Richard chuckled, then laughed out loud, sitting down on tall stool in front of a nearby workbench. "Oh... My apologies, young sir. I find myself laughing at myself, not at you at all. We talk brooms, and Arithmancy, and I forget the 160 or so years between our times. At first, I say to myself, 'why would the young gentleman's father object to his son wearing set of dragon-hide racing leathers, complete with protective pads and enchantments?' And then it dawns on me. The years between us. The difference in fashions alone. The things I take for granted that weren't even thought of, dreamed of, in your time. Truth be told, I ran into something similar with someone only yesterday, and our times are only sixty years or so apart."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Go. Take the 2000 up dressed as you are if that is your wish. Spend a few minutes letting it warm up while you explore the differences from your own broom. Then, show me you can do the standard school exercises from your time. If you manage not to hit a tree or the ground, I'll give you the go-ahead wave. Do a maximum-effort vertical climb to get a real feel for the power of the broom, then show me some stunts. Nothing below twenty-five feet, mind you. I'll either join you in the air then, or wave you down to switch out to a broom closer to your flying style. Go," he repeated himself. "Enjoy yourself for a while."
Richard turned to his personal broom rack and picked up his short-track broom, the one he had named after Miss Susan Sto Helit, the granddaughter of Death, from the various novels. He would warm the broom up while he watched Arcturus fly.