Team Britain: Beater Trials

April 7th, 1890 — Holyhead Stadium

Fitz Prewett held up his arm to shield his eyes from the bright sunshine, a feat made more difficult by the three enchanted mirrors hounding him so that he could observe the other trials in process. Like the other panel members, the wizard wore a beater's bat at his side just in case, but unlike them, he was positively itching to use it. That he was not trying out today was something of a sore spot for Fitzroy, who missed terribly the sport he so loved but who knew that the path he had taken, ultimately, was the right one for him.

Still, as a bludger zoomed by their faces, his hand moved instinctively to the bat but did not unhook it.

The task was simple enough: the contenders for the Britain National beaters roster would each be given five targets to defend while simultaneously trying to take out the targets of their opponents. They had been color-coded before starting, to make it easier on all involved parties.

Out of the corner of his eye he observed Cassius Lestrange perform rather an impressive dive in the seekers' mirror, but his heart and his attention were both here, observing (and judging) the beaters.

(Perhaps if they were all rubbish he could make a case for putting himself in the game.)

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Eldin had no doubt that he'd been an underdog when he'd posted his name on the signups, but he never imagined how small he'd feel surrounded by all the older, stronger, and more experienced beaters. Eldin wasn't small and scrawny, but he was only eighteen, and he was used to be surrounded by smaller and more inexperienced players on the Hogwarts teams. He diligently followed the rules and went to his post, prepare to defend against an onslaught of bludgers.

Merlin help him.

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He had already resolved not to do this, so why Tybalt found himself on Holyhead’s pitch this morning, he couldn’t quite fathom. It was going to be painful and he knew it.

If he didn’t make the national team (after having the experience of a lifetime the last time, after having been gotten there from Gryffindor’s ranks alone), it would be crushing and awful and absolutely mortifying, and that much worse to be watching from the stands.

If he did make the national team (somehow), it would be an agonising reminder of a career he’d cut short, it would mean he would have to face how much he truly missed it, and it would come and go in a flash and then be over and it would be twice as hard to go back to how things had been before.

If he proved so out of practice that he missed the first bludger to come his way and ended up in a coma from the head wound... that would be fairly painful too.

So: whatever happened, it was going to hurt. Now that he knew that for certain, Tyb shouldered his bat and kicked off from the ground.

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Look, half of the wizarding world was going to come out of the woodwork and pretend they knew what it meant to be a beater at these tryouts. Hopeful students and half-hearted has-beens against some persnickety panel of whoever, and evidently none of them had realised yet that they were standing in the presence of a natural. A genius. A prodigy. An artist.

(If they had, they already would have walked out in defeat, Kristoffer was sure.)

But look, if Cassius could make a career out of this shit, why not show him up just because he could? It wasn’t like Kris had anything better to do today.

And certainly no day spent beating things up was a waste.

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Well wasn't this an interesting docket of potential players.

Becks noticed several familiar faces, Prewett of course, but he was here to decide who played. Kirke had managed to get himself onto the second string last time, but last Beckett had heard, he'd retired young for a ministry position. Hmm. The twat Lestrange had showed up, Beckett couldn't quite remember the kid's name, but he was a bit of an ass, that much he did know. His own nephew was here too, which made him feed positively ancient and unwilling to admit it. Sure he hadn't played in a few years, but he'd also missed out last time thanks to a shoulder injury and so he just couldn't walk away from it either. He wasn't the only one either, there were a couple attendees that had been out of the game for a bit.

As things geared up, at least Beckett could say he'd put in good preparation and hopefully a solid tryout. Only time would tell.

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RIP Bee for she has died by Stef!set

Munny was thrilled to have the chance to try out for the National Team. There were a lot of older and more experienced players but Munny was fairly confident in his skills. Lestrange was here too which made Munny snort before he busied himself with the task they had been given.

  

Owain was super optimistic going into this but seeing all the older, more experienced players was not something he had prepared fully for. Was he going to make it? There was no way to know but for his careers sake, he hoped he would do at least well enough to convince Mister Devine that he was really ready to be promoted to second string. With that thought in mind, Owain kicked off and flew into the sky.