Marcus brightened, a rare genuine (somewhat fierce) smile appearing that showed off his now-fixed teeth. He'd heard all the sniggers and the names during school about how he must be part Troll. The name calling only made him more surly, more vicious. He never really forgot those names, though, channeling that anger on the pitch.
"Nothing better than knocking heads and throwing a Quaffle at a thousand kilometres an hour." Of course, he was exaggerating about the speed. Slightly. "All the...shite...." He shrugged. "It's worth it just to fly."
Marcus had no illusions. Quidditch was everything. If he couldn't play, he may as well be dead. He had no other prospects, no other talents, no one in his life that equaled Quidditch in any way, and he'd do anything to ensure his spot on the team, even if it meant stupid dancing shows or Galas or agents or sponsors.