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.