet soon made contact with the soft green grass of the pitch, the ground squelching in the slightest under his boots as his eyes surveyed the expanses of the field, the sunlight reflecting off the very glass in a beautiful mess of light and plant life. Optimal, he supposed, because he wouldn’t be falling off his broom anytime soon. His smile, however, was short-lived – “Hey, you!” he called, his eyes suddenly narrowed in defensiveness. Someone, a Ravenclaw by the looks of it, was taking the last ball crate – his crate! No, he could not let such a thing happen. “Bugger off, will you? That’s my crate!” his voice only held sternness, the same tone one may have used in their attempts to ward off a group of pesky raccoons. Not necessarily malicious, or ill-willed – simply defensive of his own territory, as any male should be. After all, that was his property. His ball crate.
However, this perception would be easily shattered. After all, the Ravenclaw before him was no mere player… [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]It was an absolutely lovely day, Rafael had long since decided, and perfect for flying, at that – the air was fresh, a light southward breeze blowing through the air, the gentle rays of the sun falling gently upon the children of Hogwarts in a warm, comforting blanket, painting the countryside in a mural of green and gold. April’s warfare, it seemed, had taken a short hiatus from its manifold monstrosities, leaving behind a beautiful sort of wreckage, the birds singing in the air, torrents of insects buzzing through the newly-sprouted flowers, a multitude of colors painting the grass in every spectrum of the rainbow. There was not a cloud in the sky, nor a shade of ominous gray looming in the heavens – it seemed as if the universe could stretch on forever before his eyes, leaving the young boy to ponder his very existence on the earth.
It would have been selfish – vain, even – to allow such a day to pass the thunderbird by, without participating in some sort of Quidditch activity. After all, he was the bloody Quidditch Captain of Gryffindor, with manifold responsibilities towards his team and house. What kind of Captain was he, if he didn’t practice regularly? The day had been calling to him even before he’d opened his eyes that morning – the soft musings of the local birds had wafted gently into his ears, the absence of the incessant pattering of the rain ever-apparent to his tired ears as he had risen, weary eyes searching for his glasses. It was the universe, a sign surely – he knew there was something up there, there had to be. Who else screwed up his life with bad luck? He could hear the greater forces, somewhere deep inside of him, telling him that, if he wanted to succeed in the Interhouse Game, he would need his practice. Otherwise, what good was he to the team?
[He was a good player, yes, but even the best of players got rusty. He would never curse his team with such a thing.]
There would be no other reason for him to find himself in the Gryffindor Locker Rooms, slapping on his Quidditch Gear with an excited glint in his eye and a grin on his face. Yes, the day was beckoning, and he was loathe to ignore its calls. Fastening on his boots and elbow pads [Note: For blatching?] – he turned, quickly tucking his hair in a sports hairband. It was growing out, and needed to be cut again, desperately – but who were to complete such a task? He made quick work to pin the Captain’s badge to his shirt, then quickly checked himself in the mirror, straightening out his robes for aesthetic effect. All looked in order – damn, he was good-looking. Grinning in spite of himself, he turned, grabbing his school broom from off one of the benches, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he turned towards the Pitch Entrance. It was time to play.
His feet soon made contact with the soft green grass of the pitch, the ground squelching in the slightest under his boots as his eyes surveyed the expanses of the field, the sunlight reflecting off the very glass in a beautiful mess of light and plant life. Optimal, he supposed, because he wouldn’t be falling off his broom anytime soon. His smile, however, was short-lived – “Hey, you!” he called, his eyes suddenly narrowed in defensiveness. Someone, a Ravenclaw by the looks of it, was taking the last ball crate – his crate! No, he could not let such a thing happen. “Bugger off, will you? That’s my crate!” his voice only held sternness, the same tone one may have used in their attempts to ward off a group of pesky raccoons. Not necessarily malicious, or ill-willed – simply defensive of his own territory, as any male should be. After all, that was his property. His ball crate.
However, this perception would be easily shattered. After all, the Ravenclaw before him was no mere player… [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
7 Apr 2020, 22:05
Unspoken Rivalries
Scanning the skies for familiar faces, she fixed her eyes upon each student she could keep track of, but after a while, Emma glanced down to assure the light wouldn't blind her. She would trade the crisp winter frost for the heavy springtime winds any day. Thankfully, there was no one except recreational students and she could practice alone. Of course, listening to the sound of witches and wizards frolicking around on a fine, yet bothering day.
Before cracking open the case, she tucked her teal shirt into her denim jeans, a preference of hers. For as fashionable as she could be, the brunette didn't want the sound of ruffling confusing her, or worse, but it pained her to even conceive of the thought. She wasn't wearing any equipment, in fact, she hadn't even bothered taking the opportunity to get dressed up in her blue Quidditch robes accommodating the miniature badge in one of its pockets. Her bracelet had been removed, though it might have been best to wear it to prevent theft. She had gotten used to the pestering clicking and clacking of the pearl beads, but to have it fall and become lost in the wind? Or perhaps even picked off by another student? It was simply a gamble beyond her measures. Slipping the trinket off of her wrist, she tossed it on to the box.
It was decided. She was officially one of those girls to lug around a hair tie everywhere she went, especially before game time. Emma wouldn't make the mistake of forgetting to bring one. As she tied her hair back with the black elastic band, she ran through her checklist. With everything in order, she unfastened the chest, but before she could even get a grip on the lumber, the sound of yelling grew out of nowhere. Jumping slightly, she didn't pay it any mind. She hadn't done anything wrong, not today, and was sincerely looking for a spot to fly around and hit a few bludgers. The voice only continued to grow closer, however. Peering up from the container, her eyes fastened with the Gryffindor boy. It wasn't a pressing stare, more of a bewildered, offended glance. An unethical thought plagued her mind as she began reaching for the bat again, but she could hear her mother warning her, she retracted her hand and turned to confront the boy.
"Crate?" Her voice was far too pitchy to be sincere, but she wasn't quite known for her honesty either. She sealed the cover and sat on top, the bludgers not satisfied with her choice. She patted the edge and chuckled carelessly. Frankly, she wasn't ready to begin being rude, particularly to someone she didn't know. There was a singular thought that spun on replay, however. Who does he think he is? Though it wasn't for the best, the Eagle didn't participate in each match as she should have or records notes on other players as hardcore fans did. "Oh, this crate right here? I think I need it more than you."
It took a while for her attention to lock-in. Although it was commonly immoral to judge a person by their sense of fashion, she couldn't help but examine his outfit. He seemed oddly prepared, unlike any of the other players including herself. Then her eyes fell upon a familiar pin, this one colored red and golden. It would even be a stretch to describe it as her pin. For a captain, he surely didn't conduct himself like one. It was difficult to consider barking commands at her team. Sliding off of the case, she popped open the fastener and the trinket fell on the turf. Reaching for the club again, she grabbed the lumber and swayed it carefully before letting it rest on the ground. "I truly hope you're better than the stereotypes," she pivoted in her position to face him.
Holding out her free hand, she extended her hand out and introduced herself, neglecting all formalities. "Emma, beater." She nudged the bat with the sole of her Converses to prove her point. It was the least she could do to soften the weight. The last thing she needed was another enemy from Gryffindor, she could hardly keep up with one...@Rafael D'Spacito
~ Emmaline Louise Milanes ~
Stamina » 9 || Evasion » 9 || Strength » 10 || Wisdom » 7 || Arc Power » 2 || Accuracy » 14
Poison Resistance || Binding Mark || Prodigal Transfig. Learner || The Muggle Condition
Stamina » 9 || Evasion » 9 || Strength » 10 || Wisdom » 7 || Arc Power » 2 || Accuracy » 14
Poison Resistance || Binding Mark || Prodigal Transfig. Learner || The Muggle Condition
22 Apr 2020, 16:33
Unspoken Rivalries
╔══════════════☩══♛══☩══════════════╗Interacting With: @Emma Hill
Mentioning: N/A╚═══════════════☩══✦══☩══════════════╝
[font=Segoe Print]It was funny, amusing really, the looks the young Captain seemed to receive on a daily basis. He knew he was good-looking, sure, that much was obvious every time he looked in the mirror. But seriously. At this rate, one would think he was a god or something – there were some days that the boy would wonder whether or not he had something on his face, be it leftover food from lunch break, or a Sharpie-drawn mustache over his lip, courtesy of his fellow Hodag Boys. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Being handsome was a real pain, but it was a weight he would happily carry, if not for himself then for all the many students he blessed with his face. Besides, he would be lying if he were to say that he didn’t enjoy a good second-glance every once in a while – such things only reassured his assumptions of himself and boosted his esteem to heights no ordinary man could reach. It was due to this, that he anticipated pleasant looks from all his acquaintances, inferiors who would never obtain the honor to truly meet him.
However, this time was certainly different, as the look he was now receiving was in no way pleasant. On the contrary – the Ravenclaw’s eyes flashed with offense, perhaps even slight surprise. As if he were in the wrong. Please. His gaze only continued to drill into the girl in apathy as he jutted his chin out, awaiting her response, giving her the pretense that her opinion actually mattered to him. It was then, that her voice would pierce his ears, words that made his very skin crawl in aggravation. “Crate?” she asked, her voice tactlessly insincere as she closed the box, setting herself on top of it wryly. Fuck. "Oh, this crate right here? I think I need it more than you."
There was something about the way she moved, her body language, that executed a sense of confidence, as well as a wry air. Cute. Except, the Gryffindor Captain didn’t have time for that today. Not for formalities, or inferior Ravenclaws, nor their wry antics. However, this attitude would quickly change, come future events – he watched with only growing irritation as she unfastened something on her clothing, promptly tossing it on the ground. A Captain’s Badge. At the very sight, the boy’s eyebrow shot up, and he had to stifle a laugh, a wry grin slipping onto his features as he looked up, unimpressed. There was no way Pansy here was a Captain. She was utterly unprepared, goddammit – where was her training gear? Arm guards? He inwardly scowled, eyes digging into the lovely creature in front of him, his gaze not at all kind.
Captains were meant to set examples. The one he was seeing was.. interesting.
It was then that he would learn the name his lovely acquaintance. “Emma, beater.” Her hand was outstretched, ripe for shaking – the Gryffindor considered it with disdain for a moment, his nose scrunching up in the slightest as he considered whether or not he were to stoop to such a level. His indecision, however, was short-lived – he promptly took the Captain’s hand, shaking it with the firm grip he possessed. “Rafael, chaser.” His words came nonchalant, his gaze remaining slightly unimpressed, a slight edge of something else in his eyes – curiosity, was it? Yes, he supposed it was. The girl in his presence certainly intrigued him, what with her mannerisms and well-placed words. She didn’t fit the Captain stereotype, that was for sure – what stereotype did she fit?
Well, he didn’t come out here for nothing. “Now, what makes you think you need my equipment, more than I?” he asked, withdrawing his hand with a mischievous smile. “I suppose such an assumption is plausible. I can imagine you being inexperienced.” A definite prod, though empty – the Captain’s role wasn’t given to just anyone, a fact he’d discovered the difficult way. Didn’t mean he couldn’t use such words to get under her skin. “However, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside.” He rubbed his neck, before looking up innocently. “I’ve got a practice to get to, yeah?”
There was a challenge in his voice, a mischievous look in his eye, a grin playing on his lips. Would the other Captain take the bait? [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
30 Apr 2020, 02:33
Unspoken Rivalries
There was something off about the boy that perked her brows. Emma sincerely didn't know what to assess first, his height, or his egotistic temperament. Being no taller than herself, he was a face she hadn't witnessed throughout her day, though that was luck. Not in her lessons, perhaps roaming about the grounds. She could handle the irregular sense of arrogance, but this was merely breaking boundaries She didn't even recognize the guy, but two minutes in and inclined she was to kick him in the crotch. Three years in the school and the stereotype hadn't etched the impression into her subconscious, perhaps it was the notion that faith could be discovered in the rare. Not each Gryffindor had the flamboyance of a peacock, constantly drawing in attention whether deliberately or not. He was not supporting her case.
Being an actress came with its benefits; words weren't the only thing she could overhear. Body language was a dangerous, deceptive tool, but with youth like him, she doubted there were any distortions in his actions. What was the need for faking like herself? Words, well, they weren't forbidden maybe looked down upon, but producing physical harm was bound to earn her another ticket to detention. Her fourth one. While being a strong convert in first impressions, she was better than that.
Honestly, there wasn't a purpose in her carrying any additional equipment despite her broom. That was her beloved. She didn't have to look out for bludgers or confront the fear of getting hit and knocked out. Besides, there wasn't anyone to her knowledge looking to eject her out of the sky. The brunette was somewhat a threat to those merely flying leisurely, but that wasn't her problem. Until the metal came into contact with recreational players, that is. It was best to get some practice time alone until that time came, but not even her fantasies were realistic, they more similar to hallucinations if anything. Just her karma for coming out on a brilliant day.
She couldn't help but roll her eyes at every petty movement he made. From the chortles and the smirks, temptation pulled her out the pitch but her body planted her soles into the synthetic turf. She didn't find anything funny, not from his perspective anyway. There was already a quill sketching about, composing a lengthy list of the attributes she found irritable. Six pet peeves already being elaborated upon. Although she wanted less to do with him, her arm was up, grudgingly ready to meet the arrogant student. As he took her hand, her grip stiffened somewhat to match his. There weren't any complaints from the girl, but while her hand tingled from the added pressure she didn't recoil or give him any form of remuneration. It was something she hadn't familiarized herself with.
"Heard of the expression "ladies first" Rafael? She shot back, a small accent toying with his name, while she considered herself none of the sorts. If there were any perks to being a girl, her appearance were the single thing she could utilize to her advantage. The mere presence of her was enough to make any guy move out of her way without having to say a single word. It made navigating through a large crowd very simple. Taking back her hand, she kicked the bracelet nonchalantly and grinned.
"Well, unlike you, I don't intend on getting hit," She scoffed, clapping her hands together. Confidence weaved through her words as she responded, even her posture had shifted slightly. As she grasped the wood again, her palm impacted hard and continued to like a stress ball, a grip she should had used on the Gryffindor. Her patience was running thin, though she didn't have much to begin with.
Shaking her head, the Ravenclaw flipped the fasteners on the crate, carefully patrolling his actions from the corner of her eye. Her hands were ready to swat. "Humor me. I prefer the game to do the talking. Grabbing the second bat with her left, she propelled it in his direction without a warning. She wasn't ambidextrous to say the less, but much to her grief, there wasn't much that could go wrong. Chuckling to herself she pivoted to face him and smiled. Genuinely. It was as if she were entertaining a toddler, trying to keep up with a new generation and come up with new ways to keep her leisure. It was rather challenging to keep up with his words but amusing to say the least. "You'll get the first swing... but try to keep up, will you?"@Rafael D'Spacito
~ Emmaline Louise Milanes ~
Stamina » 9 || Evasion » 9 || Strength » 10 || Wisdom » 7 || Arc Power » 2 || Accuracy » 14
Poison Resistance || Binding Mark || Prodigal Transfig. Learner || The Muggle Condition
Stamina » 9 || Evasion » 9 || Strength » 10 || Wisdom » 7 || Arc Power » 2 || Accuracy » 14
Poison Resistance || Binding Mark || Prodigal Transfig. Learner || The Muggle Condition