Arcturus finished the last of his lunch as he listened to Richard's tale, and laughed appreciatively at the end. That was a fine bit of luck, and he could just picture the girls' reaction as a rogue racer suddenly crash-landed on their picnic blanket! Setting his cutlery neatly down on his plate, he nodded.
'Quite ready. And it's very decent of you to let me borrow your brooms and things, but I think I'll fly in my robes, all the same. I'm used to them, and robes are regulation for Quidditch back home.' Yes, there was a knack to not getting them caught or tangled up in things, but that was all part of it. Arcturus couldn't imagine what strange garb Richard must fly in. A helmet?! His first thought was some heavy metal monstrosity that ought to go along with a suit of armour, but that couldn't be right. It had to be one of those pith helmets, which wasn't quite so absurd an idea, but still would look very out-of-place on the Quidditch pitch. The other players at school would ridicule any wizard who turned up like that. As if he'd had his mother fussing over him and-
His train of thought halted, abruptly, and his cheeks coloured a little as he came to the sudden realisation that he might have given Richard entirely the wrong impression. 'Oh, sir, you didn't think I was asking about accidents because I was afraid, did you?' he questioned, alarmed that this might be the case. 'I'm not. I'm not a coward or frightened of falling or any of that. They wouldn't have let me on the team if I were. It's only something my friends and I do, share stories about flying mishaps. I expect it's rather childish of us, but-' he shrugged, not having much of an explanation beyond that. 'Your story was an awfully good one,' he added encouragingly.
Then he stood, and stepped away from the table. 'Might I see those brooms of yours?' he asked eagerly, keen to try one out.