April 6th, 1888

Typical.
Of course this would happen.
Thomas had just about had enough of his broomstick which, by all accounts, was being one of the most uncooperative objects he'd ever had the displeasure of having in his possession. He hadn't put much thought into the idea that broomsticks had any sentience; they were enchanted pieces of wood and straw that flew around in the air. His answer as to why broomsticks understood basic commands and listened to it's rider was simply 'magic' and in a world where magic was all-common, it translated rather loosely to 'I have no idea'.

And it was true. Whilst Thomas knew that a lot of the quality of life adjustments he'd made to his broom (such as the cushioning charm he was currently becoming increasingly frustrated with) were applied to the broom, he had never been able to figure out what it was that made them listen to commands and work alongside their rider - even when he had been subjected to his brooms being stripped-down on several occasions.

But if it were true that broomsticks had some sentience within them, Thomas was therefore certain his broomstick hated him. His reasoning for this was simple: his cushioning charm was not sticking to the broom and, when it did, the broom simply tipped to the side and the charm was wearing off quicker than it should have: - making every flight rather uncomfortable. He wasn't sure if it was the charm itself or his broom though whatever it was, Thomas was close to snapping the thing in half.

Thomas ran his gloved hand through his dark hair and let out a loud, exasperated sigh. He'd reached the end of his tether.

"Listen to me, you stupid stick. I've got trainin' to do and I can't do that when you keep doin' this," Thomas gesticulated in a non-descript circular motion. His tone sounded defeated, frustrated, and above all else: absolutely and assuredly, fed up.

Thomas held his hand above the broom once more and sure enough, the broom reluctantly and rather aggressively slammed into his hand. Finally.

He looked around the quiet stadium of Puddlemere United - which looked quite peaceful when no games were on - and inhaled a content breath. He loved playing Quidditch and his team was beyond all he could hope for. They were a fantastic group og team members and one of those members was Rufus Bixby. One of the other chasers and a very good friend of Thomas's.

"Bixby," Thomas called over to his friend whom looked to be approaching him, "You ever thought about what made brooms listen t'ya? 'Cause this," Thomas shook his broom, "keeps doin' it's own thing an' it's startin' to annoy me."

Thomas shrugged and looked briefly at his broom, praying it would play nice. He put the broom between his legs, positioned himself on the invisible cushion, and kicked off from the ground.

"If my broom starts movin' funny, I'm takin' yours. Warm up race?"

Thomas was lucky it was the off-season and he had time to get another broom were it to fail him.

  

Rufus had just left the changing rooms for the quiet of the quidditch pitch before practice when he noticed his friend and teammate absolutely glaring at his broom. It almost reminded Rufus of when his brothers had been younger and stamping their feet as they got into a temper - usually when one brother wasn’t willing to share a broom with another. A problem in a family that certainly liked to keep their feet in the air more than on the ground.

“Can’t say I have.” Rufus replied with a shrug, he didn’t really care either so long as the broom did listen to him. He was sure Alvin would have a million and one answers for such a question though. “You sure you didn’t offend it or something?” He teased as he came up to Tommy. “Although you could always ask Alvin to take a look at it. The kid’s always open to looking at brooms.” Rufus wasn’t sure of Alvin’s sanity when it came to his younger brother’s choice to make brooms rather than ride them like the family did, but he did have to admit - it was certainly handy to have a broom maker in the family.

Following Tommy’s lead Rufus mounted his broom and kicked into the air, glad to be off the ground. Off season was so dull with fewer practices and reasons to fly. Luckily he could tell it was coming to an end soon, increasing practices and even a friendly pre season match coming up.

“Like hell you are!” Rufus shouted as he aimed his broom up into the air and began the race with no further warning.

  

---

BEE-utiful set!

"Only thing that's offensive 'round 'ere is that hags arse you have for a face," Thomas retorted with a playful grin, shrugging as Rufus mentioned Alvin the broom-making Bixby, "I suppose, but he's always a little..." Thomas paused, "weird".

Though it was certainly handy his friends brother was a broom-maker, Thomas always found Alvin to be a little... different. Which wasn't a bad thing, keep in mind, it was just, well, different.

Rufus shouted and within seconds had pushed in front of Thomas; his whole body leant forward to provide additional thrust. Thomas smirked.

Oh no, not today. Thomas was not going to lose to Rufus - that just wasn't going to happen.

There was one simple reason for this and it was a reason that needed no explanation and no further detail. One reason that, were it told to anyone, would be returned with a simple nod and 'that totally makes sense' and people from all over would congratulate Thomas on his perfectly sound and sensible reasoning:

Thomas, to put it simply, didn't want to lose.

And also Rufus wouldn't let him live it down.

So without further adieu, Thomas leaned forward and gripped his broom tightly; thrusting himself forward and pushing past Rufus.

As he passed him, Thomas laughed; "Come on, Bixby, scared you'll lose?"

  

Rufus shook his head at the well intentioned insult. “You only wish you look as good as I do!” He tossed back easily, somethings were habits after over ten years of friendship. A loud guffaw escaped over Rufus’s lips at the dig on Alvin. Indeed, Alvin did have a tendency to come off as weird, after all he was the only bookworm of the Bixby family. “Fine then. Let the broom win.”

Up in the air was a welcome relief. If was him, Tommy, the broom below him, and the air whooshing past. He leaned close to the broom’s handle making himself go faster as Tommy gained on him as they rose higher in the air. “Not a chance in hell!” Rufus yelled back over the wind as he banked into the first corner regaining the lead.

  

---

BEE-utiful set!

Let the broom win.
What a quintessentially ridiculous remark to make, Thomas thought. Not that he had a firm grasp of what the word quintessentially meant - but it was the thought that counted.

And it became very evident, very quickly that the thought had counted for nothing as when Thomas' broom began to drop, Rufus had passed him. Thomas huffed and pulled his broom upwards before attempting to veer to the right to avoid the corner.

As he did so, he noticed the back half of his broom shake a little. Which was not at all what he'd expected. He turned his head too look at the brush and within the space of two seconds Thomas had gone from soaring about forty feet above the grounds of the Puddlemere stadium to falling at an increasingly fast pace toward the mud on the pitch.

Fumbling for his wand, a look of sheer panic in his eyes, Thomas pulled it out and aimed it at the ground; "Molliare!"

And not wanting to see his demise, Thomas closed his eyes and came to a sudden halt about two centimetres from the floor before dropping onto the mud.

He stood up and watched as his broom spiralled down toward the ground. Not quite sure what to make of this, Thomas cast the summoning charm on the broom and watched as it began to career toward him.

The only problem was: - it didn't seem to stop.

Not until it slammed into his chest causing Thomas to drop to the floor in agony, ag least. His broom was now laying carelessly next to him as if it had given up with its broom filled lifestyle.

Let the broom win, Rufus had said.

Let the broom win.

  

His grin broadened as he noticed he could no longer see Tommy in his periphery, he pushed a head, urging his broom faster. He was rounding the second corner when he saw Tommy fly head first toward the ground. Rufus changed directions and flew toward his friend having a view of Tommy’s possessed broom aim right for the man and knock him square in the chest. Ouch!

“Well that's one way to do it.” Rufus commented dryly as he landed softly beside his friend, trying to calmly access whatever the bloody hell had just happened. There was no reason to let his real concern show at the moment and panic his friend.

“I'm fairly certain your broom is out to get you.” Rufus added as he squatted down, “You alright man?” Better to get Tommy on his feet before the rest of the team showed up for practice. “Do you need a healer?” Concern began to coat his tone.

  

---

BEE-utiful set!

Rufus commented at Thomas' little mishap and all the chaser could do in response was muster a groan. Whatever was going wrong with his broom was not normal - and likely it had just given up.

Brooms had a tendency of breaking after a while and, given how often Thomas used this broom, it was hardly surprising that this was happening. Unsurprising, though not remotely wanted; like when you're tired after a bad nights sleep and you need to go out. You don't want to be tired, but you're not surprised that you are.

"Seems so." Tommy said painfully as Rufus helped him to his feet, "I'll.. be fine." Another groan as Thomas stretched.

He kicked his broom and began walking in a circle; his right hand over his stomach.

"Nah, what goods an 'ealer gonna do? I've been in worse states. Just annoyed this bloody thing decided today was a good day as any to stop bein' a broom."

Groaning, Thomas spat onto the floor and pulled out his wand, pointing it at his stomach.

"You reckon episky will work to stop the pain?" Thomas asked his friend in a rather precarious position: he was slightly hunched over, looking up at his friend, with a wand practically poking him in the stomach. Thomas wasn't the best at charms, though he was fairly knowledgeable - healing magic was a little beyond his scope, however, so he waited for his friend to answer.

  

Rufus was quite certain that if Tommy felt he needed to cast a spell on himself he should see a healer. He was all for rubbing dirt into his cuts and bruises but normally for sport induced things toughing it out only made it worse. Watching Tommy point the wand at himself in any other circumstance might have been a laughing matter, what with the way he was hunched over, but right now it seemed far from it.

Episky. Rufus remembered the spell from school. He'd had his fair share of broken bones that the nurse had had to heal up. But he'd also heard horror stories about it. While he was good at charms and even some healing charms, handy when one had several younger siblings who all played quidditch, he didn't want to put Tommy at risk right before practice. "Er, maybe if you have a broken bone. But not like that." Rufus eyed the way Tommy had his wand angled. Then sighed, there was no way he'd convince the stubborn man to see a healer and there was a reason he'd taken to practicing minor healing charms. "Maybe let someone whose not injured try?" It wasn't a question.

  

---

BEE-utiful set!

Thomas looked up to Rufus and lowered his wand, straightening himself out with another groan; it was a blunt pain and not sharp which, in the chasers experience, meant nothing serious had really happened; maybe some bruising but certainly nothing major like internal bleeding. Hopefully. You could never be too sure and Thomas definitely was never sure of much beyond his Quidditch ability. He rarely remembered if he'd eaten most days.

"Yeah but if you..." Thomas stretched, "if you do it, I may grow some bloody donkey ears or somethin'." He mocked. Of course, Thomas knew Rufus was far better skilled at charmswork than he was but he also couldn't admit to that.

Thomas was competitive and competition was not turning around and admitting weakness. Not to the twenty-five year old.

There was a brief pause whilst Thomas contemplated Rufus's words; the words themselves had indicated a question but the tone, true to Bixby's nature, suggested there wasn't much of an option to say no.

So, alas, Thomas entire life now depended on Rufus not casting some sort of exploding charm on him or something.

"Fine. But if I die, I'm killin' you first." Thomas nodded confidently, straightened himself up and, in true Tilcott fashion, threw his arms up in an over-dramatic T-Pose, "Do it. Put me out of my misery!"

Thomas tended to resort to "humour" when he was nervous.

  

Trust Tommy to be melodramatic, “I think donkey ears would be an improvement.” He might be worried about his friend, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t above teasing him when an opening presented itself. Tommy had straightened up though and no longer looked as if he’d attempt anything. Probably for the best.

Rufus began considering charms he could use. Episkey likely was the best option or reparifors depending on if the broom had managed to magically injure Tommy. Best to start with episkey and move on from there.

“Heh. I’d like to see you try.” Rufus shook his head at his friend as he aimed the wand at Tommy’s midsection. “Episkey.” He cast confidently. “Any better?” If not Rufus was determining if seeing the healers would be better than trying reparifors, after all the rest of the team would likely be here in moments to start practice.

  

---

BEE-utiful set!

Thomas let out a sarcastic laugh, "But then we'll look like twins. And that's worse than this pain." Thomas said with a grin.

It didn't take long after Thomas moved into his T-Pose for the sharp pain to shoot through his stomach, causing him to curl over momentarily. It wasn't that it hurt... Well, it did hurt but it was the kind of pain you got when you were sorting out a dislocated shoulder. A short, sharp burst of pain followed by numb healing.

And that's exactly what Tommy got. He stood up, winced slightly and spat to the ground.

"Well I ain't dead, Bixby. Cheers." He smiled softly. It was good to have friends sometimes.

As the Chaser spoke, he looked over Rufus's shoulder and noticed the rest of the team joining them for training.

This was going to be fun.

Thomas had no idea how he was to explain his rogue broom.

FIN

  

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