Post by Sylph on May 13, 2006 8:28:55 GMT -5
It was the weekend, and Sylph had once again found herself in the dueling hall in a foul mood. This time it was not the general rubbishness of her day that had generated her bad temper, but something far more specific - and important, at least to Sylph's competitive mind. Gyffindor quidditch trials were not going well, and the Lion's captain was struggling to even get half a team together. She had plenty of beaters, but so far just two chasers, no seeker and no keeper. It was not looking good, and she had reliable information that both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had got their acts together pretty well already. No, things looked black for Sylph's team, and she hated it. Loosing was not in her vocabulary, and she took quidditch captaincy - as she had taken captaincy of pretty much every team at her muggle school - incredibly seriously. She'd play seeker if she had to, but she definitely needed another chaser and a keeper - but where to get them from?
After the disastrously quiet practice session, the purple-haired prefect had stomped through the school, her flying robes billowing about her though there was no hint of a wind or draught indoors, her clothes being blown by nothing but her own ire. Her broom she had left in the locker rooms, but her wand, that whippy thirteen and a half inch willow stick that encased the heartstrings of a particularly fine looking male Antipodean Opaleye, was out and in her hand, being brandished at random objects as Sylph practiced some of her more potent jinxes. She had paid little heed to where she was headed, but soon her feet led her to the dueling hall, just as they had done a little over a month previously when she had met Muryllis. She still didn't like him, quite the opposite in fact, and since Roan's presentation of the dragons and her explanation of how she had suffered at the hands of the Society of Shadows, was more suspicious of him than ever - it was the mention of shadow walking that had done it. Sneaky, smarmy no-good conceited son of a flobberworm, she thought angrily, blasting on of the practice dummies clean out of her way with a particularly well aimed disintegration hex. If only it had been Mury...
But no. She had to do this thing right; Sylph's side - the good side, if you liked - in this war on the Shadows needed information, and every nerve fiber in Sylph's elongated and athletic body knew that Muryllis had at least some of that very thing up his crooked sleeve. Not for nothing was Sylph the granddaughter of the talented Seer Corra Morgan; her instincts were infallible, and her dreams were growing troubled once more with visions of a gigantic fortress besieged by an army of strangely-clad dwarves. But how to prise it out of the two-faced scum-sucking lethifold? That was the question. She had a feeling that violence wouldn't work, but there was more than one way to tame a kneazle.
Pulling off her quidditch robes in one smooth motion over her head, Sylph shook herself down. Beneath her flying gear she was dressed simply - long brown leather boots giving way to a pair of warm but lightweight trousers, close to being skin tight but not restricting in the least and tucked into the near knee-high boots, all capped off by a tight sleeveless black top with one green stripe running over her flat stomach. Her tanned leather quidditch arm guards she left on after adjusting the straps a little, and she brushed herself down. She looked tough, ready for a fight, a battle even. Twirling her wand idly in her long fingers she frowned and sucked her teeth as if in deep thought, wondering what she could do to wheedle what she needed from the Ravenclaw boy, but nothing beyond extreme physical harm came to mind, but perhaps that was simply wishful thinking...
It wasn't working: this wasn't improving her mood in the slightest. With a casual flick of her wand another of the practice dummies was in trouble - its 'head' became to smoke faintly, vibrating slightly to start with, then more vigorously. Finally, with an enormous bang, it exploded most satisfyingly, though thanks tot he spell used, there was no debris to cover the room. Sylph quirked a humorless smile, her almost unnaturally bright green eyes darkening slightly. Was Sylph needed was a project, something to distract her. Where would she find such a distraction, though?
OOC: first post for Fuu, I thinkbg
After the disastrously quiet practice session, the purple-haired prefect had stomped through the school, her flying robes billowing about her though there was no hint of a wind or draught indoors, her clothes being blown by nothing but her own ire. Her broom she had left in the locker rooms, but her wand, that whippy thirteen and a half inch willow stick that encased the heartstrings of a particularly fine looking male Antipodean Opaleye, was out and in her hand, being brandished at random objects as Sylph practiced some of her more potent jinxes. She had paid little heed to where she was headed, but soon her feet led her to the dueling hall, just as they had done a little over a month previously when she had met Muryllis. She still didn't like him, quite the opposite in fact, and since Roan's presentation of the dragons and her explanation of how she had suffered at the hands of the Society of Shadows, was more suspicious of him than ever - it was the mention of shadow walking that had done it. Sneaky, smarmy no-good conceited son of a flobberworm, she thought angrily, blasting on of the practice dummies clean out of her way with a particularly well aimed disintegration hex. If only it had been Mury...
But no. She had to do this thing right; Sylph's side - the good side, if you liked - in this war on the Shadows needed information, and every nerve fiber in Sylph's elongated and athletic body knew that Muryllis had at least some of that very thing up his crooked sleeve. Not for nothing was Sylph the granddaughter of the talented Seer Corra Morgan; her instincts were infallible, and her dreams were growing troubled once more with visions of a gigantic fortress besieged by an army of strangely-clad dwarves. But how to prise it out of the two-faced scum-sucking lethifold? That was the question. She had a feeling that violence wouldn't work, but there was more than one way to tame a kneazle.
Pulling off her quidditch robes in one smooth motion over her head, Sylph shook herself down. Beneath her flying gear she was dressed simply - long brown leather boots giving way to a pair of warm but lightweight trousers, close to being skin tight but not restricting in the least and tucked into the near knee-high boots, all capped off by a tight sleeveless black top with one green stripe running over her flat stomach. Her tanned leather quidditch arm guards she left on after adjusting the straps a little, and she brushed herself down. She looked tough, ready for a fight, a battle even. Twirling her wand idly in her long fingers she frowned and sucked her teeth as if in deep thought, wondering what she could do to wheedle what she needed from the Ravenclaw boy, but nothing beyond extreme physical harm came to mind, but perhaps that was simply wishful thinking...
It wasn't working: this wasn't improving her mood in the slightest. With a casual flick of her wand another of the practice dummies was in trouble - its 'head' became to smoke faintly, vibrating slightly to start with, then more vigorously. Finally, with an enormous bang, it exploded most satisfyingly, though thanks tot he spell used, there was no debris to cover the room. Sylph quirked a humorless smile, her almost unnaturally bright green eyes darkening slightly. Was Sylph needed was a project, something to distract her. Where would she find such a distraction, though?
OOC: first post for Fuu, I thinkbg