Interschool Race Spectator Thread

Hesitant at first, Karilyna ventured out onto the sprawling grounds of Hogwarts - after all, the castle was huge and she didn't want to wind up emerging somewhere she didn't intend to be. Of course, she loved a good adventure and went about seeking one far too often, but today meant an exception to her tendencies. Why? Well, the inter-school broom race was due to begin in minutes, and Karilyna wasn't about to miss it for anything. She wasn't racing - as much as she hated to admit it, she was probably too lightweight to last long in such a competition; besides, she'd already proved her duelling prowess - but her best friend was, and that meant she was watching, no questions asked.

As she emerged from the shelter of the castle and into the open, she squinted her eyes nearly shut as she was promptly swept up in the wind. She struggled to pull her maroon hood over her flying strands of raven hair, all the while fighting the unrelenting wind practically buffeting her around. Being small was a pain sometimes, after all. Ignoring the fact that she was already freezing despite her relatively thick clothing, Karilyna forced her brown eyes open and ran towards the mass of spectators. It better not have begun yet.

Panting slightly, she climbed up onto the bleachers, weaving between others to find a vantage point high enough that she would be able to catch even just a glimpse of her friends before they shot off into the distance, fearless souls disappearing into the fog of mystery. Elbows and smothering coats finally gave way to a clear view of the track's beginning below, and the Thunderbird paused in her relentless shoving to scan the starting line below for her fellow Americans among the throng of students raring for the start signal.

There. Her eyes lit up, sparkling warmly, and she grinned as she spotted the Ilvermorny contenders, three of them her housemates. The wind had thrown off her hood, whipping her hair and working it into somewhat of a tangle, but Karilyna no longer cared. She barely felt the cold anymore, warmed by excitement as she jumped up and down. Ilvermorny's team was admittedly small, there being only four representatives, but numbers weren't everything. After all, they'd only had four Ilvermorny kids show up for Capture the Flag just months before, and they hadn't done too badly. Granted, broom racing was much different from a mostly friendly game of Capture the Flag, but she still had faith in her school. They were all talented, anyway.

"'Ey Phyllis!" Karilyna yelled, on her tiptoes now, hands cupped tightly over her mouth, "Theo!" She could only hope her voice would carry above the din; despite having yelled at a rather frightening volume for a girl so small, she still faced the threat of being drowned out by those around her (as could be expected, of course). If Phyllis or Theo turned to find her among the spectators, though, they'd likely be sure to see her, a small figure bouncing up and down, hands waving in the air maniacally. One had to do whatever they had to do in order to be seen, right?

Almost as eager for the race to begin as those actually participating, she continued to rock from toe to heel, restless and itching for action. All her jittering was really quite unnecessary - and slightly obnoxious, honestly - but she'd never attended a broom race before and couldn't wait to see her friends in action. Broom racing didn't happen too often, though, so who could blame her for being excited?

"Let's go Ilvermorny!"

[font=century gothic]OPEN TO INTERACTION[/font]

It was race day, which meant that Greta had made her way to the stands to watch. It was interesting. She'd never attended an actual race before, any high-speed broom flying having been done mostly as laps around the pitch for practice when she was still on the Durmstrang team, or just for fun to chase down her brother or her friends during the same. There had never really been obstacles—well, unless bludgers and players could be considered as such. Nor did it last for any length of time. But this, this had turned the art of flight into its own sort of sport. She only hoped that she'd be able to keep a close enough eye on everyone to really see what was going on.

By everyone, really she was interested only in two individuals. Her close friend, Romeo, had been among those to depart from the quidditch team. Something she'd been very surprised to see, but perhaps no less surprised than everyone else who'd chosen to take a hiatus after their crushing defeat against the Hogwarts team at summer camp. Where she had chosen—rather, where she had been forced by her parents—to pursue duelling, however, Romeo had elected to stick to his broom and dive into the realm of racing. There was no way she was going to miss the opportunity to cheer—quietly, probably, since she'd be too embarrassed to do anything other—for her friend.

Moreover, Theodore was also racing. He'd been a common presence at the summer camp after being the only one whom Greta had even a remote opportunity to understand during the chess duelling. Of course, his grasp of German has been minimal at best and had later shown itself to be rather the sham, but that hadn't stopped the two from attempting to interact as best as they could through the mash of broken English and German and a health amount of charades. From there, an unlikely friendship had developed, the two continuing to write periodically over the summer, culminating in his suggestion that they meet up once again at Hogwarts and attend the ball together. It had been this which had really given Greta the motivation to improve her English. She'd show him just how much her speech had improved when she congratulated his efforts after the race.

For now, however, she had settled herself nervously on the bleachers near to a girl [Karilyna] she thought she vaguely recognized from the summer camp barbeque. Or if not from there, that she may have seen in the company of Theodore at one time or another. Her notion was affirmed at the starting of the race as she shouted out the name of Greta's penpal friend. Greta cast her a sidelong glance, chewing on her lips to hold back the smile that emerged with the encouragement for Theo. But as she turned her attention forward again, she still couldn't help but hope that Romeo came out the victor of the lot.

[font=century gothic]INTERACTIONS: n/a | MENTIONING: @Opeila Winters as Theodore, @Thora Larkston as Karilyna, @Piérre Marchonné as Romeo

Reminder: please enter. This starts on Oct. 10th

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Closed to interactions - I am just posting this to make it known that Cassie Heather was at the match. Feel free to do something small (such as wave) and say that she waved back, but anything more than that is counted as godmodding. Thank you.

As Cassie Heather McGregor-Martin made her way to Hogwarts' (admittedly sub-standard) broom racing track, she tried in vain to sort out her emotions. It was hard, because there were a lot of them.

Exhilaration was one that she regularly experienced at times such as these, and the muggleborn had to remind herself that, no, she would not be playing today. Why she had not been chosen was for reasons unknown to her, but there it was.
So were worry and determination - if Beauxbatons, the school renowned for its world-class broom racing team, lost, they would never live it down. The French witches and wizards would likely be ridiculed and criticized for years afterwards, and Cassie definitely didn't want that, regardless on who was playing. The muggleborn sent a silent wish of good luck to her comerades.

Anger, on the other hand, was a first for a day of racing. This was because of one simple reason - Cassie Heather McGregor-Martin wanted to be out there. She didn't want to be in the stands, watching on the sidelines and powerless to help! She wanted to be there, on her horrid school-supplied racing broom, navigating the perils that the other riders would surely face. The frustration that came with these thoughts was what prompted Cassie to rub the rosary bracelet on her left wrist. "Lord, give me the strength to forget my stupid worries," she murmured in French, surprising herself with her choice of language. Well, it was appropriate. "And cheer my team on without feeling angry. Or annoyed, or resentful. Even though I don't particularly like some of the people on it." It was true. Elise Laurent, for one, had despised by Cassie for about half a year, and the fact that the feeling was mutual didn't really make her feel any better about it. Delphine Desmarais was another Cassie Heather didn't particularly like - although they had only spoken a few words to one another after alighting the Beauxbatons carriage at the beginning of this trip, Cassie had already sized her up to not be the sort that the muggleborn liked. "Amen." As Cassie finished her tiny prayer, subconciously switching to her native language to complete it, she closed her eyes for a second and stopped walking. She breathed - in, out, in, out - slowly, opened her eyes, began walking again, and was feeling a lot calmer and ready to support her team by the time she reached the area where spectators would watch the race.

When she had taken her place in the stands, surrounded by her fellow Beauxbatons supporters, Cassie reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a light blue bow, which she fixed to the end of her plait, which hung over one shoulder as per usual. Cassie couldn't usually be bothered to wear bows or anything fancy, really, but it was a small show of support which made her feel a little better.

The moment the racers left the ground, Cassie Heather was transfixed. She spent the rest of the race cheering encouragement at the Beauxbatons racers - yes, even Elise and Delphine - and trying in vain to remember the names of everyone else. Although she began the race sitting down, by halfway she was on her feet and taking regular chugs out of her water-bottle to soothe her thoat, which was beginning to complain about all of the shouting.

Closed to interactions - I am just posting this to make it known that Lucia was at the match. Feel free to do something small (such as wave) and say that she waved back, but anything more than that is counted as godmodding. Thank you.

Lucia Fox, although she had grown up with a Wizarding family, had never actually seen a broom race before. Of course, she had heard about them, and listened several times to the commentry which was often broadcast over wizarding radio channels, but never actually seen one up close, as she had with Quidditch and (sometimes) Duelling. Maybe Broomracing was just more of a French thing - the racers from Beauxbatons certainly seemed to think so, in any case.. She had a feeling she was going to be in for it - people were saying that it was even more violent than Quidditch, and the Hufflepuff just hoped fervently that no-one was going to get hurt.
When she reached the stands, she took a place by herself and shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. Why did it have to be so cold? She envied the purebloods with enough money to buy a coat with an inbuilt Warming Charm.
It perhaps hadn't been the best idea to wear such a thin t-shirt either, but that was just something she would have to deal with.
Lucia slid into her seat, and watched the race on tenderhooks. Let's just hope everyone comes out alive.

Mentioning @Xailah Alptraum

While cooler weather was sinking into the Scottish highlands, young Pericles did mind the chill too terribly. He wore his school robes as the others did, donning the practical addition of a blue and bronze scarf, warding off wind while representing Ravenclaw. That shiny blue Prefect badge gleamed on his chest, a flickering beacon for any who may be lost or in need of aid. But he hadn't attended with the intention of playing regulator. Given the way he hurried to the stands, raced up the stairs, and scanned the contestants down below: Pericles knew at least one of the racers. Any competition among Schools was a momentous occasion, and the uniqueness of a cross-school race was already ample reason to spectate. But rooting for a friend managed to take priority in the bookish lad's life. So he stumbled through the stands, lamenting his own tardiness as he apologized his way across the front seats, a small plain brown parcel clutched tightly to his side.

Pericles had not brought a pen and notes as he often did for Quidditch. No, all of his focus was for the race this time 'round. The fledgling wizard leaned precariously over the railing at the furthermost corner, squinting eyes easily spying the wild mane of brown hair below. "Xailah!" He was waving and shouting in a matter most unbecoming an heir and prefect, but then again, Pericles was twelve years old. Making friends had been a gateway towards acting his own age. Though his voice was surely lost in the din, it rang clear with elation and encouragement, and he would flail an arm high in hopes of bolstering the Gryffindor girl until someone complained about their view being blocked. Pericles unabashedly wedged himself into the crowded front seat's edge, beaming with wonder and worry in equal measure.

☆•☆•☆•☆•Open for interactions!!!•☆•☆•☆•☆

Perhaps even Karilyna was underestimating herself—neither Theo nor Phyllis had had any problem hearing her voice over the din that was only exploding in volume as the race's beginning drew closer. She waved back, grin still alight on her face. Ilvermorny was going to be amazing.

As the players readied down below, brooms mounted and awaiting the start signal, Karilyna found herself restless. Anticipation mounted as her fingers drummed lightly on the bench she sat on, a steady beat amongst her increasing excitement and quickening heartbeat. It was rather strange, really, how she was so eager for the race to commence since she was just a spectator, but she constantly craved action and had been looking forward to this for days—weeks, even. And if nothing else, all her jumping, screaming, and the pure adrenaline from all of it would surely warm her enough to counter the biting cold seeping through her hoodie.

The race still had yet to begin. The Thunderbird twisted around in her seat, glancing around at the others searching for a seat. With many already present and some more trickling in from the castle, she couldn't help but worry that her currently clear view of the track might soon be obstructed by some taller figure—after all, she couldn't afford to miss any part of the race, even if all she'd be able to really see was the beginning. As she finished her scan, Karilyna's gaze paused on a blonde girl just off to her left, chocolate brown eyes locking with seafoam ones for the briefest second. That girl—she knew that girl. Brightening even further with the discovery of a familiar face, she began to scoot sideways, sliding easily along the bench's surface.

As a boy appeared on the other side of the blonde, though, Karilyna paused, gripping the bleacher's edge tightly. She'd never been one to be bothered by the presence of another—rather, she had a habit of butting into conversations even where she clearly wasn't welcome—and even now wasn't perturbed by the company, but she didn't want to overwhelm the girl with her word vomit. The pause itself was uncharacteristic enough, Karilyna being one to attempt to bluster through things as quickly as humanly possible, but she was remembering the only other time she'd talked to her.

The summer barbeque. She recalled arriving late and yelling after Phyllis, only to realize she was already talking with several strangers. As always, Karilyna'd had no qualms hopping right into the conversation, introducing herself in her typical long-winded manner, but the blonde hadn't responded with quite the same enthusiasm. Something just hadn't felt right, like Karilyna was saying far too much in too little time—ah, language barriers were a thing. It was something she'd experienced herself, having moved overseas at a young age. Granted, it wasn't nearly as difficult to pick up a new language at the age of two as it was even just a little later on in one's years, but she completely understood the confusion of being tossed headlong into a new culture, a new world, and getting completely lost in the surrounding chatter.

It was, again, a very rare moment of consideration and thoughtfulness as she allowed her memories to catch up with her, sitting frozen halfway from her seat to the girl. And then came a voice. A painfully familiar voice. Karilyna turned her gaze skywards in a massive eyeroll, a groan escaping her lips as an amplified version of Plott's voice sounded and bounced off the trees, the bleachers, the ground. She'd only been at Ilvermorny for just more than a year, and already, the headmaster annoyed her to no end—perhaps it was his excessive flair for the dramatic or even his brief disappearance from Ilvermorny's campus. Of course, his completely uncalled for dumping of glitter—in bright hues of pink and purple, of all colors—the day they'd arrived in Hogwarts had only deepened her dislike.

Most importantly, he actually had the nerve to go and commentate the interschool race. Perhaps it was out of necessity, but Karilyna was thoroughly pissed by the fact. Had it been a duel or a Quidditch match, she may have attempted to contend for the higher volume in all her glorious obnoxiousness (and fail to achieve doing so), but this was a broom race. Once the players left the starting line behind, she wouldn't be able to see what was happening at all—whether her friends were in the lead or lagging behind, or even if they'd been hurt or knocked unconscious—and that worried her a little. She'd be completely dependent on the commentator to relay what was happening, and she didn't trust Plott to tell the audience the full truth—or at least say anything without exaggerating inordinately. That was a problem. She couldn't do anything about it, though, so with a final eyeroll, she turned back towards the track, smile reappearing as she focused on the racers.

After all, the race was just moments from beginning. She was jolted back into motion, sliding the last short length to the girl in moments. "Hi," she tapped her on the shoulder, "I'm Karilyna. We met at the barbeque last summer, remember?" Despite her hesitation earlier, the words tumbled out now. "Are you excited for the race? I definitely am," the last part was far from necessary as you could practically feel the anticipation rolling off her in waves. Most of the annoyance at Plott's commentating now swept far away, having blocked it out, she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Her gaze flicked to the racetrack, just catching the end of Plott's introduction and the firing of crimson sparks. The race had begun.

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Although the race hadn't seemed to garner nearly the same level of attention as the quidditch match over the summer, the stands still seemed to be filling up nicely. Unfortunately, as Greta swivelled her head with a furtive glance this way and that, she had to note the significant lack of her own fellows. Every face that arrived seemed to attach itself to a voice that was decidedly foreign. Even still, a suppressed smile coaxed its way to curl the edges of her lips with the satisfaction that she was able to pick out more words from the din than she had been over the summer. Evidently, her efforts to get a better grasp on the English language were paying off.

So it was that when a voice nearby to her spoke up, Greta understood right away that the boy was trying to address her. "Oh, ehm..hallo?" she replied hesitantly, brow wrinkling slightly as though a worry had overcome her. And indeed, by the way her belly fluttered with nervous energy, it had. "Ehm.."

Eyebrows pinched together as she stared at the boy, mind working as though in slow motion trying to mentally repeat what he had just said and work it out. Fortunately 'seat' wasn't all that different from its Norwegian counter-part, and the gist of the intention was solved quickly enough, expression clearing with the dawning of understanding.

"Oh! Ehm…Yes..Ehm.. No! I am try to say is you sit.." More than a little flustered, Greta scooched over a little bit in the other direction as though to make room for him to sit down—not that there wasn't already ample space, but with his bags, she thought it necessary.

She cast him a last apologetic look and a muttered, "..sorry..", lifted a hand to tuck hair behind her ear, and glance back towards the race as commentary began to flow from a figure rising high into the air. Concentration was quite necessary here. What with the distance at which the speaker was speaking, the distortion with the wind and voice magnification, and with how quickly the man was speaking… Greta had a really hard time keeping up. It was just about the time when she was about ready to give up on the futile effort and concede defeat with a regret of not having dragged along Hanzo or Ella or something to translate for her when a second voice clinched the deal and drew her attention away. Greta turned to find that the girl she'd seen earlier had moved, and appeared much closer.

"Oh, ehm.. Hallo?" she replied sheepishly, not unlike how she'd addressed the boy moments before. "I'm Greta," she returned, "it is nice to meet you, Karleena." She raised a hand for a small wave, and offered a friendly—albeit nervous—smile. "Ehm…" It took a moment to remember the word 'barbecue', but it was one that had been tossed around quite a bit at the start of the summer camp. "Oh! Ehm… yes? Barbecue. I am meet you.. And ehm.. A friend, ehm.. I remember, yes, but am forget name of friend? I am sorry. Ehm… yes! I am excited! Very excited. Here I am come to see Theodore fly. And Romeo also."

If her brother could see her now, would he cringe at the plethora of errors in her speech? Possibly. But no doubt there would be a shred of pride as well with just how far his little sister had come over the past months. There she was, sitting alone and by her own discretion carrying on the start of an actual conversation in a language she generally abhorred to use. And despite her embarrassment over just how much she knew her thick Norwegian accent was butchering the language even how carefully and slowly she was trying to pick her way through what she was saying, Greta began to relax, hands no longer plucking quite as fervently at the fabric of her dress.

[font=century gothic]INTERACTIONS: @Henry Knight and @Thora Larkston as Karilyna | MENTIONING: @Opeila Winters as Theodore