11th House Game: SLYTHERIN VS GRYFFINDOR: 17th-21st November

[Slytherin Chaser & Captain]

Everything surrounding here was dark, an unnatural black even. Okay, maybe it wasn't that unnatural seeing as Gemma was hiding from the outside world under her covers, but still. It sounded significant, magnificant, whatever. Just good. Like the perfect excuse for being a horrible team captain and skipping a game of Quidditch without even as much as informing the team that they needed to be there. Shoot.

It's alright for me to do this. I'm Slytherin, and we need not explain ourselves, make up excuses, or even dignify others with as much as a glance. All we do is make up sly, cunning plans for winning, taking over.

She relaxed a little in her hiding location and thought about resurfacing with that very much true [and perfectly cunning] reasoning. Only then it hit her: if they were to win and take over stuff, they should probably be playing the darn game right now. A no-show would surely not equal a win...if she couldn't twist it in some great way.

....

No, she couldn't. So much for all the sly and witty Slytherin-ness inside her blood. Maybe for all it was worth, she had to slide on a mask of coolness and get out onto the pitch, where she would be likely to stand alone as she hadn't bothered to inform her team. She'd properly excuse to them, of course, since they were equals. And she'd make up for it to them, too, in the next match. Sure thing she was going to do that.

With a sigh, Gemma heaved out of bed finally and uncaringly dressed in whatever her wardrobe had to offer freely. She probaby wore red now or something, which would ridicule her even further, but oh well. She could pull it off. As she left the dorms, she banged violently on all other doors to inform her team they would do well coming out onto the field with her. As an afterthought, so they even knew what she was on about, she added a shouted "Quidditch match, urgently urgent!"

Against Gryffindor, of all of them!, her thoughts started racing at approximately the same pace she proceeded at. Soon enough she reached the locker rooms, vowing to herself never to go on another sugar withdrawal diet thing again shortly before an important match like this one. Obviously, there were better things to be done at such times than hiding under literal covers.

"Here I am, brace yourselves!"

Okay, maybe screaming out loud like that hadn't been the best move, but once she'd gotten her broom and gear from the locker rooms and made sure she wrapped herself appropriately in a thick scarf, she had stepped out onto the Gryffie-dominated pitch and wanted to make sure they noticed the final presence of Slytherins. Baaad thing, yeah. So she took off at the highest speed she could muster up pushing off from the floor, and grabbed the Quaffle.

Why- uh- wait. Me, on a pitch, with two raving little kitty cats, apparently one of them being Chaser, and yet here it is, my baby, right in my arms. Weird.

Gemma had some natural suspicious instinct, of course, so she scanned her surroundings quickly as to what the deceit here could be. However all seemed normal, and she couldn't believe her sheer luck. As it was, the Gryff Chaser girl had obviously forgotten to grab the shiny red ball due to something she wouldn't have known. She surely wasn't going to complain about it, either.

She did understand, though, that this sheer luck could hardly last long, and thus braced herself for some inevitable blow of Bludgers her way or similar events. Maybe, if she were lucky, a teammate would join her soon enough, but then again thanks to her own stupidity she couldn't rely on that, so action was the required course.

"Watch that, you little bravely brave blistering idiots...", the Slytherin murmured to herself and an icy shine glaced over her eyes, as if she was beginning to freeze exposed to the cold air. Truth be told, she probably wasn't very far from that point, so she concentrated on pulling of a very move-y move, as in warming her up.

In a blur, she leant down onto her broom handle, braced herself, and took off once more, feeling the air cutting into her face that was hardly protected from the weather. A salty droplet from the corner of her eye, conjured by the gush of wind against it, froze halfway down her cheek. She could feel the red-hot blush forming on them, too. Her left arm hugged the Quaffle closer, and then that was all that counted, that and the goal posts.

Her course aimed straight ahead, right at them, and with the lack of hoops or curves she flew, trusty Asmodin increased speed until her face literally seemed to split any second. She'd heard of this move called the Striking Snake before, and thought it silly and easy, but now she understood its advantages perfectly well. Then she was right in front of the golden rings, and she couldn't help herself. Lest someone had shown up already, there was no time to be wasted on team play either way, so she simply drew back her arm hard and threw, aslo straight ahead. Without anything distracting their forces, both she and her lovely Asmodin had given their very best.

Now it was, however, time for the harder things to face, as she waited for the ring to signal her scoring. If it comes at all..., a mean little voice muttered, and she startled before realizing it was inside her head. Then, she silenced it, before - a lot less determinedly - leaning to the left and guiding herself to the Slytherin stands, where she hovered half-smiling, half-apologizing with her eyes only.

Noone of them as much as muttered a word, however, and Gemma was ready to expect horrid treatment the next days, weeks, months. She'd failed them, again, and there was no chance she wouldn't pay for it. She wanted to take off, to retrieve the ball and carry on, hope for a Bludger to hit her hard and take her cold out, maybe. Anything. But then, in the tiniest fragment of a second, she realized something new: They weren't staring at her, but at the goal posts.

They're just anxious, they really only want to know whether you scored or not. They aren't interested in slaying you, they simply want to win. Calm down, Gemma. Breathe. Calm!

She did, mercifully acting for her own sanity, and settled on her broom again with a little less tension bunching her muscles. She'd wait now, wait for the match to continue and for teammates to arrive, hopefully.

[Slytherin Chaser & Captain]

Even though her hopes for another Slytherin player arriving soon were momentarily disappointed by a Gryff Chaser entering the scene, Gemma kept onto her newfound sugary happiness and even smiled sweetly as the daring girl claimed the Quaffle hers.

"My apologies, kitty girl, it didn't seem to have your name anywhere on it. So you wouldn't mind if I kept it for a while, would you?"
She only paused for a second, not even allowing the other to butt in.
"I thought so, my dear. Very friendly of you indeed, though maybe you should wonder why you weren't placed in Huffledumb...ah well, not that I particulary care about you."

The smile still plastered onto her face she gripped the ball even tighter and held onto the thought that, contrary to the enemy, her team had the vast advantage of a Keeper guarding the hoops. And since they had noone there, she could go for easy - only she didn't do easy. Suddenly she heard someone talking, and something told her she'd tune herself into the convo.

"What's the plan...?" was the one thing she heard clearly, and with that she knew she'd have to get this show on the road. Thoughts wirled in her mind, moves were judged and discarded, her sugar high was oh so intense as it was the first one in a while, and surely that was what finally had her settle on a certain move.

Leaning down so her upper body lay almost flat on the broom, Gemma sped Asmodin up, full well knowing she flew away from the goal posts she wanted to score in rather than towards them. Once the speed seemed to suffice, if the cold freezing her nose and creeping into her robes was any proof, she leaned to the left, holding onto the handle extra tightly so she wouldn't fall, and only settled upright again when she'd done a perfect little 180° turn, also called Voldemort's Turn for its rather stupid and potentially deadly nature.

From there, she continued into the now right direction by means of zigzagging moves, sending her alternately towards the Slytherin and the Gryffindor stands as the air flew by still piercing. She could only hope this would leave the Gryffindorks far behind as they probably didn't even understand the concept of moves. On top of the cold, however, the Woollongong Shimmy - as the move currently performed by her was offically named - sent her towards the blinding sunlight, so she could only just squint and hope her course wasn't too far off.

After a sharp left-right leaning to zigzag towards the Slytherins and back to what she believed to be the middle of the pitch, she chose to continue straight ahead. That hadn't been too bad a move, either, since soon enough the goal hoops formed in front of her, and she chose to do the easy thing just for once so she wouldn't miss them because of the sunlight.

Okay, closer. From here you'd still miss them with no difficulty, with your fair share of luck. Just a litte closer, come on now, not much more - ah, here we are.

Once having been told the magical three words by that annoying little voice, she held onto the red ball with both hands, kept it in front of her chest, and then with all the strength she could muster up pushed it forward, passing rather than throwing but still having every chance of scoring right through the middle goal. She smiled as she filed that one away as the Plebeian Pass, a name that would ensure rare use already.

So you're plebeian, are you? Not that I couldn't have told before, but letting others know...tut tut, Gemma. Such a horrible Slytherin you are! Plebeian, really. How could one of the honourable Snakes ever be common?

Ignoring the voice as well as she could, she pulled Asmodin up sharply and leaned to the right, spiralling upwards in order to silence it as well as be able to survey happenings at the goal posts and new entries. For now, she couldn't really do anything else anyway.