Post by Forgoil Halifirien on May 15, 2007 15:53:42 GMT -5
Isolate the specimen at all costs. We can't afford to have his emotions build up any further. They just might cause him to lose control and become...dangerously unstable.
The locker room was designed to store quidditch supplies and provide the players a place where they could change into their gear in relative privacy. That's what Forgoil Halifirien sought out now as he walked down the corridor to the locker room, and closed the door behind him. Sanctuary at last, however bitter the name sounded. For both victories and defeats had occured in this room and after the last defeat at the end of the season no one had visited to his knowledge. Making this the perfect place to vent his recent frustrations. Walking down a vacant aisle, Forgoil stopped in front of his locker and unlocked it with calm determination. Inside was his ScotlandYard broom, his uniform, goggles, fingerless gloves, and a key ring. Grabbing the keyring off its hook, the grey-haired lad shut the locker and twirled the keyring around his index finger as he walked toward a rather dusty door.
One of the privileges of being the House Captain was that he had access to any room inside of the lockers. Idly sorting through the keys, Forgoil found the one that he was looking for and was about to jam it into the locker...when a sudden bout of foresight stopped him. Pulling his wand out of his short's pocket, Forgoil said, "Accio gloves." The brown leather gloves flew at the lad and he daftly caught them in his left hand. Putting his wand away, the Hufflepuff tugged on the gloves and then jammed the key into its hole. A cough of dust followed as Frog twisted the door nob and he entered the domain of dust. There were scattered trunks and old pictures of others that had found their way into the room, using the keys or sneaking in, but what the Scot was searching for resided in a copper chest. A chest that was strapped down and jumped into the air every so often.
Securing the door behind him, the grey-haired lad emptied his pockets before walking over to the chest. Kneeling down and holding the chest very fiercely, Halifirien unlocked one compartment and with a whoosh of air, a bludger had been unleashed. The black ball bounced about the room searching for something to hit, something to bash into a pulp and it kept ricochetting off the walls until a solid punch contacted to the lower hemisphere. There was blood on his knuckles, but Forgoil was standing now and had punched the bludger slightly off course. Enraged, the bludger spun around and hurtled toward Forgoil; it smashed into his chest even as the boy swung a left hook. Coughing up blood, the lad fall heavily to the ground, but as the vehement ball harried his course, Forgoil managed to grab it with both hands and a struggle of wills insued.
One wanted to smash in the lad's chest cavity. The other wanted to beat the tar out of that bludger.
Slowly his muscles began to give in, his physical endurance lagging behind his mental constitution, and the bludger began making headway. The sting of lactic acid grew more persistent and his body was nearly screaming out that he had to stop resisting and let the bludger go. But then everything would be pointless wouldn't it? A keeper should be able to take a bludger shot...or three as it happened last season. This wasn't some suicidal venture; this was more like spring training for the 'Puff. The Quidditch season was the last chance he had to revive his house's chances at anything and besides: how cool would it be if Halifirien actually managed to shrug off a bludger like it was nothing.
It would be pretty spectacular...now only to prevent this one from splintering his solar plexus...
ooc: Bored^^
The locker room was designed to store quidditch supplies and provide the players a place where they could change into their gear in relative privacy. That's what Forgoil Halifirien sought out now as he walked down the corridor to the locker room, and closed the door behind him. Sanctuary at last, however bitter the name sounded. For both victories and defeats had occured in this room and after the last defeat at the end of the season no one had visited to his knowledge. Making this the perfect place to vent his recent frustrations. Walking down a vacant aisle, Forgoil stopped in front of his locker and unlocked it with calm determination. Inside was his ScotlandYard broom, his uniform, goggles, fingerless gloves, and a key ring. Grabbing the keyring off its hook, the grey-haired lad shut the locker and twirled the keyring around his index finger as he walked toward a rather dusty door.
One of the privileges of being the House Captain was that he had access to any room inside of the lockers. Idly sorting through the keys, Forgoil found the one that he was looking for and was about to jam it into the locker...when a sudden bout of foresight stopped him. Pulling his wand out of his short's pocket, Forgoil said, "Accio gloves." The brown leather gloves flew at the lad and he daftly caught them in his left hand. Putting his wand away, the Hufflepuff tugged on the gloves and then jammed the key into its hole. A cough of dust followed as Frog twisted the door nob and he entered the domain of dust. There were scattered trunks and old pictures of others that had found their way into the room, using the keys or sneaking in, but what the Scot was searching for resided in a copper chest. A chest that was strapped down and jumped into the air every so often.
Securing the door behind him, the grey-haired lad emptied his pockets before walking over to the chest. Kneeling down and holding the chest very fiercely, Halifirien unlocked one compartment and with a whoosh of air, a bludger had been unleashed. The black ball bounced about the room searching for something to hit, something to bash into a pulp and it kept ricochetting off the walls until a solid punch contacted to the lower hemisphere. There was blood on his knuckles, but Forgoil was standing now and had punched the bludger slightly off course. Enraged, the bludger spun around and hurtled toward Forgoil; it smashed into his chest even as the boy swung a left hook. Coughing up blood, the lad fall heavily to the ground, but as the vehement ball harried his course, Forgoil managed to grab it with both hands and a struggle of wills insued.
One wanted to smash in the lad's chest cavity. The other wanted to beat the tar out of that bludger.
Slowly his muscles began to give in, his physical endurance lagging behind his mental constitution, and the bludger began making headway. The sting of lactic acid grew more persistent and his body was nearly screaming out that he had to stop resisting and let the bludger go. But then everything would be pointless wouldn't it? A keeper should be able to take a bludger shot...or three as it happened last season. This wasn't some suicidal venture; this was more like spring training for the 'Puff. The Quidditch season was the last chance he had to revive his house's chances at anything and besides: how cool would it be if Halifirien actually managed to shrug off a bludger like it was nothing.
It would be pretty spectacular...now only to prevent this one from splintering his solar plexus...
ooc: Bored^^