Post by Professor Roeswood on Jul 30, 2007 16:03:08 GMT -5
Right now, Marina Roeswood was in a bit of a panic. Only a few days ago she'd accepted a position as a Professor at the school, which in a way was a rather logical progression. She had been a student, then Prefect, then Head Girl, and now she was in charge of educating the future students of Firefox how to fly and maintain a broomstick.
Her experience as a quidditch player made her somewhat of a shoe-in for the position. She'd been playing for three and a half years on the Slytherin team, both as a beater and a chaser when needed. However, now, she had to think of how she was going to teach students who struggled something that had come innately to her.
Now that was the issue. How was she supposed to make a student understand the rudiments of flying when she had never needed such in depth instruction? How did she calm the tredipation of a child who was terrified of heights when she herself had never been afraid? Her musings were so intense that she had been drawn from her office on an overcast day, hoping somehow that the act of getting on a broomstick, something she hadn't done in quite a while actually, would serve as her muse for her upcoming lesson plans.
As Nina approached the quidditch pitch, she stared up at the wide hoops, remembering with a pang of sadness that she would not play quidditch for this school again. She was an adult now, and the sport was now only hers to play if she became a professional, which sure as hell wasn't happening. She had been talented, but nothing special.
Without further hesitation, she stradled her Nimbus and kicked off the ground, doing an easy lap around the pitch, her hair trailing behind her like a banner, windswept and wild. For the first time in a while, Marina's face broke into a grin as she was once again absorbed with the thrill of flying. Sure, this wasn't in any way productive, but at least she was getting in some practice before her class began. It would be a humiliating blunder to falter in front of a class full of students who were trusting her to teach them how to fly and fly properly.
Without any real agenda in her mind, Nina circled the pitch aimlessly over and over again, hoping that some inspiration would come to her. She never really liked being without a plan, and she would stay here until she had one.
Her experience as a quidditch player made her somewhat of a shoe-in for the position. She'd been playing for three and a half years on the Slytherin team, both as a beater and a chaser when needed. However, now, she had to think of how she was going to teach students who struggled something that had come innately to her.
Now that was the issue. How was she supposed to make a student understand the rudiments of flying when she had never needed such in depth instruction? How did she calm the tredipation of a child who was terrified of heights when she herself had never been afraid? Her musings were so intense that she had been drawn from her office on an overcast day, hoping somehow that the act of getting on a broomstick, something she hadn't done in quite a while actually, would serve as her muse for her upcoming lesson plans.
As Nina approached the quidditch pitch, she stared up at the wide hoops, remembering with a pang of sadness that she would not play quidditch for this school again. She was an adult now, and the sport was now only hers to play if she became a professional, which sure as hell wasn't happening. She had been talented, but nothing special.
Without further hesitation, she stradled her Nimbus and kicked off the ground, doing an easy lap around the pitch, her hair trailing behind her like a banner, windswept and wild. For the first time in a while, Marina's face broke into a grin as she was once again absorbed with the thrill of flying. Sure, this wasn't in any way productive, but at least she was getting in some practice before her class began. It would be a humiliating blunder to falter in front of a class full of students who were trusting her to teach them how to fly and fly properly.
Without any real agenda in her mind, Nina circled the pitch aimlessly over and over again, hoping that some inspiration would come to her. She never really liked being without a plan, and she would stay here until she had one.