2 Dec 2019, 23:37
Flightless Bird on a Stick
Try as he may to be as scholastically prepared as possible, Pericles knew there was only so much he could read about flying. Being on a broom was another matter altogether, one which he wasn't so sure he was really ready for. Amusing as their professor's pleasant energy may be, he could scarcely stop staring at the heap of brooms she had brought with her, though- after catching the eye of her portrait- he sheepishly tried to pay his best attention after a stretch of fretting. He did not know the rules of flying. In fact, he didn't even know who the Harpies were! He could only deduce that they had been a significant team of Quidditch players, though he felt poorly for not knowing that prior, especially given Professor Bercegeay's enthusiasm. What little he did know besides book-given knowledge had been passed down from his father, a former Quidditch player of these very grounds. The pressure was on to be a halfway decent flier, at the bare minimum.
His worries manifested all the more once Pericles tried to raise a broom for the first time. "Up." The word was uttered calmly, with perfect politeness. But a broom did not need politeness. It needed clarity, confidence, a sense of certainty. "Up...?" the young wizard repeated, his tone one of perplexity lined with vague pleading. It would take multiple tries before the thing halfheartedly wavered up into his hands. As Peri inspected the fateful vessel, he inwardly willed it to work with him, please. Though the time came to kick off, and when he did so, he felt as though his stomach had been left on the ground beneath him. The broom went up and Peri went down, bending at the waist and all too suddenly wrapping his arms around the wood. This was not at all how his father had described flight. He said it was as though the broom becomes an extension of you, another limb altogether. Pericles merely felt like he was suspended on a precariously thin piece of wood floating five-feet up in the air. So sudden was the sensation that for a time, he simply lay there on his broom, clinging to it tightly while wide eyes searched the grounds. He eventually managed to stammer an uneasy "P-... professor!"
While eventually tilting to land, it was a slow, graceless first session upon a broom, one which left his cheeks an alarming shade of crimson even after the class concluded.
His worries manifested all the more once Pericles tried to raise a broom for the first time. "Up." The word was uttered calmly, with perfect politeness. But a broom did not need politeness. It needed clarity, confidence, a sense of certainty. "Up...?" the young wizard repeated, his tone one of perplexity lined with vague pleading. It would take multiple tries before the thing halfheartedly wavered up into his hands. As Peri inspected the fateful vessel, he inwardly willed it to work with him, please. Though the time came to kick off, and when he did so, he felt as though his stomach had been left on the ground beneath him. The broom went up and Peri went down, bending at the waist and all too suddenly wrapping his arms around the wood. This was not at all how his father had described flight. He said it was as though the broom becomes an extension of you, another limb altogether. Pericles merely felt like he was suspended on a precariously thin piece of wood floating five-feet up in the air. So sudden was the sensation that for a time, he simply lay there on his broom, clinging to it tightly while wide eyes searched the grounds. He eventually managed to stammer an uneasy "P-... professor!"
While eventually tilting to land, it was a slow, graceless first session upon a broom, one which left his cheeks an alarming shade of crimson even after the class concluded.
{ 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔟𝔬𝔶: 𝔞 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢, 𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔬𝔶. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔰𝔞𝔶 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔯 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔞. }
(iNPC: Madhup Hexum)