sam. (samson) wrote in caged, @ 2013-08-18 23:16:00 |
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There were only so many years a girl could try out for a team, not make it, and return to the tryouts with dignity. To be fair, the reigning Seeker had been magnificent, and had seniority, and if she’d really wanted, Ursula could have gone out for another position, at least until Chang had graduated and vacated her first choice. But she’d stuck it out and here she was, going into her sixth year at Hogwarts and, with the newly available space on the team for chasing a small golden ball about the stadium, one Ursula Flint was determined to make it hers. It was that, perhaps, which had spurred her owling last year’s captain with a spirited request to practice both her seeking and dodging bludgers at his earliest convenience. Also, she wrote hesitantly, possibly at his house or a neutral location, given Marcus’ tendency to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Nothing quite like being scorned by an elder brother from the ground. So it was with cheerful expression, gloved hands and broomstick that a certain five foot even half-Asian stood patiently outside the Capper residence, clad in workout clothes and brimming enthusiasm, such that when Samson opened the door, she stretched up on her toes, broke out in a smile, and told him as if confiding in him a great secret, “This is the year.” Samson had taken his job as captain seriously. There had been something momentous to him about being passed the crown from Davies even though he was only a fifth year. It would give him three years to make sure that they won the cup. And he'd do it, too. "Hey, Flint," he said as he strode out of the house in his own workout clothes. He grinned at her as he bounced a snitch in his hand. He had always had high hopes for Ursula. It wasn't her fault that they'd had a Seeker who'd had the seniority so that she didn't get a chance. It had been enough that Cho hadn't been made captain last year. It would have been a crime to give the position to anyone else. But she'd make it this year. He was certain about that. Unless some pipsqueak second year showed her up, but he doubted that. He had enough confidence in her that he'd invited her out to practice, hadn't he? "This is the year," he agreed. Everything else was going to hell, but they'd have this. He held his broom up high above his head with a chuckle. "Ravenclaw wins the cup." He set his broom down on the ground and took a few steps closer to her. "Are you sure you're ready to train?" he asked. "Have you been doing your laps? Working out on the regular?" Crossing her arms in a way that would have been defiant if she hadn’t been grinning from ear to ear, she rocked back on her heels to gaze up into his eyes as he moved toward her, replying nonchalantly, “Would I be here if I hadn’t, captain, my captain?” She deliberately threaded something through the last three words, a mixture of affection and taunt that, while not attempting to undermine his authority, did mildly mock his position in a way that spoke more to their comfort level and less to his capability. She knew quite well how talented he was on the pitch. “I can outfly you any day, so long as the Bludgers aren’t loose,” came her next statement, not so much bragging (though there was that) as admitting a fault - that was why she was here. For practice. Lifting her own broomstick and moving it behind her back, she stretched her arms back away from his approach, eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun, and added warmly, “It’s good to see you.” He chuckled again and tossed the snitch in the air, staring at it instead of her for a moment before doing a flashy catch of it. "Yeah, I guess you wouldn't be," he said slowly. "After all, I'll know in a second if you've actually been training or not. I know you too well, Flint." And without a warning he tossed the snitch at her, albeit above her head -- but not so high she couldn't catch. He just wanted to give her a challenge. "You'll have a chance," he said. "There's no bludgers. There's just you and me and the snitch." His plan was to release it while she wasn't looking and then make her look for it while he bothered her on the broom. He hoped it was a good plan. Maybe the next time they met he would release the bludgers and see how she did. But for now he just wanted to see how well she could concentrate. His lips curved into a soft smile. "Yeah," he said, and his words were full of vigour. "It's really good to see you too. Haven't seen enough of you this summer." Though in the midst of conversation, her eyes flicked upward as he tossed the snitch, body language instantly changing from relaxed and nonchalant to at attention, and though it was far from casual or even effortless, her hand shot into the air and the pads of her fingers closed around the tiny golden ball, wings clutched in the spaces between her fingers. A moment later, she returned her eyes to his, untensing and reinviting a grin onto her features as she held out the tiny ball to him as if offering him a chance to test her again, the unspoken implication being that she was absolutely ready for whatever he cared to throw at her. “If I can take on the giant captain of Ravenclaw in the air, I can do anything,” was her remark, blithely confident despite never having flown deliberately against him before: to be fair, she’d talked Marcus into making her run the gauntlet this summer in hopes of being team-ready the following year, a challenge which he’d both rolled his eyes at (“I have better things to do, Ursula.”) and seemed to relish, reliving his days as captain. What were brothers for, right? “There’s still time,” came her casual response, punctuated by a smile and a vaguely uncomfortable toss of her braid over her shoulder. “You can make me lemonade after or something.” Good. She'd caught it. There was a dangerous line between encouraging a friend and chancing that you'd have to betray them when it came to writing up the roster, but Samson had a strong feeling that Ursula would not disappoint. And even then, in that quick moment, she didn't. He'd just have to make sure that she continued to keep meeting his expectations. And, he hoped, exceed them with some extra-brilliant wins. This made Samson laugh outright. "The giant captain of Ravenclaw," he echoed in deadpan style. "Is that what they're calling me these days? I guess one can never have too many nicknames. And I am tall." And thick. But not in the head. "Since you're so tiny," he said, lifting two fingers as though he was going to squish her, "You'll have to work extra hard to get around me. I'm going to block you like you've never been blocked before." He took one last step toward her and pressed a hand on her shoulder, holding it down for perhaps a second longer than he had intended. "There is time. And we'll make time." “You, tall?” She sounded genuinely surprised, though the mocking look on her face said otherwise - an instant later, she stuck out her bottom lip as if mourning a loss before going on, almost eager for answers, “What’s it like up there? Can you see over everyone’s heads? Does anyone we know have a bald spot and I’ve just no idea?” Lifting a hand over her eyes as if to shade them, she squinted up at him as if it were an effort to make him out clearly, then added as if the very thought of what she was missing out on was painful, “Do you know before I do if it’s going to rain?” She gave a small snort at his two fingers seemingly squishing her, but did reveal as if it were no big deal, “I’ve been practicing with Marcus - he’s about your size.” To be truthful, he’d absolutely destroyed her at first: but aside from the constant jeers and strutting, her brother did actually know a thing or two about Quidditch, and under his barking instructions, she had, in fact, improved. There was a brief moment, that second that was just too long, before they broke apart and Ursula added hastily, “I was going to see Tilly the day after tomorrow, get a coffee or something. Should we make a party of it?” "Yeah, yeah," Samson said, giving her a gentle shove. "Okay, enough with the height jokes." He took the snitch back and settled himself over his broom. "You can laugh all you want, but I have a feeling that I'll be the one laughing at you once we get going." He knew Marcus, yeah. He knew how big he was. He knew what a troll he was and how he didn't treat Ursula right. It bothered him immensely, even though he knew she hated him going on about it, so for the most part he was just quietly seething whenever she mentioned some dumbass thing that he'd done. He was just about to lift off when Ursula mentioned having coffee with Tilly. "Sure," he said. "Why not?" He paused for a moment but then made it look like he was just judging the sunlight. "So," he said. "Close your eyes." “So much for your confidence in me, Capper.” Came the teasing remark, unmoved aside from rocking on her heels at the shove - she deliberately ignored the look that clouded his face for the briefest of moments when she mentioned Marcus, letting the agreement to the vague invitation to coffee with Tilly settle before she spoke once again. “Brilliant then. It’s a date.” Then, already making plans to conveniently and suddenly get sick that day and duck out on them, she gave a nod. Obediently, despite the fact that she’d taken a moment to glance up at him after his instruction to be sure they were preparing to play Quidditch and not play some sort of prank on her, she did close her eyes, having settled herself onto her broom in the same moments he did and now holding it firmly, as though as any moment he might give her the go-ahead to take off and search for the golden ball intent on eluding her. There was a sort of tension about her, like a spring coiled and vibrating with potential energy, hands grasping and ungrasping the handle of her broomstick as though trying to get a more solid grip. One could only guess whether it was on her broom or her confidence. He released the snitch in the air and let it fly away before he nodded at her form, even though she couldn't see him. "All right," he said. "Now, try to find it." He waited for her to fly up before doing anything else. Her eyes snapped open in the same moment that she pushed off the ground, the time for words well past: she knew very well that Samson was more than willing to give her a fair shot at the open Seeker position, but she also knew that choosing her if she wasn’t the best at tryouts would only lead to horrific consequences for all of them. This was her first chance to impress him as her future captain, and she took it seriously. Her eyes scanned the skies even as she gained altitude, warily keeping track of his movements as best she could: when she caught sight of him the first time, a steep dive was her answer, pulling out of it unexpectedly and casting her gaze to the blue all around her in pursuit of gold. As soon as she pushed forward, he took off on his own broom. Samson pursued her into the sky, gaining on her although it was hard to keep up with his fast little friend. For one, she had a more updated broom than he did. For another, he was bulky and that weighed him down. But all the same, he tried to veer into her and keep her distracted from seeing the snitch. "Hey, Flint," he said, getting into her face and doing a loop around her. "Look here. Hey!" He laughed, knowing full well that he wouldn't actually hold her attention, but wanting to start out easy after all. For a second. Because Samson wasn't an easy to captain. He then veered around her and started trying to get in her face, as though he were another Seeker. It wasn't as easy as he had hoped because of his size, but he gave it his all, pushing in against her. Ignoring anyone who was deliberately trying to distract and deter you was a feat: one that took practice and determination, and even then, sometimes nerves of steel. When in control of a broom, even more impossible. And when you were a small girl being persistently harassed by a competent flyer at least twice your size... Focus, she told herself, dark brown eyes ignoring Samson as he came into her view again and again, nearly losing her balance on the broom during a particularly close encounter as she maneuvered around and above him and instead searching desperately for a blur of motion, a golden glint, anything that resembled-- There. Instantly she darted forward, out of the reach of said captain (though she knew he’d catch up a moment later), hurtling toward the Snitch even as it hesitated, then took off once more in the same direction she was flying, eyes for nothing else. He was glad to see she ignored him, but in the end that also made him try all the harder to deter her. He tried to get in her face, something that wasn't that easy to do, and also tried to get in the way of her broom. In the most basic sense of the word he was attempting to be what he normally fought off -- a bludger. Samson grinned as she sought after the snitch. But even though he was glad she'd seen it while he'd been harassing her, that didn't mean he was going to stop. He hurtled toward her, looking exactly as though he were going to run straight into her. His shadow came into view in the same moment he did, their paths preparing to collide, and with a fair amount of alarm, she yanked up the front of her broom, rapidly ascending so as to avoid what seemed to be an inevitable crash - one she knew quite well that she’d come out on the worse end of. Heart racing, she realized her eyes were on Samson and his path of flight, and inwardly cursed as she snapped her eyes back to the last place she’d seen the Snitch: now just clear blue sky. Obviously irritated with having been so easily distracted, she took off once again on the broom, pausing only enough to scan for the Snitch again as he tailed her relentlessly. "Snitch first!" he called, feeling a little disappointed. He'd been planning on dashing down at the last moment, not willing to actually hurt her. But as it was, there'd been no chance for his careful planning to come to fruition because she'd put harm ahead of the snitch. "Always snitch first, Flint!" He rounded back and started hounding her again, this time with more vigour and brows pulled lower. “I’ll remember,” came her harsh shout in return, unable to hide her frustration at her own failure, though she reminded herself that was what this practice was for: to ingrain the lessons she needed to pick up on before playing in a real match. It wasn’t necessarily the skill or the speed that she was lacking, though there was some of each and always room to improve: it was experience. She darted aside as he crept up on her, the bulk of his form a lingering shadow over her right shoulder as she sped along, making a sharp right on her broom as if feigning a sighting of the Snitch, kicking off the pursuit the same way she’d done just moments ago. He didn't dignify her shout with a verbal reply. If anything, it only made him smirk. He knew she would remember. Samson hadn't seen the splash of gold in the blue, but he trusted that Ursula had found it after all. He went shooting after her, full speed on his broom to a point where even he had difficulty maintaining control. That was something he'd been working at; full control at any speed. He needed it for when he was going to take on new brooms once he was playing at league level. He wanted to head her off from the snitch, but he couldn't find it, although he was gaining on her somewhat. Patient but tense, again like a coiled spring on her broom, she waited for him to catch up to her, eyes forward as if still trailing the Snitch, the two of them speeding through the sky like a pair of shooting stars, and the very instant he was alongside her, shoulder to shoulder, she braked, sliding to a composed halt in the middle of the sky as he hurtled on another moment or three, buying herself time to scan yet again and-- yes, take off again in the opposite direction, compressing herself into the smallest space she could, tiny girl on the latest broom with an arm slowly stretching out-- And fingers snatching the small golden ball out of the air just seconds before she heard his approach again. She threw a triumphant and dazzling smile in his direction as she coaxed her broom to yet another stop, raising the snitch to eye level as it flapped its wings feebly from within her grasp, the look on her face proud but something in it hungry for praise, enthusiasm, or maybe just confirmation that she wasn’t all that bad after all. He tossed a towel at her with a smirk. "Here you go, Flint," he said. He rubbed a towel over his face first, catching the sweat, before running it over his arms and neck. "That wasn't so bad," he said nonchalantly, even though he was far prouder of her than he'd admitted. That shrieking halt had been perfectly timed. He hadn't seen it coming, and she'd managed herself so well in the turn and rush forward that there was no doubt about it -- "You'll be Seeker for sure," he said, reaching out to give her a gentle shove on the shoulder. Samson flopped onto the backyard furniture and put his legs up on the table that was nearby. He stretched out like a cat with a long sigh before turning his cheek to smile at her. In a most attractive manner, she too pulled the towel over her face, mopping up sweat and effort and revealing a half-smile when she draped it around the back of her neck, the hair contained by her braid no longer as neat as it had been when it started: a piece had fallen free and now curled, damp and untamed, over her forehead. She hesitated after his declaration, then charged forward in her normal mocking tone, though with a slight hint of something more fragile in it, warning him, “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it. You haven’t seen what everybody else can do yet.” Scraping the other chair much closer to the table than his was, she settled into it and lifted her own legs, much shorter, to cross at the ankles and rest next to his, close enough to nudge at his much larger feet and prompt, in a tone that may have let on just how much it meant to the soon-to-be sixth year, “You think I’ve got a chance?” Samson held up his hands in a 'woah' move. "Hey, hey Little One," he said. "Those were some moves even Cho couldn't pull. I can tell you've been working hard and I'm glad of it, because I do want you on the team. If anybody can beat you I'll... Eat my towel. And you know I don't say this lightly. But even if we've got a second year who can fly brilliantly they should put in their dues as a reserve. You have." He gently nudged her feet back. "You've got a chance," he said. "A damn good one." He knew he was sealing his fate with this. And he knew that, as a captain, he shouldn't be doing so. But there was something about the way that Ursula played that made him feel like it was a mirror of how he played. Grit, determination, creativity. Yeah, he was going to make her Seeker. No matter what else happened. Suddenly he ducked his head shyly as he looked at her for a moment before sitting up straighter, the cat-like posture he'd been giving off suddenly disintegrating as he sat up more like he would in the midst of a class. "So tomorrow," he said. "Me, you, Tilly?" Awkwardly, uncertainly, but too delighted to resist, Ursula herself ducked her head at his defense of his own statement, cheeks flushing pink at his praises for her: she’d practically begged for them, yes, but she still wasn’t quite prepared for the approval he heaped onto her. She had been working hard: she was hungry for it this year, ready to make the team and filled with dread at the thought that she might not, after all the years of being the reserve. Humiliation awaited if there was a second year who could outfly her at tryouts. All she said, though, still slightly awkward, was, “If you get to call me Little One, I get to call you Big One,” and pushed back at his trainers with her own foot, keeping her eyes on them rather than glancing over to see that he was looking at her; she was sure he was. She had forgotten about the plans for the next day: a rush of warmth and gratitude at his helping her and at the clarity of their friendship, exclusive of Quidditch, made her almost regret that their plans wouldn’t end up involving her, but there were some things that came first. “Tomorrow sounds brilliant,” was her automatic response, glancing over at him and hiding her guilt behind an awkward smile. “I’ll owl Tilly tonight to make sure she’s free, and we can meet in Diagon around three.” Mentally, she was already making plans to send them to Puddifoots, to explain the plan to Tilly when she sent the owl to begin with, and hopefully to make it outright obvious to Samson why Ursula might have ditched out on coffee. Third wheel and all that. She nudged his shoe with hers again halfheartedly and began examining the wings of the Snitch still held tightly in one hand as she went on, “I’m sure she’d be really glad to see you. Have you gotten in touch at all this summer?” He laughed. "Big One?" he looked heavenward and shook his head. But he didn't disagree when he spoke. "Yeah, yeah, all right," he said. "Little One is a lot nicer than Big One. But I'll let you call me that in private. I don't want it catching on. Lilith would never call me anything else if she caught wind of the nickname. All right?" Samson nodded energetically. "Okay, right, sure," he said. "Three works for me. Can't wait till we can apparate. It'll make everything easier. You could just floo here first, if you want." He cracked his neck and then stood. "I'll get us some water," he said. "No use getting sick from the workout." He headed into the kitchen but returned quickly and offered her a glass of water with ice floating at the top. "She wrote me a while ago. We exchange a few owls." He perched himself at the edge of his seat, not allowing his full weight to hit it so that he didn't flip it over. "But that's it." “You can come up with a better height related nickname if you can think of one,” came the challenge, accompanied by a little smirk. “But then I get to pick mine. I’m thinking ‘little bird’.” And she extended her arms slightly as if imitating wings with them, before dropping them with a throaty little laugh and adding, “Then again, if it means I get my own special nickname for you, I can handle Little One, I guess.” Having opened her mouth to suggest that they all Floo to his place first - all the better to start things off on the right foot with him and Tilly, since she’d be out of it - she snapped her mouth shut and nodded when he offered her water, patient but grateful for the cup and drinking silently, eyes closed in obvious reverence of the cool liquid. Then, with a nearly inaudible sound of refreshment, she set the glass down on the table where their feet had been previously and pulled her own legs underneath her, curled up in the chair comfortably, then leaning on an elbow toward him, asked curiously, “Why haven’t you invited her over like you did me? I mean,” here she pretended to buff her nails, “I may be superior in Seeking, but she’s brilliant, you know that.” "I'll think on it," Samson promised. There had to be something better. Giant was even better than 'Big One.' He gave her a fond smile as she went on about being a bird. "That's cute," he said. "I like it." He sank back into his chair and took a drink of his water. "Little Bird, all right. And it's set." He blinked at her question. He'd never considered it. He had Lilith over all the time, of course, and then he'd invited Ursula over. But he wanted to practice Quidditch with her and, well, he thought they'd have a nice time together. But the idea of inviting Tilly over simply hadn't occured to him. "I don't know," he said simply. "She is great, yeah. But I don't know why I didn't." Deliberately polite, and with just a hint of mockery, she replied, “I’ll be awaiting my personalized nickname for you. Don’t take too long.” Then, reaching for her glass, she took another few sips of water, pretending not to be equally fond of his approving of the nickname she chose. It had been a thought because of the flying and the seeking, but come to think of it, it seemed more affectionate than she’d maybe been originally going for. She put the thought of her mind, looking up brightly, as the conversation continued back into safer ground. “Oh, well,” was her blithe response, as if it weren’t an oversight but simply a missed opportunity. “Good thing we’ll all be seeing one another tomorrow.” Leaning back in her own chair, she gave another bright smile, stomach already sinking guiltily for making plans she knew she wouldn’t be keeping, and for the look of fond enthusiasm she got when he brought it up again, and thinking to herself that she should shoot an owl Max’s way to see if she too could have a romance of sorts while she was setting up her mates, or at least have a good distraction planned so as not to worry about what either of them might think of their impromptu date. "Yeah," he said happily. "Good thing." |