Post by mouse on Mar 8, 2007 19:35:27 GMT -5
OOC Name: Mouse
Character Name: Kitty Kilrea
Gender: Female
Year: Junior
Age: 20
Major: Communications (Speech Writing)
Sample:
When you are home sick, find some thing familiar.
Quidditch. Quidditch. Quidditch.
What could she find that was Quidditch? Unfortunately, Quality Quidditch Supplies was closed, but the man in the shop next door (After he asked for her autograph) pointed her in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch.
Standing in front of the large Stadium, she just stared up at it. She had forgotten how big some stadiums were. All the pitches back in Australia were small, they didn't need as much seating as these big inner city European ones did. She wasn't sure how long she had been standing there when a man cleared his throat. Jumping back into reality, she turned her head to the man and smiled at him. "I'm sorry... It's just a little over whelming."
Blushing slightly, she observed the man, who appeared to be a janitor of some sort. "It's no trouble Miss. Hey, aren't you that Beater from Australia? Blake Connelly?"
Blake was very well known in Australia, she was the first female player on their team - ever, and one of their best players, but every time someone knew her over seas she was always shocked. She hadn't expected so many people to know her name. After a moment, she nodded. "Yeah, that's me."
The old man gave her a pleasant smile, and then opened the gate to the stadium. "The pitch is open for another couple hours, if you'd like to come in and look around. My name's Jet, call me if you need anything." With a wink, he then passed through the gate and disappeared. What a nice old man, Blake thought. He reminded her of her grandfather when he had been alive. Silver hair, balding, bushy eyebrows, slightly hunched over, jovial facial features, twinkling blue eyes. But then again, most old men reminded her of him, so she didn't put much weight into it.
Walking up to the gate she reached for the handle and then hesitated. If shev started practicing and flying now, she would miss dinner with that guy she was supposed to meet. What was his name again anyway? Shaking her head, she decided it didn't really matter. Blake couldn't even remember the stupid guys name anyways. Opening the gate she entered the Pitch for the second time in her life. Ofcourse, the first time she had been here, she had entered from the players entrance, and on a broom. It had been the first time that Australia had ever beat Britain, and it had all been because of her. She had taken a risk that could have proved very bad for Australia. Blake had hit a bludger right at both seekers as they raced towards the snitch, knowing full well that the bludger could hit either player, but she had aimed just right, and had knocked the British Seeker right off his broom. They beat Britain 230 to 110. It was a good game. It was the game that had made her famous.
Smiling to herself as she surveyed the pitch, she unstrapped her broom from her back, and unwrapped it. It was a beautiful broom, custom made for her by the Broom Manufacturers that produced the Firebolt. She examined the handle, running and hand up and down, making sure no damage had been done during her travels that day. When Blake was statisfied that no harm had been done, she was up in the air faster than the eye could see.
No words could ever describe how she felt was she cut through the air, it was a feeling that only those who played Quidditch would ever know. It was exciting, it was dangerous, it was scary, and Blake loved every moment of it. She dipped and dived, wove in and out around the goals, skimmed along the seats seeing how close she could get. These were all things beaters had to be able to do. Beaters had to manipulate the game, they had in their hands the means to change the tide of any game. They had to be able to calculate, who is the strongest player? If need be, whom do I have to injure? And then there was always protecting the team. Which Beater will be defensive and wich will be offensive, will we switch? What is the game plan?
To be a good beater you had to understand every aspect of the game, you had to be able to put yourself in every position and know what movements each player will make. Your goal is to knock another player off their course with a Bludger, how much lead to you give them? What kind of broom do they have? You have to know everything.
Everything.
As she made her final go round of the pitch, she landed and jumped to her feet, holding her broom, and grinning triumphantly. There was nothing else in the world that made her feel this way, and there never would be. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back with a laugh.
This was the life.
Character Name: Kitty Kilrea
Gender: Female
Year: Junior
Age: 20
Major: Communications (Speech Writing)
Sample:
When you are home sick, find some thing familiar.
Quidditch. Quidditch. Quidditch.
What could she find that was Quidditch? Unfortunately, Quality Quidditch Supplies was closed, but the man in the shop next door (After he asked for her autograph) pointed her in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch.
Standing in front of the large Stadium, she just stared up at it. She had forgotten how big some stadiums were. All the pitches back in Australia were small, they didn't need as much seating as these big inner city European ones did. She wasn't sure how long she had been standing there when a man cleared his throat. Jumping back into reality, she turned her head to the man and smiled at him. "I'm sorry... It's just a little over whelming."
Blushing slightly, she observed the man, who appeared to be a janitor of some sort. "It's no trouble Miss. Hey, aren't you that Beater from Australia? Blake Connelly?"
Blake was very well known in Australia, she was the first female player on their team - ever, and one of their best players, but every time someone knew her over seas she was always shocked. She hadn't expected so many people to know her name. After a moment, she nodded. "Yeah, that's me."
The old man gave her a pleasant smile, and then opened the gate to the stadium. "The pitch is open for another couple hours, if you'd like to come in and look around. My name's Jet, call me if you need anything." With a wink, he then passed through the gate and disappeared. What a nice old man, Blake thought. He reminded her of her grandfather when he had been alive. Silver hair, balding, bushy eyebrows, slightly hunched over, jovial facial features, twinkling blue eyes. But then again, most old men reminded her of him, so she didn't put much weight into it.
Walking up to the gate she reached for the handle and then hesitated. If shev started practicing and flying now, she would miss dinner with that guy she was supposed to meet. What was his name again anyway? Shaking her head, she decided it didn't really matter. Blake couldn't even remember the stupid guys name anyways. Opening the gate she entered the Pitch for the second time in her life. Ofcourse, the first time she had been here, she had entered from the players entrance, and on a broom. It had been the first time that Australia had ever beat Britain, and it had all been because of her. She had taken a risk that could have proved very bad for Australia. Blake had hit a bludger right at both seekers as they raced towards the snitch, knowing full well that the bludger could hit either player, but she had aimed just right, and had knocked the British Seeker right off his broom. They beat Britain 230 to 110. It was a good game. It was the game that had made her famous.
Smiling to herself as she surveyed the pitch, she unstrapped her broom from her back, and unwrapped it. It was a beautiful broom, custom made for her by the Broom Manufacturers that produced the Firebolt. She examined the handle, running and hand up and down, making sure no damage had been done during her travels that day. When Blake was statisfied that no harm had been done, she was up in the air faster than the eye could see.
No words could ever describe how she felt was she cut through the air, it was a feeling that only those who played Quidditch would ever know. It was exciting, it was dangerous, it was scary, and Blake loved every moment of it. She dipped and dived, wove in and out around the goals, skimmed along the seats seeing how close she could get. These were all things beaters had to be able to do. Beaters had to manipulate the game, they had in their hands the means to change the tide of any game. They had to be able to calculate, who is the strongest player? If need be, whom do I have to injure? And then there was always protecting the team. Which Beater will be defensive and wich will be offensive, will we switch? What is the game plan?
To be a good beater you had to understand every aspect of the game, you had to be able to put yourself in every position and know what movements each player will make. Your goal is to knock another player off their course with a Bludger, how much lead to you give them? What kind of broom do they have? You have to know everything.
Everything.
As she made her final go round of the pitch, she landed and jumped to her feet, holding her broom, and grinning triumphantly. There was nothing else in the world that made her feel this way, and there never would be. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back with a laugh.
This was the life.
