I Don't Like Quidditch private Closed

♤♧ Say not that we age, but that our beauty develops with time ♧♤

@Katie Palsorette

Some people might ask Marshal why he chose to force himself out of bed at such unholy hours of the morning, to which he would reply, ‘Well, how is it that you stay in bed when the world is doing things without you?” To which they might reply in turn, that it was actually quite easy; that indeed, they merely gave it the sincere lack of effort that staying in bed seemed to require.
Of course, Marshal would then retort, ‘Right, that makes sense.’
But of course he would argue that rising with the new day was entirely worth it, for only in the early morning could you feel the moment when the world stood still, just before the sunrise, and the cool, fresh air on your face could remind you that this was your chance to start anew, to refresh your sense of life, and believe that you were perfected in that very moment when time seemed to stop, just for you. Only then could you truly feel as though all past mistakes and sorrows had been washed away, filling your heart with all the possibilities of a new day, and believe that you possessed infinite potential to reach that twilight sky, if only you reached hard enough.

Obviously Marshal’s clumsy tongue lacked the obligatory eloquence to voice such a thought, but he would certainly give it a go.
Not to mention his fear that exciting things would happen without him while he snoozed away blissfully in his fun-killing bed.

Whatever the case, the young Gryffindor had quite literally jumped from his sheets that morning, his stocking feet hitting the floor with a dull thud, causing him to glance around the dorm in vain hopes that one or two of his roommates may have been awakened by “accident.” Taking morning walks by himself was great and all, but Marshal just about always preferred the company of someone he could talk to without appearing like a crazy kid who still conversed with imaginary friends.
Unfortunately, none of his dorm mates slept lightly enough to be roused by such a noise, and shaking them vigorously to pull them from their bliss just didn’t seem classy, somehow. And so, he had merely gotten dressed, used the restroom - taking the opportunity to laugh at himself in the mirror for no apparent reason - and decided to go for a lonely walk in the crisp morning air.

Adorned in his warmest robes, the boy had ventured outside the castle, electing to follow a route that varied from others he had taken since arriving at Hogwarts. After all, he liked to mix things up; life was more exciting that way.

Curiously, despite his tendency to walk a different path each morning, the end of each trail always seemed to leave him at the quidditch pitch. He simply couldn’t stay away.
You might call his nearly eccentric love for the game an obsession, in which case you would be correct. He talked of quidditch, thought of quidditch, and even dreamed of quidditch on multiple occasions. The blond-haired student simply could not get past his fascination for the strange sport.
And there he currently stood, his breath turning into plumes of mist that wafted through his view as he stared, awestruck as ever, at the stands, the towering hoops, and the endless sky above it all.

“I’m going to get on the Gryffindor team if it kills me,” he mumbled to himself, overlooking the fact that such a fate was not out of the question.
At that moment, he heard a voice call to out to him, the unfamiliar greeting becoming a bit muted in the misty air.
Turning his eyes toward the voice, he saw a girl running towards him, just because he was that irresistible, apparently.
Stopping within easy speaking distance of him, she introduced herself as Katie Palsorette, the name just as unfamiliar as the voice that carried it.

Marshal smiled. He had a certain passion for making new friends, and it was especially great when they tracked him down, rather than the other way around.
“Hello there, Katie!” he said, hands remaining in their place within his robe pockets. “I’m Marshal Mozor. It’s a downright pleasure to meet you.”
Katie was a rather petite girl, the color brown persisting through her hair and eyes, contrasting the slightly pale hue of her skin. She was slim, and not unattractive. Marshal always found it a pleasure to make the acquaintance of someone such as her.
“You look as fresh as the day itself,” he added, his mouth running away with itself, as it did. “You are one of the only people I’ve seen up and around this early in the morning. Most say it’s too cold to even think about taking a walk, but I like the cold. It makes me feel awake. What about you?”
He stood confidently, the easy smile on his face inviting Katie to see him as a friend.

♤♧ Say not that we age, but that our beauty develops with time ♧♤

@Katie Palsorette

Marshal's morning was going splendidly. His walk had been pleasant as usual, he had managed to fit in a bit of daydreaming, and to top it all off, he was no longer alone. He had found somebody to share the time with - no, even better; somebody had found him, preventing a necessity that he actually put in any work concerning the matter. It was always a pleasure when good things simply happened upon you.
To make things even better, the conversation had been progressing swimmingly, with agreement abounding on the subjects at hand. That is, until Katie brought up quidditch.

His mouth dropped open, as though his jaw had become unhinged, his hazel-colored eyes widening to the size of a quaffle. The words "I'm not fond of quidditch" echoed through his mind like he was in some sort of melodramatic television show, amplifying his disbelief with each repetition.
For what was one of the first times in documented history, Marshal Mozor was at a loss for words.
"But how... I don't-" he sputtered, entirely unsure of how to respond to such a drastically inconceivable statement. Finally, he managed to string a few intelligible words together, "How can you say that? What is there to dislike about quidditch? It seems like one of the most entertaining things you could possibly do. I mean, I haven't ever played it or anything, but I can tell just by watching."
There was no anger or sense of condescension in his voice, only complete confusion. So much of his young life had become focused on his love for quidditch that his judgement was... somewhat impaired, to say the least. Of course he knew that everyone had their own opinions, and he didn't expect otherwise, but the possibility that some people at this school might actually dislike the game had slipped his mind. Sure, he had met others who weren't quite so infatuated with it as he was, but up to that point in time, he had never heard an outright confession from an individual that they didn't like it.

After a moment or two, the Gryffindor calmed down a bit, realizing that it might be time to dial back the drama a bit. But he was still quite curious.
"Have you ever played quidditch?" he asked in a slightly less exasperated tone. "Like I said, I never actually have, but I've read a lot about it, and watching the match at summer camp was some of the most fun I've had. Quidditch is the thing about this school that I was more excited for than anything else." He folded his arms, a mischievous grin crossing his face as he examined her skeptically. "So tell me, what is it you're not so fond of? Worried a bludger might take your pretty head off? If you ask me, I don't think one of the brutes would dare cross you."

Graphic by Leonard Oaksworth

[font=Times New Roman]@Katie Palsorette

Marshal shook his head, still unable to comprehend the absurd nature of the girl's hatred for Quidditch.
"But that's the best part!" he exclaimed in reply to her comment about the dangers of murderous bludgers. "The excitement of it all! Not knowing whether you're going to win the day or end up with a massive headache..." he paused dramatically and scratched his chin before adding, "in the head that no longer sits on your shoulders." He gave a small laugh at his own comment, thinking himself to have quite the clever tongue.

He listened as she went on, explaining in further detail about her fear of brooms themselves. The fact that she was afraid of flying saddened him, quite honestly. To him, there could be no experience more freeing and invigorating as that of feeling one's body lift, weightless, off the ground. Of course, as mentioned before, he had never actually done such a thing, but his active imagination assured him that it would be an unmatched sort of joy.

His expression softened a bit as she relived the day she had almost died, according to her. He didn't want to make light of a true fear that another had, especially if it was born from a very real trauma.
Speaking again, this time with a measure of tenderness in his voice, he said, "How old were you when that happened? Maybe you would be better at it if you tried again?" If there was anything he could conceivably do, he would love to help Katie rid herself of this fear, if only to let her enjoy flying, the way it should be enjoyed. Previously, he would have thought flying to be a once in a lifetime experience - scratch that; a never in a lifetime experience, for the idea of lifting into the air without an airplane or something of the sort had always seemed preposterous, given the limited ways of muggles. The only way to replicate a feeling such as that would be sky-diving, or hang gliding, perhaps - both things that the boy had been determined to try when he got older. But now he didn't need to wait until he got older, and needn't wait until he saved up the money to do the treasured activity again. Now he knew he was a wizard, and everything had changed. His life would never be the same again.

"Maybe when I learn, I could even teach you!" He grinned earnestly. "I may not know how to do it now, but when I do, I'll be a better teacher than anyone." He gestured to the top of the quidditch stands, where numerous students would sit to enjoy a match of epic proportions. "We can start by going up there," he joked. "If you're too afraid to jump off, I'll just push you. No better way to conquer a fear than by facing it, right?"
Indeed, that may be the way that he would attempt to fly for the first time, but he certainly wouldn't do that to another person... unless they asked him to, of course.
"You'd sore like an eagle, light as a feather, and all your worries would melt away into the wind. It would be like a spiritual experience or something." He now shrugged. "That's the way I imagine it, at least. I guess it's not for everyone, but I really would be happy to help you, if that's what you wanted." The genuine nature of his words permeated his aura, from the tone of his voice to the wrinkle of his smiling eyes.

Curious to learn more about the girl, he asked, "So what house are you in, Katie? I'm a Gryffindor. Not that I actually know what it means to be in any of the different houses." He remembered Lindsey explaining some of that to him, that a person's house was reflected by their personal attributes and whatnot. It still made little sense to him.

Graphic by Leonard Oaksworth

@Katie Palsorette

In reality, the truly amazing thing in this particular situation was the fact that Katie was evidently not afraid of learning to fly from a maniac. Or at least, a youth that came very close to insanity by any and all appearances. She was obviously in favor of his perfectly advisable plan of climbing to the top of a very tall building and making a jump for it with broom in hand.
That fact only made the Gryffindor like the girl more.
Perhaps they didn't even need to learn separately. Perhaps he could bring Katie along as soon as he got hold of a broom, and they could leap off the Quidditch stands together, for better or for worse. Most likely worse, of course, but who kept track of likelihoods?

"I don't have a broom myself," he responded to her only concern with his plan. "But I hear the school has brooms that can be acquired through either bribing or tying up the flying professor. I have a plan for that too." He grinned, hoping that she could see the complete sarcasm behind the words. Of course he would never tie up a professor. Bribing, on the other hand...
He had gained this questionable information in a previous conversation with an older student, namely Anastasia, whom he was convinced was madly in love with him.
Sarcasm had abounded in her words then, just as it did in his own statement now, but he was entirely willing to pass on false information of this nature. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was officially determined to spread such rumors to younger kids when he became an upperclassman. Then again, he had already started. Why should the fact that other students were the same age hold him back? It was fun all the same.

Deciding to continue the joke, grin still plastered on his face, he added, "Do you happen to have any experience tying inescapable knots?" He leaned closer to the girl, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Cause I've got some dark clothes - ski masks and all that, obviously. I have plenty of rope, too, but I don't really trust myself to tie up a powerful wizard. Mum always did say I had an insurmountable case of butter-fingers." He glanced down at Katie's hands, as though studying them. "Yours look nimble, though, like a piano player." He stepped back and cocked his head. "Do you play the piano?"
If he were to be entirely honest, Marshal had zero idea what the fingers of a pianist looked like. He wasn't even certain he had ever watched someone play the piano. The act of observing such a thing struck him as depressingly boring.

At this point, the subject of their conversation was flying as erratically as a snitch on steroids, but Marshal was perfectly comfortable with that, as that was precisely the way his brain worked, so he simply went with it.
"Slytherin, eh?" he repeated her answer. "See, it's easy to remember the mascot for that, at least. Snake, slither - makes sense." He now tossed his hands incredulously to the wind and exclaimed, "But what the heck is up with Ravenclaw? You'd think their mascot would be, you know, not an eagle! Whoever came up with that idea should have been fired and thrown into the lake."
With that wording, the boy discovered the exact way he planned to fire someone - were he ever forced to do such a thing in the future. At least a nice swim could allow the disgruntled ex-employee to cool down a bit.
"And what's a Huffle, by the way?" he continued, the inner rant that had occupied his mind for some time now escaping his mouth in one fell swoop. "Makes me think of the big bad wolf, huffling and puffling to blow the other houses down." He paused, the genius of what he had just said suddenly hitting him.
One hand flew up to his face, the knuckles pressing against his mouth as he snorted in amusement, hazel eyes momentarily closed in reverence for the joke. He then raised the forefinger on that same hand.
"That should be their house motto. I'd leave Gryffindor just for that." Which reminded him of what he had been talking about. Truly amazing, his memory was. "Oh, and I know that a griffin is half lion or whatever, so that almost makes sense. But if the name is Gryffindor, then the mascot should be a griffin, right? Am I the only one who's confused about this?"

He mostly likely was not, but the girl in front of him was almost certainly more concerned about the fact that she may have stumbled upon a psychopath, alone, early in the morning. Marshal sometimes had that effect on people. Either that, or they found his antics amusing; there weren't many people in between those two ends of the spectrum.