August 21st, 1895 — Padmore Park, Hogsmeade

"Take a breath, alright?"

She followed that comment up with a bit of an unintentionally firm slap on the back. It was meant to be encouraging, of course, and she followed it up with a wide grin that stretched the freckles on her face in an awkward, oblong fashion.

After a moment, it faded just slightly, "Flippin'...once ya start thinkin' ya can't do it, ya can't! So get that outta your head and focus. You can do this."

She watched the kid standing with a broom with her head tipped slightly to the side. "C'mon, just a firm kick, and you're off!"




Open to a youth who is learning to fly on a broomstick. Or who wants to increase their skills. Broom stuff!

The following 2 users Like Billie Farrow's post:2 users Like Billie Farrow's post
   Charley Goode, Greta Gillenwater

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MJ, yet again working her magic.  <3 <3 Thank you

Charley stared at the older freckled girl, with her back still smarting from the slap. She squinted at Billie until the skin on her own nose merged into one, giant, freckle. Once or twice, the urchin had been told off for staring daggers, only now she wanted it to be true. Just a pinprick or two, really, enough to give Billie a yelp she'd earned from that slap.

"Do I got the look of a thinker to ya, mate?" The urchin stared at Billie, who she'd entrusted with her life. And all she'd had done so far was make outlandish claims about what went on in Charley's head. Would have been rude, too, if she didn't think of Billie as a friend. One who disappeared to Hogwarts far too much of the year, really, but Charley wasn't one to judge what a body couldn't help.

Unlike some people she glared at.

"I'd call me more a looker," and Charley declared it while stretching out her neck. Given a dress and brush, Charley could turn herself into one of the prancing ladies who stepped her way down High Street. She had on her trousers today, better clothes for flying anyway. Who wanted to walk down a street when she could fly? She gave a chuckle to herself, "Been keen on seein' the town from higher up than rooftops, y'know? I's thinkin' a dashin' Quidditcher like you could be a help for that."

Charley stomped her feet firmly on the ground to show Billie where it was all going wrong. The broom kept her aloft just enough for a seat, but that was all. There had to be something more than just kicking off, this couldn't be all that much harder from climbing a roof. "Ya wanna hear me think? I think it bloody hates me."

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Billie Farrow

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Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.