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.