Post by timtheenchanter on Jun 11, 2008 23:03:28 GMT -5
Hello there, reader hominid!
I felt like posting some of my fanfics on this site, so here is my first (as in test) story! Enjoy!
Tim the Enchanter
Skill.
Training.
Practise.
Coordination.
Determination.
Quidditch games are won and lost by combinations of the aforementioned factors.
But what about butterflies?
The butterfly flies erratically over the fresh grass, without a care in the world. After all, it is just a stupid, brainless insect searching for nectar, completely oblivious to the furious battle raging above it.
“Glen Miyashiro scores! Hawaii trails England, seventy to one hundred!”
The Hawaii national team supporters go wild. The sky-blue clad Miyashiro flies a celebratory lap around the Quidditch pitch, beaming at the cheering fans in the stands. Barely discernable through the thundering chaos of thousands of screaming voices are the cheerful melodies of hundreds of ukuleles. Several spectators cast rainbows into the air from the tips of their wands.
Edmund Montgomery scowls. Those pretty colours are making it harder for both him and his opponent to find the Golden Snitch. The slashes of gaudy light break up the clear sky and distort the enormous crowd in the stands. To make matters worse, there is a slight glare on his glasses.
Monty’s opponent – Rachel Noelani – has no such problem, not having to wear spectacles. Fortunately for Monty though, the Hawaiian Seeker is mediocre in comparison to him. She had only twice managed to catch the Snitch in the games leading up to the current World Cup semi-final.
England takes possession of the Quaffle. The three English Chasers form a flying crimson wedge and pelt their way across the pitch, passing the ball to each other with absurd speed; the commentator only has time to blurt their names.
“Rajvansh! Smith! Jenkins! Smith! Rajvan–”
POW!
With the force of a speeding cannonball, a Bludger blasts its way into the formation and Raaj Rajvansh takes a direct hit. There is a horrific crack of snapping ribs and the English Chaser is somersaulted straight off his broom which spins out of control, flipping end over end until it falls to the grassy ground below. Rajvansh himself avoids a fatal fall by the team of Mediwizards patrolling the pitch, who slow down his plummeting body with their wands.
There is a tremendous uproar from the English stands. “FOUL!” some people chorus, simply horrified by the brutal effectiveness of the Bludger attack. Unfortunately for England’s supporters, the move was perfectly legal.
The referee – Jacques Ngedandumwe – blows his whistle, announcing a pause in the game for the Mediwizards to do what they can for the plastered English Chaser. The Hawaiian fans cheer for their Beater who had delivered that crippling blow, probably preventing England from making a goal. The two Hawaiian Beaters are both brothers and Samoans, which make the pair arguably the most formidable force to be reckoned with in the history of modern Quidditch. Both have stupidly muscular bodies, with arms as thick as Burmese Pythons and muscular chests the size of beer barrels. Merlin, they must have some troll blood in them, Monty can’t help but think.
Monty’s team captain motions to him, indicating that she wants a group discussion during the stop in the game. Monty abandons his search for the Snitch and flies over to the huddle of players in outfits of red and white, touching the ground with their feet for the first time in almost an hour and a half.
“We need to change tactics,” team captain and Chaser Patricia Jenkins says to them. “We can’t risk formations anymore; they’re too big of a target and their Beaters are too good.”
“So we’ll just have to be sneaky then,” her fellow (and conscious) Chaser, Adam Smith comments; the English team replies with nodded heads. However, for all intents and purposes, England is down one Chaser, and making any more scores will be problematic.
“Monty – the burden is on you. Catch the Snitch soon before Hawaiians will take the lead from us.”
No kidding.
“What about their Beaters? We’ve got to take them out somehow, or else they’ll slaughter us!” stresses Michael, patting the business end of his Beater’s bat into his open palm.
“Or better yet, let’s take out their Seeker,” adds the other Beater Roger wisely. There is murmured concurrence.
Mr. Ngedandumwe blows his whistle and gestures to the England national team, pointing up at the air – Get a move on!
“Remember everyone, England is watching us! Make her proud!” concludes Patricia, with her panache for the dramatic. All corniness aside, that statement is perfectly true. The team mounts their brooms and the players take their positions, and the Hawaiians do likewise at the opposite end of the field.
Now Monty gets a good look at the clobbered Raaj – he had seen better days, to put it lightly.
The referee throws the Quaffle into the air and blows his whistle again, and immediately, both teams’ Chasers make a mad rush for the ball. Monty swears when Hawaii takes possession of the ball, no doubt due to them currently having more fit and healthy players than the English.
The Hawaiian’s Chaser tactics are quite different. In games lacking the presence of hulking Samoan Beaters, England prefers tight arrowhead formations in approaching the opposition’s goal hoops. Hawaii, on the other hand, does the complete opposite, attacking in loose order and passing the ball from player to player to make the angle of attack as random as possible. However, that makes the Quaffle prone to interception…
“Smith steals the Quaffle – England now in possession!”
The Hawaiians are taken aback by the crimson streak pelting through the air in the opposite direction, heading straight for their goal hoops. The sky-blue players perform a sharp one-eighty degree turn and try to catch up, but Adam is miles ahead. He flies straight at the Hawaiian Keeper (Jessica Simmons) and drops the Quaffle…
…Into the waiting arms of Patricia, who soars up from below and enters the scoring area, behind the goal hoops: a perfect Porskoff Ploy. Simmons – waiting in front of the golden hoops – can’t do anything to block the Quaffle, and England makes another goal, increasing their lead, one hundred and ten to seventy.
England’s supporters go mad with joy, and the other half of the stadium groans. There is a chaotic chorus of the national anthem, a flutter of red-crossed flags on white, a glimmer of silver wings–
Monty throws himself into the frenzied pursuit, with Noelani not far behind. The little golden ball darts to and fro, trying to jerk Monty off its tail–
Whoosh! A Bludger rushes right past his ear, and if Monty hadn’t jerked his head to the side, it might have ripped his head off. Of course, nothing of the sort had ever happened during a Quidditch match, but that Bludger looked awfully formidable.
Though the Bludger doesn’t make contact, it does its damage. Monty loses track of the Golden Snitch, and the Hawaiian fans shout approval for their Beater. Monty scowls; once again, more rainbows are cast from the stands, but Monty spies several wardens trying to put a stop to it. Excellent. They’re no good for visibility; glad to be rid of them.
The game drags on, and Hawaii starts to catch up. The two Beater’s on the Hawaiian side are a constant menace, unusually gifted with unnatural strength and unerring aim. They don’t do in any English players to the same extent they had to Raaj, but it is bad enough.
“TIED! Hawaii and England now neck and neck, at one hundred and twenty points each!”
The game is getting desperate. With one injured Chaser, the English side simply cannot score as many goals as the Hawaiians. England soon loses its early lead after another thirty minutes and there is nothing that can be done about it.
“Miyashiro passes to Sabino! Sabino to Dover – DOVER SCORES! Hawaii leads England, one-sixty to one-twenty!”
Every time Monty passes one of his team-mates, they all have the same pained expression that plainly says: Get the Snitch. NOW. Monty bares his teeth in frustration, as if to say, I know! It’s not like I’m not trying!
Monty’s team manages to put the Quaffle through one of the Hawaiian’s hoops, but the other team scores thrice more. To give England a better chance of winning, Roger chases down Noelani and chucks his Beater’s bat at her, which strikes the back of her head. Roger is normally a mild-mannered person, but he does what he must to give his team a fighting chance.
“FOUL!” half of the spectators shout (this time with perfect justification), and the referee calls a penalty shot. Miyashiro of the Hawaiian side takes the penalty, rushing towards the scoring area with the Quaffle. He swerves to the right and hurls the ball diagonally to his left – the Quaffle brushes the tips of English Keeper Alderman’s fingers, and…
The English supporters groan in despair again. The Quaffle passes through the leftmost hoop, and Hawaii scores another ten points. Was attacking their Seeker worth the penalty? Monty thinks as he surveys the damage done to his opponent: Noelani rubs the back of her head and has a dazed look on her face. Of course it was…
The game gets dirtier and fiercer, and Hawaii surges ahead. Roger vainly tries to take out one of the opposing Beaters, but the Bludger blatantly bounces off the massive Samoan – he probably didn’t feel a thing! Soon, Hawaii may very well take a hundred and fifty point lead, and then England won’t have any chance of winning. Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger…
THE SNITCH AT LAST! GO GO GO GO GO!
Monty dives madly to pounce on the Snitch hovering above the grass. Sensing his presence, the tiny gold ball zips away from him, fluttering its little silver wings madly.
A black dot grows exponentially in front of Monty’s face – “LOOK OUT!” screams Michael, throwing himself into the Bludger’s path. BAM! it makes contact, and the English Beater is toppled straight off his broom.
The roar of rushing air and the cheers of his countrymen fill Monty’s ears as he pursues the Snitch. Noelani follows, but she is miles away. Michael took a Bludger meant for Monty, leaving the Seeker’s way clear. At last, victory will be snatched from the jaws of defeat!
The Snitch rockets down the pitch, with a slash of scarlet hot on its tail. Monty slowly gains on his prize, and he finally wrenches a hand off his broom. He reaches, to grab–
“BBLUUBBAAARRRGGGHHH!”
The butterfly flaps its wings madly, trying to extricate itself from between the inside of Monty’s glasses and his face. He screams in agony as the retarded insect thrashes in his eye – he swipes with his hand to be rid of the pretty winged arthropod…
Monty feels his body leaning over and before he knows it there is a horrible sense of weightlessness in his gut–
CRASH! SMUSH! CRACK! SMASH!
Monty’s racing broom spears itself into the grassy field and breaks cleanly in half. Monty himself lands on his face. His glasses snap. His head is pushed down onto his spine. His body tumbles and thrashes and tumbles some more over and over again on the grass until he finally flops to a stop.
“Erk…” is the only sound Monty’s battered body is capable of saying before he blacks out.
England’s despair lasted at least a week. In agony, their supporters had watched the game bleed on for another hour after their Seeker’s fall, and they were morbidly relieved when Hawaii’s appalling Seeker finally caught the Snitch.
News of the reason for Edmund Montgomery’s horrific tumble did nothing to alleviate England’s suffering – quite the contrary, in fact. Some people thought he had suffered horrible brain damage and had gone loopy; unfit to compete for the detestable third place spot in the match the following week. Others thought he had invented the incident as a rather feeble excuse for simply falling off his broom.
Either way, Edmund Montgomery had a troubled career after that.
The butterfly, on the other hand, managed to find love despite its bent and tattered wings. It had four hundred babies and lived happily ever after.
Notes
The above story was inspired by a very unfortunate yet amusing accident that befell a friend of mine. He was riding his bicycle down a hill when a butterfly got stuck in his glasses – rather understandably, he lost his balance and had a high-velocity reunion with the pavement. He broke both of his wrists.
This story was written to honour that absurd misfortune. Thank you for reading.
I felt like posting some of my fanfics on this site, so here is my first (as in test) story! Enjoy!
Tim the Enchanter
A Brief Summary...
Skill.
Training.
Practise.
Coordination.
Determination.
Quidditch games are won and lost by combinations of the aforementioned factors.
But what about butterflies?
The Butterfly Factor
The butterfly flies erratically over the fresh grass, without a care in the world. After all, it is just a stupid, brainless insect searching for nectar, completely oblivious to the furious battle raging above it.
“Glen Miyashiro scores! Hawaii trails England, seventy to one hundred!”
The Hawaii national team supporters go wild. The sky-blue clad Miyashiro flies a celebratory lap around the Quidditch pitch, beaming at the cheering fans in the stands. Barely discernable through the thundering chaos of thousands of screaming voices are the cheerful melodies of hundreds of ukuleles. Several spectators cast rainbows into the air from the tips of their wands.
Edmund Montgomery scowls. Those pretty colours are making it harder for both him and his opponent to find the Golden Snitch. The slashes of gaudy light break up the clear sky and distort the enormous crowd in the stands. To make matters worse, there is a slight glare on his glasses.
Monty’s opponent – Rachel Noelani – has no such problem, not having to wear spectacles. Fortunately for Monty though, the Hawaiian Seeker is mediocre in comparison to him. She had only twice managed to catch the Snitch in the games leading up to the current World Cup semi-final.
England takes possession of the Quaffle. The three English Chasers form a flying crimson wedge and pelt their way across the pitch, passing the ball to each other with absurd speed; the commentator only has time to blurt their names.
“Rajvansh! Smith! Jenkins! Smith! Rajvan–”
POW!
With the force of a speeding cannonball, a Bludger blasts its way into the formation and Raaj Rajvansh takes a direct hit. There is a horrific crack of snapping ribs and the English Chaser is somersaulted straight off his broom which spins out of control, flipping end over end until it falls to the grassy ground below. Rajvansh himself avoids a fatal fall by the team of Mediwizards patrolling the pitch, who slow down his plummeting body with their wands.
There is a tremendous uproar from the English stands. “FOUL!” some people chorus, simply horrified by the brutal effectiveness of the Bludger attack. Unfortunately for England’s supporters, the move was perfectly legal.
The referee – Jacques Ngedandumwe – blows his whistle, announcing a pause in the game for the Mediwizards to do what they can for the plastered English Chaser. The Hawaiian fans cheer for their Beater who had delivered that crippling blow, probably preventing England from making a goal. The two Hawaiian Beaters are both brothers and Samoans, which make the pair arguably the most formidable force to be reckoned with in the history of modern Quidditch. Both have stupidly muscular bodies, with arms as thick as Burmese Pythons and muscular chests the size of beer barrels. Merlin, they must have some troll blood in them, Monty can’t help but think.
Monty’s team captain motions to him, indicating that she wants a group discussion during the stop in the game. Monty abandons his search for the Snitch and flies over to the huddle of players in outfits of red and white, touching the ground with their feet for the first time in almost an hour and a half.
“We need to change tactics,” team captain and Chaser Patricia Jenkins says to them. “We can’t risk formations anymore; they’re too big of a target and their Beaters are too good.”
“So we’ll just have to be sneaky then,” her fellow (and conscious) Chaser, Adam Smith comments; the English team replies with nodded heads. However, for all intents and purposes, England is down one Chaser, and making any more scores will be problematic.
“Monty – the burden is on you. Catch the Snitch soon before Hawaiians will take the lead from us.”
No kidding.
“What about their Beaters? We’ve got to take them out somehow, or else they’ll slaughter us!” stresses Michael, patting the business end of his Beater’s bat into his open palm.
“Or better yet, let’s take out their Seeker,” adds the other Beater Roger wisely. There is murmured concurrence.
Mr. Ngedandumwe blows his whistle and gestures to the England national team, pointing up at the air – Get a move on!
“Remember everyone, England is watching us! Make her proud!” concludes Patricia, with her panache for the dramatic. All corniness aside, that statement is perfectly true. The team mounts their brooms and the players take their positions, and the Hawaiians do likewise at the opposite end of the field.
Now Monty gets a good look at the clobbered Raaj – he had seen better days, to put it lightly.
The referee throws the Quaffle into the air and blows his whistle again, and immediately, both teams’ Chasers make a mad rush for the ball. Monty swears when Hawaii takes possession of the ball, no doubt due to them currently having more fit and healthy players than the English.
The Hawaiian’s Chaser tactics are quite different. In games lacking the presence of hulking Samoan Beaters, England prefers tight arrowhead formations in approaching the opposition’s goal hoops. Hawaii, on the other hand, does the complete opposite, attacking in loose order and passing the ball from player to player to make the angle of attack as random as possible. However, that makes the Quaffle prone to interception…
“Smith steals the Quaffle – England now in possession!”
The Hawaiians are taken aback by the crimson streak pelting through the air in the opposite direction, heading straight for their goal hoops. The sky-blue players perform a sharp one-eighty degree turn and try to catch up, but Adam is miles ahead. He flies straight at the Hawaiian Keeper (Jessica Simmons) and drops the Quaffle…
…Into the waiting arms of Patricia, who soars up from below and enters the scoring area, behind the goal hoops: a perfect Porskoff Ploy. Simmons – waiting in front of the golden hoops – can’t do anything to block the Quaffle, and England makes another goal, increasing their lead, one hundred and ten to seventy.
England’s supporters go mad with joy, and the other half of the stadium groans. There is a chaotic chorus of the national anthem, a flutter of red-crossed flags on white, a glimmer of silver wings–
Monty throws himself into the frenzied pursuit, with Noelani not far behind. The little golden ball darts to and fro, trying to jerk Monty off its tail–
Whoosh! A Bludger rushes right past his ear, and if Monty hadn’t jerked his head to the side, it might have ripped his head off. Of course, nothing of the sort had ever happened during a Quidditch match, but that Bludger looked awfully formidable.
Though the Bludger doesn’t make contact, it does its damage. Monty loses track of the Golden Snitch, and the Hawaiian fans shout approval for their Beater. Monty scowls; once again, more rainbows are cast from the stands, but Monty spies several wardens trying to put a stop to it. Excellent. They’re no good for visibility; glad to be rid of them.
The game drags on, and Hawaii starts to catch up. The two Beater’s on the Hawaiian side are a constant menace, unusually gifted with unnatural strength and unerring aim. They don’t do in any English players to the same extent they had to Raaj, but it is bad enough.
“TIED! Hawaii and England now neck and neck, at one hundred and twenty points each!”
The game is getting desperate. With one injured Chaser, the English side simply cannot score as many goals as the Hawaiians. England soon loses its early lead after another thirty minutes and there is nothing that can be done about it.
“Miyashiro passes to Sabino! Sabino to Dover – DOVER SCORES! Hawaii leads England, one-sixty to one-twenty!”
Every time Monty passes one of his team-mates, they all have the same pained expression that plainly says: Get the Snitch. NOW. Monty bares his teeth in frustration, as if to say, I know! It’s not like I’m not trying!
Monty’s team manages to put the Quaffle through one of the Hawaiian’s hoops, but the other team scores thrice more. To give England a better chance of winning, Roger chases down Noelani and chucks his Beater’s bat at her, which strikes the back of her head. Roger is normally a mild-mannered person, but he does what he must to give his team a fighting chance.
“FOUL!” half of the spectators shout (this time with perfect justification), and the referee calls a penalty shot. Miyashiro of the Hawaiian side takes the penalty, rushing towards the scoring area with the Quaffle. He swerves to the right and hurls the ball diagonally to his left – the Quaffle brushes the tips of English Keeper Alderman’s fingers, and…
The English supporters groan in despair again. The Quaffle passes through the leftmost hoop, and Hawaii scores another ten points. Was attacking their Seeker worth the penalty? Monty thinks as he surveys the damage done to his opponent: Noelani rubs the back of her head and has a dazed look on her face. Of course it was…
The game gets dirtier and fiercer, and Hawaii surges ahead. Roger vainly tries to take out one of the opposing Beaters, but the Bludger blatantly bounces off the massive Samoan – he probably didn’t feel a thing! Soon, Hawaii may very well take a hundred and fifty point lead, and then England won’t have any chance of winning. Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger…
THE SNITCH AT LAST! GO GO GO GO GO!
Monty dives madly to pounce on the Snitch hovering above the grass. Sensing his presence, the tiny gold ball zips away from him, fluttering its little silver wings madly.
A black dot grows exponentially in front of Monty’s face – “LOOK OUT!” screams Michael, throwing himself into the Bludger’s path. BAM! it makes contact, and the English Beater is toppled straight off his broom.
The roar of rushing air and the cheers of his countrymen fill Monty’s ears as he pursues the Snitch. Noelani follows, but she is miles away. Michael took a Bludger meant for Monty, leaving the Seeker’s way clear. At last, victory will be snatched from the jaws of defeat!
The Snitch rockets down the pitch, with a slash of scarlet hot on its tail. Monty slowly gains on his prize, and he finally wrenches a hand off his broom. He reaches, to grab–
“BBLUUBBAAARRRGGGHHH!”
The butterfly flaps its wings madly, trying to extricate itself from between the inside of Monty’s glasses and his face. He screams in agony as the retarded insect thrashes in his eye – he swipes with his hand to be rid of the pretty winged arthropod…
Monty feels his body leaning over and before he knows it there is a horrible sense of weightlessness in his gut–
CRASH! SMUSH! CRACK! SMASH!
Monty’s racing broom spears itself into the grassy field and breaks cleanly in half. Monty himself lands on his face. His glasses snap. His head is pushed down onto his spine. His body tumbles and thrashes and tumbles some more over and over again on the grass until he finally flops to a stop.
“Erk…” is the only sound Monty’s battered body is capable of saying before he blacks out.
England’s despair lasted at least a week. In agony, their supporters had watched the game bleed on for another hour after their Seeker’s fall, and they were morbidly relieved when Hawaii’s appalling Seeker finally caught the Snitch.
News of the reason for Edmund Montgomery’s horrific tumble did nothing to alleviate England’s suffering – quite the contrary, in fact. Some people thought he had suffered horrible brain damage and had gone loopy; unfit to compete for the detestable third place spot in the match the following week. Others thought he had invented the incident as a rather feeble excuse for simply falling off his broom.
Either way, Edmund Montgomery had a troubled career after that.
The butterfly, on the other hand, managed to find love despite its bent and tattered wings. It had four hundred babies and lived happily ever after.
The End
Notes
The above story was inspired by a very unfortunate yet amusing accident that befell a friend of mine. He was riding his bicycle down a hill when a butterfly got stuck in his glasses – rather understandably, he lost his balance and had a high-velocity reunion with the pavement. He broke both of his wrists.
This story was written to honour that absurd misfortune. Thank you for reading.