Slytherin v Gryffindor 3rd Game Finished

~ * ~

After her goal, Ruby had gone for the Quaffle again. Maybe she could make another goal. She raced towards it and stretched her arm out to grab it… and then was shocked as it was snatched away by none other than Gryffindor's Keeper. Because Koko was away from the hoops, nothing prevented him from scoring.

The girl let out a small grunt of frustration. It was irritating for her and her team, but it must have at least been nice for him. Being Keeper was a hard job with a lot of responsibility—it was very easy to blame yourself for if a goal was scored. Maybe it was nice for the Gryffindor Keeper to get a bit of his own glory and take back the points that Ruby had scored.

Fine. Now we're even. She would treat it like the score was reset and they were back to 0 to 0. The game had only really just started; Slytherin still had time to get those points. She took a brief look at some of the other things that were happening and saw Nico catch one of their Beaters. Nice job, Nico. They couldn't afford to lose another of their Beaters, especially considering that Erin was down.

Doing as strategized

~ * ~

As the game continued, the knot in Evelynn's stomach only seemed to tighten. It was a blood bath. There was really no other way to describe it. Barely ten points into the game and they were down two of their best players. The impact on the team was all too real for her. What was worse, there was nothing she could do about it. It wasn't that their players were playing poorly or making mistakes; it was simply that Slytherin was out-flying them. And she was stuck there, on the side lines, able to do little more than ring her hands as she watched on with mixed frustration and hope, despair and anticipation, just willing her team to catch a break and barrel through the opposition.

"Come on…" Evelynn hissed under her breath as MacAllister and Fillestar raced to return the latter to his broom. The chaos of whirring brooms weaving and dodging in and out from among each other made it difficult to know who was playing to score and who, to intercede. She was prepared for the worst, teeth clamped down lightly on her lower lip as steel eyes watched on with baited breath.

As much as she hated it, she was waiting for another collision. While she knew that blatching wasn't technically cheating, since to do so wouldn't get you thrown out of a game or force a forfeit, she considered it poor sportsmanship. A plow utilized by the low in need of a leg up, or by those whose heads were too large for their shoulders just to rub in a defeat. Although outwardly reserved (or as reserved as she could be given her strained expression), Evelynn cursed the team of silver and green for their under-handed tactics. They weren't even playing Quidditch at this point. The aggression with which they had attacked (as, indeed, there was another one..) looked more like the S.W.A.G's game of Shuntbumps than any Quidditch match she'd yet observed this school year.

It seemed she wasn't the only one affected, either. It was all too apparent that their captain wasn't exactly having a grand old time up there. In particular, it seemed to be the foul on Fillestar had set him off. For a moment, Evelynn couldn't figure out what the heck he was doing. One moment he was in the thick of things, the next he was racing a lap around the pitch. Brows screwed up in an attempt to see more clearly, Evelynn considered the possibility that perhaps he had misheard the foul call and thought it his own. But as he neared the Slytherins, understanding dawned.

"What are you doing?!" she shouted, aghast.

If she'd paused to consider the situation logically, Evelynn would have known there was no way her wind-swept shout would be heard. But she wasn't being logical at this moment. Gryffindor had always been steadfast with its refusal to succumb to underhanded efforts to gain an advantage. It was quite possible that she simply hadn't enough exposure, but Evelynn couldn't recall a single time Gryffindor had blatched. Yet here they were. About to blatch. Their captain, no less. Against someone taking a lap. The very thought of how slimy that was made the little lioness's blood boil.

And then he missed. If she'd been angry before, she was positively raging now. Not only had D'Spacito committed to an dishonourable action, he had done so without even incurring any gain for the team. No, it went further than that. He had earned a foul. A lap around the stadium. He had handicapped them. Evelynn would have been lying if she denied the real temptation to jinx him right then and there.

"GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

The announcement cut through the red-head's frustration, tempering her fouling mood. Perhaps it wasn't entirely a lost cause. Sure, they were down two members, but then again, Slytherin was down their best beater as well. They were even with points. It wasn't over. If Gryffindor could just pull through, keep their heads and remember what was discussed in the locker rooms, perhaps they could be alright. One never knew, she had heard. A game could pivot on the spot with the snitch. With renewed hope, Evelynn's attention swiveled in search of their seeker, hoping to see him now safely returned to his broom.

Her heart sank. Like a stone falling heavily into the pit of her stomach. Just like the two figures that she watched, as though slowed in motion, to fall from on high to the pitch below. Fixated, she stared at their unmoving forms as though the scene were unreal and incomprehensible. Which, truly, it was. This couldn't be happening. Fillestar couldn't be out yet. Not yet. Not ever. This was her first game. She was supposed to be able to observe. To get a taste. To gain knowledge and understanding to better prepare herself for when the time came for her own debut. A cold shiver racked her arms and shoulders, only to creep down her spine. They were down a seeker. The reserve seeker would have to step in to take up the slack. To no doubt fill the role of the next target for blatch and bludger alike. She would have to fill that role.

Hands and knees trembling, Evelynn stood almost mechanically and without word. A tongue flashed out in an attempt to moisten suddenly parched lips. She tried not to think about it. About any of it. Just the snitch. Just flying. Kicking off, she joined her team in the air, far too conscious of the eyes and target upon her and the pounding pulse within her mind, deafening.

Doing as Strategized

Almost every single player on Gryffindor was dropping like flies, and each one caused Marla to be more frustrated. If they didn't win this game, there wouldn't be any more games for the lions– at least official ones. And that wasn't an option. Quidditch meant everything to the small redhead. The nearly overwhelming, but extremely refreshing rush of adrenaline as she soared through the air, quaffle wrapped around her arm.

And without the victory of this game, that would be gone.

Watching her teammate, AJ, hit the ground, she could almost second-handedly feel the pain that was most likely shooting through his arm at that moment. She winced, having seen him make impact with the ground, and frowned, listening to the crowd groan at the brutal blackout of the poor first year. That must've been painful.. But with one chaser out, that meant one thing: that Marla was in the game. Something she should've been excited for, but with this being Gryffindor's last chance at redeeming itself for the rest of the season– and having that somewhat resting on her shoulders... It was nervewracking. If she messed this up, who knew how long she'd hear about it? But she had to at least give it a chance. There was no way she was putting this broom to waste either, with the number of galleons she had spent on it.

So she hauled her broom out on the field, trying not to look at the crowd of Gryffindors in the stands. Her broom suddenly became very heavy as she swung onto it, gripping the front of it so hard that her knuckles went white. Soaring into the sky, she thought of what move to make next. And the first thing that came into her mind in a moment of impulsivity: wipe out the seeker. But... That meant that she'd have to... Well, break the rules. Blatching was not something that Marla was exactly, open to, in most times. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And if she could get out the key player to Slytherin winning, then she could deal with the threat of a penalty lap or two.

Staring intently at Dan, she hesitated a bit, thinking about how much shit she'd get from Kyle if he found out. As angry as he was half of the time, he would never, ever purposely commit a foul. He'd be so disappointed in her. And Ruby, too. Her best friend, on the opposing team. But with a few deep breaths, she was at least a little more mentally prepared to wipe Dan out for good. She began to race towards him, bracing for impact. Time to put her new broom, and her lack of strength to the test.

Action: Doing as strategized

The midpoint of the match was approaching quicker than expected, much had already befallen (literally) and dependable Slytherin devotees continued to bounce up and down on their feet, expecting more good reports from their team. Like most, it was a stunning, unmerciful sport to follow. The Lions had tied the game effortlessly, but this was no obstacle for their rivals. The Snakes were going to make them pay, for it would be the last time the Quaffle went through the gilded hoops. At least, that's what every team wished for, right?

Suspense lingered in the heavy air, all eyes on the sky watching friends, relatives, and acquaintances clash with each other. It was without a doubt that Plott was on his heels, stomping at the ground or shielding his eyes from falling athletes before they hit the terrain. "Would you take a look at that. A frightening sight to see. These Brits are going for gold... or whatever the silly cup's made of." Even from far away, the sun seemed to whiten his teeth as statements of opinion escaped from his jaws, a grin secretly waiting for more anarchy. He admired a good underdog story, but he couldn't help but sway his vote in favor of the Snakes. Their performance was enough to transition any unloyal Quidditch enthusiast. Twisting his wand between his fingers, he was one of many waiting for the teams' next plays. The filter on the Headmaster was virtually nonexistent, truly unafraid to say anything.
 
The American put on his greatest foreign accent, placed his wand to his esophagus, of course, leaving his pinky up because it was the customary thing to do. As far as he heard, the British were formal, proper, and everything of the sorts. Little did he know some of these students didn't even take their studies seriously [NPCs]. Being an athlete came before a grade. "Alrighty folks, let us see if the Lions can make a comeback! It'll be grand, I'm sure." He placed his hand on his hip, unsure if the foreigners communicated like that, but it sure felt appropriate.

As fierce players impacted the ground hard, the Headmaster had his eyes on the red bench. He was curious to see who would be next to join the chaotic mess that wasn't even halfway over. It was a surprise to see so many crucial and valued players out of the game. More flew in to fill their shoes and obtain their brutal minutes of fame.  

─── ★ Chasers ★ ─── 

─────────── Results ───────────

The quaffle had been mostly abandoned, mostly. There was still one relentless chaser that saw his opportunity at a comfortable ten points. Charlie rushed to the ball as he avoided players. The familiar sensation of tight leather met his fingertips, and then the palm of his hand. Even Lazarus had found a way to make it exciting. Dancing over to the hoops, he got as close as he could before allowing the sphere to roll off his fingers and into the hoops smooth and foul-less. If only the sport was as simple and effortless as he made it seem. Alas, it was a sport. 

"Gryffindor's got the Quaffle! And an easy goal by Charlie if I do say so myself." The accent hadn't ceased. If he wasn't entertained by the players, he would have even picked up a few mockery attempts at an American accent [NPCs] as they tittered amongst themselves. 

Watching a redhead near the fantastic Slytherin duo, Plott held his breath. Although he knew it was coming, he couldn't afford to observe another student fall. The chaser came out of nowhere, but it seemed Daniel and Koko were already ahead of her. After almost being knocked off by Rafael, the two had a spidey-sense for danger. Well, it could have been good fortune, but the Ilvermorny professor had never seen such a fleet of flying; not even in the States (if that was saying much). But while the attempt was perfect, the pair still managed to find an escape. Narrowly diving down to evade the blatch, there was no other way to say it. They made it look simple. "Marla Quinlan! One penalty lap!"

Slytherin sure had a hatred for seekers. Poor Evelynn, the co-captain of Gryffindor, had just joined in Pitch, but she was already receiving backlash for it. "Here comes Slytherin, again." The commentary came, his voice increasing with enthusiasm. At the comment however, Evelynn identified the blonde on her tail and bolted away just before impact. "Slytherin girl! One penalty lap for attempted blatching!" He added, strong with his words as his eyes tracked the game carefully. 

──── ★ Beaters ★ ────

Nico is sharing her broom with Roman

── Slytherin Damage ──

Roman: 700HP dealt to Wren Wren: 600 - 700 = -100 [Knocked]

───────────── Results ─────────────

A series of gasps filled the air as two beaters confronted each other, Wren and Roman. Both new players had lived to proceed to their second round, but both raised their clubs with homicidal intentions. One blow following another sounded in the stadium, some students pointing at the sky, closing their eyes and praying mutely to no one but themselves. The two bludgers faintly whistled in the breeze, like a bomb falling in a cartoon. Unfortunately for Wren, it was the iron that struck her first, knocking the wind right out of her chest. A shallow gasp escaped her lips as she fought back a scream. When she tried, however, a black wall covered the cerulean sky and her body went limp. A boisterous cheer reverberated throughout the Pitch. Plott was also pumping his fist in the air and rooting for the Snakes from the ground. He had grown so excited, he had forgotten to comment on the Lions' lost. Well, almost, he had a sworn duty. Besides a genuine game was never whole without commentary; he had a vital job.

"New beater goes down! That's dirty, right there. She was doing so well!" He cried, pretending to dab his eyes with a handkerchief. There was another Slytherin pair, however. Roman and Nico, who had no problem evading Wren's last effort. Being short one player surely left a mark in the player, but being down two? That was a tragedy.

It was too early to mourn, for Bridget was unhesitant to put the outrage in the stands to an ending... or at least make it worse. Wizards and witches and seen plenty of new in this tournament alone, and it wasn't stopping here. To no surprise, it was another Snake brewing their attack. This time, it wasn't a chaser, nor the seeker. It was a beater. With both hands on her broom, Bridget prepared herself for a blatch, something she infrequently did. Her nearly black hair tousled in the wind behind her as she strained her broom to perform dangerous speeds. She had to knock her off. What other thoughts could have plagued her mind? Bridget's body collided with the Gryffindor seeker's, who was still holding on by her fingertips. The Gryffindor's broom dropped quicker and quicker as Evelynn held on with her life, but it was the Slytherin who decided to welcome her to the ground.

"Collins! You know what to do! Lap!" He drew a circle around the stadium with his index finger. Yells of outrage seemed to jump back and forth from students wearing red and green. Now it was Slytherin's turn to yell. It was Hugh to the rescue. The save might not have been graceful, but it was effiecent and the co-captain remained in the game. Despite Slytherin's efforts, she couldn't leave now.

Hugh Lowe saves the Gryffindor co-captain, Evelynn Decipio

─── ★ Seekers ★ ─── 

───────────── Results ─────────────

Evelyn might have been a little bit shaken up, but she wasn't out of the game. A few seconds was all she needed to get her head back into the game, and accept the bounty on her name. She was ready, there was no other way to explain it. She didn't need the small gust ruffling her hair to give her a goddess-like appearance. After being put through Hell, she had earned her title and she wasn't going down without a fight. Neither would Rafael or Dan, but we all knew that.

The glint of shiny gold was still busy going haywire around the stadium, not yet interrupted by anyone. It had even rested above a few students, but they were too occupied to notice and who could blame them with all the bloodshed? Neither of the seekers had received their dosage of luck. Dan had given up his broom to travel with the Slytherin keeper, Koko, despite her words. Evelynn was going to need lots of luck, more than her team had received. 

The scoreboard had changed ten points thanks to Charlie's effortless trip to the hoops. Gryffindor was down two players with no one to replace them. "Will the Lions get their little boost of luck, well, any luck for that matter... OR! Will the snakes constrict their opponents and rewrite history??"

──────── Scoreboard ────────

Gryffindor 20

Slytherin 10

EDIT: For the sake of TDLR, there was a mistake noticed. Bridget, a Slytherin beater, was supposed to be doing her penalty lap this round. As a result, she couldn't blatch Evelynn. Hugh and Evelynn remains on their own, seperate brooms.

To be honest, he barely made out the shape of the bludger before instinctively sent it flying. It happened quite fast and blurry, and if you later asked him about it, the boy would have some trouble describing it. The bludger flew off and knocked two players from Gryffindor, one of them being the lion's last beater, whose name he couldn't care less about. At that moment, everything felt like a slow paradise, a moment for him to savor his short moment of fame, and he could finally breathe.

Roman looks around, at his teammates, eager for something... Something that isn't the brutal bludger that crashes against his collarbone. A mute scream dies in his lips — "oof!" —, as his body goes backward and he's knocked off his broom. There's no time for anything: not to think, or breathe, or curse whoever did that to him.

Something grabs him, saving his ass. Someone, that is. "... Nico!" He makes out from the noisy stadium. As he tries to remember who the hell that is, or connect her name to her face, Roman holds to the other Slytherin's broom.

ACTION: Doing as Strategized

–Action–
Highkey Raging; Doing as Strategized

Another two down, of which both would not be replaced. That was certainly a shame, but Gryffindors were the kings of comebacks. Pumping his fist in excitement, Piérre watched as another chaser easily picked up the Quaffle and threw it though the hoop that Koko was far from guarding.

Well, easy points make easy wins. The game was far from over, but with so many alluring faces on Slytherin's side, Piérre found his gaze drawn to them more often than to trying to pick out the golden Snitch. For a second he saw it, and then it swiftly zipped away.

The game was riling up. It was certainly not through yet. Gryff still had a chance, and Evelynn's keen eye was sure to spot the glittering gold.

Cheering as Strategized

Both teams were obviously now out for blood with a few players now flying to the perimeter of the field for penalty laps. Thora'd seen plenty in her single season, but this game had been the most interesting (and painful) by far. At least Slytherin had still lost just one player (but their most powerful beater), but both teams having been triggered and the number of blatches and therefore players falling only growing, it was more likely than not that more green-clad players would be eliminated soon.

But everything taken into consideration, they were doing pretty well. All of Gryffindor's beaters'd been hit and taken out, as well as a chaser and a seeker. The game was tied… Until the lions scored again. Thora nearly missed another unchallenged goal as the excitement unfolded some ways away from the hoops, but with the announcer's amplified commentary, it wasn't long before the words clicked in her mind and her heart sank. They were losing. They'd lost two uncontested goals in a row.

Sure, Slytherin could still win with a Snitch catch, but it already seemed like a longer Quidditch match (compared to those past) and it didn't seem that their Seeker had had any luck yet. "Come on, Slytherin!" Thora called out, cupping her hands around her mouth. Merlin, there were an awful number of spectators cheering for Gryffindor. She didn't envy the other team for having more support, as opposition seemed always prevalent in Slytherin's games and there surely had to be Slytherin supporters out there, but she'd played enough to know that morale was somewhat important. At least by encouraging her teammates, she play her part without being on the field. So what if all she could do was cheer from the sidelines?

Action » Benched

Shit. Another penalty lap, and not even for a good reason. She didn't even blatch Evelynn. Failure. Her inner-voice was eating her alive right now as Alexx flew past all of her team mates to take a lap of shame. This was nothing to be proud of, and if Dan didn't find that snitch, they were in big trouble. Slytherin already wasn't doing well as it was, and Alexx couldn't help but blame herself. Maybe if she didn't spend so much time taking these damn penalty laps, she'd be of more use to this team.

Shaking her head, she began her lap, wishing that she were anywhere but here. Wishing that maybe she had scored a goal- but what she did was still necessary. What she attempted. She'd be sure, later, to use someone, probably an innocent second-string, as a dummy to practice blatcing on. That seemed like a good idea. It would take time, but soon enough, she'd be inexplicably accurate. There wouldn't be a single person she could take down; she'd be sure of that. No matter what, it would still be her go-to move; until none of her apponants were left standing. If there was anything Slytherin could pride itself in right now, it's that they've been big and bad, just like the stereotypes said.

Koko grew more aggravated with every second on her broom. Not only had Rafael tried to blatch her and Dan in the prior round, but now Marla, too? Koko knew Marla. While friendship between Houses didn't exist in Quidditch games, she couldn't help but be a bit upset about it.

Plus, Gryffindor was now ahead of them on the scoreboard. Twenty to ten. Koko should have been at the hoops, making sure nothing got past her. Instead, she was stuck with Dan, which, while it should have been an honour, made her a target. The Keeper who'd never let anything past her while guarding and the Seeker who was quite good at catching the Snitch both on one broom? It was obvious that they were a great choice to knock off. A small smile crossed Koko's lips when she was sure Marla had missed, and she tightened her grip on her broom. "Just tell me what to do, alright?"

As Strategised.