"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?"